AN: I thought about jokingly naming this Grammar be damned,
because it took a holiday here. My old headmaster used to say
that he cringed at bad grammar, well I suppose he's rolling over
in his grave right now.
Supple Emotions
by Polka Dot
Hands and nipples, hard nipples and
"Oh God"
fingers, there and there and
"Yes, God yes"
there.
And mouths, hot wet, moist, suckling mouths. Well just one mouth,
but it was talented, very talented.
And he hasn't gotten to the lamp on yet, but who cared, cause he
could see with his hands,
but those eyes, he liked those eyes, he liked watching those eyes
watch him.
He wondered about those eyes, those deep chocolate eyes. He
dreamed of them, half-lidded glazed over, soaking up his soul.
His soul, it was salvaged, with every touch, every breath, every
sweet sweet moan.
That his soul could be beautiful to this man who was so, so
beautiful. He felt unworthy,
but it gave him peace.
He was the the strong one, the jounin, the ANBU.
"Please, Kakashi please."
He was the cold, aloof, mysterious, enigmatic one. But he was
jelly, clay, mush in this man's hands.
"I need..."
Clothes were evil, clothes were cumbersome, clothes were evil,
cumbersome things that always got in his way.
He wanted skin, he needed skin, more skin, more warm, sweaty,
hot, burning flesh. Under his mouth, his tongue,
his hands, it was like silk, smooth, perfect, warm, salty,
heavenly silk.
And it would be so perfect, if they could just get to that room.
The room with the bed, the soft warm bed.
Not that the wall wasn't good. He didn't mind the wall, but the
bed would be better,
softer, kinder, gentler to this gentle man who was writhing,
whimpering, pulling, sucking, dragging, stroking, moaning in his
arms. He wanted kinder, gentler things for this man who was his
dream, his salvation, loving his body, loving his soul.
He loved his arms when they surrounded this man. Loved his own
hands because they brought this man joy.
He loved his scars because they felt so soft, sensual, sensitive
under those gentle fingers.
Fingers were wonderful things, they fit in such wonderful places.
"Aahh Kakaakakaakashi"
He liked his name too, his name on those lips was like music.
Sweet, sweaty music.
The kinda of music that made him want to gyrate and slide. Yes
sliding and gyrating,
moaning and groaning, humming and humping. It was a dance, they
were dancers.
Lovers dancing in a lovely, loving, dance of love, full of love,
spurting with love.
"I love you Iruka."
And he did. He did and he didn't ever want to not be sliding and
gyrating and loving and moaning and dreaming and watching and
touching and sucking and feeling anyone other than this man.
His fingers found the scar across his lovers nose. He loved that
scar, the texture, the taste, the color, the feel of that scar.
He loved it, because it was part of Iruka and he loved Iruka.
Everything about Iruka was wonderful, magical, special, sensual.
"I love you too, Kakashi."
And Iruka's fingers found his scar, the one that traced over his
cheek, over his eye and deep into his heart.
And Iruka loved that scar because it was a part of him and
Iruka's lips kissed his heart, because he knew how deep that scar
went. And Kakashi could feel his chest tighten and his eyes swim
with that gesture and he squeezed tighter and he was so happy.
And it wasn't just because they had found the bed.
Disclaimer: Masashi Kishimoto, perhaps the hardest name in anime
to spell, is Naruto's creator, not I.