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You’ve had your eyes on Genma for a while now, though he never seemed to pick up on it. You blamed it on his stupidity, not that he was stupid in general, just when it comes to you in particular. The man can flirt with any man or woman in Konoha as easily as he breathes. But when he’s around you, his hands go in his pants, and he acts aloof, almost as if he didn’t want to be around.
So when Kakashi pulled you aside today, you couldn’t contain your gasp and incredulous glare.
“Stop playing with me, Kakashi, that’s not funny.” You cross your arms and narrow your eyes at your white-haired friend.
“I’m being completely serious, and the only reason I’m telling you is because he’s too afraid to. Trust me, I hate seeing him act like an asshole because he’s too scared to talk to you, so I figured I’d do him a favor.” Kakashi shrugs, though his eye shines with intent.
“You sure he won’t kill you when he finds out you told me his little secret?” You scoff as you chew your bottom lip, contemplating what to do with this information.
You could practically see Kakashi smirk under his mask. “He couldn’t if he tried.”
. . . . .
It didn’t take you long to think of a plan to trap Genma and test Kakashi’s word.
The next day, you find him browsing the fruit stall with his signature slouch and a senbon bobbing at the corner of his mouth. You slink around the stand, pretending interest in some bruised mangos, and watch him out of the corner of your eye. He looks even more tired than usual, like he’s been up late and behind on sleep. Even still, he looks just as good as any other day.
You time your move so when he turns from the stall, you collide with him, almost knocking the bag from his hand. “Watch it,” you say, a smile biting at your mouth.
He doesn’t smirk back as he does with everyone else. Instead, Genma’s shoulder tightens up, and his eyes dart to the side. “Didn’t know you shopped here,” he says, which is the is an obvious lie. You’re here every morning and he’s made a study of your schedule.
“You always this awkward, or am I special?” You lean closer, letting your shoulder brush his arm, amused at how his ears go a little pink.
He shifts, then tries to play it cool by inspecting an orange in his bag. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Too late,” you say with a beat. “Really, you’re not even going to flirt back? My ego is wounded.”
His hand stalls halfway to his senbon. He looks at you with an unreadable expression in his eyes, then shrugs. “Guess I’m off my game.”
You grin, feeling slightly victorious. “I’ll help you practice. Want to come over for a drink tonight? I promise I won’t bite— unless you ask nicely.” You wink as you lean in to him, clasping your hands behind your back innocently.
That gets him. He chokes on absolutely nothing, then hastily recovers. “Yeah,” he says, his voice rough. “That could be fun.”
You honestly weren’t expecting him to say yes so easily. The ever-composed Genma, master of wit, now can barely look you in the eye.
Kakashi wasn’t lying.
As you head home to prepare, your mind races ahead to a thousand possible outcomes. You can’t decide if you want to rile Genma up or strip him bare. In the end, you plan to do both. You change into something comfortable but revealing, pull out your sake and some glasses, and settle onto the couch with butterflies in your stomach.
When the knock finally comes, you nearly jump, heart hammering through your chest. You half expected him to bail, but here he stands at your door, hands shoved deep in his pockets, hair wind-mussed without his headband, and eyes downcast like he’s about to apologize for something.
“Come in,” you say kindly, and he does, immediately scanning your apartment, as if looking for traps. You pour him a drink before he can protest, thrusting it into his hands. He stands awkwardly in the middle of your living room, drink in hand, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“So,” he says, “you do this with all your teammates?” He asks awkwardly.
“Only the pretty ones,” you reply with a smirk.
He finally meets your gaze, and you see him visibly fight the urge to smile. “Guess I’ll consider myself lucky.” There’s that charm you love so much.
You pat the couch beside you, and Genma hesitates a moment before he sits down so close his thigh presses against yours. You can feel the heat of him, the tension radiating off his tall frame.
He tries to play it off, keeping his attention on the drink in his hand, but you’re not about to let him off that easily. Your palm lands on his thigh, casually at first, but when you feel the muscle jump beneath your fingers, you squeeze instinctively.
He nearly spills his drink and covers it up by taking a swig. When he faces you again, his face is red, and his eyes carry an expression you’re not used to. You expect a quip, some sassy rebuttal, but he just swallows hard.
“Genma, you’re blushing,” you tease sweetly.
He scoffs weakly. “Am not,” he protests. But he’s redder now, and you feel his leg tense beneath your hand.
“Liar.” You move your hand higher, letting your nails catch ever so lightly through the fabric. You sense the shiver that chases up his spine, the quiet gasp he tries to swallow.
“Are you—” he starts, but you cut him off by leaning right up to his ear, your lips so close to his ear that your warm breath causes him to shudder.
“You can tell me to stop,” you whisper coyly and squeeze the middle of his thigh.
He gives you silence, then a shaky exhale. “Don’t,” he says, so quiet you almost miss it.
You smile against his ear, emboldened by his response. “So polite,” you murmur your praise against him. Your hand creeps further upward to his crotch, tracing the seam of his pants, feeling the outline of his rock-hard dick. You squeeze it, just enough to let him know you noticed, then pull back to look at him.
Genma’s eyes are wide, his lips parted, his heart stammering as if completely caught. There’s a hunger there that’s almost painful— like he’s spent too long denying himself this, or maybe anything at all.
“Can I… touch you?” His voice is rough, sincere in a way that almost makes your core ache.
You consider his plea. The idea of him needy, desperate, and at your command is unexpectedly intoxicating.
You let your hand rest at his waistband, then arch an eyebrow. “You want to touch me? Beg for it.”
To your surprise, he doesn’t even hesitate. He’s off the couch in an instant, kneeling between your legs, eyes dark and desperate. “Please,” Genma begs, hands coming to your thighs. “Let me touch you. Please, I need— whatever you’ll give me, I need it.”
You’re so taken off guard by his earnestness that your composure nearly shatters. But you’re quick to recover, fingers threading into his brown hair, tugging just enough to force his head back.
“I didn’t take you for the obedient type,” you murmur, relishing the way he leans into your grip.
He smirks, regaining a splinter of his usual confidence. “Only for you, apparently.”
You decide to test the limits of that. “Take it out,” you order as you bite your bottom lip.
Genma’s breath stutters, but his hands are already moving. He’s so hard it looks painful as he undoes his zipper, hands shaking with nerves or anticipation, or both. His flush, hard dick nearly makes your mouth water. Your own breath is coming faster, admiration briefly stumping your control when he strokes himself twice and moans at your touch when you take over.
You curl your fingers around his thick length, squeezing just enough to draw a gasp, then drag your thumb over the slick at his tip. His whole body shudders as you touch him. He watches your hand, eyes bright and hungry; you sense he’d let you do anything to him right now.
“Lay down,” you command, your voice low and dangerous with desire.
Genma obeys so fast you barely have time to blink. He sprawls across your couch, shamelessly hard, hands limp at his sides, just waiting. You stand over him and pull your shirt off, slow enough for him to get an eyeful. His mouth falls open as he drinks you in, gaze lingering on your breasts to the curve of your waist, the way your thighs flex when you step out of your shorts and panties. His tongue flicks out, wetting his lips hungrily.
It’s almost comical how fast his cock jumps when you straddle his chest and plant your knees on either side of his head. But the look in his eyes when he realizes what you want, no, what you’re about to take, is absolutely reverent.
“No touching yourself,” you order, and he obeys, bringing his hands to your thighs.
You hover over his mouth, so close you can feel his breath against your wet center. Genma groans in anticipation, his voice ragged, and cranes his neck up, desperate for a taste.
“Ask nicely,” you demand, one hand gripping his hair, the other bracing yourself over the side of the sofa.
“Please,” he mutters as you slowly lower yourself. Letting him nuzzle your pussy, letting him inhale your scent like it was his lifeline. “Please, let me—” He can’t even finish. You grind just a little, slicking his lips and nose, and his eyes flutter closed.
You’re tempted to draw it out, but your own need is so strong you almost whimper when his tongue finally flicks at your clit. He licks you in slow, flat strokes, like he’s savoring every drop. Then sucks at your clit with a pressure you never knew you needed, latching onto your pussy with expert skill. His hands dig into your thighs, white-knuckled, while his tongue is relentless, tracing every part of you, then plunging greedily into your entrance. Genma was determined to taste every drop, greedily lapping at your pussy.
You don’t bother hiding the way you’re grinding your hips into his face, the way you moan his name and praise him when he gets it right— over and over, because he always gets it right. At some point, you realize he’s rutting up into the air, leaking steadily against his stomach, but not daring to touch himself.
Good boy.
“Fuck, Genma—” you gasp, thighs squeezing his ears as your hand tightens in his hair. “You’re good at this. Who taught you?”
He hums, the vibration making you shudder, then closes his lips around your clit and sucks until pleasure blacks out your vision. You arch, clutching his hair, and as you come on his tongue, you hear him curse and feel a sticky heat against your lower lips. Genma’s cock pulses, painting his abs with cum as he buries his tongue deeper, drinking every drop.
You grind down, letting him chase the last, trembling shudders of your orgasm. When you finally lift yourself off his mouth, he looks up at you— hair wild, lips glossy, eyes blown wide with delight. He’s panting, face slick with your arousal, and all you can do is laugh, as you wipe the sheen from his chin with your thumb and into his mouth, where he sucks it clean eagerly.
He watches you, patient and hungry, as you then lean over him and drag your lips along the curve of his jaw until you meet his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue. Genma sighs into your mouth, greedily kissing you like he’s starving.
“Please,” he pleads, his voice hoarse with desire, “let me taste you again.”
Like you could ever refuse. You guide him on top of you as you lie back on the couch, Genma settling between your legs, propping your thighs over his shoulders, staring at your cunt with rapt devotion. He spreads you open with two fingers and flicks his gaze up, a daring glint as he waits for your permission.
“Be a good boy,” you purr, “show me how much you want it.”
His eyes darken, and he groans as he slides his fingers in, slow at first, then curls them perfectly against that spot. His tongue presses flat against your clit, then circles it, causing you to arch your back when he resumes sucking it with a feral intensity.
“Oh, fuck,” you curse with a moan as the room fills with the squelching of your pussy as he works you with his mouth and hand.
The pressure builds fast, heat pushing through you like never before as you dig your heels into the small of his back, urging him on with your cries. Genma moans into you, the familiar vibration sending sparks up your spine. You realize he’s rutting against the couch again, helpless and leaking, but so focused on your pleasure he doesn’t even bother to touch himself.
You don’t last under his fervent touch. The slick sounds, the sight of his long fingers pumping knuckle-deep inside you, the way he won’t stop until you’re shaking— is too much. You cum again, harder this time, but Genma hitches his breath and keeps going relentlessly, until you’re moaning, squirming, and nearly sobbing as you squirt all over his hands and mouth. Your fingers knot in hair as his fingers splatter your juices everywhere. He groans in contentment, lapping up everything like he was drunk, then kisses your thigh gently before crawling up to kiss your lips, slow and deep.
He waits for you to breathe, then wipes his chin and grins, sheepish and proud.
“What do you want me to do next?” He asks, more than eager to fill your every demand.
“Strip,” you order, and he complies immediately, peeling off his soiled shirt, then his pants, and everything else. You pull his hips back down to the soaked couch, straddling him and dragging his cock between your slick folds, teasing him with the heat and the promise of it.
Genma gasps, eyes squeezed shut, and you clamp your hand on his throat with just enough pressure to make him whimper. “Tell me, Genma, do you want me?”
He nods frantically, already trying to line up the head of his cock with your entrance with his hips. Your cunt is still quivering, sensitive from his tongue, and you want him so badly it almost borders on pain.
You tease him for as long as you can, rubbing yourself against his flushed tip, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he chokes back another little gasp. “Do you want to feel me?” You demurely murmur, letting your lips graze the shell of his ear.
He nods again, this time looking pained as his hands clutch your hips hard enough to bruise. “Fuck, yes, please, I can’t—”
You give in to his plea, lowering yourself inch by slow inch until the swollen head pops inside you. Genma’s head falls back, his eyes squeezed shut as he shudders, already trembling as he feels your pussy slowly swallow his length. You sink down further, savoring the stretch, feeling yourself envelop him, wet and snug. You watch his face as you take his whole length. The look on his face was one of pure awe as you bottomed out, a smile whine escaping his throat when you swivel your hips. You ride him slowly at first, rolling your hips so he can feel every drag and squeeze.
His hands skate up from your waist to the small of your back, tracing the beads of sweat along your spine. When he bends forward to catch your nipple in his mouth, you gasp, arching into his touch, his tongue laving circles around the stiff peak.
“Mmm, yes, just like that, Genma,” you praise, holding his head there, rocking your hips harder, just to hear him moan around your flesh. He switches his attention to the other breast as you continue to ride him, his mouth separating with an obscene pop as you increase your speed.
When you look down, you see his neck muscle tense from holding himself back for your sake. You reward him by grinding down harder, milking him with your cunt, keeping your pace just shy of frenzied. You tangle a hand in his hair and pull his mouth to yours, kissing him bruisingly hard as he thrusts up into you, his self-control lost to the wind, his hips snapping.
Genma breaks the kiss, panting against your lips. “Let me—let me come, please—”
You decide to break him and have your fun. “Not yet,” you order, clenching your pussy around him mercilessly. “You can wait a little longer.” But your own need is catching up, and you want to take him with you when you fall.
He whines, helpless as you drag your nails down his chest. “You’re killing me—”
You laugh, licking the sweat from his jaw as he shudders beneath you, hand wrapping around his throat again. “You can take it, Genma. I know you can.”
But Genma isn’t content to be good forever, you know a man like him can only hold back for so long. The moment you loosen your hold on his throat, he grabs your ass with both hands and flips you, pinning you to the couch. The look in his eyes is dark and wild, sending a shiver down your spine.
“My turn,” he growls, and pushes your knees up towards your shoulders, folding you nearly in half as you gasp at the sudden power flip.
The new angle is devastating— he bottoms out so deep your vision blurs, and your nails dig into his back as you cry out with each thrust. He pounds into you, fast and rough, but never losing control, gritting his teeth as he buries himself to the hilt again and again. He kisses your neck, your cheek, your parted lips, tasting the tears that slip out as you shatter around him.
You practically sob Genma’s name as the pleasure rips through your core— he fucks you through it, his lips finding yours to swallow your cries. He’s shaking above you, muscles tense and quivering, hands clamped so tight on your thighs you’re sure you’ll bruise. “Gonna—fuck, I’m—” he manages, his voice hoarse and desperate.
“Do it,” you gasp, nails dragging down his back. “Come inside me,” you demand as you meet his eyes.
And he does as if on command, his hips slamming flush as he pulses deep inside you. He groans your name, stuttering it as he comes with a shaky breath. You feel his seed, hot and thick, spilling into the deepest part of you— the thought alone is enough to make you clench around him, milking every last drop.
He shudders through the aftershocks, then collapses onto your chest, both of you panting, sweat-soaked and fucked out. You run your fingers through his damp hair, smirking as he nuzzles your collarbone.
“Hmm, not bad,” you mutter, “for a guy who can’t flirt.”
He huffs a laugh, face still buried in your neck. “Slander. I just conserve my energy for the important moments.”
“Like this one?” You squeeze your cunt around his softening cock, just to prove a point.
He yelps and bites down on your shoulder gently. “Sadist,” he grumbles, but you both know he’s grinning.
You stroke his sweat-slick back, feeling the slow, steady thud of his heart under your palm. He’s still inside you, refusing to move, exactly like you wanted him.
You let the silence stretch, just breathing together in the dark until Genma finally props himself up and looks you dead in the eye. “So, uh. You gonna kick me out now? Or can I stay the night?”
“Depends,” you say, arching a brow. “Can you behave yourself?”
He grins lazily, giving you that smile that stops your heart. “No promises.”
You tug him down for a kiss, deep and thorough— there’s no rush now, no games left to play. When you finally break apart, you realize you could get used to this: the weight of him, the easy banter, the feeling of being wanted so badly it almost hurts.
You brush your fingers through his hair, then press a lazy kiss to his chin. “You gonna ignore me at the fruit stand again tomorrow?”
He snickers, resting his forehead against yours tenderly. “Maybe I’ll just eat you for breakfast instead.”
You laugh girlishly and pull him closer, already plotting new ways to break him.