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For all these long empty years, Obito thought he knew hell. Little did he know how wrong he has been. Grave wrong. This cruel world can’t compare. This inferno writhing in his lap, wild and madly assured in his attractiveness, not afraid to get what he wants, seize it and devour to the last crumb, yet tantalizingly unattainable – this is real hell.
Deidara moved in erotic waves, unhurriedly sitting up, swiftly bouncing down on his groin, long locks of gold fluttering behind the frame, chest heaving with heavy breaths, gleam in unveiled eye never dwindling, confident smirk never dropping. He wore nothing but heat and shivers, Akatsuki cloak flung over frame, with a sole purpose of teasing via deprivation; as if Obito doesn’t have plenty of it. Deidara didn’t refrain from jerking off, but didn’t rush towards the climax. He took his sweet time playing with himself and putting on a show – just for his eyes.
The sight seared into Obito’s brain. Imprinted and promised to hound, flushed fire through veins and clad the parched skin in chills of unadulterated desire. He wanted, feverishly. His cock stained with every inch of throbbing, imperative need, painfully trapped in the slacks he couldn’t take off. Too many secrets stood in the way, he couldn’t jeopardize years of painstaking plotting for the shallowness of fleeting sensuality.
It wasn’t just his mind that’s wrapped in chains, body too. Not physically, Deidara hasn’t been that bold, but psychological chains aren’t any less emphatic, binding. A tender kiss over the mask has been a catalysis of the months of fermenting sexual tension. For all his honed senses and ungodly powers, Obito froze in the face of affections, like a lily-livered genin on a first mission.
He violently came back to it when Deidara got a nerve to touch his mask. Alarms went off. Danger.
“Ah, senpai,” Obito barely got out, throat impossibly tight and achingly dry, repressed cravings clawing up the vocal cords, at odds with a lick of sense.
“I…” a gulp, chills suffusing. “I’m afraid you’re… overstepping Tobi’s generosity.”
In lieu of furrowed brows or sullen looks, Deidara coyly tipped head, mirth dancing in the visible blue iris. “Now, am I?”
Obito’s blood rushed south. “Y-yes,” a raspy wheeze, conveying anything but certainty.
Of course Deidara nosed out how discomposed a mockery of a kiss has left him, the promise of the bodily heat. Of course he’s sniffed out the inexperience, the chance to yank his chain and tighten the leash. Of course he pushed. “But you still want, hm.”
It wasn’t a question. Deidara knew. He knew. Maybe not all his secrets, surely not, but he knew his dirtiest secret – the magnitude of his deeply unsound desire. He’s tried to play it off as Tobi’s frivolity, to mask it as jests and snuff out the torrid flame. Futile endeavors, it just burned higher and brighter, suffocated with more filthy fantasies that’d never become reality; or so Obito believed.
Slowly but surely, Deidara picked up on his mindless lusting. How could he not notice when Obito’s gaze lingered on his skin for too long to be brushed off on coincidence? How could he not grasp what the lingering touch suggested, even if under the guise of riling him up? Deidara can be astonishingly, terrifyingly sharp when he wants to. With curiosity tickled, spiked by the enigma his mask carries, it was only a matter of time before he figures what the tension is saturated with.
Obito expected disgust, hatred even. He expected Deidara to react fiery, in line with his temperament; to reflect the self-contempt writhing in the pit of own stomach, the bile and all.
Not… this. Whatever frisky lunacy this is.
Gosh, anything but this bittersweet fantasy he can taste on the tip of the tongue but not truly have.
Obito fidgeted, uncomfortable in own skin now that it was prickling with what made him disgusted with himself in the first place. “That senpai…” a slow gulp, “that, I do.”
“Good,” purr tingled Obito’s nerves, shot scorching frisson up the line of his spine. Deidara got closer, pad of index finger sliding up his chest, muscles taut and breath halted. “I want it too, hm.”
What? Obito blinked slowly, stupidly, trying to get mind to work. To snap out of it and shatter this daydream. Because that’s what it must be, a daydream. A figment of the sure as hell ballsy imagination.
Calloused fingers reached his windpipe, dabbed up the bobbed Adam apple, silent in their threat. There’s no mistaking the strength those hands carry, Obito bore witness to their deadliness on daily basis. Deidara didn’t try to strangle, at least not physically. That cheeky smirk, emanating the itch for subjugation, has rendered breathless.
Did he… hear that right? Deidara wanted the idiotic Tobi? When did this happen? How? How come he missed the signs? Have there been any or Deidara acted on a whim? Has he been oblivious to the same energy he’s been unwittingly sending?
In hindsight, it was beyond foolish of him to hold hope. It all harks back to the intoxicating sense of superiority with Deidara, the insecure ego in the need of food, even a crumb. Being desired so fatuously, even if by a simpleton with more luck than brain, was good enough. The way Deidara was sizing him up, like a starved animal to be tamed and abandoned, confirmed the inkling that he’s reduced to a prey; how amusing, how ironic. It was all a game – a game he’s a novice in, and thus is destined to lose.
A nudge, and he was comically sprawled over the grass, legs falling open, revealing the scope of his perversity. Deidara towered over him, tickled but not revolted, heel of the shoe hovering above the forming tent in Obito’s pants. “I’m asking again, hmm.”
Taut silence was a sufficient answer. Obito couldn’t hear it over the sound of his pounding heart, thumping in the way the heat of the battle has long lost the ability to rouse. Just this madly attractive man with the equal lust for madness in eyes. Obito squeezed own, mentally willing himself to resist, to reject what flesh yearned for. He should sever this in root. Nothing can blossom from this, nor will. He can’t show an inch of skin without the artificial white flesh kicking off a hail of questions, culminating with a falling-out that’d draw the curtains on way more than the prospect of physicality.
Enough beats have ticked by for Deidara to grasp a tacit no. Sucking in breath, Obito expected him to retreat, all puffy and huffy that he hasn’t gotten what he’s wanted. Imagine his surprise when Deidara straddled his lap, planted palms on his shoulders and and experimentally rolled hips against his.
Fucking hell. The first tinge of friction killed him a little inside, it really did. A welter of utterly novel experiences that took away his ability to speak, to think – to hell, to breathe without choking on the fire in air, the vital need for more. Forget the oxygen, he’ll die the death of a dog if he doesn’t have Deidara on him right fucking now.
“Fine, be a bore, hm. Your loss,” Deidara sighed, insultingly composed but the curve of lips gave the flicker of intrigue away. “We can do it this way too, fine with me, mm.”
He sat up and began unfastening the cloak, movement unhurried, calculatingly seductive, screaming confidence that signed the beginning of Obito’s downfall. His body, a traitor, chose the most convenient timing to freeze up. Obito couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t get a sound out, aside the muddled noises that just spurred Deidara on, widening his feral smirk and tapering eyes into something hellishly hot.
Passivity was as good as yes – was a yes Obito couldn’t get tongue to roll over, pride sinking down like an anchor tied around ankle. All his unuttered were crystal clear to Deidara, who was all smirks and enticingly feathery caresses, working him up with an insidious promise of more.
Of course – conditioned.
“But I won’t let you be unfair. Forget that. If you’re not taking the mask off, you’re not taking anything off, hmm.”
In other words, Deidara wanted him flat on his back while he’s on top, using him, for own pleasure – far from just fleshly. And Obito, as always, was weak. He was weak to this crazy man’s unequaled spark, the sultry aura that drew in, like a moth to the flame.
They settled on a mimicry of sex, and that was fine. Or so Obito hopped. He swore off indulgences in life, hence the voluntary celibacy. He swore loyalty to the memory of her, more as self-imposed punishment than an act of incongruous uprightness, or even a veristic fidelity. Temptation has never tripped him, no one has ever tickled interest enough to waver his iron resolve. Till now. Deidara has made him tumble hard. He is yet to get up.
Technically, he won’t lose his virginity if he doesn’t put it in, right? He wouldn’t break the oath of abstinence. It can’t be that unendurable to let the brat have his fun, Obito surmised while weighting if it’d be in character for Tobi to fold. In retrospect, he was, to be blunt – a naive moron. What having more conceit than experience does to a man, Obito conceded within the privacy of thoughts.
Things quickly got out of hand – way too quickly. That’s how he ended up here, aroused out of his sane mind with the object of his most fervid dreams naked on top of him, not letting him take anything off.
Deidara squeezed eyes and shamelessly rubbed himself over his waist, spine arching and toes curling. A long, breathy moan slipped out, darted straight to Obito’s groin, scorching. Panting behind the mask, all crimson and sweaty in face, he raked gloved fingers over the grass, desperate for an anchor. He didn’t dare put them on Deidara’s burning skin, knew he’d lose what scant sanity he had left.
A sensual snap of hips, tongue dragged up length, curled around tip and lapped on precum welling up the slit. Obito drank it all in, starved. Tinges of bliss threw Deidara’s head back, pupils going black. “What’s the matter Tobi? Got you all choked up, hmm?”
Yes. He was that much the answer had to arrive in an erratic nod. Curve of lips suggested Deidara found his neediness thrilling, thus rewarded by snaking hand behind himself and palming his clothed cock.
Fuck. That felt amazing. Too good. The sound he made, low and ruined, was nothing short of undignified. Becoming Tobi, but not him.
A bout of humiliation had Obito’s cock bobbing, painfully so. For a beat, he dreaded he’ll finish. Luckily, he put himself in rein under the wire, couldn’t disclose how much of a virgin he is. Ah, no. Forget the mortification of creaming his pants, the real danger is the Sharingan flickering red in the moments of loosened inhibitions. Deidara would never let him live the shame of former down, but it’s the latter that he’d never forgive.
Deidara’s other hand was flat on his stomach, mouth nibbling on the drenched fabric, teasing with a ghost of skin on skin contact. “Senpai…” Obito choked on gasps for air, hips stuttering, chasing pleasure that’ll bring him closer to burning humiliation.
“You’re cruel.”
It was an understatement. Obito thought he was an embodiment of evil, an agent of chaos. He was wrong. Grinding down on him with a brash grin plastered on those kissable lips, luring and denying in one go, Deidara was the devil incarnate. Forget all risky plans and the red moon, this crazy man will put him in a grave.
Little tease was pleased by his stupefaction. “And you’re stubborn as a mule,” Deidara’s chaff came deep and throaty, picking up Obito’s pulse. “If I say so, hm.”
The air was ripe with desire, addictive. The steady ties and ebbs of Deidara’s delectable chakra invited, cutting ripples tempted into lunacy. The resistance… it was futile. He had to touch. Had to. He wanted it all, under his fingers, under his tongue. Wanted to rake more than just eyes over crevices and contours, beads of sweat sliding down the rippling skin. He’ll die if doesn’t get his hands on Deidara’s alluringly lithe body.
So he did, void of soundness – seized Deidara’s hips in a vice grip and yanked down hard. He wanted it to bruise, marks to never heal. Wanted to imprint his desperation, showcase power he deliberately yielded. Show that he can, just won’t.
With a hitched gasp and a marginal widening of eyes, Deidara allowed it all. Even clasped his wrists and guided higher, up the tapering of his waist, over the defined lines on chest, to the erected nipples and stitches, enjoying the shaky tugs and rolls. Deidara turned out to be incredibly sensitive, pats had him squirming and moaning in Obito’s lap.
Sucking in a shuddering breath, Obito wished he could pull the gloves off and soak in the heat of Deidara’s skin with bare hands, no cloths of deceit in the way. Wished he could pull himself out, stroke to take off the edge, then enter the tight warmth and -
Blood rushed south, electricity gulled hips into bucking up. “Shit,” a wrecked groan. Deidara’s titter just rubbed salt into wound; ugh, he’ll pay him back for this one day.
But not today, not when carnal cravings reduced to a twitchy bundle of nerves. Obito hissed and groaned, trying to survive the ordeal. His balls were flush against base, heavy and achingly full, head drenched and jerking with Deidara’s bounces, heat pooling in gut alarming. Gritting teeth, he threw head back onto the soft grass, pleaded the earth to open and take him.
Because this was hell. The degrading denial that lit his flame. The powerlessness that came with submitting that he, the mastermind, cannot allow. Should not. And yet…
Deidara was right. His pent up body – he– got off on this. Got off bad. In that aspect, Tobi himself, meek and accommodating, was an act of perversion – the need that he has, evidently fruitlessly, tried to scrub.
Touch didn’t linger at the waist. Boldly confident in his beauty, Deidara wanted him to map out every plane and muscle of his body. He bit lower lip and gazed at him through thick lashes, guided down to strong thighs spreading over lap, then around to the curves of his behind – the cheeks that rubbed over the agonizing tent in Obito’s pants.
Fuck. Obito gulped hard, throat rippling and corners of eyes stinging from how much he needed. He was wrong. That was way worse. Ignorance is, indeed, a bliss. Now he knows what he’s missing. What he could be fucking senseless if only he…
“Deidara… please,” the brat had him discarding Tobi’s silly tones, voice gruff, but wrecked. “I need – ah fuck,” twinges of pure agony contorted Obito’s face. He was gone. Ruined.
Deidara fluttered, eyes wide. He noticed, no way he didn’t. The shift from the shill highs to the low timbre was as good as an admission. Strangely, Deidara didn’t appear ticked off, but awfully tickled. His thighs trembled, breath spiked, cock pulsed and leaked, showcased how much glee he derived from having between his thighs, humbled and defeated, each twitch imbued with mad lust that brims over the edges.
Not batting an eyelid, Deidara let the tongue on hand lap up the underside; slobber over the tip, all lewd sounds and breathy moans, and take it in, as deep as possible. Obito made a funny noise, erection bobbing, drooling in tandem with those sinful mouths. Deidara was crazily casual with those obscenities. It did nasty things to Obito’s brain.
He wanted to be there. Or inside Deidara’s facial mouth, shut him up for once. Or inside his ass, fuck that attitude out of him. And he could, possessed ample power to flip him over and subjugate. Deidara clearly yearned for that, hoping the bossiness will tee Tobi off, exhaust the patience and get him ravaged. He wanted the sun to rise with his legs above head, needs more than satisfied and mind blissfully vacant.
Obito did none of that. He played along, like a good boy that Tobi is; yielded, let the cheeky brat degrade him, use like he’s nothing but an object.
Except, this wasn’t Tobi any longer – this was all him. This was the perverse desire he’s trusted he’s expunged.
“Yes, that’s what I wanna hear, hm,” it was a dark, rumbling purr, gliding up Obito’s bones like barbed wire and stripping of all secrets and lies. “Good boy,” Deidara droned, sensually flickering tongue over glossy lips.
Obito swore he nearly came. Holy shit. Those two words undid, absurdly, gathered tension in the pit of his stomach, sent electric buzz through nerves. He had it bad for Deidara’s praise, even if coated in mockery. He wanted more. Needed.
Grinding down on him, Deidara felt the aggressive pulsations, and grasped what stirred the flow without an ebb. “You like that, hm,” it was a statement, teeming with swollen pride.
A titter, then a scoff. “Heh, you nasty dog,” Deidara spat with feigned disgust. Ah, degradation made him throb too. Maybe he just had it bad for this firecracker.
“All this time you’ve been acting like a fool, slacking off and getting on my nerves, mm. But you were anything but a fool. You’ve been lusting after me, like a starving animal. You think I didn’t notice? Tough luck, it took me a bit, but I did, hm.”
A tiny gasp, then a languid roll of hips, twinges of friction lolling Obito head. Deidara grabbed the sides of the robe, unhurriedly lowering it down waist. “I know you want to stick it in me. I know you want me on all fours, screaming your name, hm.”
Yes yes yes, that’s exactly what he’s been doing. What he wants. Deidara is dead-on. He’s been fantasizing. He’s been losing his mind. He’s been lusting for what he can’t have. Imagining Deidara in all sorts of positions, pride discarded along with clothes, that beautiful face of his twisted in pleasure laced with pain. And the unattainability of it all, fuck did it make Obito stupidly hard.
Spurred by the realizations, Deidara lowered over him, patted up the clothed muscles on his stomach and chest, then roved up the sternum to the rippling Adam apple. “You can Tobi. You can pull your dick out and fuck me. Sure you can, mm. I feel how much you want it,” whispered filth into his ear, void of shame.
“But this,” slender fingers curled over the edge of the mask, but didn’t yank.
The other hand cupped the back of Obito’s skull, roughly stroking through short hair and teasing the black elastic of the mask. Insidious touch drove a lethal thrill up Obito’s spine, squeezed tight around throat and sucked air out of lungs. Deidara couldn’t see him, but did nose out how broken he was.
“It has to go too, hm.”
Heh. Figured. Behind the mask, thin lips molded into a sour smile, acknowledging defeat.
Whatever you want. Except that. Anything but that.
Silence filled with broken gasps was as good as no. Deidara, the brat he is, had to rub salt into the wound. He dug fingers into his shoulders, brought their groins together, hot flesh on wet cloth, and moved.
Friction was raw, too sharp for Obito’s scattering thoughts and heart thumping in ears, pulse that’s gone wild. White static skittered over limbs, punctured skin and drilled into marrow. He’s never felt something this… poignant. It was exhilarating. Dangerously so.
Deidara was close, his moist breath bounced off Obito’s mask, orange reflecting in the glassiness of blue irises. Ah, it was too much. This gnawing hunger inside. It’d be easy to yank the mask to the side, tangle fingers through brat’s hair and pull him in for a merciless kiss. It’d be so easy, but costly. Too dangerous, too undoing. It was exactly the forbidden nature of this stolen moment that spiked Obito’s desire.
Deidara’s grinds dwindled to a whisper, head slating, bangs revealing the other crystal blue eye, gleaming with a crazily attractive itch for dominance. “Come on Tobi,” a dulcet drone, raspiness setting his heart in motion, “do you really peg me for a fool?”
Aroused beyond belief, Obito didn’t register the implication on time. With a thick purr, Deidara straightened up, straddled him properly in a couple of tries, swell of ass pressing over his trapped cock, swelled with aching need. It seared, scorched so fucking bad he nearly balked. Corners of eyes prickled with unshed tears of pure agony.
Waning control was severed. No better than a mindless animal, Obito groaned and rutted into the heat he desperately wanted to bury himself in. He hated it. So much. He loathed this pathetic loss of discipline, but it couldn’t be helped. Something embedded in his flesh came to life; perhaps a soul he kept starved.
Bounces seemed startle, but not for long. Assurance renewed, Deidara carried on. “The Akatsuki didn’t take you in for your dashing looks or perverted kinks, hm,” his whisper was hoarse, mock spot on; cheeks dusted with color, hand languidly pumping at the base and kindling the green envy in Obito’s chest.
“I don’t know… what you’re hiding, but I know you are hiding something,” he was all tattered gasps and trembles suffused with tapered desire, yet Deidara went for the jugular; how nerveracking.
“I know there’s someone wiser behind this silly mask of yours. Someone capable, someone attractively powerful.”
Without a warning, Deidara cupped him, and squeezed hard. Obito jerked, bit tongue to muffle the cry, pain and pleasure etching into features. His eyes rolled back, drool escaped from the corner of lips, brows furrowed and whole body tense, packed with frustration. The worst of all was the dulled throbbing behind eyelids, the vermilion that’d ruin everything. He had to keep that curse in check more than unruly hormones.
Little minx drank it all in, mask of no account, and thirsted for more. So he squeezed again, and again, wanting Obito to tip. The sensation of the moist heat drove up the wall, tongue lapping over where the tip strained the fabric rendered Obito a goner.
Deidara inched closer, smiling at all teeth and dimples. “But whoever is there,” his nails patted over the hard ridges of the mask, echoed like a death knell in the cage of Obito’s skull.
“He’s perfectly content being used and humiliated, hmm.”
Despite the blood roaring in ears and excruciating ache, Obito smirked, but it came out all sour.
How right Deidara was… it was terrifying.
At that moment, Obito almost hated him. Almost. But he couldn’t tip over that edge, not when Deidara was this wonderful, this desirable, this perfect. This unafraid to express his wants, to attain them void of chains yanking back, shadowy corners of mind bedeviling.
What he actually despised was the corresponding craving in him, one that, lamentably, set this all in motion. If he hadn’t come to know the ugliness of fleshy desires, disgrace miles below his level, Deidara wouldn’t have had what to answer to.
The Akatsuki cloak hit the ground. Obito didn’t have time to grasp what that means. Deidara sat up, in a sinuous arch that’ll haunt wet dreams. He reached up to undo the half ponytail, gold cascading in waves, hair spreading over the tanned skin clad in heated sweat.
Wearing a breathless smirk, Deidara shook head so every strands falls in place, then slowly roved eyes over him, narrowed in vinous arrogance. Gosh, he’s hot as hell. The worst of all, he knows it – and wants Tobi to know it too.
Deidara’s left hand slithered down to his erection, all slow licks that mold lips into tiny gasps and firm strokes that result in shakier moans. Right twisted beneath him, way pass the sacks and the taint. Slushy noises and raw bliss flashing across Deidara’s eyes left nothing to the imagination.
Obito tensed. He was -
Breathe in. Breathe out. Again and again, but it was in vain. His mind short-circuited.
He couldn’t see anything but those limber fingers sinking into that tight heat, couldn’t hear anything but the slick noises and laps of tongue, imagined it’s his cock making them, sliding in and out without a pause, facilitating his quest for ethereal pleasure.
Damn. A rush of desire wrecked through him, fused with boiling blood and flowed crazy chemicals to his brain. Obito channeled what little sanity he had left into his eye sockets, had to ensure Sharingan doesn’t flare to life. If that curse betrays now, he swore he’d plunge it out and stay blind for the rest of his miserable life. Screw the Moon, he’d commit a carnage out of sexual frustration alone if he doesn’t get to cum.
Saliva trickling down Deidara’s thighs got Obito making a funnily high noise; in all honesty, he mewled. Is Deidara preparing himself… for him? A wave of insufferable heat washed over, hot static dancing over moist skin, teetering off the edge of lucidity. Obito bit inside of cheek, willed himself to simmer down. He can’t lose it. Not now.
If so, then… Deidara hasn’t written off the possibility of pulling him out and sinking down on him. That thought… ah, he can’t dwell on that. He can’t. It’d make him burst. Not just his groin, the infuriating pressure therein, but all of him. Years of suppression, the wrath and the hatred this world has left him with. The hole in his chest this gnawing hunger deepened, yet had a potent potential to fill; or, at least, distract for a little while.
Or… Deidara was doing this for own pleasure, regardless of his wishes and enjoyment. Yea, that’s far likelier.
Obito let out a dry snicker. If only he wasn’t enjoy this.
If only.
The tongue must have done something wonderful as Deidara’s entire body twitched, teeth sinking into lower lip and eyes briefly flashing black. They quickly defogged, and landed on him.
“I take it… you like what you’re seeing, hm,” little minx teased, all tattered breaths and shivers.
Obito didn’t trust his tongue, so he bit it and nodded with frenzy that got his head swirling. A sharp vertigo churned his stomach, shot bile up, got him twitching and jerking, like burned. Cock pumped out a new wave of precum, underwear soaked with his inability to keep himself in check. He was disgusted with himself, sickened by the bouts of desire that overcame. Obito squirmed and groaned, just to avoid another round of pathetic pleading; if only it yield results, he’d beg till vocal cords give out.
Deidara’s lashes fluttered, lips quivering with hushed moans, pink touching cheeks; nothing to do with shyness, quell the mere idea of such absurdity. He was touching and licking himself without the care in the world, focusing on nothing but own enjoyment.
For a fugacious moment, Obito wished to curl own fingers around Deidara’s cock and jerk him off, behold how gorgeously face twists in ecstasy of his making, brimming with intent and avidity he can’t verbalize. But feels, perfervidly, deleteriously. He didn’t dare to. Not out of fear Deidara might swat his touch away, but out of fear he might not.
He might lean into it, hoping he’ll melt, and let Tobi take the lead. Except, the line between the person and the persona would blur. He wouldn’t know what to do, how to convey the eagerness to please. Nerves would give out, amplify his ineptitude, shaky holds and meek strokes reeking of anxiety, resulting in a satire of a performance, the highest form of humiliation.
Deidara could do it better, and he knew it. That’s why he didn’t ask for the touch, but took and took.
Giving out a low grunt, Deidara opened those mesmerizing eyes of his, hooded with desire, sharpened with intrigue. “Y’know…” a breathless groan, but loaded. “You can do more than just watch.”
Dear god.
He wanted. Hell know how much he wanted, heaven didn’t need to. He wanted to touch, to have; to tear all obstacles in the way, including the fears, and posses this wild spirit, inside out. He wanted to indulge Deidara's deeply embedded fear of someone taming his chaos, itched to put on the same leash he is on.
The open invitation ruined. Destroyed, to the bits. The thought of shoving pants down knees and ramming himself inside did things to Obito, hormones and heart. Incurably crazy things.
The worst of all was the comprehension how close he was to the realization of that wet dream. Yet, didn’t dare act. Deidara was right. Deep down, his soul is warped in ways he can’t comprehend. It yearns for the ugly submission, for the degradation and ache.
A rougher thrust got Deidara rocking forward, eyes screwed with electric tinges, head falling back, drool sliding from the corner of the mouth. Obito’s went dry. “Deidara…”
He murmured his name, like a prayer. Times and times again, beholding a deity, not another sinful mortal, thighs deep in decadence. With a delirium of a sinner, Obito wished to take in every line and plane of his body, to sculpture the mouthwatering perfection. He could, probably, but didn’t even try. His unstable hands were glued to Deidara’s hipbones, not daring to inch lower or higher. His foul graceless touch might ruin the masterpiece.
Deidara didn’t share similar reservations. He lowered on his waist and let the touch wander, from the clenched abs up to the chest fluttering with strain and maddening arousal. He could feel the rhythm of his mad afflicted heart, could feel what he’s doing to him.
And so, the little sadist smiled, drunk on his tangible anguish. When I get you...
At the sharp twinges of friction, muscles rippled under Deidara’s palms. His pupils expanded, overshadowed the blue of irises. “Look at you,” he groaned, low and rumbling, timbre vibrating with a fresh rush of unbridled want. “Oh dear lord.”
Without a qualm, he griped Tobi’s biceps and squeezed, this time not letting go. Other hand drew comforting circles over Tobi’s lower stomach, inching dangerously close to the source of his suffering. If he grazes, even by accident, in passing,Obito swore he’ll convulse, howl like a wounded animal; maybe even lose it, completely. It was a scary thought, one that stiffened every inch of his already taut body and froze in place.
“Built like a brick wall,” Deidara murmured, sounding distracted, voice thick with fascination. “Why have you been hiding this from me Tobi?” he palpated the muscle, mouth watering, pupils dilating with thirst. “We could have had so much fun, hmm.”
Obito was in two minds whether he wants Deidara to keep on talking or not. Deidara, of course, chose the former. “And I’m supposed to believe you’re a klutz that can’t save his life? Yea right, mm,” wry snicker got Obito’s heart to do a little flip, hardly anything to do with how close he is to being unmasked.
“Yet,” a drawl as Deidara’s eyes traveled over his upper body, steadily and thoroughly, gaze ripe with something more perilous than lust of flesh – lust for his secrets.
"You're useless.”
He is, painfully so. Being called that made him throb with such ferocity that Obito swore he’s sick in the head. Caught in the throes of despair, Obito had to writhe and rock up, praying the stolen friction will relieved the fraction he needs. He’s never been this hard in his entire life. He didn’t know it’s possible for a human male body to be this aroused, balls this taut, shaft this stiff, pulse this rapid, this aggravating.
Deidara felt him pressing into the back of his thigh. So he scooted, cupped the tent and kneaded with painful gentleness. “Especially here, hmm,” the brat had to lick lips and munch, had to send his thoughts down the gutter. “Damn Tobi, you're so big and hot, hm.”
The praise unwound. It fucking wrecked. An animalistic sound ripped from the back of throat. It was muffled by the mask, he sounded all the more strangled.
Gosh. What this little thing did to him, Obito should have his head on the spike for the degradation alone. Alas, he suffered from a need for own destruction. So, he loved it. Too much.
Pulsing didn’t abate. It’s a miracle he didn’t release right then and there. “And twitching, uselessly,” Deidara hummed, slotting him between legs, and sliding down. “Your pulse is wild. Gosh, Tobi, you’ll go into a cardiac arrest from how much you wanna fuck me, hmm.”
Deidara was openly laughing at him, cheeks rosy and dimpled with beams. It was unfair. He didn’t have a right to look this innocent while degrading him this vulgarly. The sight etched into Obito’s brain, accelerating his pulse even more. Ah yes, Deidara was right, again. At this rate, his poor heart will explode from the sheer need.
Tossing hair back, Deidara lowered from a different angle, hips sharply canted upwards. Head of Obito’s trapped cock rubbed directly over his entrance, muscles clenching and contracting, luring into the impossibly hot pressure.
Obito clenched teeth that hard they almost broke. This… is agony. Pure torture. The worst hell has to offer.
The previous wave didn’t get a chance to ebb. A whole tsunami hit him, submerged and cast ashore his bones. Obito prayed the fabric would snap and free him, when he’s too fearful to free himself. Deidara continued moving, his hips snapping and fluttering, hole rubbing against him. That’s where he should be. Where he needs to be. Fuck.
Dam broke. He felt the tomoe take shape, black wheels about to do the first spin, and ruin. The glow of the vermilion will sign their end, in blood. Deidara is watching him, like a hawk. There’s no chance in hell he won’t notice. Obito can’t let that happen, not even the shadow of doubt, not after having a spoonful of heaven.
Fuck it. In an atypically aggressive motion, Obito shoved the mask to the side, exposing everything but eyes. Those, he could not. Those would do them apart. Nor he wanted to see how he’s sacrificing everything for nothing but an hour or two of a little piece of heaven.
Deidara’s breath hitched, surprise blowing eyes wide. “You - ”
Obito silenced him by leaping up and grabbing the back of his head. Without a forethought, he yanked Deidara closer, flush against his chest, and crushed lips with his.
At least, that's what Obito intended on accomplishing. Reality slapped him in the face till it reddened like cherry, signed in the inexperience. Deidara kissed back without reservations or meekness. Just the searing intent of a man who knows what he wants.
He cupped Obito’s face, thumbed the height of his cheeks, pads catching on the scars and palpating in circles. Despite being velvety, contact had Obito inhaling, choking on empty air for how stifling it was. He was ridiculously sensitive, so much that the pats undid, Sharingan blazing with the welter of emotions, all bleeding through. No one has seen his face since the cave, much less touched – much less this amorously.
Very much like other intimate milestones, Obito thought he had no need for kisses, not even the first. Yet, as those lush animated lips slotted between his, curious in their exploration and raring to teach, the only regret he had was not caving in sooner.
Deidara was merciless, nipping and sucking on his lower lip, pressing with passion that left no space for thought, just feeling in the moment. Yet, more than anything, he was starving. His raw gluttony for attention was unrivaled, thirst to be beheld with eyes containing a great power should be his downfall.
Oddly, it wasn't. The whim clad in vanity didn't lead down the spiral, or off the path. Deidara doesn't yield to the same impetuosity that has him clapped in irons. Hence, why he was free to embrace carnality without a worry for the consequences – he lived in the present, neither past nor future.
“Heh,” Deidara puffed through nose, withdrawing just to pant over his mouth. That's how Obito gauged the distance in the absence of sight. “You don't even know how to kiss, hmm.”
He didn't need to fill in the rest, no way you know how to fuck dangled in the taut silence, akin to a provocation. The fruit was ripe for the harvest. If he were less depraved, Obito would have taken it as a challenge and proved Deidara wrong, till the sun rise. This way, the sickness in him thrived, toes curled and mouth watered at the prospect of humiliation at the hands of a one he can vanquish in a blink. The power disparity, a gap made vaster by each secret, got to Obito’s head in all the wrong ways.
It was a ludicrous suggestion, that he, the one that's shed all emblems of identity to embrace the higher purpose, the one that wields power to make the earth roar, is bad at something. Something so mundane, so mechanical. No way. Pomposity didn't allow Obito to truly consider the possibility that he won't be excellent at the very first…
Oh who is he kidding? Deidara made it into a habit to be spot-on tonight. It'd be a debacle. A mess. Because he is a mess. Hormones have been wrecking for months, meddling with clear thought, like he’s some hormonal teenager. He wouldn't last a minute inside, not the first time, not the second, and not the third. Not the hundredth, as long as Deidara keeps answering to the something hideously needy embedded in him.
The strong hand gripped his jaw, nails digging into the untouched skin, thrilling and twinging in the same breath. “As your senpai, let me teach you, Tobi.”
Deidara’s mock rang inside his head, glee vibrating his voice rushed shivers down spine. Obito didn't have time to dwell on the tension gathering in gut. Deidara did something that should be considered a kiss, but couldn't be. Not this vicious and one-sided, not this selfish.
It was an assault. The complete, overwhelming invasion. Obito couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything but the stirring sensation of Deidara’s lips moving against his, searing angles and dizzying versatility. Deidara overpowered him, subjugated in a blink, his trademark scent engulfing. Ash, smoke and embers, with a touch of danger that seized Obito by the throat and refused to relate the iron grip.
Deidara was humming in delight, pulling at his lips and flicking tongue over the gum, sliding inside without difficulty, immediately finding his tongue and defeating it; then plunging down throat, uncaring for his gags, twitches and heightened breath of alarm.
Ah, it felt sinfully good to be this subdued, wishes this disregarded, like they mean nothing. There was no option but to surrender, both to Deidara and the lunacy he stirred within. And Obito did, with pleasure.
The silver lining, Deidara was distracted. Obito couldn't see him, the elastic band of the mask be damned, but that didn't mean he couldn't and wouldn't act. Too delirious, he snaked hands down their groins, fully intending on going against the promise and taking his poor cock out without showing Deidara his whole face. It'd take him no more than a moment to bury himself inside. Obito trusted sensual gratification would have Deidara too dazed to resist and demand he pull out, hence that he’d submit.
As it turned out, he was the one dazed. It slipped Obito’s mind that Deidara could see his lips, and could feel the smirk molding. For once, he was read like an open book.
His wrists were seized with the swiftness that made Obito’s heart trip. Clasp was vice, unforgiving. Caught.
Contact abruptly broke off with a lewd ‘pop’, saliva forming bridges between their lips. “Don't you dare,” Deidara hissed.
Ferocity had Obito’s pulse picking up. Nothing to do with fright, blood pooled in his groin, coiling and bubbling. “But -”
“Everything,” Deidara sharply cut him off. “Everything comes off.”
In a heartbeat, Obito had his wrists pinned next to his head, grip bruising tight. Deidara was strong, there's no denying that, but not strong enough to keep him down. Obito could shake him off anytime – in theory.
In practice, he was right where he, at his nonexistent warped heart, wanted to be – humbled and subdued. He didn't deserve anything more solid, more real, than to rut and cum in pants. He deserved this disparaging treatment, to be belittled for what he desires.
Deidara grew bored of the settled dynamic, the adrenaline junkie. Rather than sealing lips over his for the third time, he trailed moist pecks to the side, finding his scars. He didn't bite with cruelty Obito was expecting, instead probed with the pointy tip of tongue and nibbled on the ridges; took the scarred tissue between teeth and rolled.
“Ahh,” a moan slipped out, long and breathy. Obito jerked forwards, head lolling to the side, fingers flexing in Deidara’s clasp, muscles burning. He was gone, doomed.
Unyielding pressure of Deidara’s tongue and dulled stings of nips bolted straight to his groin, cock helplessly twitching and drooling, begging for stimulation. Out of Obito’s awareness, his feet heeled, toes raking over the dirt. Hips canted too, bucked up and rubbed against Deidara’s shin, like a dog in heat. The jolts of electric bliss sent white static over skin, pleasure and pain at odds. It felt so amazing that it ached. Obito couldn't catch his breath, couldn't stop the undignified noises. This hypersensitivity will be the death of him.
He felt and heard Deidara snicker, warm breath tickling, vibrations ghosting over the scarred tissue, but didn’t see; couldn't. “Sensitive, aren't you Tobi?”
As if you don’t know. Obito tried to part lips, tried to unsnarl tongue and voice that breathless yes, but all that passed were guttural groans, wordless begs for deliverance. Deidara won’t give in, he rarely goes back on his word. Obito knew his only real option is to acquiesce. Like a good boy, a lost soul, he squinched eyes and nodded.
“Good,” purr glided up his bones, coiled around thumping heart and clenched. “That’s what I wanna hear, hm,” Deidara’s husky whisper clawed at his stomach, hot moist tongue lapping up a bead of sweat set on fire.
If he were sober, Obito would have speculated what Deidara thinks of the scars. Does he find them hideous, like they are – like he, indeed, is? Or does his artistic eye view the world in different shades, from a different perspective? If Deidara’s squirms and heat down groin suggest anything, he didn't find the sight off-putting, the opposite. It was a thrilling thought, one laced with an unhealthy dose of escapism, but ultimately inconclusive. He can’t know, unless he asks.
Unpredictable. Deidara was crazily, gorgeously unpredictable. His fickle spirit spells trouble, has landed them in a plentiful, yet pulls in like a magnet. Obito wouldn't have it any other way.
Rumbling a groan, Deidara gave him a fleeting peck over lips, released his wrists and sat up. Then thrust cock over his stomach, all swollen and drenched. “Fuck, I'm close!” it was a shamelessly high moan.
It sent blood to Obito’s head, ripe with woozy chemicals. He made a funny noise that gave the desperation away. “You wanna watch me cum?” Deidara scoffed. “Bet you do, hmm? You nasty dog.”
Of course he does, and they both knew it. Swallowing back what little is left of pride, Obito nodded like an overly eager maniac. Chuckles suggested Deidara found it cute. They worked Obito up, his hands bolting to Deidara’s cheeks, kneading and pulling. It was easy to visualize him sitting on top, chewing own lip and gazing down at him through long lashes, cheeks flushed with desire. How hot he must look, gosh. Obito cursed the Sharingan for not being able to see through material.
Chuffed by his intense panting, Deidara hooked thumb over his tongue. “Too bad you've been a bad boy, hmm,” he chaffed, sounding a bit impatient himself.
Deidara didn’t seem to mind his hands on him; the opposite, rocked back into the touch, encouraging more. It was a double edged sword, the feeling of the soft curves of his ass rouse a primal need that sprung pathetic whimpers up Obito’s throat.
With audibly heightened breath of his own, Deidara thumbed his lips, nail catching over the cuts, digging, enkindling the sweet ache. Obito found it that he was stupidly sensitive there, and everywhere; painfully untouched, tangibly starving. Trying to gulp down the lump of hot saliva, he squeezed Deidara tighter, as an anchor.
The little minx had other ideas. He didn’t let Obito close mouth or swallow, kept fingers hooked over tongue and sadistically forced him to drool all over himself. Then, with another series of sinisterly low chuckles, Deidara closed in to lick his face clear, laps searing with intent. Ah, how depraved this man is, free in his scandal, it was addicting. Deidara is wonderful. Obito couldn't believe he’s gotten this lucky.
Each flick of tongue got Obito aching with need, each filthy sound sending blood south. His lower half burned, furiously. Obito, in all honesty, was hair’s breadth away from tearing up and wailing. “Fucking hell,” he cursed inwardly, but also outwardly.
A snap of hips. Seemingly, his gaffe got Deidara’s gasps fluttering. Obito imagined his lips shaping into a stupidly attractive smirk. Deidara wasn’t faring much better, writhing above him, erection steadily pulsing, damping his shirt, but was free to seek friction – free to dictate the tempo, unabashed of his heart’s most debased cravings.
“Mm, so hot,” a gasp, thick and raw. Deidara licked and nuzzled, lavishing with pecks, almost like fascinated by the shape of his mouth, every sound that leaves it. Giddily, Obito supposed it made sense. Deidara did want to see him for quite some time.
Kisses concluded with a playful bite; of course he had to. Deidara got a hold of his throat, thumbs clawing at the windpipe, fingers curling towards the sides, and pressed stiff enough to sting. Sensing his pulse go off the rails, Deidara flicked the tongue on palm over the hinge of Obito’s jaw, languidly, saliva overflowing.
Then sprang up, straddled his lap properly, and rolled thumb over the bobbed Adam apple. “Enjoy your punishment.”
Ah.
This time, Deidara was wrong. This was far cry from a punishment. Not for his sick sort, not with this much slick heat between them. This is paradise.
With the last goad, Deidara began moving with none of the previous teasing lightness. His grinds were brisk and fierce, clearly aiming for the climax, tiny grunts melting in the back of throat growing louder; blessing for Obito’s ears, a fuel for the lonely cold nights. Deidara half leaned over, weight pressing down on chest constricting breath more than the limp choke did, more presence than pressure. He kept on squeezing and thrusting, using him for own pleasure. Obito couldn't articulate how hot that was.
Make no mistake, if Deidara wanted to choke the life out of him, he would have. He didn’t want to, just like Obito didn’t want to pin him down and take the lead. Even so, the mere presence of that strong hand on his throat got the blood pumping. His own deviant mind conjured images, gulled nerves into believing he was being suffocated, oxygen no longer reaching brain; or anything at all, denied pleasure reduced it to a mush with a singular goal.
Slaps of skin enriched with the sloppy sounds suggested Deidara was stroking himself, putting those oddities to a good use; what they can do to him, Obito was afraid to let thoughts wander, afraid of how higher the inferno can burn.
Gosh, the noises Deidara made, breathy and uneven, fucking ruined… they went straight to his trapped cock, tip exuding more and more precum. Ah fuck.
“Please,” a beg slipped out, miserable and worthless. Deidara won’t show mercy, not to his elusiveness, not the refusal to look him in the eye.
Nevertheless. “Deidara please,” Obito tried again, voice ruined. Bared yet fully clothed, he was stripped of all other choices but to part with all remnants of dignity.
Deidara’s answer arrived in a deep-toned groan of pleasure, showcasing how much he got off on his vulnerability. It was an answer enough, an unequivocal middle finger.
If only you knew you have an arrogant Uchiha begging, you would have folded so fast.
Broken and defeated, Obito collapsed onto the ground, intoxicated on the luscious chakra Deidara was emanating. Hips still rolled, bulge sliding between Deidara’s cheeks. He was torn between the rabid need for release and prudence dissuading from disgrace. It’d set a precedent. Deidara would get addicted to Tobi’s – his sweat and tears, and would be in for blood.
Even so, the thought of humiliating himself by filling pants with hot thick seed got his cock pulsing, painfully so, pumping out more slick in a presage of what’s to come. Obito tried to gulp down, but throat fluttered and caught against Deidara’s unyielding fingers, intensifying the heat. Ah… he’s sure figured out more about himself tonight than he could have possibly bargained for.
Sharingan seared behind the dark cloth, into the skull, eliciting ache and vertigo. It ensured he’ll remember every tormentingly long second of darkness defined by misery. It was also the reason why he couldn't be candid with Deidara, an obstacle in the way, hence the rightfully deserved contempt manifesting in gritted teeth and growls.
This was torture. Not even the absence of stimulation, but sight. He wanted to see everything. He needed to see Deidara’s crumpled face locked in otherworldly bliss the second he lets go. He had to soak everything in, down to the last spasm of muscles and the dying gasp. This way he wouldn't even be able to tell when Deidara finishes. Damn.
Deprivation frustrated beyond belief. His life has been that of suppression, denial after denial, cobbled with the rejection of indulgence. Deidara sniffed out the malady in him, buried deep under the inhibitions, unearthed it and gave him exactly what he wanted, in form of a taste, not a full course meal. A spoonful was enough to addict, corrupt and change.
At heart, Obito knew he won’t walk away from this unchanged, won’t be able to cower behind the Tobi’s facade and insist on indifference. This angel was sent from hell, just for him. Perfect for him.
Behind the impromptu blindfold, Obito’s imagination ran wild. He could see Deidara’s chest rise and fall with shallow breath, each faster than the previous; could see his nipples, perked and rosy, glistering with sweat. He could see those nimble fingers taut around flesh as he worked himself, tongue darting and gliding up the veins, slobbering over the tip. Obito could see the glimmer in Deidara’s lustful eyes, the quirk of his lips as he gasped, before they shaped an order and -
“Be a good boy Tobi and do it for me, hm.”
His traitorously pliant body did, on command. A ripple of the crushing heat swept over him, dissolved on a molecular level. A torrid need bolted through veins, like wildfire. In the last ditch effort to hold on, Obito tried to stiffen muscles and stop the pressure shooting up shaft.
In vain. There was no stopping it, not this time. The tension building in him reached the boiling point. Releasing a feral sound, Obito curled into himself and finally began ejaculating. Ohgod.
It’s far from his first orgasm, but it’s the first one with another person; this first one he had to wait this much for. Nevertheless, nothing could have prepared for this avalanche. Pain and pleasure entwined, tinges of bliss and twinges wrecking chaos through raw nerves, dopamine and endorphin getting to his head.
Trembles roved up quivering thighs, up the rippling muscles, crept over sternum and tipped his chin back. A barrage of powerful sensations shut down Obito’s nervous system. He lost the sense of reality.
Obito came back to it when his dick stopped jerking, the last ribbon of seed spurted out. The first thing he became conscious of was nauseating dizziness, second the abhorrent wet heat down on himself. Ah hell. It grounded back to reality where he allowed his brat of a partner to coax him into rutting and messing his pants. Ugh.
The rapid fluttering of chest didn’t let Obito catch his breath, exhaustion taking a toll. Heart raced like he’s battled for endless hours. In a way, has – with himself. Pulse drummed inside the addled brain, not a coherent thought therein. Muscles burned from extortion, like he’s lifted a finger, not laid down and let Deidara have his way. He was spent, boneless, sapped of intellect and strength – physically and mentally gone.
He realized he drooled some more; damn. Sprawled and drenched, all heavy breaths and twitchy muscles, he must depict one hell of a pathetic scene, unbecoming a leader of the Akatsuki, all the might and power he carries. Unbecoming anyone with a shred of dignity, if Obito allowed himself scarce sincerity.
Body and soul were, for once, in harmony. He felt filthy and was filthy, drenched in sweat, pants full of hot gunky cum. Groin still burned with ache, the leftovers of fervid desire, except the stickiness grew tenfold. It was preposterous that the simplicity of orgasm could undo like this, alleviate and humble in one go.
Alas, he knew he had to face the music: there are experiences in the field of intimacy that are beyond his comprehension, let alone mastery.
It took Obito a while to register the absence of weight on top. Deidara must have gotten up while he was out of sorts. Obito couldn't see him, but sensed his chakra right nearby, usually soothing, exuding content. Of course you’re pleased, you little shit.
His eyes may have been covered, but that didn’t mean Deidara couldn't have figured out orgasm was that potent to knock him out. Curiously, there were no witty remarks, and that was way worse. Because he knew that Deidara knew, but didn’t know what he thinks about it. Why does his opinion cut ice, that Obito couldn't tell. All he could tell is that he wished the ground opens and swallows him, just to spare the humiliation.
And to think he finished on a command, like a dog… unbelievable. Degrading couldn't begin to describe it. Obito felt the tips of his ears burn and head swim with the repercussions, a soundless groan melting on lips. Arrogance in him revolted, called for retribution, but perversion rejoiced. It begged for more, voraciously, insatiably.
No, he can’t. Not now, and preferably not ever again. Resolved renewed, Obito decided to school himself into properness; forget Tobi’s flippancy, he can’t deliver. But he can’t wallow in self-pity either, not with Deidara watching, studying his every slip. There will be plenty time for that later. At least the Sharingan has retracted, the silver lining. Good, he can proceed.
With a long sigh, Obito fixed his mask in place. Immediately, he could breathe a little lighter, hidden in the shadows, where he’s made the nest. In spite of the mother wit, Obito risked sneaking a peek down on himself. It looked… bad. Not to mince words, it was bad. Like he pissed himself. Even that would have been less embarrassing. Dear lord… he emptied an entire bucket. That’s where abstinence gets him.
Shaking head, Obito glanced up, pleading the sky to take him; if the earth won’t, maybe the lighting strike will hit and save from the consequences of own actions. Correction, the lack of actions. Is Madara watching from somewhere up there? If so, Obito is certain he's regretting the day he picked him up in that cave. If that sack of wrinkles had known his little rugrat would put everything on a gamble for a hot bombshell blonde that bosses him around, he would have left him to rot beneath the boulder.
Yea, he’s so not reviving Madara. Not for a multitude of reasons, and especially not because of this.. Not after a taste of this. Gramps and his rigid teachings can go screw themselves. The whole world can.
Finding an ounce of coordination, Obito lounged on elbows, chest still heaving with labored breaths. His gazed searched for Deidara, on an instinct. Obito found him leaning against the tree a couple meters away, already redressed. Damn it. At least his hair was rumpled, skin still glistering with sweat, but that was a lukewarm consolation.
Obito felt free to pull a face behind the mask. Years of using it eroded his control when it comes to facial expression, no wonder Deidara was able to read him with ease. At the moment, he was casting Tobi glances of unveiled suspicion. Deidara will likely leave in a minute or two, to ruminate, and offer him a semblance of privacy, a gesture of kindness Obito desperately needed. But won’t abandon, discard like a broken toy now that the heat has dwindled.
It’d be easier if he would. If he ridiculed, accented that he’s used Tobi for own satisfaction. If Deidara set the line, insisted on the fixed roles and shame transcending the bounds of physicality. But this way… whatever tangled between them had a hue of fondness, a bud of potential. Obito severed the idea in root, before it had a chance to bloom into a daydream. It can’t.
Tobi would be all chirps and jeers, jumping to his feet and singing to heavens how much he loved it. Obito couldn't feel his legs, couldn't summon a lucid thought. Perceptive as he is, Deidara must have noted the derivation from the norm. Another piece of the puzzle that’ll crystallize one day, paint a picture of their epilogue.
He didn’t comment, just canted head and flashed the smirk that filled Obito’s stomach with buzzing electricity, the spark renewed. “That was good Tobi. I liked it, hmm.”
Good? Ah, no. It was amazing. So mind-blowing Obito forgot how to speak, how to breathe properly, post-coital bliss still floating in veins. He’s never experienced anything that heavenly, yet cataclysmic.
Forget the plans, they can be shelved for a month or two. Obito would be damned if there’s no repeat. Preferably with Deidara’s mouth on him. It doesn't matter if clothes are in the way, denial would enhance the pleasure again, courtesy of his newly found depravity.
With a snicker, Deidara announced he was onto his inner disarray, yet oddly, kept silent. His cheeks were puffy, uncovered eye teeming with mirth, smile equally confident and sincere. “We should do it more often.”
Gosh.
They will. If Obito loses his mind in process, so be it. Now that he’s acquainted with decadence, he’d lose it without Deidara’s touch anyways.