Title: Consecration
Author: desbutterfly
Genre: smut, dark fic
Character: Hidan
Rating: MA for sexual situations and violence
Summary: Hidan jerks himself off while in a tree. Yeah, I went there.

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Hidan often thought of slaughter as sex without a climax.

Or, at least, without a climax for him. The ones he slid his scythe into—under the ribs, across the throat, up through the belly—they all felt their great release. He heard their last sighs and grunts and groans well enough, their sharply cut-off cries, their shuddering last breaths. He saw the stiff arching of their backs when he jammed his blade inside them and twisted just so…

They were the ones that got to fall in a warm gush of blood and into the arms of Jasshin. Lucky fuckers. He kind of envied them.

It didn't help that the entire process was always like one long torturous bout of foreplay. It was no different with these targets. By the time he'd finished making his last sacrifices he was uncomfortably hard and sticking wetly to the loose pants he wore beneath the long black Akatsuki cloak.

He cleaned his weapons first. That lesson had been drilled into him deep enough that not even the most desperate need for release would prompt him to rush the process. Besides which, Hidan was nothing if not a masochist, and watching the slow slide of cloth on the blade just made his neglected erection pulse more with each stroke. He took his time and cleared every spot from point to hilt, then did a cursory washing of his hands. When he was finished, he stood and looked for a secure place to see to his…release.

He preferred an isolated spot, one where he wasn't likely to be disturbed, and the wide, thick branches of a nearby tree looked suitable. Unable to ignore the uncomfortable tightening of his body any further, Hidan settled himself against the curve of the branches, his shirt already tossed aside, blood-stained cloak pulled down carelessly around his hips.

The roughness of the bark against his bare skin scratched wonderfully and he couldn't help arching into it as his hands fumbled at the waistband of his pants. Finally, he could grip himself, his cock heavy and warm in his hand, jumping urgently against his fingers.

He gave one teasing stroke—two—then eased himself completely from the confinement of his pants and let the breeze play along the length of his erection. It felt—goodbadtortuousahfuck—almost like someone was teasing him, tracing light fingers over and around his cock. Cool, invisible fingers sending shivers up his spine and raising the short hairs on the back of his neck.

It felt like Jasshin was jerking him off.

Swallowing tightly, he took himself in hand once more and started a slow, pumping stroke. He watched his fingers grip and tense and slide with curious fascination, as if they were someone else's fingers and not his own. His knuckles were red and swollen with the after-effects of gripping the handle of his scythe too tightly, and there were dried flecks of blood underneath his fingernails where he hadn't quite cleansed himself enough. He scratched those blunt nails against the head of his cock, shaking a bit at the sensation. A wave of heat pulsed through his belly and up into his chest, outwards, down and he bit back a groan.

He was starting to get close. He'd been on the edge for a while, ever since he'd drawn his blade across that kunoichi's pretty white throat and sent her blood spilling out over his hand and all down her chest, until her dark clothing was wet and heavy and dripping out onto the grass. She'd screamed so fucking prettily, twisted just nicely in his hands before he killed her, and he'd almost felt the throb of her last few heartbeats pulsing in his groin.

He'd wanted to join her so badly.

"Coming, coming…fuck, I'm…"

He muttered obscenities and prayers all in one breath as his hand sped up in its movements, and his head flung back against the bark of the tree, sliding down with the arching of his back as he spiralled into his climax, one arm grasping the edge of the branch tightly, lest he arch right off of his resting place.

With a choked cry, Hidan screwed his eyes shut, squeezed his cock --viciously, maybe, and uhn so--tight in his hand and came, muscles straining with the effort. Sweat broke and glistened on his brow, dampening the hair at his temples and making it stick to the line of his cheek, the bark of the tree, his forehead. He had slid down enough that he was almost lying on the branch, legs dangling loosely off the sides, a wide scrape down one calf where he'd pushed too hard against the rough bark beneath him.

He dragged sticky fingers across sticky stomach muscles and considered the tacky residue for a moment before taking up the hem of his cloak and wiping himself clean. It was already splattered with blood and other types of filth. Kakazu wouldn't notice anything when he badgered him into doing their laundry later that night.

It wasn't like he could smell the sex mixed in the coppery scent of old blood.

Not like Hidan could.

Not like Hidan did.

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fin

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