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𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳, 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 2 | 𝘬𝘪𝘣𝘢 𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘢

pairing: bff!kiba x afab!reader word count: 12.8k warnings: nsfw! 18+! minors DNI! | aphrodisiac-adjacent (pheromone oils), dubcon, oral (f! receiving), pining galore (reader and kiba are down bad for each other), mentions of primal (instincts), miscommunication, edging and denial, semi-public sex, konoha 12 mentions + interactions (heavy ino, sakura, hinata, and shino interactions), everyone is in their mid-late 20's, no use of y/n, modern au (mostly canon) author’s note: almost two years later and this thing is finally getting posted. it's self-indulgent, messy, and probably one of my favorite things i've written in a while. this was originally going to be longer, but i decided to split the original part 2 into parts 2 and 3. thank you to all who have waited patiently for this, i hope you enjoy 💕 (part 3 will be posted much, much sooner than this part was, i promise 😭) || banner by @/saradika-graphics

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 1 • 𝘢𝘰3

“Oh, fuck you.” KIBA’s irritated voice drones through the speaker of your phone, accompanied by the clacking of a controller and the shifting of a desk chair.

It’s been almost two weeks since that night, the night that changed everything and nothing all the same. The night your apartment flooded, the dam broken open, the night a friend did you a favor. The chirping of cicadas, the clink of melting ice in a glass cup, skin glazed in a thin layer of humidity and sweat.

“Did I call at a bad time?” You ask, the sound of his voice fanning heat to your cheeks. The exasperated huff and mumbled swears coming through the receiver bring you back to that night, the night, where the sound of his pleasured breaths and ardent praise carried you to a place where Jun didn’t exist, where the fear didn’t exist, a world with just the two of you.

The moment Kiba closed his apartment door behind him the morning after, he knew his years of practice were now faced with the ultimate test. Another natural disaster started inside of him, a savage fight between desire and need.

Once home, Kiba tried to scrub his skin free of your scent. Not because he despised the smell—he wanted nothing more than to bask in the perfume of you, relish in what heaven felt like, smelled like—but the random whiffs, the incessant flashbacks sent him into a mental tizzy, even just mere hours later, tunnel vision blinding him. He scrubbed until his skin was red, raw, burning as much as he was on the inside, until his clenched jaw sent an ache to his temple and his hands shook with fervency, desperation.

Somehow, though, you permeated through his own pores, through the steaming water itself raining down on him. It became impossible to shake the image of your scrunched face contorted in pleasure, your skin in the darkness of your moonlit room, your arched back and the marks on your skin and thus, when his mind offered him no reprieve, and the shower resulted in his head braced against the shower wall, hunched over, panting and whining as he frantically fisted his twitching, swollen length, his eyes burning with frustration as his own fragranced soaps and shampoos couldn’t cut through your scent, the memory of you—he knew he had begun the delicate tight-rope walk he had feared this entire time.

He was hooked, line and sinker, the expanse of his need for you mutating into something he could no longer ignore. It took one night, one favor from a friend to concrete the feeling he had since the moment he met you, an innate knowing that you weren’t just a friend, you never could be. You were his, something he knew couldn’t be owned and yet, yet—

“No, I’m just—Naruto, what are you do—I’m over here, by the fuckin’—” Kiba scowls into the receiver, his hands gripping the controller in a hold he knows isn’t conducive to playing. But he can hear the thrum of his heartbeat in his ears, his abdomen pulsing with heat. His muscles are tense, tight, ready to snap, to break, to crumble. He can’t ignore you, he can’t stay away, but he can’t tell you the truth. You like Jun; you like respectful, timid, gentle ninjas. At least, that’s what he tells himself, as his dark eyes narrow in on the screen, his jaw clenched so tight the dull headache in his temple was almost helping in distracting him from the sound of your voice.

“No, sorry, you’re fine, I’m just playing a with an idiot,” the brunette answers you with a sigh. “You are an idiot!” He continues, but you can tell it’s not pointed at you. “You didn’t—I mean, yeah, you got him that time, but—I’m gonna take minute, you guys go ahead. Yes, I’m fi—oh okay, all right, fuck you, man. I’ll be on later.” The banter finishes with a chuckle from Kiba, and he slips his gaming headset off after muting himself. A deep sigh, a cleared throat, the crackle of the phone being picked up and placed against his ear.

In the brief time you were awake after finishing, Kiba ensured you went to the bathroom before allowing you into bed. He laid on his back against the pillows next to you, you curled up at his side, cheek pressed to chest. He rubbed your back and mindlessly smoothed out and played with your hair as you both rested in comfortable silence. There was so much and yet nothing at all to say; your bodies had done the talking for both of you, and it was understood. Slowing breaths, heavy heartbeats, and the song of cicadas became the symphony of the night. It wasn’t long before you both drifted to sleep, carried by the feeling of contentment.

It was a sleep unlike any other. Warm summer rains, gentle winds, hot embers, still burning bright the morning after. It almost scared Kiba how well he slept with you at his side, waking up before the sun and to you fully enveloped against his chest. Your head was nestled in the crook of his neck, and your body cradled in his arms, legs tangled in a mess of bare skin and sheets. He relished in the feeling of you against him, and he watched you until the sunlight filtered in through your window.

Unbeknownst to Kiba, you, oh sore and dazed you, suffered a pang of tightness in your chest waking up, albeit the second time, to an empty bed that Monday morning. The first time, he woke you up, gentle and soft as the early morning light. He whispered he was leaving, he’d be locking the door on his way out, he’d talk to you later. Kiba froze in that moment, just for a moment, the urge to kiss you goodbye, to stay with you altogether threatening to ruin his ruse, to oust him, before he swallowed the barbed lump in his throat and doing just as he said he would.

It felt like a dream, like the many, many you had about Kiba, but once you pulled yourself into the bathroom, the stiffness in your muscles and the bruised teeth marks dotting your skin reminded you, with haste and intensity, that it wasn’t a dream at all.

You, too, found yourself trying to rid your mind of Kiba, sprawled out in your bed, three cramped fingers stuffed, muffling your cries as you pitifully tried to recreate his touch, fanning the red-hot embers he kept warm underneath your ribcage. Birdsong coming in through the window, melted ice in a glass cup, him him him.

You, too, knew the performance of a lifetime was ahead of you, the facade you both had built being put to the test. Kiba was your first, something you had always wanted to share with him, the concept of virginity aside. But not like this. Not with the anticipation of never having him again. For you, with the hollow pit settled in your chest at the thought of having all of Kiba and then suddenly— none at all, it no longer mattered to you what Jun could offer; your body had tasted what it longed for, violently craved, and you were hungry nothing else.

And because of this, unbeknownst to Kiba, you called things off with Jun just four days later. All it took was one dinner, one measly hour and a half and a salty, stale kiss goodbye to know Jun was the opposite of your desires. A kind, gentle ninja who your mother liked, your father respected, but made you feel as alive as a dead battery in motionless, rancid water.

It’s the one thing you wanted to tell Kiba for days, to give an opportunity, a chance for confirmation. Yet life had a funny way of making sure both of you were filled to the brim with family obligations and working adulthood, miscommunications in plans and phone tag, helping Ino move yet separately, dead phones and missions and the distraction of trying to rid your skin of the itch that could only be relieved by the other.

“Sounds like an average night playing games with Naruto,” you smile, a small and fragile thing. Your words hang in the air, caught between tact and unfiltered honesty.

“You’re telling me!” Kiba chuckles again, and then he’s seized, freeze-frame, standing in the middle of his room, the phone to his ear, the thrumming of his heart in his ears, in his fingertips. “Anyway, uh…” he inhales, pushing the boundaries of his ribs with the breath, before it leaves him, a forcibly controlled and grounding action. “Hi.”

Ba-dum.

His voice is low and focused on the last syllable, a single word carried by a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Heavy rain, an early Monday morn, hazy heads and hushed morning voices.

“Hi.” You fill your chest with your own deep, grounding breath, almost embarrassed by the immediate smile you don. Flutters of heat fill your stomach, and you shift with nerves as you tell yourself to stay focused, this is your best friend, you’re just calling to get confirmation about the party, that’s all. You’ve spoken to him since then, though not verbally, you can handle his voice, you just need to know about Ino’s party.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” is what he wants to say.

“What’s up?” Kiba asks instead, feigning ignorance to his fiery skin, prickling at the thoughts piling up in his mind; he desperately wanted to hear the squeak of your voice calling his name, to watch and feel you shiver and writhe under the heat of his mouth, on the length of his cock. Back in his arms, where it felt most right, nestled against his heart, your home since the beginning.

He knows it’s more than that, something deeper rooted, complicated and interconnected. He thought about you, in your totality. Your radiating smile, the fire in your eyes, the brilliance with which you shined, every fucking time he saw you. Tacky skin coated in a layer of humidity and sweat, sunflowers and songbirds, the dancing of trees in the wind. He thought about you in the sunlight, an alive and wild thing, and he thought about you in light of the moon, bare skinned and his underneath the soft glow.

“I ache for you,” is what you want to say.

“Oh, uh, nothing much.” You settle on small talk and the task at hand, keeping the conversation minimal while fighting tooth and nail to get your words out to begin with. “We’ve been busy and all, so uh, I was just, ya know, seeing how you were, how your mission was, and, um… oh, and get confirmation for Ino on if you’ll be there tomorrow.” You stumble over your words, pulling your knees to your chest and fidgeting with the hem of your shirt while you try to think about anything but how much you want to invite him over, to impulsively squash this whole thing, once and for all.

And you know it’s more than that, a sentient thing, ebbing and flowing with each breath the both of you take, every heartbeat, a siren’s call from somewhere deep within your chest. You thought about him, in his totality. A fact of life, natural and raw, viscerally authentic, brazen lightning and crackling thunder. You thought of his gaze, intense and direct, and you thought of the moments in which he was caught, line and sinker, before turning away, beet-red cheeks and silent prayers.

Ba-dum.

“Oh shit, her homecoming thing is tomorrow, isn’t it?” Kiba says as he looks around his room, bags still unpacked from his trip, a sweaty hand raking through his hair.

Akamaru huffs at Kiba from the bed, both as an insult and a sound of exasperation.

“It’s ‘housewarming’,” you correct him under the hushed sound of a laugh. “And yes, it’s tomorrow. You forgot, didn’t you?”

Ba-dum.

“I didn’t forget,” he says, plopping himself on the bed next to his furry companion and laying on the dog’s side. How could he forget? He had been restlessly counting down the days for the opportunity to see you, to smell you, to engulf himself in you all over again, even if from across a room and under the guise of a gathering.

“But?” You probe. Something is off, you can tell by the way he doesn’t seem excited about a party—one Ino’s funding, no less. There’s a flatness in his voice that isn’t Kiba, a restraint holding him back, the same forced evenness you’ve heard before.

Ba-dum.

“No ‘but’.” He sighs again, and his breathing hitches as he tries to fill his lungs with another centering breath. “You goin’?”

Ba-dum.

“Well yeah,” you chuckle, tucking your hair behind your ear and gathering the ends on your fingers, searching for split ends. Just tell him, just tell him, open your mouth and tell him and—

“Jun goin’?” There’s a heaviness in Kiba’s tone as the words fall from his mouth. He doesn’t want to know, he truthfully didn’t care, but he needed to show support, you’re his best friend, he just did you a favor—

Ba-dum… Ba-dum…

“Ah, no, actually.” Your breath is hard to bring in, cheeks prickling with raindrops of fire, a lump in your throat, dry and quieting. “He, uh—“

Ba-dum… Ba—

“KIBA!” You hear through the receiver, a loud and demanding voice distant on the other end. What the…?

“Jesus fuck, Hana!” Kiba jolts as the door swings open, his sister rushing through the house to find him. Akamaru, however, remains unbothered. “How did you—why are you breaking into my house?”

“I did not ‘break in’. I have a key.” As the voice get’s closer to the phone, you can hear that it is in fact Hana, Kiba’s older sister. “I told you I was coming over to look at Akamaru’s ‘pimple thing’ tonight, as you described. You’re just an idiot who forgot.”

“That’s two for two, bud,” you jest, the nickname dripping from your voice, more pointed than you anticipated, the title spilling out without hesitation. “You might just be an idiot.”

“Shit, I totally forgot—hey, now,” he clears his throat, addressing Hana first, then you. He pulls the phone away from his face, telling Hana he’d be in out in just a second, that he needed to talk to you about Ino’s party; what he doesn’t say is he desperately needs his sister not to be around him right now, the strain in his pants causing him to shift in his seat. You hear the faintness of their voices before there’s a moment of silence, and then he raises the phone to his ear once more.

“Do you not remember the last time you called me ‘bud’? I can easily and happily remind you.” He’s quiet, methodical about the words he uses, but there’s something more depraved, hungry in his voice, coated with the same sticky-sweet honey that it did the night when he praised you, called you heaven, but no, something darker, more raw than that. He smirks as the words land on you just as he intended; he can tell merely over the phone. He practically feels when you shift in your seat, when your breath catches in your chest like clothes on a branch.

Loose clothes, no clothes, heavy petting and violent storms and—

And he fucking loves it, eating it up, inhaling the delicate, all-encompassing smell of heaven filling his senses from memory, his head spinning, fuck, Hana’s right there, in the other room, keep it together—

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum!

“That’s what I thought. I’ll see you at Ino’s. Good night.” His grin radiates through his words, and before your mouth even opens to respond, he presses the small red circle on the screen of his phone, and the call ends.

And Kiba sits there, dumbfounded in himself for the words that tumbled out before he could catch them, a moment of low defenses and running as wild as his inhibitions took him, as he knew himself to do, to be. The pretending was wearing thin, thinner than the cotton t-shirt clinging to his burning chest, thinner than the silver lining he found in continuing the charade.

He stares at the black, scratched piece of technology in his hands, not registering his own reflection in the cracked screen, or the exaggerated sigh from his white companion, or the way his sister stood outside of the door, leaned against the wall, arms crossed and eyes rolling as she sees right through Kiba’s facade and has for years.

Branches breaking under the weight of wind and rain, sharp thunder cracking above, the flood waters breaking through the dam. A losing game, right from the start.

———

“Where is it?” You mutter as you dig through your closet, a once-organized-jumble-turned-total-chaos as you try to find your other shoe. You’re already late—well, late according to Ino, who requested you be there early, to hang out, have girl time, finish setting up Ino’s apartment with mixed drinks in hand—and you’re more frazzled than desired.

Your hair took longer than you anticipated, you missed two spots when shaving your legs (found at different times, sending you running into the bathroom twice), you couldn’t find your other earring for the longest time, and putting on the sundress you bought just for this occasion made you start to sweat.

“Yes!” You sigh in relief as you find the missing shoe, somehow buried beneath your winter clothes you had recently sorted through. But you find it, finally, and slip it on before returning to your room and standing in front of your full-length mirror.

You smooth out your hair, your earrings peeking out from behind it. The delicate pendant on the necklace Kiba got you for your birthday years ago sits in the hollow of your neck, a gift that’s become part of your identity more than an accessory. The cool metal brushes against your skin as you readjust it, moving the clasp to the back, before your hands even out the fabric of your sundress. It’s almost August, and in the peek of Konoha summer, a dress is your best bet at not overheating. The color is beautiful against your skin, the initial reason for eyeing the dress, but the way it accentuated your body shape—and the pockets—sealed the deal. The remainder of your jewelry is minimal, but the shoes complete the look in a way that allows you to finally exhale the breath that’s been caught in your chest.

When you look down at the bracelets, fidgeting with them, you notice your hands are shaking. What…? You’ve eaten, you’ve been drinking water like crazy—you know better than to not in this heat—and you’re going to Ino’s, one of your favorite people, to celebrate her new home with a bunch of other—

Oh.

You’re at a standstill in your bedroom, waves crashing against a rocky coastline as you remember he will be there, in the flesh. Warmth swells in your abdomen and excitement flutters in your chest at the thought of seeing him, his broad shoulders and bright, toothy grin, his toned arms and angled collarbones and—

A warm evening breeze filters in through your cracked window, your curtains dancing in the wind, and the sweet fragrance of summer is carried in with the light air, sending goosebumps along your arms and legs. The call of cicadas, trees rustling in the summer wind, kids running through the streets. You watch from your window, just for a moment, as a trio of children run alongside the road, chasing each other and bursting with excitement, the true example of joy—a child on a summer day.

It reminds you of a time, a time now quite long ago, of summers gone by with burnt shoulders and scraped knees, of missing baby teeth and growing pains and puberty-driven awkward moments. Summer, the time of skinny dipping and hushed conversations in a tent in your backyard, of sneaking into temples and abandoned houses in the middle of the night, of a first kiss during truth-or-dare—the start of a losing game.

“You’ve got this,” you murmur to yourself, half-affirmation and half-plea to whatever god is listening, if one is at all. After all, you brought this upon yourself, a fantasy now reality, a what-if now concreted as part of your history. Your mind stumbles between the present and the past as you leave the mirror, grab your bag as well as Ino’s gift. As you leave, you lock the door behind you, a flip of your stomach as you think about Kiba leaving that morning through the same door, sending a shiver up your spine.

“You’ve got this.”

———

“No… way…” Ino’s blue eyes widen as she looks down at the ornate, porcelain vase she had been eyeing for a month, now in her hands and lap, decorated in feathered paintbrush strokes depicting the flora of Konoha. You knew Ino had everything she needed for the apartment, from furniture to kitchen gadgets, being the woman she is, so you chose decor instead, a special gift for her and her home.

“It’s just as perfect as it was in the shop window… And I’m definitely putting it on the credenza—it gets such good light—this is—thank you!” The blonde wraps her arms around you in a tight, animated hug.

“Where did you find it?” Sakura leans forward, eyeing the vase and studying its detail. “It’s gorgeous!”

“It looks like the one that was in Ima’s shop, no?” Hinata turns her head to you for confirmation.

“Y-yeah, yes, down by the new bookstore.” You chuckle as Ino stops jostling you around, and you smooth out your dress and adjust the neckline, as if it didn’t emphasize your chest in its design.

Once Ino releases you, she stands and makes her way straight to the aforementioned credenza set in front of the massive window in her living room, trying different spots on the stained wood before she settles on one. The vase is even more homey nestled in the modern, chic apartment Ino chose, but it fits just right all the same. “There! And I think… well, if it’s a new home, welcoming, protection, and… hm, I’ll have to—”

“—worry about that later,” Sakura grins as she beckons Ino back to the living room. “We still have decorations to finish.”

Ino glances at Sakura, feigning offense as she meanders back to her spot on the couch. “Listen, Forehead Girl—”

“Are we doing this again, Ino Pig?” Sakura raises an eyebrow and a playful grin.

“—most everything is done,” Ino continues with a smile of her own as she sips her pink, bubbly drink. “I’m waiting on Sai to get here with drinks and ice with Naruto and Sasuke, Shika should be here with Cho soon, and then Rock, maybe Kiba and Shino. I can’t remember if Neji and Tenten will be here, but couple of other people, for sure.” Her eyes land on you once more. “Will Jun be here? I can’t remember if you told me or not.”

“Ah, about that…” A nervous laugh heaves itself out of your chest, and you’re already bracing yourself for the verbal beating you’re about to receive as you remember you hadn’t uttered a word to anyone about you and Kiba, the thing that did happen, the reason Jun is no longer in the picture and not attending.

“What do you mean, ‘about that’?” Ino turns her whole body toward you, and she folds her arms across her chest with a quirked eyebrow.

“Did something happen?” Hinata straightens in her seat, her pale eyes finding yours with an upturned brow.

“That’s the thing.” You sigh, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Well—”

“No, no no, no. What do you mean, ‘about that’?” Ino is fully invested, her gaze commanding you to start speaking and not stop until you’re done.

Fuck.

“Did he hurt you?” Sakura’s green eyes darken, and you can practically see younger Sakura cracking her knuckles beside her.

“No no, nothing like that, don’t worry.” You shake your head, heat filtering into your cheeks as you let out a nervous laugh. There was a small part of you that begs for the guys to walk in, drinks in hand and oblivious to the conversation, stupid grins in tow, to interrupt the interrogation. You also know Ino would not let this go, even if Sai walked in naked and ready.

“Wait.” Ino holds her hand up, eyes intent on you. “Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up.”

You reluctantly do as she instructs, knowing it’ll go much smoother if you do.

“Walk that way.” Ino directs, pointing at the credenza.

“Ohhh, I know what’s happening.” Sakura murmurs as you get up.

Confused, you meander to the other side of the living room. “What is this about?”

“Now back this way…” She waves her hand, beckoning you, her studious gaze unwavering.

“I see…” Hinata taps her chin with her finger as she watches you intently

“What are you guys—” You begin to question, but she tuts you quiet.

“Ah-ah. C’mon, you have to come back anyways.” Ino bargains. With a sigh of resignation, you walk back toward the couch. Ino eyes you as she had the vase, inspecting every inch and curve. You feel the urge to close in on yourself, but you don’t, and instead make your way to your spot between her and Sakura again.

“You’re not a virgin anymore.” Ino states, her voice carrying the fact through the entire apartment, and she crosses one leg over the other with a sip of her drink.

“That’s ridiculous,” You sputter, genuinely confused but also—you’re caught. “H-How can you tell just by my walking around?” Your face is hot, the sweltering summer heat now suddenly seeping into every inch of your face, your chest, your abdomen. You’ve never been a good liar, especially not to these three. You’re officially caught, a rock and a hard place, suspended in moment between a spark of lightning and the rumble of thunder.

“You do have a different gait…” Hinata murmurs in agreeance, nodding as she looks you over from her chair.

“Was it Jun? Was it it not Jun?” Sakura grins, somehow also seeing whatever it is the other two do. “Oh, it wasn’t Jun! Was it someone we know?”

Oh, fuck.

“It’s someone we know,” Hinata senses, her voice light but sure, and you know there’s a possibility she’s pieced the truth together. She knows how long both you and Kiba have been playing this game of charades, of make-believe. The years of pining, the sexual tension, a long, losing game from the beginning.

“Has to be! Oh, you sly dog, you just didn’t like Jun! So he’s out of the picture, right?” Ino turns her body fully toward you, her mouth agape, a mix of true offense and insatiable curiosity on her face. Your expression alone is satisfactory, because she playfully taps you on the knee and continues. “Why didn’t you just tell us? Who is it!?”

The lock on the front door clicks. Your heart leaps within your chest, lodging itself in your throat, blocking your words, the words you want to scream from the top of your lungs. You don’t look, you can’t, what if it’s him, it can’t be him, he doesn’t have a key to Ino’s—but he does to yours—begging your body to relax, you’ve got this—

“What are we being told?” You hear from behind you, and when you whip your head around, you see Sai, Naruto, and Sasuke piling in from the open front door, taking their shoes off at the front and carrying in an assortment of alcohol and soda, ice bags and curiosity.

“And who did what?” Naruto shouts from behind Sai, trying to stand on his toes to get as much of a visual as possible, not knowing anything other than there’s information he doesn’t know.

Sasuke scans the room, a silent, intuitive notion as closes the door, before his eyes rest on Sakura, who is wordlessly telling him she will absolutely be filling him in later.

Ino’s eyes then fall on you, a soundless conversation with the raise of her eyebrows and tilt of her head downward: “We’re not done—but how much can I say right now?”

And your own gaze answers her, brow upturned and a flat-lined smile, in return: “Later. And right now, nothing.”

Ino shrugs, a forced and subtle thing, the type of shrug Ino does when her mind is already whirring with the next step, the exact moment you can expect debauchery to soon follow. She says nothing further of it, though her eyes flick to Sakura in a way she hopes you don’t see, further concreting your suspicion of her meddling mind at work.

She stands and greets Sai with a loving kiss on the cheek. “Oh nothing, dear. We have a party to prepare for.”

———

“Fuck,” Kiba shudders, his eyes closed so tight he’s seeing spots, his jaw clenched, burning, aching as he seethes through his fanged teeth. He’s shaking, scorched alive under the now-chilled shower water. He huffs against the wet tile, forehead pressed to his arm on the wall, his free hand gritting its nails against the wet surface as he’s imagining your heavenly body instead of his calloused palm, pumping fervently at the pace he wanted to be fucking you to.

The last two weeks of showers and moments alone have been spent just the same. Two weeks of a voracious appetite for you, just you, nothing and no one else except you you you. He thought he was going insane, unable to shake you from permeating his every moment, finding it increasingly difficult to focus, the truth lodged in his chest like a bullet, a savage battle between desire and need.

But tonight, he’d be near you. He’d see you, smell you, touch you, and he wasn't sure his inhibitions wouldn’t take over. He’d danced this fragile dance before, being around you when the moon is full, or when you smell like skin and nectar, or when his mind is one-tracked and desperate for what he’s craving. The difference, now, is that he’s tasted you, a sampling of what the rest of his life could be like, and both his mind and body are steadfast in your direction.

But… are you steadfast in his?

He muffles an agitated, frustrated growl against his arm, his eyes burning as the tension builds and builds and the sudden thought of Jun sends the illusion of release running. Two hefty knocks at the bathroom door further distracts from any sort of release, and Kiba damn near punches through the shower wall.

“Kiba.” A deep voice calls from the other side, and Shino shoves his hand back in his pockets. “Naruto is asking when we will be on the way.”

“I’m fuckin’—ugh!” The brunette scowls, an exasperated exhale heaving from his chest. In discouraged resignation, he shoves off the wall and flicks the tap to cold. His head falls back as he hopes he can somehow wash away the blazing fire settled within his bones, embers now fully ignited, goosebumps forming along his tanned skin. After a few moments, he does one last rinse before stepping out. “I’ll be out in a minute.” He answers Shino, finally, as he yanks his towel from the rack and rubs his skin dry.

Shino, who had already put the pieces together a week and a half ago, who knew his friend had been playing a losing game for years, nodded once, as if Kiba could see him, before going back to the living room and returning to his spot on the couch with Akamaru.

Fifteen minutes later, Kiba leaves the bathroom with a clean-shaven face and brushed teeth, the scent of his cologne and shower following behind him as he walks to his room with long strides. He shrugs on a patterned short-sleeve button-up with warm vintage colors and buttons all but the top three, and then he slips on black pants ripped at the knees, already laid out on his bed. His skin is still boiling, and his mind is still raocing, but he doesn’t feel like he needs to hide in the bathroom anymore, and for now that will have to be enough. His brow pulls together as he rummages around for socks and his black boots. He clips on a thin chain and puts on a beaded bracelet, one you had bought him for Christmas a couple years back, a part of his personality rather an accessory.

With a swift collection of his personal affects—phone, keys, wallet—a quick styling of his hair in the bathroom—if anyone could call it ‘styling’, as it was more of a hasty run-through with his hands with a bit of product—and a check over himself, he waltzes into the living room, looking through his notifications to see if any where from you.

His heart sinks, only a little, and a little meaning to the bottom of his stomach, when the guys group chat and YouTube notifications are all he sees.

“Why are you nervous?” Shino asks as he stands, his eyes still on his phone as he finishes a message to Naruto letting him know Kiba is finally ready and they’d be there shortly.

“What the hell would I be nervous about?” Kiba links his fingers together and stretches his hands over his head, his elbow and lower back popping as a result. There’s a hushed laugh on his voice, paired with a bright grin, but Shino isn’t convinced.

“You had me review your outfit,” Shino answers as he tucks his phone and hands away, his eyes meeting Kiba’s from behind his glasses. “Your shower was almost forty minutes long, and you have been checking your phone consistently. You are nervous about something.”

“Listen, bug boy, if I needed you to time my showers—” The brunette falls out of his stretch, his body suddenly tense again, darkening eyes narrowed on his friend, a finger pointed in Shino’s direction.

“And you are settling on insults and deflection,” Shino raises an eyebrow from behind his glasses, “instead of answering me.”

“You’re really fuckin’ irritating.” Kiba grumbles, wrinkling his nose in something akin to a snarl without the sound. The inability to finish, paired with his nerves, his racing mind, and anticipation of more pretending made him beyond irritable, a ticking time bomb. That night, the act of service was for Jun, not for him; it wasn’t a favor for him at all, just a teaching moment, an old street dog teaching an angel how to do tricks. That was the agreement, to teach you to be good for Jun, not to have his mind clouded with you, his will and resolve slipping with every moment. Instead, a breath thick with uncertainty and further resignation heaves out of him. “But you’re right. I just… don’t want to ruin tonight.”

“How would you ‘ruin tonight’?” Shino inquires, leading Kiba towards the door with a step towards it.

Kiba opens his mouth, closes it. Mulls over his words. Clears his throat. How does he explain this?

“I-I—” Kiba inhales, his voice failing him. “I did something with a friend, a while back. Not really a while but…” Kiba starts, the vibrant flashbacks creeping into his mind once more, a reel of scenes and sensations causing him to stumble over his words. “It was… sexual, and it was perfect, but it—I don’t know what do to about it, I can’t stop thinking about it, and then this fucking party—”

The young Aburame has spent enough time with Kiba to read his broken code. Kiba, with Shino and the rest of the guys, isn’t typically cryptic and apprehensive when it came to talking about his sexual endeavors. Respectfully detailed, Shino affectionately termed Kiba’s approach to sharing his times with women. But this? The forced anonymity, the vagueness in his description, the information Shino already possessed? Shino’s suspicions are confirmed—something happened between you and him, something broke the dam, the cage opened for the beast to finally lay it’s claim, the true other side of Kiba—he just wants to hear Kiba admit it. However, from behind his glasses and his mask, his expression is inquisitive and unknowing. “Kiba, be straightforward. I do not understand.”

Words mangle in Kiba’s throat, a dryness he isn’t used to, the rock of uncertainty blocking his voice. He swallows, trying to alleviate the sensation, clear the blockage, tell his close friend, his right hand on missions, the damned, godforsaken truth. Clammy hands, deafening thunder, burning skin. For once, Kiba doesn’t have the words.

“We… did it…” Kiba confesses, his words lingering along the walls of his apartment, another understanding between the two men, unspoken and weighty. “I finally… with her. It… it happened, and I don’t know how to… not, ya’ know—”

“She is yours in the Inuzuka way, is she not?” Shino says after a few moments of contemplation, his voice quiet as he watches his friend struggle with his words. Both of the men know the meaning behind Shino’s words: the wild beast inside of Kiba has made it’s decision, has found the person it requires, the forever companion. ‘She’ is you, will always be you, has always been you, no matter how much time has passed, no matter the circumstance.

“Yeah,” Kiba chokes out, a scoffed chuckle following after. “And she has no idea.”

———

What started out as a selective group of invite-only attendees for a “lowkey, relaxed hangout and celebration”—Ino’s words, not yours—turned into Ino telling nearly everyone she knew about her housewarming party.

Nearly everyone she told showed up.

It wasn’t long after Sai and the guys walked in that others started to arrive; some you were acquainted with and others you didn’t know at all. You busied yourself with setting up food and drinks in the kitchen, ensuring paper plates and plastic cups were fully stocked and the ice cooler was full. You didn’t want to check your phone or even the time as your nerves continued to pick at themselves. Instead, you did everything to be out of the direct view of the front door, to not pay attention to who came in and out, to keep your mind off of the impending confrontation, albeit wanted and yearned for.

Music plays through the speakers in the living room, permeating through the sea of moving bodies, the bass echoing underneath your feet and drumming within your bones. Ino’s apartment is fairly sized, but it’s small with how many people are packed into it. Others stand along the wall and sit on the moved furniture, talking, sipping on unlabeled drinks and labeled bottles.

You’re taken back to the summer parties Ino used to throw in your late teens, sneaking booze through wildflower fields and trying to find the bonfire, a signal in the dark to lead you to the fun and freedom of summer nights. Burnt shoulders and burnt marshmallows, clammy hands and thrumming heartbeats, hopes of washing away blazing desire in a nearby lake.

Tonight feels just like those nights; there’s a wildness in the air, sweet and alluring on the tip of your tongue, the inkling of change and the element of chaos brought in on the breeze coming through Ino’s open windows and sliding back door.

As your eyes scan the dimly-lit apartment, faces blending into one vision, you see him. Time slows. A beacon on a stormy night, the storm and the guide, all in one. You’ve acquired your target, and you’re unable to relinquish the visual.

Ba-dum.

A prickle of heat burns your cheeks, as you watch him look around, eyes narrowed in search of something, before Shikamaru and Naruto burst through the crowd and erupt in welcoming cheers. Your chest flutters with bass-heavy heartbeats, heavier than the music resonating in the walls.

Ba-dum.

He looks so good, the colors of his shirt complimenting his tanned skin. The top buttons are undone, exposing his chest, displaying bare muscle and the glint of his chain under flowing fabric. You swear you catch the scent of his cologne from here, though you know you’re not him, your nose doesn’t work as his. As he grins in greeting to the group, your eyes land on the sharpened edges of his canines, more pronounced tonight than they normally are. Your eyes map the expanse of his shoulders and chest, the definition of his arms, the way his tendons move in his hands as he talks with them. Something about him seems bigger, larger than life, more than Kiba already is. Electricity in the air, thick clouds heavy with rain, the natural disaster that is Kiba, a violent storm.

Ba-dum.

You’re losing yourself in him, even from across the room. Your veins are liquid fire. Your abdomen pulses with an all-familiar heat. He’s the only person here, and you’re hooked, line and sinker, while you drink him in—in his totality. Melted ice in a glass, a cracked window, the hum of cicadas and favors from a friend who hasn’t been just a friend in a long, long time.

Ba-dum.

You hear your name called beneath the music, pulling you back to the present, a vacuum of time and space where it’s no longer just you and Kiba but the rest of Konoha, it seems. When you turn, Ino and Sakura are approaching you, arms linked, and you catch Hinata meandering her way back to Naruto out of the corner of your eye.

The moment your eyes are off of him, he finds you, a lit fire, a signal in the dark to lead him, guide him. He knew where you were before he saw you, his defined senses directing him to his true north. The drone of voices around him muffle into white noise as he soaks you in, a divine visage, just across the room. His face falls from boisterous laughter, his dark eyes tracing the outline of your nose and lips, silken legs underneath the shortened length of your dress skirt.

Right there, you’re right there, and the ever-permeating taste of you fills his senses. He catches the sparkle of the pendant on your neck, his eyes scanning for the marks he left on you he knows are now long gone. Saliva pools in his mouth as he drinks in every part of you, dinner and dessert on a silver plater, just for him. The bass of his heartbeat pierces his chest, the echo of it pulsing in his ears, in the palms of his hands.

An elbow jabs into Kiba’s side, courtesy of Shino, a reminder to remain present as Hinata joins the group at Naruto’s side and greets Kiba, pulling him back to those in front of him. Swaying tree branches, ripples in the water, a beacon through the storm.

“Well, this isn’t suspicious…” you joke as you busy yourself with your drink, hiding behind the red cup.

“What ever could you mean?” Sakura grins, the smell of alcohol and something else, something sweet and spiced, hitting you as she comes to your side.

“I don’t know,” you fold your arms over your torso and raise an eyebrow, “Ino and Sakura? Linked arms, attached at the hip? Something’s up.”

“Please.” Ino waves her hand, swatting away the accusation. “Just checking on you, y’know, Little Miss Mystery.”

You laugh, both the nerves and the meddling gaze of your friends bubbling inside of you. “I really did mean to tell you both. Hinata, too. I just—it’s complicated.”

“I understand complicated,” the young Haruno grins, and her arm slips away from Ino’s as the blonde digs in her pocket for something. “You’ll talk when you’re ready.”

“Was I right, though?” Ino asks, glancing down at her pocket as the alcohol makes her fumble with the fabric of her shorts.

“What do you mean?” You lower the cup in your hand, setting it on the counter, as Ino produces a vial of light amber liquid, two shades above honey.

It’s not unusual for Ino to craft her own perfume oils, blends of fragrances for any occasion. “About knowing how a man feels about you when you fuck ‘im.”

“I think…” you start, and your fingers tighten on your arms, the casual act of closing in on yourself. “I think that’s the problem. I think I know, but that makes it even more complicated.”

“Well,” Sakura leans in, a mischievous glint in her gaze mixing with the glossiness of mild intoxication. “What was it like?”

“Considering I don’t have much to compare it to?” You chew on the inside of your cheek, flashes of that night flooding your senses. The images dance in your brain, from the way he smelled to the way his mouth felt on your skin. Him moving against you, in you, breathy and restrained, coy and all-consuming. “It was… amazing.”

Kiba Inuzuka, in his totality.

Kiba, from across the room, is suffering. The tension ravaging his muscles, the dizzying scent of your skin, the fissures of lightning in his fingertips—all sending blood rushing through his veins, pumping, racing, flooding.

He can’t help but steal glances at you, unable to process the words Naruto and Choji are throwing at him as he watches you throw your head back and laugh, grab your arms, close in—a shift. The absence of his presence on your skin, on your scent furthers his desire to rectify it; his skin crawls as he itches to go over to you; why wouldn’t he? He’s your best friend, everyone in the room knows, it wouldn’t be weird, he could just go over—

“Look at her,” Ino nudges Sakura with a light giggle. “All red in the face. It must have been something.”

Sakura ignores Ino’s poking at you with a playful roll of her eyes and a smile. “If it was a good first time, then I’m happy for you, regardless of who it was.”

“But who was it?” Ino leans in, fire behind her eyes. “Are they here? At least tell us that.”

“Uh…” you feign, and you grasp at the opportunity to glance over your shoulder, scan the room, soak him in again. You know where he is, your beacon in the night, but you play the game, not oust him within one look.

His dark eyes are settled on you when you reach him in the ensemble of guests. A caught breath in your lungs stills the world. Heat blooms in your cheeks, blossoms of pink against your skin, hot embers waiting for the right breath of air to rekindle the flames.

His gaze is different. Depraved. Hunting you from across the room. There’s a sinfulness in his dark irises, the way in which a starved beast eyes its prey. You’ve seen this look, this savage gaze fixated on someone of Kiba’s desires—but never you. At least, not until now, in the middle of Ino’s new apartment, after that one fateful night.

Flustered, you move your eyes along, craning your neck until your line of sight is blocked by a wall, and you turn back to your friends, inhaling deeply. “Yes. They are.”

“Ooo! Okay, then how about we make this fun: either tell us, flat out, right here, every detail, or—” Ino grins, and then she holds up the perfume vial she had been fidgeting with “—or you put this on, and we play detective. I wanted to show you this earlier anyway, but… we got distracted.”

“A perfume?” You raise an eyebrow, taking the warm glass in your fingertips. Both options weigh about the same in your mind, knowing Ino well enough that either way, it would be nerve-wracking. You unscrew the cap and hold it in front of your nose. A long inhale fills your chest, dissecting the various notes within the blend. It’s not unusual for Ino to craft her own perfume oils, but this? This one seems different. It’s the same scent you caught earlier when the girls approached you: sweet and spiced, earthy, alluring. “What makes this one special? It smells fantastic, either way.”

“It’s a special blend,” Sakura explains, evidently in on the scheme.

“I want to know the entirety of this agreement.” You grin as you take another whiff of the perfume.

“There’s bergamot, tiny bit of cinnamon, interestingly enough rose, couple of other things,” the blonde explains as you smell yourself, throwing her mane of hair over her shoulder before screwing on the cap tucking the bottle away. “As well as pheromone oil.”

Ba-dum.

Your mind immediately goes to Kiba and his heightened senses, his sense of smell being the main one. The same devilish part of you that led you to ask him in the first place prickles at the back of your brain, sending a rush of heat through your veins. An insatiable curiosity as you wonder what would happen, if anything at all, the impish drive to indulge in the what if, to test if the natural disaster that rushed through your very core was imagined or really, truly there.

If anything, you’d smell delightful.

“I hope you’re good detectives,” you say as you lift the vial to your neck, the exposed roller ball of the perfume vial rubbing against the soft spot below one, both of your ears, two quick circles of the honey liquid on each side. It’s warm on your skin, having been in Ino’s pocket, and the scent radiates from below your jaw to your nose. It blends with your own scent in a way not many perfumes did. You roll another circle of the perfume on your wrist, and you dab them together to diffuse the oil along your skin before bringing one up to your nose to inhale how it smells on you. It mixes well with what you’re already wearing, and the oil itself melts into your skin. You twist the cap back on hand it back to Ino, a small smile on your face. “Or I’m good at ‘playing the game'.”

“I love when you decide to appease my mischief,” Ino smirks as she tucks the bottle in her pocket.

“I wish you would also just… tell us.” Sakura admits.

“That takes all the fun out of it! I mean at this point, might as well make it fun, y’know?” The blonde sighs with satisfaction before plopping her hands on her hips. “Then in that case, let the games begin. I, personally, want to go bother my man.”

“Oh, it looks like Kiba and Shino did make it. And Rock, too. Sasuke looks like he’s on the edge of brooding so… Yeah, I’m gonna go, too. You comin’?” The young Haruno’s eyes fall on you as Ino meanders her way through the kitchen, stopping to greet others as she passes, grabs a green bottle from the fridge, and saunters over to Sai and the others.

You desperately need a moment, just a moment, to collect yourself. A moment to look yourself over, to give your self the pep-talk you need to continue this charade, fighting on the losing side of this years-long game. You need a moment to remind yourself your place, right now, is not at his side, to just be his friend, to enjoy Ino’s party and figure the rest out later. Your eyes flick to the guest bathroom, and the light is on.

“I’m gonna use Ino’s bathroom, I think someone is in the guest one, but I’ll meet you over there when I’m done.”

“Okay, sounds good! And good luck.” Sakura grins, and with that, she, too, disappears across the room, finding her place at Sasuke’s side.

Kiba’s nose locked in on you from the moment you opened the perfume roller, and he fought the urge to visibly react when you put the transparent liquid on. It tickled his nostrils, pulling him in like a beggar to a bakery. The promise of heaven was teasing him yet again, salvation from the torment the past two weeks have been.

With the lightning in his flesh soon came the low grumble of distant thunder, the growl of something darker than the night. The metal of the cage containing the beast inside rattles with a distinct ring in his mind’s ear, the first of many warning signs that the gates were to be opened soon, where he typically made sure he was distanced, away from you, unable to tarnish something so valuable to him.

By the time you made your way through Ino’s bedroom to her bathroom, with the veil between fantasy and reality torn, shredded and discarded on your living room floor, with the saliva pooling in his mouth and the heat bubbling in his lower abdomen, Kiba knew whatever was in that bottle sealed the fate on how tonight would unfold—at least for him. There is no getting away from it, the point of no return: he needed you, somehow, someway, it didn’t matter. His hands itched to feel your warmth, learn every inch all over again. His lungs gasped to inhale and succumb to that tantalizing fragrance lingering on your skin, nuzzle himself in your neck and intoxicate himself on you. His mouth craved every part of you, to devour you while you melt in his mouth, dinner and dessert, just for him.

Kiba’s eyes don’t leave you until you disappear into Ino’s bedroom, something always in the fucking way. He hesitates, a distressed attempt at fighting what every cell in his body begged for. Time ticks, the sync between the thudding of his heart and the seconds passing by agonizing. Then, without a word or second thought, his defenses crumble, and his body leads him towards his true north, feet walking without conscious guidance. It’s innate to him, to be near you, to relish in your presence, to settle into the peace you bring him. And now, with the added layer of wanting to feed his insatiable appetite for you…

He can’t pretend any longer.

You flick on the light switch after closing the door behind you. The walls do a decent job of muting the volume of the common area, a reprieve away from the stimulation and bustle of the party. A dull ringing reverbs in your ear at the noise difference. Bracing yourself against the bathroom counter with your hands, you eyes fall closed as you focus on the cold countertop underneath your hot palms, the sound of a car driving by, the beat of your pulse in your ears and chest.

Mind spinning, the reels of the film showcasing the past whirring as they play in your head. Why? Why did Kiba’s presence settle inside your bones as if your ribcage is his home? What did you think would happen after you finally, finally learned the way his touch felt, the kind of touch that was no longer platonic but something otherworldly, entirely foreign to anything you had experienced? Why did you want his hands to find their place along your hips, leverage and intimate touches, fingers intertwined?

What you don’t hear are the silent, stalking movements of Kiba as he snakes his way into Ino’s bedroom, following the trail of scent you’ve left behind. Deliberate and mindless, his innate response to you is to follow; since the beginning, it has been. No matter how far, he’s never lost you, always able to pinpoint his north star regardless of clouded skies. He never imagined one night of defenses down, of giving in would tilt his world on its side, unable to discern up from left until here you are, in front of him, in the flesh.

His eyes take on a different look altogether as he opens the door to the bathroom and passes the threshold. Pupils inflamed, dark and darker still his gaze, with a golden hue bleeding into the irises, the same color of filtered afternoon sunlight, the eyes of his jutsu. The bathroom smelled like Ino and Sakura, like water from the shower and cleaning supplies, but above the concoction of stringent chemicals and floral lotions is you.

Ba-dum.

Dripping like honey he’s watched you lick off your fingers, your scent, up close, is potent, all-encompassing, dizzying. The strain in his jeans is nothing compared to the gnashing of the beast below his sternum, the other side of Kiba, the side of Kiba that wants to indulge in this game, make a point, show you how you’ve made him suffer. A slow, haunting saunter, covering one, two, three steps—he imagines this in the middle of the woods, he can’t help it, hunting you down, his to take.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

He locks the door behind him, another deliberate and mindless action, before his eyes fall on you, bright and focused on their target. His studious and bewitched gaze trails from your hair to your bare shoulder blades, down the arch of your back as you’re leaned over, slightly, ass perked up, the skirt of your dress too short, not short enough, easy access. He soaks you in, every detail, as you’re completely oblivious to his presence, caught up in your head as you often are.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Not a cell in his body tells him to wait, to consider the implications, to utter a word before he’s behind you, eyes downcast—starved and golden—as he towers over you, his hands, firm and sure, grasping your hips in fistfuls of fabric and desperation. He tugs you close, a fast movement that jerks you out of your racing mind, and he fills his lungs with the smell of your hair, clean and hinted with your natural scent, as your back collides with his front.

“What the—” you gasp, jolting at the sudden contact, your heart jolting with panic. Your mouth opens as your eyes do the same, but your voice is silenced by his large palm, a muffled “mmph” vibrating the skin. Your eyes are wide and on the both of you in the mirror, and he meets your gaze from under his brow.

You refrain from squirming under his fixed look. The wildness in his energy is something you’ve never experienced, nothing you could even conjure up in your wildest imagination. You can practically feel him bussing, see the flames in his pupils as if something is ignited inside of him. Even if you had the words, you aren’t sure you’d find your agency to speak.

After the moment of recognition, Kiba turns you around, chest to chest, and you look up at him through your eyelashes, lips parted, brow pulled together and upturned, pleading to end this torment—one way or the other. He leans down, inching his nose toward the curve of your neck as he moves his hand to the nape, wrapping his fingers in your hair to tilt your head more, to give him space, to let him in. He can’t think of anything else other than inhaling you, tasting your skin, devouring you. His other arm wraps around your waist, a large hand splayed on your side as the sticky sweet scent of you causes an involuntary jerk of his hips, his pelvis grinding against yours, desperate for the friction and heat of your body.

Flutters of warmth blossom in your abdomen, pulsing at a focal point between your legs. You try to pinch them together, but his legs find themselves between yours, thumbing you in place, right where he wants you. Your butt slides onto the lip of the counter as you lift yourself on your toes, opening yourself up to him, your body also starved of his touch, his warmth.

“Kiba, what are you—” you whisper, struggling to pick what to hold to ground yourself as he buries himself in the crook of your neck and inhales the perfume of heaven. There’s a battle within you: to succumb to his touch or fight it, tooth and nail, as you have been for years. Your hands find purchase on his upper arms as he bathes in your fragrance, clinging to handfuls of the smooth fabric of his top.

His body is fiery against yours, heat radiating off of him like the wildfire he lit inside of you. Every part of him is tense, pulled taut, guitar strings ready to break at the first pluck. The bubbling of thunder, the crack of lighting, the brewing of a relentless storm.

“For the past two weeks,” he rasps against your skin, the brushing of his lips along your sensitive neck sending goosebumps along your arms. His hands are shaking as he holds onto you, careful and yet too careful. The wrought iron containing the animal inside him are crumbling, and he’s fighting every urge carried in the lightning in his fingertips. “For two weeks I have been in fucking hell.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” You ask, your words falling quiet and meek.

His hips grind against yours, more intentionally this time, and you can feel what he’s referring to, right through the fabric of your soaked underwear.

Both of you know he doesn’t need to say anything. That’s what friends are for, after all.

Your hips buck as he laps his flattened tongue along your neck, from the curve to your earlobe. A small sound escapes you, something caught between a whine and a sigh, causing Kiba’s ears to burn and his grip on you to tighten. The more his senses are saturated in you, in your totality, the more his resolve slips.

“I’ve tasted you,” he answers finally, his voice husked, restrained. “And I need more.”

Flames course through your veins as he speaks to you. Memories of fantasies gone by flood your mind, flashes of desires you imagined Kiba fulfilling, and hearing his voice, this depraved and forcibly controlled, is more than you could imagine.

“We shouldn’t, not here.” “I fucking need you.” “Please kiss me.” The words bubble in your throat, wanting to come to the surface and pop, but they’re caught, like clothes on tree branches, as your feet carry you onward.

Another long lick on your neck, bars of a cage breaking as they’re clawed at, before he circles the tip of his tongue against it. The appendage is hot and long, flicks of fire laced within his sampling of your skin once more.

Your hips move against his, the transference of his mouth to your throbbing cunt making you do so. You can’t help it—you need him.

“Kiba—Kiba, we’re at Ino—” you sigh, your head falling back more, and your body starts to mold to him as he kisses your skin sloppily.

He changes sides, suckling at your neck and letting out small huffs as his movements are gradually becoming more desperate. He’s finally tasting you again; he can’t help it—he needs you.

“Then tell me no.” He pulls away from you, intense eyes finding yours, his hand in your hair guiding your head to look at him. His pupils dilate further, black holes pushing the boundaries of golden irises, and his nose brushes against yours as he taunts, nearly begging you to deny your nature to be right here with him. “Go on. Tell me no.”

You’re enraptured, clay in his hands. Your eyes fixate on his. You search them, a maybe we shouldn’t, any hint of uncertainty. When you don’t find what you’re looking for, and instead find steadfast, earnest desperation, you submit and lean into his touch, your body settling against his.

“I can’t.” You answer in a choked whisper, the bell of admission tolling in your ears.

A flicker dances in his eyes, the spark of tinder, the right gust of air reigniting the cooling embers. Within a breath’s inhale and the flash of a devilish smirk, his lips are on yours, the timid dance skipped altogether as the rains come pouring down, the floodgates opening. He releases your hair and grabs you by the waist, both hands grasping at your hips, and picks you up with ease and places you on the ledge of the counter. His body is close to follow, filling the space between your legs, still too many layers in the way.

The kiss is messy, fervent, raw. You’re spinning, free-falling as you soak in every aspect of the moment, fully enveloped. Pleasured sighs and breathy grunts fill the silence the kiss itself does not, and hearing him only drives you further into the madness unfolding. Your ears ring as his hot hands travel your body, tugging at the fabric of your dress as he wants it gone but basks in how it hugs your body, shows enough, not enough, just the right amount. His hands massage your thighs, hiking the skirt up until it’s bunched at your pelvis, and he pulls your near-exposed core against his.

Just one, two, three layers between you and him; you’re spiraling, and your hips move against him on their own, grinding, consistent. The sensation of his clothed length against you sends you reeling, and you crave the feeling of his bare skin, his cockhead rubbing against your clit, your entrance, nothing in the way. As more time passes, the more you succumb to the fact your desires are mutating into impatient and anguished needs.

Kiba’s hands continue to tremble, only slightly, but not from fear or nerves. You’re his in the Inuzuka way, and his first dip in your waters was enough to concrete it. But with that confirmation came the withdrawal, the sickness of not having you again, of not also being yours in your way. The level of control, of fighting his instincts manifested in shaky hands with firm holds, intentional yet impassioned. The mental images he created of you in a desperate attempt to replicate the initial experience almost scared him: chasing you through the thick foliage of the Konoha forests, a taboo game of hide and seek; marking you with his mouth all over your neck and shoulders, bite marks and blood and purple bruises, all his, using the contact as leverage as he bucks into you, mounted and rearing; your back in the shape of a crescent moon as his hands, clenched around your throat, pull you back to bury himself as deep as your body allows him—and then a little deeper, pushing your body’s boundaries. He fantasized about being rough with you, rough with you in ways that catered strictly to his carnal desires, about laying his claim and ensuring the whole village knows you’re his and his alone.

His hands continue to roam, feverishly, handfuls of thighs and breasts, his mouth leaving yours once more to lick and kiss at your neck, battling the urge to bite down, to suck at your skin until you’re covered in pulsing bruises. You melt in his mouth, soft as butter against his wet tongue and swollen lips. His head whirs as he hears you whimper his name, a pathetic little sound that causes his cock to twitch and throb beneath his jeans.

The friction, the kissing, the wandering hands, and the sounds of quieted pleasure add to the swelling of hot pressure in your clit, and you wonder, for a moment, if you could cum like this. Any morsel of sanity scatters and vanishes into thin air. How does he make you weightless, unbound by the laws of nature? How can he so easily unwind you, tug at the strings holding you together just to have you crumble apart and become your vessel all the same?

“I need you to know…” he husks into your ear, growled and demanding. “Exactly how my hell has been.”

You’re stumbling to center yourself when he peels away from you, his fingers hooked on your underwear. His warm tongue trails down your neck to your collarbone, nipping at your flesh while his hands make work of pulling your underwear off and tucking them in his pocket. You gasp at the sudden cold air against your hot cunt, the sudden disappearance of your pantiesn. I another moment, he’s kneeled before you, eyes hungry as he moves your legs over his shoulders. His fingers dig into your soft thighs as he scoots you closer, eager to pull you against his mouth once more, to taste the skin of your inner thighs.

As he does, your hands clamor on the counter, knocking over bottles and pushing make up out of the way as you secure places to brace yourself. Your eyes refuse to leave him, captured by the image of him between your legs. You are fire, embers bursting to life with the right breath of air.

“K-Kiba—haa—” You start, but cohesive words are cut short and replaced with a breathy exhale when his mouth suckles down on your thigh, more sloppy kisses along your tender and sensitive skin. Without a second thought, your legs open for him more, wanting nothing in the way, letting him in.

His nails press into you, small stings of security, his grasp on you unrelenting. He doesn’t want you going anywhere, and he’s prepared to hold you in place for when you squirm against him. Your scent soaks every inhale. His blood courses through is veins, ravaging rapids, a river after pouring rain. This close to his dessert, his inhibitions slip through his hourglass hands like sand, and he decorates your other thigh in laps and kisses before his heady mouth clamps down on your thigh, sucking with teeth barred against your flesh, carnivorous and frantic, bringing your blood to the surface, his his his. He moans against you, a muffled and gruff sound, his eyebrow pulled together as his reserves are slipping.

A squeak escapes your clenched jaw, and you bite down on your lip in a pitiful attempt to quiet your noises. You wiggle underneath him, the pain laced with a level of pleasure you don’t expect. It’s sharp, his bite, but combined with his own failing restraint in quieting himself, the vibration of his arousal at every point of contact makes your skin burn, and you stare down at him and lean into his mouth and touch.

When he hears you, his ears flare with heat, and he smirks against you, a subtle notion, before he runs his tongue along your new mark. He’s drunk on your fragrance alone, throwing caution to the wind as he traces his flattened tongue along his own teeth marks, up your thigh—his eyes find yours now, a shimmer of a glow to them as he watches you—over your mound, close so close. He’s torturing you, his hot breath radiating against your pulsing core, dragging this out as long as he can, before his tongue makes its way to your other thigh, further up but not where you want him, and replicates his work, another love bite to match your other.

You buck your hips, unable to do anything but. You fight the urge to cry out, to moan his name, to beg for him to fulfill your desires all over again, to push the boundaries while you fulfill his.

“Impatient,” he mutters, though his own hips jerk against the restraint of his pants, craving the friction he once had. Another round of teasing, insufferable teasing, tracing his tongue across the expanse of you.

“Need I remind you we’re in Ino’s ba-haa, shit!” Your measly words are cut short, again. This time, though, by the sizzle of lightning, by the dams opening, by Kiba’s tongue finally, finally making contact with your cunt.

His head spins as he drags his tongue from your entrance to your clit, savoring your sticky-sweet taste, ambrosia on his lips. The sound that comes out of him is something he can’t control, a growled sigh of reprieve. “Oh god…”

Ice clinking in a glass, fragrant flowers thick with bloom, dripping fruit on a summer’s day.

He juts his hips against his jeans, your flavor causing his cock to pound, the gnashing of the beast within. It takes everything in his power to not unravel here, right here, to take you, to feel the flutter of your walls and the completeness that comes with being united with you, to spill the contents of his mind like the downpour of rain.

Instead, he repeats himself, over and over, lapping his tongue up your slit, collecting your nectar on his tastebuds and drinking you in.

Your hand covers your mouth, the physical manifestation of your urgency to not get caught, and you moan against it. Your head falls back, and your eyes clench shut, reminding yourself you need to be quiet. Despite the loud music and hum of conversation, you don’t trust yourself—not in this moment. His mouth sends a shiver up your spine, and you’re unfolding on Ino’s counter.

“So good, fuck,” he groans, pushing himself against you, nose pressed to your mound as he runs his tongue along your swollen bud, flicking, methodical, circling.

When Kiba’s eyes find yours once more, his thick tongue teases your entrance, eyelids falling half-hooded. He travels back up, toying with and rolling your clit with his tongue, huffing as he does so, his head spinning as he relishes in your taste.

You shudder again, a shaky breath leaving your lips as you watch him consume you, his intoxicated demeanor telling you he’s enjoying this as much as you are.

The swelling of a violent storm.

“Kiba…” You whimper, needy and pleading, his name only driving him further into madness.

His mouth encompasses your core as he delves his long tongue into you, bringing himself as deep as he can. One of his hands falls, grasping at his cock and massaging the length through his jeans. He moans against you, his tongue fucking into your tightening core. Dribbles of his slick collect on his underwear as pleasure builds in his abdomen, palming himself, not a second thought to the fact he’s here with you other than he is here with you.

You pant in place of little noises as your hand falls, gathering his hair in your shaky grasp, and you offer a feeble attempt at grinding yourself against him.

“Haa-ah, huu-oh fuck…” you breathe out, the air catching in your throat, body buzzing, head light.

He smirks as you tighten around him, and another depraved huff escapes his chest. His attention falls on your swollen clit once more, sloppy and inebriating movements, a flattened, wet tongue slurping up your goodness, a violent and tactful assault on your thrumming cunt, heavy pulses in sync with your heartbeat.

Your hand tightens in his hair. The swelling of pressure in your core jerks your hips and tightens your legs around him. Needy tears threaten your eyes, you’re close, so close. You’re set to unravel at any moment, legs trembling.

“F-fuck, fuck… oh, god… L-like that—fuck…” Pleasured sighs tumble from your lips.

Kiba lets out a choked whine, and he forcefully removes his hand from himself as the fire under his skin is causing the water to boil, worsening the itch to cross the line more than he already has, to shove his cock into your tight pussy and fill you with his cum, repeatedly, right here—

“I-I’m gonna—” You gasp, your body stiffening as release is only so many laps, only so many circles away—

And then nothing.

No hands gripping your thighs, nails digging into the skin. No mouth on your sensitive, pink slit, now left cold and soaked in your juices and his saliva. One moment, you’re on the brink of bliss, warmed by the furnace that is Kiba’s body—the next, he’s looming over you, leaning down to brace his hands on either side of you, not an inch of skin in contact.

You let out a miserable and pathetic sound—a restraint cry, a desperate whine—as you lurch forward, fixing your center of gravity when he leaves you, your hand covering your mouth to not let your frustration pour out anymore than it has.

“That is what you do to me.” Kiba rasps as he leans down, his chest heaving, his eyes inflamed as they catch yours. Your wetness coats his lips and chin, and his eyes are fully golden, a glimmer of glow, afternoon sunlight.

Somewhere, deep within you, you can’t help but meet his gaze, an innate call to attention, a command.

“That is what the last two weeks have been like. On the edge, wanting you—” He starts, words sharp in the air, but he chokes the words down. He needs to put distance between you two; otherwise, all of Konoha will know you’re his. “Welcome to hell. And whatever was in that perfume was your ticket in.”

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