![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
(teamwork) progression, two more drabbles
previous drabbles are in a previous entry. I added some there in the middle to flesh it out a bit, so if you didn't see my updates, check them out.
He hasn't seen Hinata on her own in a while. Usually they only cross paths when they're on joint missions, or when he sees her team on the training grounds.
There's a festival coming up though, some god or other. Or maybe the celebration of a past feat. The calendar on his wall is more preoccupied by which pretty girls were born which day than by dusty, stuffy old events, and he's never been good at listening in history.
She asks him if he's going. He's about to say no, and shrug it off -- but for some reason he watches her more closely instead. He's not sure, but her scent, the tilt of her head -- it isn't a meaningless question.
No, he doesn't have anyone to go with.
He watches her.
Kiba asked her to go with him. She doesn't know what she will do yet.
Usually, he never gets the meaning underneath that sort of stuff. But today, for some reason, he has an epiphany -- and not hours after the fact either.
She keeps talking softly, describing the fair and the many things to do there, but he's distracted by the memory of the possessiveness he -- Kyuubi -- felt toward the silver vixen, the one that reminded him so much of her. He would have flayed alive anyone who dared even look at one of his females. Hinata doesn't belong to him, though -- she never has, because he never took her up on her silent offer -- and this is what makes him choose. He's not going to do it just because it's the last time she makes it. It's so nice to know that he's wanted, loved, but he remembers all too well the kids who destroyed the cheap presents their parents got them, or threw their ice-cream down ; even if they didn't want them, no one else was allowed to have them anyway.
He smiles at her, and lets her go. She will have fun with Kiba. And if she doesn't, he'll beat up the mangy dog. That's a promise.
She closes her eyes to hide the rising wetness there and, after a moment, she smiles.
He berates himself for a good half-hour for wasting a perfectly good chance with a really cute (and stacked) girl, and then he meets Sakura coming back from the mall and she bitches him into carrying half her purchases. After a half-hour, his arms are aching and his fingers red and numb, and he's been smacked over the head three times, but he's laughing so hard that it doesn't matter so much.
+
He keeps on dreaming of foxes -- fucking them and sleeping in the sun with them and hunting with them and just plain hunting them -- and then there's blood and death and pleasure, often... much like when he fucks them. Sometimes he dreams of other things, but they don't stick in his mind so much; when he dreams of foxes he usually spends a good hour afterward vaguely wondering where all the people's furs have gone and why they bother walking on their hind legs.
There are dreams, though, that stay even longer.
Like the ones where he devours people alive, slowly. Or the ones where he runs through villages and fields just for the pleasure of watching them burn.
Or the ones where he accepts challenges, instead of just crushing the challenger outright.
The few young, strong males, only a tail or two less than himself, defying him like he defied his own father and countless others, hoping to steal his females -- take them back, whatever, it's all the same to him -- or right a wrong he committed, or just gain a tail from his lifeblood.
They need to be utterly fearless, and ruthless, and quick-witted. He loves measuring himself against them; making sure that he doesn't dull his edge is a good side effect, but the real reason is that it's fun. Perhaps, sometimes, even better than random massacres.
Naruto doesn't like these dreams either, but he minds them a little less than the rest, because it at least looks like they have a fighting chance. Even if they all end the same way -- blood and death.
And pleasure.
This one does NOT end like the ones before it ended. Sure, it has all the tearing at each other with razor claws, and the taste of blood on fur, and his strong jaws snapping bones with an ease that delights him -- fast, so fast, dodging and counterattacking, foxfire scorching the grass and singeing their pelts -- kicking and twisting and rolling on the ground -- down a rocky slope, fangs clenched, don't let go! -- and landing so hard even his bones protest.
There, the end. The other fox is sprawled under him, seven red-blood tails matted and seared, his own teeth solidly planted in his ruff. He pants, tails waving and weaving in satisfaction and pleasure that Naruto can't help but share. It was an exhilarating fight, but now, it's the end. A quick snap forward, a twist -- he's done it before. He's killed so many opponents just like that.
Instead, he lazily avoids a last, exhausted snap of fangs, lowers himself, growling in that way that sounds like a purr -- or like a landslide -- wraps his front paws around his opponent's chest, claws digging in, and...
And.
Naruto wakes up in a leap, fighting the sheets that cling to his sweaty skin as if that could erase the sheer thrill of that final victory.
The cold shower helps, as much as the sick feeling he gets from knowing intimately that Kyuubi enjoyed giving pain as much as taking pleasure. The fact that it was a fox underneath him doesn't -- he got used to translating foxes into people.
Nor does, surprisingly, the fact that it was a male.
What's disturbing, is that his translation of that swift, proud, stubborn red-furred fox ended up looking a bit too much like a redheaded version of someone he knows.
Makes his sparring sessions with Sasuke kind of awkward for a long while.
Same as everything else, not betaread, if anything sounds awkward or if there are typos please tell me and i'll love on you long and hard. unf.
He hasn't seen Hinata on her own in a while. Usually they only cross paths when they're on joint missions, or when he sees her team on the training grounds.
There's a festival coming up though, some god or other. Or maybe the celebration of a past feat. The calendar on his wall is more preoccupied by which pretty girls were born which day than by dusty, stuffy old events, and he's never been good at listening in history.
She asks him if he's going. He's about to say no, and shrug it off -- but for some reason he watches her more closely instead. He's not sure, but her scent, the tilt of her head -- it isn't a meaningless question.
No, he doesn't have anyone to go with.
He watches her.
Kiba asked her to go with him. She doesn't know what she will do yet.
Usually, he never gets the meaning underneath that sort of stuff. But today, for some reason, he has an epiphany -- and not hours after the fact either.
She keeps talking softly, describing the fair and the many things to do there, but he's distracted by the memory of the possessiveness he -- Kyuubi -- felt toward the silver vixen, the one that reminded him so much of her. He would have flayed alive anyone who dared even look at one of his females. Hinata doesn't belong to him, though -- she never has, because he never took her up on her silent offer -- and this is what makes him choose. He's not going to do it just because it's the last time she makes it. It's so nice to know that he's wanted, loved, but he remembers all too well the kids who destroyed the cheap presents their parents got them, or threw their ice-cream down ; even if they didn't want them, no one else was allowed to have them anyway.
He smiles at her, and lets her go. She will have fun with Kiba. And if she doesn't, he'll beat up the mangy dog. That's a promise.
She closes her eyes to hide the rising wetness there and, after a moment, she smiles.
He berates himself for a good half-hour for wasting a perfectly good chance with a really cute (and stacked) girl, and then he meets Sakura coming back from the mall and she bitches him into carrying half her purchases. After a half-hour, his arms are aching and his fingers red and numb, and he's been smacked over the head three times, but he's laughing so hard that it doesn't matter so much.
+
He keeps on dreaming of foxes -- fucking them and sleeping in the sun with them and hunting with them and just plain hunting them -- and then there's blood and death and pleasure, often... much like when he fucks them. Sometimes he dreams of other things, but they don't stick in his mind so much; when he dreams of foxes he usually spends a good hour afterward vaguely wondering where all the people's furs have gone and why they bother walking on their hind legs.
There are dreams, though, that stay even longer.
Like the ones where he devours people alive, slowly. Or the ones where he runs through villages and fields just for the pleasure of watching them burn.
Or the ones where he accepts challenges, instead of just crushing the challenger outright.
The few young, strong males, only a tail or two less than himself, defying him like he defied his own father and countless others, hoping to steal his females -- take them back, whatever, it's all the same to him -- or right a wrong he committed, or just gain a tail from his lifeblood.
They need to be utterly fearless, and ruthless, and quick-witted. He loves measuring himself against them; making sure that he doesn't dull his edge is a good side effect, but the real reason is that it's fun. Perhaps, sometimes, even better than random massacres.
Naruto doesn't like these dreams either, but he minds them a little less than the rest, because it at least looks like they have a fighting chance. Even if they all end the same way -- blood and death.
And pleasure.
This one does NOT end like the ones before it ended. Sure, it has all the tearing at each other with razor claws, and the taste of blood on fur, and his strong jaws snapping bones with an ease that delights him -- fast, so fast, dodging and counterattacking, foxfire scorching the grass and singeing their pelts -- kicking and twisting and rolling on the ground -- down a rocky slope, fangs clenched, don't let go! -- and landing so hard even his bones protest.
There, the end. The other fox is sprawled under him, seven red-blood tails matted and seared, his own teeth solidly planted in his ruff. He pants, tails waving and weaving in satisfaction and pleasure that Naruto can't help but share. It was an exhilarating fight, but now, it's the end. A quick snap forward, a twist -- he's done it before. He's killed so many opponents just like that.
Instead, he lazily avoids a last, exhausted snap of fangs, lowers himself, growling in that way that sounds like a purr -- or like a landslide -- wraps his front paws around his opponent's chest, claws digging in, and...
And.
Naruto wakes up in a leap, fighting the sheets that cling to his sweaty skin as if that could erase the sheer thrill of that final victory.
The cold shower helps, as much as the sick feeling he gets from knowing intimately that Kyuubi enjoyed giving pain as much as taking pleasure. The fact that it was a fox underneath him doesn't -- he got used to translating foxes into people.
Nor does, surprisingly, the fact that it was a male.
What's disturbing, is that his translation of that swift, proud, stubborn red-furred fox ended up looking a bit too much like a redheaded version of someone he knows.
Makes his sparring sessions with Sasuke kind of awkward for a long while.
Same as everything else, not betaread, if anything sounds awkward or if there are typos please tell me and i'll love on you long and hard. unf.