Disclaimer: Kishimoto Masashi owns Naruto. I'm just playing. :3
Warning: lime content.
Note: With all my drabbles, it really is up to you whether or not the word and definition have any value within the drabble itself.I don't actually start with either.
Word Count: 415
Disordered: To disturb the normal physical or mental health of; derange.
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This was wrong, he knew it. This was wrong, this was wrong, this was wrong.
Repeat it three times, it'll stay in your memory forever.
Iruka stared down at the blonde haired teen beneath him. Stared and sighed and pushed the truths from his mind. He closed his eyes and reached, touching, kissing, loving, fucking, because that's what it was. They were touching, they were kissing, they were loving, they were fucking. They…
Naruto and I…how…did this start?
Thrusting grinding, panting, sweating…thrashing, sobbing, moaning…sharp nails raking down his back. Sharp sharp nails, pretty blue eyes, bright blonde hair. Sunlight, it was. Shining down on them, through the window.
How could I do this? To him?
Hot, it was. Tight, so tight, too. Animalistic, frantic rutting. Brief encounters, hidden secrets, double negative. Naruto and his loud voice turned soft, pleading. Iruka, unable to deny, giving, giving, giving.
"Please, please…just…nnn…" Sharp teeth pierced the skin of his neck, sharp little teeth. Nails dug into his back, scraping tearing renting. Legs wrapped tightly around hips, warm, so hot. Cock sliding in so perfectly, pain twisting that pretty scarred face. Always, at first, it hurt. Always always, preperation, not matter how much, was never enough. He was too tight; he was too large, it didn't work, fingers alone.
Sometimes, to offset it, Iruka would rim him, nose buried in his groin, tongue thrusting sporadically. That always made him scream and tug at white cotton sheets. Naruto couldn't resist that slick little muscle invading him. He would come in moments, and be ready for more in minutes.
But now, no, the pain would have to be beared, long enough for the pleasure to take over. And thrust after achingly slow thrust opened him up slowly, the burn and itch of that cock sliding in made him thrash.
It started slow, so slow that it was impossible. But he had no restraint, no, none at all.
I have to stop this.
And soon, very quickly, the thrusts would come faster, harder, slapslapslap skin-on-skin. Soft sucking noises and shut-tight eyes. Gritted teeth and candy-pink lips twisted in harsh, panting breath, and nearly-inaudible keening moans, pleas, whimpers.
On and on it went, 'till.
I have to stop this.
Suddenly, his hair was all around him, blocking that sight below him from view, his elastic, there, twisted around sharp little claws. And a kiss, always, it ended with a kiss as the world came crashing down around them again.
I have to stop this.
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