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It's hard to explain what Neteyam has with you.
You were loud, annoying, conceited and a brat that didn’t even deserve to be called an actual competition against him. Where he worked hard to succeed, it was like everything in your life was just given to you by sheer luck. He knew it wasn't rational, not even fair, but he couldn't help it. You were pissing him off with everything you did.
Neteyam was the first to undergo his iknimaya and you followed suit, both of you succeeding on the first try. Neteyam was good with the bow, but you were just as good. You were a great hunter, but he was even better. You were faster, he was stronger. Both of you were incredibly smart. And when Neteyam was one of the youngest Omatikaya to make a clean kill during a sturmbeest hunt, you came along and robbed him of his title. It was as if you were taunting him.
No, definitely, Neteyam couldn’t stand you.
But those feelings were mutual.
As if it wasn’t already hard enough to prove to everyone that you were just as talented as he was, Neteyam seemingly took great pleasure competing with you in literally anything you did. There was something about the way he held his head high, so proud and confident in himself, it made you want to puke. He was a spoiled brat, acting like you were always just lucky and that’s it. Not an actual threat to him and his reputation. You were working so hard for all of this and he took this whole thing like it was a silly game. A way of passing time.
You couldn’t even hunt for your own food, without him showing off that his kill was bigger. Couldn’t even weave something for yourself, without him walking around in something that had much more complex patterns the next day, obviously fishing for compliments from other clan members, before they could even acknowledge your own work.
But you had your ways of getting revenge for his stupid behavior. Oh how you loved talking shit about him, to the pretty girls you had caught him sweet talking to. Making them avoid him, the next time he tried to flirt with them, giggling behind his back as they left him standing with that dumb, confused look on his face. It was probably partly your fault he hasn’t found himself a mate yet.
Neteyams way of staying calm while he felt his blood boil in his veins made him feel like a kid, but it was you, the brat. It was you.
So he repaid the favor by starting rumors about you that made all the guys your age whistle behind your back whenever you walked by. None of them were true, obviously. But there was something so satisfying to him, in the way you would get into trouble for throwing your fist at whatever poor guy actually believed you would suck his dick if he just asked nicely enough.
It was an endless back and forth with the two of you, always competing who was better, faster, stronger, smarter…. and neither of you could actually outdo the other. There was never a true winner.
But if there was one thing you both had in common, one thing you both strongly agreed on, it was probably the fact that you hated each others guts from the bottom of your hearts.
Which makes it even more complicated to explain how this had even started.
"Didn’t hurt you, did I?", Neteyam tilted his head as he looked down at you with a sharp grin. Why was he always so unbearable?
"Of course not, asshole", you mumbled as you tried to get rid of the dirt on your hands and knees. That prick had robbed you clean off of your kill, landing his ikran way too close and not only causing you to stumble and fall, but also frightening the Yerik enough so that it ran away. It had took you hours to track that damn thing down!
"Hm, that’s unfortunate", the olo’eyktan’s son chuckled, patting his ikran before the animal took off flying again. Great, so that meant he was planning on staying for a while…
"Don’t you have shit to do?", you spat it him, clutching your bow so hard that your knuckles turned white.
"I just thought I’d let you know that I’m back from my hunting trip and the meat will be enough to feed the clan for a few days. So there is no reason for you to make any unnecessary kills. Not that you actually could’ve killed that poor thing, not with your horrible stance anyways."
Great. Just great.
It wasn’t like you were trying to prove anything here. You just wanted to fulfill your responsibilities, help feeding the clan, even if it was just one dumb Yerik… How was it even possible for him to come back after three days and immediately, you stood in his shadow again? You could already hear the snickering of the other clan members, if you returned with empty hands. And all the talking about Neteyam, oh the golden child of the olo’eyktan, who had once again proven just how worthy he was of becoming the next chief. Fuck this. And fuck him too.
You didn’t even realize how tears had automatically began to prick at the corner of your eyes, your frustration too much to bear, not until you hear Neteyam scoff, "What? Gonna cry now because you have to return with empty hands, while I fed the whole clan by myself? That’s cute, are you really that desperate for praise or—"
"Thanks for stating the obvious, you genius. You can shut up now", you cuss, quickly wiping the tears away before they can fall, "All that talking gives me a fucking headache. Where’s your brother, huh? Don’t you have to babysit or something?" Like a child throwing a tantrum, you slam your bow to the ground and cross your arms over your chest, mumbling curses and what not under your breathe. Much to Neteyams amusement. It was so rare of you to loose your temper, but when you did, Neteyam had this special talent in making things so much worse.
Stepping over your bow, he approaches you, "So you didn’t miss me while I was gone? Must’ve been pretty boring with nobody to look up to."
You grimace at his words and scoff, "Oh don’t flatter yourself, I was praying you’d never come back."
"Yeah right, so you can feel like the number one for once in your life?", he chuckles, brushing a leave out of your hair in an act of fake affection. And that finally did it. Turning to him, you swat his hand away, fuming with rage, "I fucking hate you so much, Neteyam if you don’t shu—"
You’re cut off when his hand grabs your jaw, fingers squishing your cheeks together so hard that you’re unable to speak without biting the inside of them.
"Watch how you’re talking to me", he growls through gritted teeth. But even though his own jaw was clenched, he kept smiling at you. If you didn’t know any better, he would’ve actually scared you like this. But you do know better.
And that’s how it always went. Probably how it all had started too.
In your eyes, there‘s this fire. But the heat in his eyes is different. Your fire wants to burn, Neteyam’s wants to consume. And it wants to consume you. And you let it, let him. Once, twice—
How many times has it happened by now? Neither of you can tell. You’ve lost count months ago.
Neteyams grip on your jaw is firm, prying your mouth open without much effort and you don’t even think before you act, letting your tongue roll out for him to see. And he grins, that bastard really has the nerve to grin that smug grin of his, before he pulls you closer and spits. It’s filthy. Humiliating. But you can’t help and clench your thighs together when he gives you the go-ahead and you swallow his salvia on your tongue.
Neteyams heart beats rapidly against his chest. In some sick, twisted way, seeing you practically steam in anger makes him so unbelievable hard. He likes that side of you, likes your attitude and when you’re a little feisty, because you try so hard to be better than him. Makes him want to fuck the brat right out of you.
He turns you, so fast that the world spins for a second, before your hands find purchase against a tree. You feel him behind you, how he presses himself against your bottom and grinds himself there. He’s hard, you can feel every inch of him, even through the fabric of both of your loincloths. And he chuckles when you push back against him, just as wanton and desperate as he was.
When you compete, it’s always a battle to see who will get the upper hand. And when you fuck, it’s the same struggle. It becomes a push and pull to see who will be forced to submit to the other, who will cum first, who will make the other moan the loudest.
Neteyams hand pushes down onto your lower back, makes it arch some more and he groans when your clothed sex rubs against his cock just right. His hands find the string that keeps your loincloth together, but he’s incredibly impatient and it’s so hard to open the tight knot that he huffs in frustration. And you’re not making it any easier with the way you push back against him over and over again.
"C‘mon just remove the damn thing", he grumbles, his fingertips itching to just reach for his knife and cut it off of you. Turning your head enough for him to see the way you’re rolling your eyes, you slip out of your clothes, discarding them to somewhere on the ground.
Neteyam then pushes you back against the tree, flipping his own loincloth to the side before he lines himself up with your entrance. It’s comically, really. So much so, that he can’t help but laugh with how easy he can push himself inside you. You’re wet, always so wet and ready for him it makes him sick. It makes him hate you even more with how easy you are, how easy it is to work you up like that. Normally, Neteyam enjoys to tease, wants to hear you beg for it just for his ego. But it’s been three days without that tight heat wrapped around his cock and he can’t hold it together any longer.
"I hate you. Oh fuck, i hate you so much right now", he huffs and the grip he has on your hips is hard enough to bruise. You moan when splits you open, pushes himself to the hilt inside you.
"Ah shit", you curse when the first thrust knocks you forward a little, "Fucking asshole…"
"That’s it’s, holy shit. Look at you, taking me like a fucking champ. At least you’re actually good at one thing, huh?"
"Just shut up and fuck me already, will you?", you sneer at him over your shoulder.
"Needy little slut", he spits the words like venom and than slams his hips forward, cock forcing itself deeper inside you, the blunt head hitting your cervix before he sets his pace. He’s rough and fast, deep strokes that knock the very air from your lungs.
There’s not even a response, no smart remark or anything else that would usually come whenever he insulted you like this. But the symphony of moans that you let out, loud and obscene, they do all the talking for you. It was embarrassing how fast Neteyam could turn you into a trembling, whimpering mess. The squelching sounds he expertly worked out of your pussy only added further to your humiliation.
You hate Neteyam. You really hate him. You hate him, hate him so fucking much that you didn’t think it was ever going to go away. His damn, punchable, handsome face was grinning behind your back, groaning when he felt you squeeze around him, because you were close already. If there was one thing he knew how to do right, it was how to make you come. And how to do it quick and with barely any effort. Neteyam knew how to angle his hips, knew which pace was needed and how much force he would need to put behind his thrusts.
And Neteyam hates you for knowing exactly what to do to push him over the edge. He hates the way your tail curls around his wrist, hates how you push yourself back to meet his thrusts and how tight you are, how your warm, wet walls seem to suck him further in until he can barely pull out properly.
"Shit, m'gonna cum", he groans behind you, "Gonna cum inside that tight little pussy, would you like that?" Your eyes widen. With what little sanity you have left, you glance over your shoulder and glare at him, "Don’t you f-fucking dare."
"What if I would, huh?", Neteyam chuckles and the next particular hard trust makes your eyes roll back inside your head, "Gonna make you walk around with my cum running down your legs so everyone can see what a little bitch you are for me." You know he’s bluffing. It’s what he does to make you mad, drive you insane with hate just because it feeds his big ass ego. Still, you can’t help but wonder if one day he actually would…
"N-Neteyam don’t—"
But he just laughs behind you. One of his hands comes up to your throat and then he pulls you back enough so your almost flush against his chest.
"I’m just fucking with you", he pants right next to your ear, his voice low and laced with amusement, "You squeeze me a lot harder when you’re mad, fuck."
The new angle allows him to put some extra force in fucking against your g-spot and your hands reach up to cling to him, nails digging into his arm hard enough to make him hiss and that in return makes you grin. He can’t stand the way your fangs show when you do that stupid face, so he adds more pressure into the grip around your throats and that’s enough to make you come. You choke on your own moans, trembling as he stills his movements and waits for you, holds you tight against him until you come down from your high. It’s probably the nicest thing he’s capable of doing to you.
Your head feels fuzzy when he suddenly spins you around once again, your legs effortlessly give in when he forces you down on your knees in front of him. The look you spare him is nothing more than a glare, still, you open your mouth as if he gave you the command and then stick your tongue out. Neteyams chest heaves as he strokes himself, the tip of his cock hovering just mere inches over your tongue. Neither one of you seem to want to break that intense eye contact as he works a hand over his shaft, fast and rough. You keep your mouth open and tongue out the entire time, not caring for the way some of your drool runs down over your chin and Neteyam can’t help himself when he catches some with his thumb and pops it into his own mouth.
He knows you’re going to be so insufferable about it, but he doesn’t care, not right now. Not when the sight of you on your knees before him is so damn good, he’s going to be so much more insufferable about this to you. It’s an endless circle of teasing between you two anyways.
"Oh shit", Neteyam curses under his breathe and finally, thick spurts of his cum land right there on your tongue. It’s warm, sticky and a little bitter too and you grimace when you swallow. Neteyam looks down at you with that satisfied grin plastered on his dumb face and now you wished you would’ve just spit it out…
"Just know that this doesn’t make me hate you any less", you grumble as you get up to stand on your wobbly feet, brushing the dirt off of you knees.
"You say that every time."