Work Text:
You sit perched on the edge of Itachi’s desk while he reads a scroll, his face relaxed as he goes over each word. You kick your legs aimlessly as you study him, your head slightly tilted, bottom lip tucked beneath your front teeth. He paid you no mind, your presence a constant at his side, almost as if you were attached at the hip.
Leaning back on your palms, your knee brushes his elbow on the armrest, and his gaze flickers to your form at the brief contact.
Once his eyes meet yours, he pauses before setting the scroll down and leaning back, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “You look lost in thought,” he remarked plainly, but playfully hinted underneath.
“Perhaps I am,” you lean over and whisper seductively with a coy smile. You relish the way his cheeks immediately flush and the way his throat bobs as he swallows. “Surely I’m more entertaining than a scroll.”
“Perhaps you are,” he echoes as the pink moves down his cheeks and neck, moving below the collar of his black shirt.
His expression is controlled, but you can tell in the way his hand flexes that he is holding something back. So you press him, scooting over to directly in front of him and knocking the scroll to the side, you hook your legs on either side of his hips, bringing your hands to his chest as you lean over him.
“Then perhaps,” your lips ghost over his as he appears stunned by your assertion, “you should start acting like it.”
His breath hitches when you plant yourself in his lap, and your arms travel up and around his neck, your weight pressing firmly against him. Left with nowhere to escape, his spine pressed against the back of the chair.
You could practically taste the air that he choked.
Easing on him gently, you place your lips on his. He initially tenses, but a heartbeat later, he relaxes, letting you slowly begin to consume him. As your hands tightened in his hair and pulled him closer, his apprehensive hands rested on the tops of your thighs, gripping the flesh tightly.
You open your mouth against his and push your tongue between his lips lightly as he opens up. His tongue is tentative at first, but soft, eager, and incredibly warm. You hum and drag your hips along his lap, the friction sending a shiver down your own spine. You part from him for a moment, breathless, leaving a thin, wet string between your mouths as you roll your hips again, slower this time, the pressure building between your legs.
Itachi’s grip migrates from your thighs to your waist, hands splayed, fingers digging in as if to ground himself. He’s breathing harder now, the blush on his face more pronounced, bleeding into the tips of his ears. He’s trying to keep his composure, but the subtle tremor in his hands gives him away.
You smirk, savoring his unraveling. “Do you like that?” You murmur, letting your lips trail down his jaw, pressing a flutter of soft, nipping kisses at his pulse.
He chokes on a breath, nods. “Y-yes,” he manages, and you reward him by grinding down, feeling him hard and hot through the thin cotton of his pants.
You let your hands wander, sliding up his shirt and down his sides, nails scraping just enough to make him squirm. He’s so responsive, so sensitive, you can’t help but wonder how much more he can take. Your hand slips between your bodies, palm cupping the bulge beneath his waistband. He jolts, a strangled gasp escaping him, the noise desperate and involuntary in a way that makes your core throb.
You rub your palm against his cock, slow and deliberate; he bites his lip, eyes fluttering closed. You lean in, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Tell me, Itachi, have you thought about this before?” You whisper in question, stroking him through the fabric as he shudders.
“Yes,” he breathes. “T-too much— too often.”
Your heart hammers at that, that he’s as honest as he is helpless. You slide your hand inside his pants—he’s so hard, you wonder if it’s painful. You pull him out: flushed, dark, and wet at the tip. You watch how his jaw clenches at the exposure, how his Adam’s apple bobs as you wrap your fingers around him. You stroke his length, slow and tight, thumb teasing the sensitive underside. He juts his hips up into your fist, unable to help himself.
You press your mouth to his again, deep and hungry, swallowing the sounds he makes as your wrist works him. His hands find your hips, gripping hard, pulling you closer until there isn’t a breath between you. You break the kiss, breath mingling, and meet his eyes— black and blown wide, pleading with you.
His hand suddenly grips your wrist, halting your movement. You glance up, surprised by the abruptness, but Itachi’s gaze is fixed somewhere over your shoulder— his breathing harsh, his composure fraying. You can see in the tremble of his jaw that he’s wrestling something dark and vulnerable.
“Wait,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I—” His eyes search the wall, then dart down to where your hand still wraps around him, then back to your face. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
You blink, not expecting a confession. For once, there’s no mask, no shield of stoic nonchalance— just wary honesty. You feel your heart tighten with a fierce delight as you smile up at your shy lover.
“Who cares?” You murmur, squeezing his length gently, thumb circling the head of his cock, drawing a low, involuntary noise from his throat. “I bet you’ll figure it out fast.”
His mouth quirks slightly, a nervous, helpless smirk. You lean in and kiss him again, slow and soft, letting him set the pace. This time, his tongue is bolder, tracing your lower lip, the contact more explorative as your hand continues to jerk his dick between your bodies.
“You’re—hn— you’re not making this easy,” he manages, hips when you give his dick a light squeeze.
You nip at the soft skin under his jaw, greedy for more of those ragged, involuntary noises. You jerk him slow, then quick, changing rhythm until his breath hitches and his spine arches tight beneath you. He’s close, so close, you can hear it in the way his voice wavers.
“Please—” he whispers, not sure if it’s a plea for mercy or more.
You reward him with another kiss at his pulse. “You’re doing so good, Itachi.” The words drag a shudder from his chest, his hands shaking as he clutches the arms of the chair.
“Feel good?” You murmur, lips barely touching his ear. “So pretty when you blush for me.” You feel him tense, a sharp tremor running the length of his body. There’s pride in you, wicked and bright, at how easily you unravel him.
You bite his earlobe, gentle but firm, and he gasps— a sound so desperate you think he might break apart if you let up.
So you don’t.
His head tips back, his throat long and bared, eyes squeezed shut. You stroke him harder, thumb catching on the sensitive spot just under the head. He whimpers— a sound both mortified and hungry— and you realize you want to wreck him a little, want to see how much he can take before his composure fractures entirely.
“I—don’t—” he stutters, voice thin. “I won’t— c-can’t—”
You slow your grip, teasing him further. “Can’t what?” His cheeks burn deeper, crimson to the tips of his ears.
“Please, hn— I’ll—” He doesn’t finish; instead, you watch him tense up further.
You grin against his skin before letting go. “Then wait,” you murmur, and with a swift, deft motion, you push the chair back from the desk, dropping to your knees between his parted legs. The movement is so sudden he gasps, but you don’t give him a chance to recover— you shove his pants lower with one hand, exposing more of him, flushed and leaking.
You lick up the underside of his cock, slow and deliberate, and he wheels his head back up, lips parted, eyes wild and glassy with shock. He breathes your name like a confession when you take him in your mouth. You hollow your cheeks, working him with your tongue, twirling it along the sensitive vein; when you flick the tip, he almost yelps, hands flying up to knot in your hair, desperate for purchase.
He fucks up into your mouth, tentative at first, then with a shuddering abandon. You hum and squeeze the base with your hand, and that’s all it takes— he breaks, cuming with a long, trembling gasp, fingers gripping your hair almost painfully.
Honestly, you’re surprised he lasted this long, but it’s just another testament to the Uchiha might.
You let him ride out his orgasm as you swallow every pulse, not stopping until he’s twitching and oversensitive, panting like he’s just run a marathon. When you finally pull away, you look up at him through your lashes, smirking, and let a thin strand of spit and cum break from your lip.
Itachi’s face is ruined— dark hair glued to his temple, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and slick. He catches his breath with a huff, and you watch as the tips of his ears pulse pink, mortified by the wreckage you’ve made of him.
You wipe your mouth, still on your knees, and level him with a look. “Think you’ve got another one in you?” You ask playfully.
His tongue wets his lip, still dazed. “I—” He blinks, gathers himself with his stubborn dignity. “Yes.”
“Good,” you hum, rising to your feet and tugging your own pants down with a slow, teasing roll of your hips. You’re already soaked, your pussy clinging to the cotton of your panties— leaving an obscene, dark patch over your center. His eyes drop, and you feel the tremor of want that runs through him, even as he tries to compose himself.
You straddle his lap as his hands go instinctively to your hips, palms hot on your skin. You tug your shirt over your head and toss it to the floor, baring your chest to him. Even in the dim light of his room, he can see your nipples are taut, pebbled in the chill and anticipation.
He stares, stunned, and his hands hesitate before skimming up your sides. You guide his palms to your breasts, and he cups them gently. “Don’t be afraid,” you murmur, nuzzling his nose with yours. “You can touch me however you want.”
He kisses you then, slow at first, then with a rising hunger. His thumbs brush your nipples, a feather-light touch that makes you gasp into his mouth. When he does it again, you arch into his hands, grinding your cunt onto his pelvis and feeling his length twitch beneath you.
You break the kiss and dip your head to his ear. “You learn quick,” you say, nipping the soft skin just below the lobe. His cock jumps at the praise, and you press down, grinding harder, chasing the friction as you roll your hips against him.
Itachi, emboldened, leans in and kisses down your neck, sucking marks into your skin, his hands never leaving your breasts. When you tangle your fingers in his hair and gently tug, he groans, the sound vibrating through your whole body.
You guide his head with both hands, lowering his mouth to your chest. He hesitates, then licks over your nipple, his hot breath fanning over the wetness. You shudder, and he does it again— then takes it in his mouth, sucking gently. The sensation sends a jolt straight through you, and you keen, clutching his shoulders for support.
“Yes,” you moan, “just like that—” and the praise drives him wild. His hand rolls your other nipple between his fingers, and you whimper, rutting against the thick heat of him, and you feel his dick stir beneath you again.
He moves his mouth to your other breast, giving it the same reverence, the same aching attention, and you realize he’s memorizing you—cataloging every shiver, every gasp, every little sound you make. He pulls off you with a soft pop, the noise obscene, and when he looks up, his eyes are lidded and hungry and focused.
“I want to taste you,” he says abruptly. His voice cracks, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t retreat from the vulnerability. “May I?”
For all his soft-spoken deference, there’s a possessive edge in the way he asks—like he’s desperate to prove himself worthy. You smirk, drag your fingers through his hair, and lean in, brushing your lips over the arch of his cheekbone.
“Only if you beg,” you whisper, letting your breath tickle the shell of his ear.
He inhales sharply. “Please, I—I—” But you don’t savor the moment; instead, you cut him off with a hard kiss on his lips, running your tongue over his.
Then you push off his lap and stand, facing him. Slowly, you hook your thumbs under your panties, sliding them down your thighs, letting the dark, dampened patch stretch and peel away from your dripping pussy. You don’t break eye contact as you step free, tossing the sodden scrap onto the floor. You settle your ass on the edge of his desk, legs spreading in a slow, deliberate show. The cool air licks at the heat between your thighs, and you watch his throat work as he takes in the full lascivious view of you.
“Come here,” you command.
He moves the chair forward, knees bumping the desk, and you rest your feet on the arms of the chair, bracing him with your calves on either side of his body. He’s caged, trapped by your legs, helpless to do anything but stare at the place where you’re slick and swollen, desperate for him.
He runs a hand up your thigh, fingertips soft as satin. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t fumble; instead, he traces the outline of your lips, then dips two fingers between them, sliding through your slick and spreading you open. The touch is careful, and you see him exhale in awe as your folds part under his touch.
You bit your bottom lip, spreading yourself wider, baring every secret inch to his reverent gaze. “You’re not scared, are you?” You tease, letting your tone drip with challenge.
His mouth crooks in answer, dark eyes flashing. “Should I be?” The lazy cadence of his voice dares you to break him, but you feel the tremor in his fingers as he drags them back through your folds, gathering the slick on his fingertips. He leans forward, letting his lips brush your inner thigh, soft and almost chaste, before his tongue darts out and licks a single, searing stripe through the center of you.
You clench, toes curling on the chair arms, and whine, breathless, at the sheer, electric heat of it. Itachi pauses, watching for your reaction, noting every twitch of your hips. When you lock your fingers in his hair, he closes his eyes and buries his mouth in your cunt.
He eats your pussy with pious focus, tongue rolling over every slick contour, learning you in real-time. When he finds your clit, swollen and throbbing, he circles it softly, then harder, then draws it between his lips until you gasp, the sound shattering the hush of his room. He chuckles against you, and the vibration nearly ruins your control.
You fist his hair, grinding your hips against his mouth, and he lets you, eager for the way you tremble, how you lose yourself. You look down, desperate for the sight, and meet his gaze—Sharingan active, swirling at the edges of his irises—a violent red flash, hungry and beautiful. He smirks, the movement subtle, and moves to plunge a single finger inside you, thick and stretching.
You lurch and nearly shriek, savoring the wet noise as he drags the pads of his fingers along your walls before adding another. He’s methodical, and when he hooks his fingers just right, a shiver detonates in your spine, raw and electric.
“There?” He asks, voice muffled, and it’s not really a question, more a taunt, because he already knows.
“Yes, fuck—there—” you cry, and you see the crimson of his fade to black, tongue flicking your clit in time with the curl of his fingers. Your brain whites out, every nerve drawn tight, and he doubles down, his mouth greedy.
You cum so hard you nearly black out, your nails digging into his scalp as you ride the wave, every muscle gone taut. The sound you make is wild and unhinged, ripped straight from your core. Even as you tremble, legs locking around his head, Itachi doesn’t stop until you collapse, boneless and buzzing, back against the desk.
Your vision is slow to return, but as you drag your gaze up, you find him watching you, his lips raw and glistening, his hair in wild disarray. Heat licks at your flesh, but you’re greedy for more— as you curl your hand into his shirt and pull him between your thighs, tugging it over his head. The kiss you steal is lazy, but his mouth moves with a hunger that says he’s already forgotten the boundaries he clung to moments ago. Your hand roams over his newly uncovered skin, muscles hard and hot beneath your fingers. You moan into him, feeling the rigid press of his cock—now fully resurrected—nestled between the slick mess of your thighs.
Your fingers skate over the ridge of him, tracing the curve, the feverish pulse beneath your palm. His hips jerk at your touch, a gasp shuddering in his throat, and you swallow the sound. You move against him, slick heat meeting the desperate strain of his erection, and the friction draws a low, unguarded groan from him. You lap at his bottom lip and then pull back just enough to watch the desperation war with discipline on his beautiful, ruined face.
“Do you want to fuck me?” You murmur coyly, grinning as you grind your hips into him. He tries to answer, but the words catch. His pupils are blown wide, burning with a hunger that’s almost animal.
Finally, he nods.
“Say it,” you order, voice sultry and sweet. “Just once.”
He licks his lips, breath trembling as he obeys. “I want to be inside you.” The words burn, and your pulse stutters with feral delight. “Please.” It’s a whisper, but you feel it everywhere.
You guide the head of his cock between your legs, letting the tip drag through the wet, swollen folds until you feel him twitch and throb, desperate to take more. You tease him, circling your hips until he gasps, and then, with a wicked smile, you tilt just so, pressing him inside, inch by inch.
He can’t keep from jerking, hips stammering forward as you draw him deeper, the stretch delicious. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, shuddering, the heat of his breath matching the wild rhythm of his pulse under your fingers.
You don’t let him move— not yet. You grip his hair tight at the roots, holding him there, savoring the way his cock twitches inside you as you clench around him. You wait, just long enough for him to nearly lose himself, before you let go, giving him permission with a single, hungry roll of your hips.
He fucks you deep and deliberate at first, each thrust measured with that same ruthless control he brings to everything. But you can feel the restraint fraying at the edges, can taste the unraveling on his tongue as he kisses you between broken breaths. You moan, raking your nails down his back, and he hisses, rutting into you a tad harder. The desk rattles beneath you, and you can feel it in the way his thighs tremble, the way his hands fist in your hair and on your skin.
He’s holding on by a thread, and you want to see it snap.
You lock your ankles behind his back, slam your heels down, and pull him flush—daring him closer, deeper, harder. “Don’t hold back,” you whisper, biting the edge of his jaw. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
The words break him. He growls— a sound you’ve never coaxed from him before, low and guttural, laced in pure want. He slams into you, urgency eclipsing technique, the rhythm frantic and desperate. You arch, spine bowed, nails scraping new lines down his back as you meet each thrust, the collision of bodies thunderous.
He’s never let go like this, not for anyone; you see it in the wild flash of his eyes, the way his features break apart, sweat slicking his hair to his brow. He’s beautiful, wild, red-cheeked, and desperate, and every time he slams inside you, it blots out any thought.
You have to cling to him, or you’ll break apart. You tangle your hands in his hair, pull him down for a bruising kiss, and he devours your mouth with a matched hunger. Each thrust drives you higher, pleasure spiking at a dangerous, dizzying pitch.
He hits a place inside you that makes you see stars, and you break away from the kiss, gasping. “There—right there, fuck, Itachi—” and him just hearing his name like this, ruined and needy, makes him shiver violently in your arms.
You press your lips to his ear, panting. “You feel so fucking good, don’t you dare stop—” and the praise undoes him, makes his hips stutter once again. He mutters something hoarse and filthy in return, words lost in the haze as he holds you tighter, pulsing inside you.
You snake a hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. You rub in time with his thrusts, grinding down, chasing the heat rising through your gut. He sees what you’re doing, and instead of faltering, he moans—open, and so goddamn eager for you. “Please—let me—” he stammers, hand sliding down to cover yours, guiding your touch with his own.
“I want you to cum with me,” you breathe, hot and urgent against his jaw. “Can you do that for me, Itachi?”
He trembles, whole body gone taut. “I—” He gasps with a nod, barely able to speak. He’s shaky, sweat sliding down his temple to drip onto your skin. “Trying—” but the words trail off, replaced by a helpless, keening sound as the tension winds tighter and tighter.
You circle your clit harder, panting, fully on the verge yourself. “Cum with me, please—now—I need to feel you—” and that’s all it takes. He breaks, slamming into you with a feral snap, groaning as he spills inside you, thick and hot.
The sensation burns wild through your whole body, your orgasm detonating around him. You clench down, rigid and convulsing, every pulse wrung out by the force of his cock as he pumps you full. You’re gasping, both of you, your legs trembling so hard you lose your grip on the desk and almost fall backward—he catches you, arms bracketing your body.
For a few seconds, there’s just the sound of your ragged breaths, the obscene scene of your bodies pressed together, and the overload of Itachi buried deep inside you, shaking from the aftermath. He collapses forward, face in your neck, ruining your skin with sweat and the hot, slow drag of his breath. You feel him soften inside you as he shudders, his arms going slack and heavy. Your thighs spasm, gripping his hips as though you want to keep him there forever.
You stroke his hair, wild and tangled against your chest, and he doesn’t move, just pants into the hollow below your ear. His body sprawls over you, heavy and inert, and you savor the weight— how solid and real he feels, how his usual detachment has gone to ruin. You press a breathless kiss to his temple, feeling the fever of his skin, and rest your forehead against his.
His eyes are closed, lashes glued together with sweat, but you can tell he’s still there, present and alive in a way you’ve never seen. A slow, lazy smile carves your lips. “You alive?” You tease, fingers brushing the nape of his neck. He doesn’t open his eyes, but his mouth tugs up at one corner.
“I should be the one asking you that,” he murmurs, voice so hoarse and spent that it hardly sounds like him.
Your laugh is warm and fuzzy, muffled in his hair. You’re about to say something clever, something biting and affectionate, when the moment is shattered by a violent, repetitive pounding at the door.
“For fucks sake, we can hear you in the hallway!” Comes Hidan’s voice, muffled by the thick wood but still braying as ever. “Some of us don’t want to listen to you two blowing your loads all over god damn the place!”
Itachi sighs, peeling himself upwards, as if jarred back to the real world.
“At least he waited until we finished,” you chirped up at him with a satisfied hum.