kiba (nsfw) || "damn dog part ii / pet sematary"; fuck machine
“I told you, it’s nothing.”
“Damn, I… I still feel bad, though,” he scratched the back of his neck, trying to look away. It was cute, a little, how he tried his best to keep his distance in public. “You’ve had that thing for, like… forever.” Kiba sounded so concerned, it was adorable. “At least, as long as I can remember.”
A roll of the eyes. “Look, it’s nothing I can’t sew up myself, alright? It’s just a little time consuming, is all.” You rifled through the rack of similar jackets, trying to recall how much you had left in your wallet without checking it, and comparing it to the price tags was a little, ah… what’s the word? Depressing? Mmm, that seemed fitting. “Besides,” you murmur quietly, taking on a more teasing tone, “it’s just you and Akamaru, how bad can the damage be?”
“Woman, you know damn well…” Kiba inhales sharply, only realizing you were just trying to rile him up about halfway through his sentence. Still, his dark eyes shift across your form with something you can’t quite detect, and a pang of guilt shoots through you just looking at him. The bruises scattered across your forearms and legs would’ve concerned anyone else, too. Usually, you have to fight the urge to grin at the memory of him leaving them, especially when you recall leaving him with matching ones, but right now he just looks kind of sad. At the end of the day you help each other clean up and get better, and you both know that you wouldn’t actually hurt the other. Except… except for right now, when he’s gazing at you like that. It seems so much more intimate than any public displays of affection and you almost feel like you should draw your ripped jacket closer to yourself, to preserve some faux semblance of modesty.
Swallowing your own conjecture, you quirk an eyebrow at the chunin. “What do I know damn well?” It’s the way he blushes at your advances that makes all of this worth it. Shit, man, jacket be damned. You already forgave him, just for that little dust of coquelicot across his cheekbones. Kiba opens his mouth, about to speak, before glancing around like the whole world was privy to your conversation. “Not that you’re actually weak,” you clarify, just in case he didn’t get it. “You and Akamaru have my ass beat most days.” You find yourself not necessarily registering the different shades of colors and more practical applications of the jackets as you sort through them, more focused on your conversation with your boyfriend. “I just trust you not to hurt me for real.”
Choosing the jacket that most closely resembled your current ripped one, you turn around to make eye contact, and he’s reddened down to the bone, eyes blown wide with something like embarrassment. “I… (Y/n), don’t say that,” he hisses out, clearly flustered, and it’s the most adorable thing you’ve seen in months. Rolling your eyes with a grin you just can’t suppress, you place the coat back on the rack and start to walk out, ignoring the manager’s immediate complaints and your boyfriend’s hasty footsteps after you.
Akamaru joins the two of you on the walk back, having waited outside the store rather patiently, the good boy that he is. The three of you keep a slow pace, maintaining a comfortable silence on the way home. Honestly, you may have spoken too soon, about already forgiving Kiba. You weren’t going to hold it against him or anything, but the only uniform you had was that coat, durable and warm yet breathable when need be. Right now you simply had to tie it around your waist, and something felt rather uncomfortable about your tight turtleneck and having to strap your kunai and such to your belt.
Something Kiba has always done is make sure you get home safe, and you appreciate it more and more every time he does. Ever since your last encounter, where you confronted Akamaru’s presence in your intimate life, the two of you had started to spar daily in the afternoons, even before you started officially dating. You went from rivals to possible one night lovers to something unconfirmed to boyfriend and girlfriend. Somewhere along the line your traditions stuck like molasses.
“So, uh… um, sorry about your jacket.” He stumbles a little saying it. Somehow, after about a year of walking you home, he still hasn’t mastered the art of succinct goodbyes. “I really am sorry,” he repeats himself, clearly a little flustered by your silence, “and, um… Do you want me to help you clean up?”
Ah, another tradition. Whoever gets more fucked up during a sparring session gets tended to by the other that night. An unspoken rule yet a common courtesy. Clearing your throat, you tuck a few wayward strands of hair back behind your ear. “I’m good, thanks. Think I got it tonight.” You avoid eye contact. It’s… strange. You can’t recall either of you having ever turned down that question before, but you… just did.
“Okay, then.” If he’s hurt by that, he doesn’t show it. You blink a few times, too caught off guard to mask your surprise. Kiba takes a few steps closer and envelops you, gentle and close and something you really, seriously hadn’t been prepared for. You grip the thick, puffy fabric on the back of the jacket and hug back, sinking into his embrace. He inhales a little, a breathy laugh lightly reverberating through his chest, and you can’t even find it in you to be embarrassed of how touch-starved you are as you dig your face into his chest, the faux fur lining of his lapel soft and comforting. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” you mumble into his chest, still not willing to let go.
It’s lonelier cleaning up on your own, you reckon as you finally close the first aid kit. Only a few minor scratches on your face, but Kiba saw blood and freaked. Nothing to stitch up, really, and it doesn’t make that much sense because you swear you can remember having to give him actual stitches once or twice, but oh, you get a paper cut with a drop of blood? Total meltdown. It’s cute, but inconsistent, and—you’re rambling. A glance at yourself in the mirror and you stop to look at your uniform. Without the jacket you feel… naked, almost. It’s something you’ve worn for so long, something that just has your scent. Feels as much a part of you as a limb or your nails or hair.
Your ‘fit isn’t exactly bad without the jacket, though. It’s still just you under there, just… more exposed. Less space. More vulnerable, somehow. You unwrap the pocket strapped to your leg with bandages, counting your kunai and trying to see whether or not you can deal with not having those pockets.
“So… so you wanted to try something, you said?”
“Yes,” you untie your casual bun, haphazardly letting your hair fall down in tangled, kinky waves, slowly and torturously brushing them out. You can feel Kiba’s gaze on you like rain in the monsoon season, bearing down hard and relentless, maybe without even meaning to. “Something, um… different.”
Ever since you walked out the first time, Kiba seemed too afraid to even touch you intimately, like he was going to fuck up something beyond repair. Like you were something fragile, like an intricate vase or a flower. Akamaru curled up outside on your balcony, you watched your boyfriend shift a little in his position on your bed, legs spread with a mix of confidence and nerves. He was always so protective, and of course you appreciated it, but… you weren’t exactly fragile. You could take it. You were a big girl, not the same scared child he’d known growing up. Still, you couldn’t get that night out of your head. The way he touched you, like he needed to get closer somehow and if he couldn’t then he was absolutely done for. Like… he needed you, not so much as wanting you. Like you were something necessary.
“What is it, then?” Those wide eyes looking at you, so innocent and corrupted at the same time, just… held so much. Kiba swallowed something, and your gaze catches on how his Adam’s apple bobs up and down under the skin of his throat. “You don’t hate me for your jacket or anything, right? Cause I offered to pay for it, and I—”
The answer’s swift. “No, that’s not it. Just be patient, Kiba.”
“I…” He sounds frustrated, but as soon as the two of you make eye contact he caves. “I… well…” Kiba shakes his head. “Alright. Whatever it is, I trust you. So… I’ll wait.” He looks at the ground with a certain ferocity you’re sure will stick in your mind for a long time. “As long as you don’t take fucking forever, which it’s starting to seem like…”
“No, I won’t be much longer, don’t worry.”
“You sure you don’t need help with those?” He gestures at your face, sounding somehow both cocky and concerned. You’re not totally sure how, but he manages. “You’re pretty cut up…” Again, it’s nothing bad, he’s just exaggerating, but it’s only fueling what you’re about to do. “I—I mean, um,” his tone gets a little more flustered as you adjust your bandages under your shirt, “what are you planning to do, bleed on me? You’re not cleaning up any better than you clean me up, a-anyways.”
“Shut up, babe, I’m trying,” you keep your tone cool, and it trips him up a little. Babe . Just a common pet name, so why did you care? Why did he? “If I bleed on you, I bleed on you. Nothing you can’t get out with some lemon and water.”
There you go. One last exhale, and you turn to face him. He’s breathing pretty heavily, and you haven’t even told him what’s going on yet. Kiba raises an eyebrow, his inhalation and exhalation going back to normal. You take a few steps closer. “Wait, are you actually going to bleed on me? C’mon, princess,” he teases, that confidence coming back, “you know I’m all yours, but you gotta admit, that’s kinda weird.”
You roll your eyes and untie the jacket from around your waist, casting it aside. His gaze follows the movement, and you unclip your belt, the kunai and paper tags clinking and swishing next to each other as they fall to the ground. Peeling off your tight turtleneck, you hear Kiba’s breath catch yet again, and, slipping off your practical skirt, you drape the uniform over your boots, long ago abandoned. It seems almost like all he can do to stare when you walk closer and he backs up onto your bed, sitting up and leaning closer. You climb onto the cot, on top of him, and he moves to unzip his coat, but you stop him.
“No, keep it on,” you murmur, staring down at him, your hair starting to fall into your face. “You’re going to keep everything on. That okay?”
“Y—yeah, that’s okay,” but he doesn’t exactly seem like he’s focused. You exhale your nerves and settle into a straddling position, beginning to take off your boxer shorts, until he digs his thumbs into the fabric, sliding it off for you with a slight muffled grunt. There’s no easy way to get them off, and you start to maneuver to step out, but as you shift into a position where your entrance directly brushes against his erection under his clothes, Kiba twitches and they tear at the seam. “Sh-shit,” he hisses under his breath, eyes wide and the skin all across his cheekbones is a shade of scarlet you’re not sure you’ve seen before. “(Y/n), you’re—you’re actually teasing me,” a strained laugh leaves his lips, “like—like you’re actually just playing w—with me…”
“So what if I am?” Gripping his waist and pelvis for support, hands inadvertently covering yourself, you straighten your spine in an attempt to foster more confidence, but it just rubs against him and he lets out a rather doglike whine. Even just the noise stirs something deep in your stomach, and you have to fight back the heat rising to your cheeks. “What, are you afraid I’ll tear something?”
“God, (Y/n), it’s not about that.” He sounds so exasperated and… needy, even. Has he wanted this for a while? And… and for how long? Kiba reaches up to touch you and you’re too stunned to stop him. You don’t want to stop him, either. His thumb grazes the largest of the dark bruises around where your ribs are, moving up to the underside of your chest, holding your side as he traces just under the bandages like he’s imagining what’s there. Like he needs to know. Almost like… he really wants to see you, all in all. Without anything obstructing your body. “Are you angry at me for ruining your jacket? I know it meant a lot to you. I’m sorry. But… but, uh,” there isn’t really anywhere else to look, but he manages, “you’re… you just…” He bites his lower lip, his canines catching some of the sensitive skin, except he doesn’t even seem to notice.
You tilt your head to the side. Kiba’s still holding on to your chest and torso. “Spit it out.”
“Do I really have to say it?” He looks so embarrassed, and you relent, deciding not to make him say it out loud, even though you’re not exactly sure what he means. Not yet, at least. “How do you mess with me like—like that,” Kiba stutters, “it’s not even fucking—it’s not even funny… you just… I can’t just… good fucking lord, man.”
A slight grin works its way onto your face, and you start to strip off the bandages holding your chest in place. Kiba’s face somehow gets redder, his half-formed sentences trailing off into pure, incomprehensible noise; the poor guy looks just about ready to burst. “You can’t what?”
“I can’t handle it.” At the sound of his desperate tone, you pause. The chunin looks like he’s about to die. “You’re going to fucking kill me, woman, stop fucking teasing me…”
“What exactly can’t you handle?” With your other hand, you touch the back of his, and it feels oddly intimate. “How am I going to kill you, exactly?”
Kiba almost looks like he’s about to cry out of pure frustration, his grip tightening. “Are you really going to make me say it? I…” He exhales sharply, his face slightly less red than before, and he makes actual eye contact with you that’s lasting and piercing. “You—you turn me on, alright? I’m horny, god dammit,” he concedes, and the actual words almost make you shut down completely, “and you’re just—you’re just messing with me.”
No clever retorts left, you just press your mouth into a firm line, the adamant look on his face and the dead serious tone of his voice awfully sobering. A bit meekly, you continue to remove your bandages. You’re about halfway through, pulling off the adhesive tantalizingly slow, when your boyfriend tears off the rest of the fabric in eager, jagged movements, eliciting a quiet yelp on your part. You lean forward, hands resting on his chest, still firm even through the thick jacket. He must be so warm, so uncomfortable, right now.
Kiba sits up, his fingertips digging into your waist as he pulls you up on top of him, your naked form flush against his clothes. His strong grip is something both nerve-inducing and titillating, because on one hand you need him to hold you tighter, and on the other, you already have probably hundreds of tiny bruises across your skin. Some more aren’t going to help anything.
He’s definitely staring, and you just wish he would say something instead of just looking at you like that, gaze flitting across your body but always drifting back to your face. The way he looks at the bruises covering your body is… hard to read. The cool air provides such a contrast against your overheated skin, but it’s not just that causing the goosebumps to rise in discs all across your torso and the back of your neck. It’s him, the way he’s clinging to you, how you can’t even focus on your own physical insecurities because of the way he’s focusing those dark eyes on you. You want to cover yourself, now, to avoid him seeing the damage he’s caused, but he just looks so lost. So conflicted.
“Fuck, you’re hot,” he says simply, and just like that your roles reverse and God, you could just burn to a crisp right then and there. He’s never really said anything like that to you before, usually just… wholesome things, never talked about anything so… heated or intimate, and it was such a stark departure from the Kiba you were used to that you weren’t quite sure how to act. Sure, sometimes you thought you might’ve caught him staring at you once or twice, but you could never exactly tell for sure where he was looking. But… he looks somber, now. He looks so serious, and you know now that he’s actually flustered. You actually caught him off guard, embarrassed him, messed with him… “Are… um…” His low voice makes something in your stomach turn. “What’re you gonna do?”
“What am I gonna do?” You don’t really have the time to worry about your tone again. You just need to focus on the way he’s looking at you, speaking to you, registering your presence. His nails digging into your hips, how much he needs to hold on to you, how you need to keep your tone low so as not to wake up Akamaru… “That’s irrelevant,” you murmur, leaning down further onto his frame as he flattens himself out beneath you, “because it’s more about what you’re going to do to me.”
Kiba twitches and once he gets over the hotness in his face, he grips your waist and rolls over on top of you, still clothed. Fingers hovering over his cock, you unzip his pants and he kicks them off, barely waiting for you to take off his jacket, the mesh of his undershirt immediately dropping close to you. His boxers soaked with precum, you touch the back of his dick and he shivers, only letting go of you to pull them down as well, but you stop him. You wrap a cursory finger or two around his shaft, making sure to be gentle, but he pins your wrists above your head.
“No more teasing,” he tells you, and you’re hot and bothered enough to follow his orders. Despite his impatience, Kiba rubs his tip against your entrance in an effort to tease you, but he accidentally reaches your clit. The unexpected physical stimulation is enough to drag a startled moan out of you, and his cock stiffens even more. Akamaru’s head perked up on the balcony. Frustrated, your boyfriend tied the regulation Leaf Village headband around your mouth, muffling your sounds, and the wolf outside settled back into sleep.
“Nnh…”
“Payback for teasing me,” he growls, and you can’t say you mind the punishment.
Pulling your knees up, you hook your legs around his back and push him inside of you, and that’s when he breaks and starts to fuck you, holding your thighs when they began to fall. As he hit the furthest part of your pussy, he maneuvers around his sharp nails and plays with your clit, entering you faster and faster with every muffled moan.
You came embarrassingly fast, and considering the time, so did he, but you didn’t mind. His cum splattered across your chest and stomach, you relax, and he goes to wash off.
Akamaru looks at you, mouth open and his tongue hanging out. You smile at the white wolf. Damn dog.