The words were not said- but the me

The words were not said- but the mere memory of the command was enough. Shikamaru's eyes flew opena nd he took in the sight before him- dimly lit by the fading light from the window, Sasuke stared straight at him, his lips curled into a smirk, his eyes filled with amusement- and... a deep, obsessive need. The chuunin couldn't help but notice the way the light and shadows played with the muscles that rippled beneath the pale chin of Sasuke's chest with every slight movement, the way the even the soft light caused a sheen in that soft, silken hair-

"No," he muttered.

"Hm?" It was mocking. Challenging. Daring him to said otherwise.

"I said no," Shikamaru raised his voice, surprising even himself- pushing Sasuke away.

They stared at each other for a moment, and the apparent shock on Sasuke's face swiftly changed into amusement. He approached again, but Shikamaru instinctively stepped into a posture of readyness, knowing that fighting the jounin was useless. "Fuck you, Sasuke," Shikamaru growled- it was almost animalistic, something he had never heard come from his own throat before.

How long had he been waiting? How long was he willing to wait- and for what? ...Hell, he thought too much, and in the worst of times.

The amusement rapidly shifted into impatience and annoyance- and faster than Shikamaru could react he was against the wall again, only even more forcibly than before, his hands pinned o the wall. Sasuke brought his face closer, leaning his mouth to the chuunin's ear- Shikamaru shuddered as he felt the jounin's tongue trail along his earlobe, pausing to flick at his earring- Sasuke tilted his head so their eyes met. Shikamaru tried to push out again- but it was clear that if Sasuke had decided to use less force before, he was not allowing it to happen again, and he responded to the attempts at a struggle by pressing him against the wall with even greater strength.

"We need to talk," he hissed- and Shikamaru saw his eyes turn blood red, and found himself complying.He notices the other doesn't just leave this time, not like before.

Strands of dark hair falls past his own eyes, plastered together from sweat, bringing memories of when the other had bitten off the band around his hair- like a hunter. Tearing into flesh.

He touches his arm and shudders- his skin was sweaty and a faint pain tingled from scratches and fresh shallow wounds, but he shivers because of the way he had been touched there just moments before. His fingers lightly traced the path cold hands had taken, his own hesitant touch so unlike the one before- fierce. Ravaging. Possessive.

He watches as black cloth was pulled over the silken sheen of black hair and bandages were wrapped around well-built arms, with painstaking slowness- or maybe it was his own imagination. His gaze lingers at the curve of the neck, the angle of the shoulders- those hips, he noted, were almost feminine, in their ability to entrance.

His hands continued to move, down his shoulder, across his bare chest- lingering there as the fingers before had, drawing patterns on his sweat-stained skin, slowly working their way...

He remembers those eyes- he could never forget them. He remembers the way they seemed to bleed crimson, how those markings swirled around- and with a weak memory he wonders if any of it, any of it at all, was real- if it wasn't just a well-crafted illusion- and his hands continued to move, at a faster pace, as though afraid to let the dream fade away.

He watches clothes being pulled on with agonizing slowness- watches the material stretch taut around muscles beneath pale, pale skin, the way the light and shadows played around the curve of the back as it twisted and turned.

He's not sure when they had moved, and was scarcely aware of it even now as his free hand grabbed at the bedsheets. He remembers and tries to imitate every agonizing stroke across his skin, every lick across his ear, every nail that clawed at his skin. Tries and fails- but keeps imagining, keeps thinking- and the memory may well have been enough.

He does not know why, but the other hadn't left at once- they had remained in silence he couldn't understand, listening to nothing but heartbeats and ragged breaths. He doesn't know what he expected, what he wanted, but there was no love from those arms, no gentleness in that grasp.

He had watched as the other rose after a long while- that seemed like nothing.