Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I’m never going to stop fucking you, Itachi said, the first night they were together, over and over and over again. He sounded deadly serious, and yet, at the very end, he kissed away Sasuke’s frantic tears and murmured that if Sasuke hated it this much, he would stop.

Clearly, that was a lie. It took only a week and a half for Itachi to go back on that promise, to wake Sasuke with his warm, wet mouth. The sight of him swallowing around Sasuke’s aching cock, the slick heat of his tongue teasing the underside… Sasuke thought he would always remember how it felt, emptying everything into Itachi’s mouth with a wretched groan.

Not my fault, he thought, fuzzily, as he watched Itachi straighten up and sit back. He didn’t know what was more offensive, the confident way Itachi was unbuttoning, or the fact that he couldn’t make himself look away. Definitely not my fault. This… he’s cheating.

Weak as that excuse was, it was all Sasuke had to bolster himself that morning. Itachi only had to touch him, to reach out and take hold of his trembling hand. “Touch it,” was all that was said, innocently, as if it wasn’t perfectly obvious what was wanted. Where that touch was wanted. Where Sasuke was soon bending in to apply his mouth, because surely it would be over faster that way.

It wasn’t.

“Slow down,” Itachi kept saying. “I want to see it.” Somehow, that didn’t translate into allowing Sasuke to pull all the way off and try to lodge any kind of complaint. Speeding up got Sasuke a firm, chastising tug on his hair; slowing or stopping suction got him an equally firm press at the back of his head.

I want this to end, Sasuke thought, furiously, and that time, his fury was true all the way through, right up until the moment Itachi tensed and arched and began to spill in his mouth.

It felt more than real. It was disgusting. Sasuke didn’t really like the smell of come, let alone the taste; it was only ever stimulating in exactly the right contexts, and sometimes not even then. Even so, he didn’t have to force himself to swallow. He wanted to.

He even wanted to taste it.

Luckily, Itachi didn’t let out all that much. None of it spilled. All Sasuke was left with was a sore mouth and the faint suggestion of his brother’s salty, bitter musk lingering at the back of his throat. Barely even a mouthful, he found himself thinking, as if that were a bad thing.

“Mmm.” Itachi’s low, warm tone only made everything worse. “You’re good at that.”

Sasuke tried not to feel or think anything. For a moment, he almost managed it. He pulled off from Itachi’s thick, slightly softened cock in one smooth motion. He reached up to wipe his mouth, then froze, realizing in a sudden, sickening rush that if he hadn’t already come earlier—hard, so very hard that he saw flashes behind his tightly shut eyes—he would probably be getting an erection right now.

The sudden, uncharacteristic need to taste. The visceral sensation of taking in a bit more cock than he could reasonably fit into his mouth. In isolation, either of those things would have been enough to get him going; both of them, though, in addition to that blunt, deliberate expression of approval? It was too much. Far too much to handle.

It took a moment before Sasuke could form the words he knew he needed to say. “Get out.” They came out cracked but intelligible, and so weak that he knew they would be ignored. “Get—”

“Ssh,” Itachi said. “I’ll get dressed.” Then, when Sasuke froze, stunned by that unexpected success, Itachi smirked, and bent in to take immediate advantage. “Kiss me first, okay?”

Sasuke edged back in bed, not trusting his voice. This can’t keep happening, he wanted to say. You can’t keep doing this to me.

In the end, he said nothing. The only resistance he seemed to have left in him was to turn his face away so Itachi had to kiss him on the cheek, and even then, he wasn’t sure who he was punishing more.

He already came in your mouth, one part of him murmured. A kiss is nothing, compared to that.

Still, it was a kiss Sasuke knew he couldn’t have, not if he was going to try to keep on resisting, keep on making it clear that this—this sordid situation wasn’t his fault. That it wasn’t going to continue due to his instigation.

“My next mission looks like it might take more than a week, otouto,” Itachi said, as he re-buttoned his trousers. “Don’t miss me too much.”

As if it isn’t obvious who’ll be missing who, Sasuke thought, snidely. He knew better than to say it, though, so the wretched morning encounter ended in awkward, freezing silence, followed by the sliding squeak of Sasuke’s largest bedroom window being carefully shut.

“Okay,” Sasuke murmured, trying to smother the urge to wring his hands. “Okay. Don’t panic; think. Think.” He now had a whole week to settle down, a whole week to really, truly think things through. No more reacting, he told himself. It’s time to be proactive, to do everything I can to fix things.

One month later, nothing was fixed at all.

Initially, it seemed like it would be. Sasuke took two precious days off from patrol to spend time beefing up the traps on his windows and his bedroom door, and then three more days pinning down exactly when Itachi’s team was due back from their leg of the B-class escort detail, just so he could make sure he was headed out on external patrol when Itachi and company were running in.

By the time he and Itachi’s schedules matched up enough again that they could reasonably end up in the same bar after the end of Sasuke’s shift, Itachi had taken to smiling warmly at him in public and stealing gropes under the table. Trying not to be left alone with him left Sasuke feeling horribly self-conscious, certain that someone would notice the hidden tension in their interactions, and start paying enough attention to unravel the shameful secret behind it all.

No one noticed.

Correction, Mother noticed, and went on to be embarrassingly, effusively glad about it, after watching Itachi half carry, half drag Sasuke into the kitchen to help with the dishes one evening. “You know,” she said, once Itachi left, “I’ve never understood why you’re so hot and cold with him, when…”

It took everything for Sasuke to say, in a normal, only slightly stiff tone: “When what?”

Mother shook her head. “I still remember how depressed he was, back then,” she said, smirking a little, “when you stopped letting him hug you.”

Sasuke, frowning, went on gathering up the napkins and putting the place mats away, determined to ignore Mother’s unspoken hint that he ask her for more details. Depressed, huh? he thought, snidely. I wonder what you’d say if I told you what he was really depressed about.

Even as Sasuke stalked around thinking such bitter, smugly superior thoughts, Mother’s teasing only made him think of what had happened back then in a new light.

The depression Mother so fondly remembered was a mood Sasuke could swear he’d never seen in his brother. What Sasuke remembered was watching the way other boys and girls his age were scorning hugs and pats, then spending several tortuous days trying to steel himself to do the same thing.

He hadn’t expected Itachi to react exactly like Chouji’s older cousin, stubbornly dismissive. Or like Inuzuka Hana, who made a point of hugging Kiba only when everyone could see her ignoring his over-loud struggles and yells—that would have been weird behavior for Itachi, who’d always manifested a sort of lazy, unflappable calm.

Sasuke had still expected more of a reaction to his refusal of a goodbye hug than one brief, put-upon sigh and a murmur that he was finally growing up. He’d been more than a little miffed—okay, almost furious. Why am I the only one who cares? he’d used to think. Why does it only bother me?

Unfortunately for the both of them, he’d been wrong.

Hopefully not completely wrong, Sasuke couldn’t help but think, after echoing Mother’s low, fond ‘good night.’ He might have been just like me, trying to be normal. Trying and failing and trying again, desperately.

That night, Sasuke took far longer than usual to fall asleep. He felt itchy one moment, then restless in the next, then just a little thirsty. He got up to prowl the shadowed interior of his room, tidying things that didn’t need it.

He decided on opening his other, smaller bedroom window to let in fresh air—a manageable risk.

One fully active visual sweep of the dark corner of the street that wound around his parents’ house made Sasuke relax, certain that there was indeed no one there, and therefore nothing to be afraid of. He looked away for one short moment, eyeing the empty glass on his bedside table while wondering if he really wanted to take the trouble to fill it.

He looked back, and saw Itachi’s arm levering open the window. He froze.

In a better world, the way Itachi smiled as he leaned his head in would have stirred Sasuke into violent, appropriate action. Instead, Sasuke stayed frozen.

“Can I come in?”

Sasuke opened his mouth, but couldn’t form any words. When Itachi’s grip on the windowsill tightened, he swallowed. When Itachi shouldered the window open the rest of the way, Sasuke realized, with a sudden, guilty shiver, that he was already half hard.

Stop it! he wanted to scream at himself. You should be stopping him, not—

Instead, Sasuke found himself backing away from the window in small, unsteady steps. The brush of his unmade blankets against the back of one leg made him freeze again, stupidly, and then Itachi’s fingers were stroking through his hair, something that really shouldn’t have felt as charged as it did.

“Did you miss me?” Itachi said, his voice just low enough that it could have been reasonable for him to be leaning in this close. As it was, it made Sasuke’s skin prickle, made him start to try to move away from that shamefully effective stimulus, only to feel Itachi’s arm come in around his waist, a steady barrier to his escape. “Tell me you missed me, and I’ll let you go.”

“You won’t,” Sasuke muttered, unable to help himself. “You’re…” Itachi would only enjoy it if he struggled not to be pulled in closer. That was the only reason Sasuke didn’t fight being pulled right against his brother’s chest. “You’re a liar.”

Itachi’s answering chuckle came to him as both sound and feeling, a low, soothing rumble Sasuke was surrounded in. “Mmm. Tell me, then. Tell me anyway.”

“What will you do if I don’t?”

Itachi laughed, long and low, his fingers curling through Sasuke’s hair again. Then that gentle grip firmed, and he was leaning in even as he forced Sasuke to face up to him. “I missed your mouth,” he said, softly. “I missed your tongue.”

The kiss didn’t begin how Sasuke was half expecting it would, given the amount of sheer, unyielding force Itachi was using to keep his face upturned and still. It was barely a kiss at all, a brief, tantalizing brush against Sasuke’s tightly shut mouth. And then another, and another, Itachi’s warm, slightly unsteady breaths evidence of his unusual restraint.

“Let me see it?” he murmured. “Open up.” Another, softer kiss, this time against Sasuke’s cheek. “I just want to see it.”

The way he was backing them both against the side of Sasuke’s bed indicated otherwise, but there was no point in saying that. Sasuke was so hard already, just from being held, just from being breathed on, that he knew opening his mouth would doom him.

He couldn’t hope Itachi had failed to notice how hard he was. He couldn’t even be sure when he’d closed his eyes.

“Look at me.”

Don’t, Sasuke wanted to say. Don’t make me. But Itachi was already lowering him down onto his own bed, one wicked thigh nudging up between his trembling legs. He had already lost. “Mmgh…”

It wasn’t even that much pressure. Itachi’s warm, solid thigh could barely be felt against his achingly hard cock, the sensation lessened by the layers of cloth between them. And then Itachi bore down, putting weight behind that slow, deliberate motion, and Sasuke could only just manage to keep his resulting, shamefully loud moan back behind clenched teeth.

“Look at you,” Itachi murmured, his hand ghosting down Sasuke’s chest, slipping down the strained front of his sweatpants. “Already so wet.”

Sasuke didn’t know how the first squeeze didn’t make him come. It felt so good. The slow, lingering stroke that followed it was even better.

“Good?”

Sasuke didn’t want to get away now, couldn’t bear to. Itachi’s hand slid over his cock so easily that it made him want to squirm, and the sound, the filthy, squelching sound—

Itachi’s mouth came down on his, hard. It was so much what Sasuke had feared that he gasped aloud, unable to help it, allowing the wet, relentless invasion of his brother’s tongue. Three strokes later, he was coming, arching, shivering as he spilled all over Itachi’s slick, tight hand.

“So easy,” Itachi breathed. He was already pressing his own, rock-hard erection against Sasuke’s thigh. “Were you saving it for me, otouto?”

“I—ngh!” Sasuke knew what was coming next, now that Itachi’s sticky hand was stroking over the side of his hip. “No—”

“I won’t put it in just yet, don’t worry,” was the low, soothing response. “I know how you are. I know you don’t like playing with your hole when I’m not here to make you do it.”

Sasuke didn’t have anything to say to that, anything that wouldn’t make him flush all over in embarrassment or rage. He didn’t want to hear his brother condescending to him like that, but he also didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t stopped fingering himself even when he was avoiding meeting Itachi.

All he could do was lie there. All he could do was shiver through the slow, meaningful grope of Itachi’s hands as they smoothed over his hips, tugging down his sweatpants in teasing inches, stroking and squeezing and spreading the cheeks of his ass.

“Oh?” Itachi’s tone wasn’t quite what Sasuke had been expecting. There was an undefinable tension beneath the surprise, something that could almost have been amusement if it weren’t for the way Itachi had tightened his grip on Sasuke’s hip. “Did you have somone help with this, while I was away?”

In any other situation, the mocking lilt of that question would have had Sasuke snapping out something snide in response. Now, though, with Itachi’s slick, skillful finger inside him, and Itachi’s dark gaze a weight he could almost feel on the side of his face, Sasuke could only manage a sullen shake of his head.

Itachi’s small, triumphant smile was the very last thing Sasuke wanted to see just then, and yet he couldn’t look away. Itachi looked so smug, so disgustingly pleased with himself that Sasuke half expected the next thing he’d say would be something like ‘good’ or ‘keep it that way.’

Instead, Itachi lowered his head and licked his lips and said: “Is it okay if I get a little rough?”

No, Sasuke wanted to say, but didn’t, because he didn’t want it easy either, and he knew that was the only other choice Itachi was offering. ‘Just do whatever you want,’ he wanted to be able to say, carelessly, stonily, and actually mean it.

So Itachi was rough.

His hand wrapped around Sasuke’s throat, tight enough that Sasuke couldn’t ignore it. Yet it wasn’t anything like their first time. This time, before he slammed all the way in, he’d had Sasuke on all fours, shivering, begging for it in a low, wavering, thoroughly shamed whisper.

I just want it to end, Sasuke had told himself, and had even said out loud, in the hope of being spared, being forgiven.

Naturally, he wasn’t.

Now, all Sasuke could hear was his own strangled moans, that and the steady slap of Itachi’s hips smacking against his. And then there were the things Itachi said, between heavy breaths and low, nearly soundless grunts, every word laden with filthy, unspoken meaning, every word calculated to stimulate.

“Are you going to come again?” “So tight.” “Wring me… ngh, wring it out of me.” “…can’t fucking wait to pour it all into you…”

In the end, Sasuke found himself writhing on Itachi’s cock, sobbing so harshly that he could barely breathe.

“Is it enough?” In this situation, Itachi’s low, careless question and deliberately slowing thrusts were the very height of cruelty. “Should I… should I stop?”

No, Sasuke wanted to scream. All he managed was a pathetic, soundless whine.

Itachi let out a breathless laugh. When he finally spoke again, his unsteady tone was thick with triumph. “Don’t worry, otouto. I’m… I wasn’t really going to stop.”

The next night, when Sasuke tried another tactic, wielding tears and a heartfelt attempt at conversation in the hope that it would make Itachi feel guilty enough to back off, all he got was a slow, warm hug, followed by a slow, thorough fucking.

“I know you don’t want to be like this,” Itachi murmured. “But you are, aren’t you, otouto?”

“Nnh—n-no—”

“We both are,” was the insistent reply, followed by another deep, distracting thrust. “Isn’t it… mmm. Isn’t it lucky?”

Then, much later, when Sasuke gave in and agreed just to be allowed to come, Itachi let out a heartfelt sigh. “I knew you’d understand,” he breathed, as his wicked, horrible hand finally tightened around Sasuke’s throbbing cock. “I just knew it.”

Chapter Text

Day after day, as the no longer new, but still sordid facet of his and Itachi’s relationship continued, Sasuke would wake up with a hard-on and a choking surge of disgust.

It has to end, he’d tell himself. You can end it. But he never did.

He’d have liked to paint it all as Itachi’s fault. Itachi, to be fair, didn’t make that kind of fault-finding hard at all, what with all his constant little jokes and his measured, precisely targeted disregard of Sasuke’s concerns shaping their every interaction.

Itachi, having thoroughly understood how Sasuke felt about waking up next to him in the mornings, usually chose to deal with it by making sure not to be there to witness Sasuke’s guilty murmurs and pleas. When he was there, though, he’d end up balls deep in Sasuke’s aching ass within a few moments, or force his way into Sasuke’s mouth and use it with deliberate abandon, his soft, breathy groans no match at all for his heavy, forceful thrusts.

He liked making Sasuke cry. Sasuke had never been with someone like that, never opened up to the thought of not being in at least some control.

Something about it never failed to make Sasuke hard as a rock. Not having the breath or energy to speak—held down, pressed down by his brother’s ruthless weight—his jaw hurting, his mouth sore, stretched around that now-familiar cock—

“Swallow for me,” Itachi would say, and he’d do it greedily, hating his brother, but hating himself most of all. “Did you like it?”

Questions like that were almost always a taunt, meant to be glared at and disregarded in turn. Itachi always allowed him that to some degree, that space to scowl and sneer and be persistently difficult.

No one else would put up with me like this, Sasuke couldn’t help but think. So maybe…

He never let himself finish the latter thought, wary of what might follow that nebulous ‘maybe’ without his express permission. I’m only putting up with his bullshit for now, he’d tell himself, next. It’s just going to be another couple months, and then…

“You aren’t getting married,” Itachi said, seven months after Sasuke gave into him for the first time. “I won’t accept it.”

Sasuke didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. That was the best way to handle Itachi when he got like this, when all he seemed to want to do was press himself as close to Sasuke as he could get and say clingy, outlandish things as if they were plain, honest facts.

“What are you thinking about?” Itachi said, his breath warm against the side of Sasuke’s shoulder. “Hmm?”

His hand was already trailing down Sasuke’s bare chest, clearly headed for the tent in Sasuke’s boxers below. It was a Friday night, one of the ones Sasuke used to while away in his favourite bar by drinking and hooking up. All of his friends knew he was in a new, serious relationship even though he’d refused to respond to their questions, just because he never showed at bars at night anymore.

The one time Sasuke had screwed up the courage to try, Itachi turned up at the bar right as one of his old hookups was trying to steal a flirty kiss.

Itachi hadn’t said anything, of course. He’d just been there, smiling and sipping at his own drink, supposedly not paying his suddenly stiff, self-conscious younger brother any attention. Sasuke had been the one to fob off the slightly confused young woman with a weak excuse (“some other time, Rena-chan, there’s this report…”).

“You’re angry at me,” Itachi was saying now, the very same dark amusement in his tone that had been there that one night at the bar.

(“Until you tell me no,” Itachi had said, with a mocking pause and a knowing look that said ‘and we both know you won’t,’ “there will be no one else. No one.”)

The surety Itachi had lain on those last two words was the same thing that guided his calloused hand beneath the thin waistband of Sasuke’s boxers now. Today, he took his time getting to the point, his fingertips stroking lazily through the hair on Sasuke’s groin. He went around Sasuke’s cock, pressing gently on the sides of the shaft, skimming over his slightly sweaty ballsack.

By the time Itachi finally closed his hand right around Sasuke’s aching cock, Sasuke was finding it hard to keep still. Sasuke wanted—

“Tell me what you were thinking about,” Itachi murmured, squeezing him hard. “Tell me, or beg for this. Your choice.” He was definitely smiling; there was an extra weight to his words that made Sasuke think he was saying them while trying not to grin. “Hmm?”

You know what I’ll pick, Sasuke wanted to snap. Why do you keep asking if you already know? He knew why, though, so he didn’t say that. He bowed his head, forcibly calming his already ragged breaths, and said: “Please give it to me.”

“Properly, otouto. Don’t make me ask again.”

Sasuke shut his mouth with an angry click. Then, when Itachi’s fingers reacted to that brief snub by trailing up the underside of his aching dick, he couldn’t help but say: “I’m not going to marry you.”

“Yes,” Itachi said, nodding smoothly. “We obviously can’t.” He squeezed Sasuke’s cock lightly around the base, ignoring the increasing tension in Sasuke’s frame. “You will marry my ANBU, though.”

Sasuke shuddered. ‘My ANBU,’ Itachi said, as if it were perfectly normal for an only slightly influential young jonin to have a semi-permanent shadow clone running around with (as far as Sasuke could tell) a completely legal and acknowledged village identity. The clone had its own tiny, sparsely furnished apartment. The clone smelled ever so slightly different than Itachi did when he was off duty. The clone had a mission history, one so thoroughly minimal and non-descriptive that anyone with half a brain could guess exactly what brand of service its owner provided to the village.

“You don’t have to worry about anything, otouto,” Itachi continued, one hand smoothing over Sasuke’s bare shoulder while the other closed nice and tight around his cock. “I’ve taken care of all of it.”

“Th-that’s—Mother won’t believe—”

“She already approves,” was the low, proud answer. “She thinks you’re worried about how Father will react.” Nothing about this line of conversation being carried out in this manner—with his slick hand moving up and down Sasuke’s twitching cock—none of it seemed to bother Itachi at all. “She told me to look into him last week.”

“No,” Sasuke gasped. “Nnh—I don’t—” I don’t want to hear this, he wanted to say, even if he knew deep down that it didn’t matter. But Itachi’s palm was warm and wet and fit so perfectly around him that it was hard to form coherent words.

Why does he do this to me?

“…worried he won’t be stable enough for you,” Itachi murmured. “I promised her I’d try to live close to the two of you.”

Why do I let him— “Ngh!”

Itachi was kneading his balls now, tugging on them just hard enough that every time it happened, Sasuke couldn’t help but tremble. “We’re going to live next door to each other,” Itachi said, his breaths coming faster. “It’ll make her happy, that coincidence.”

The way Itachi’s hand was stroking over Sasuke’s ass made it perfectly clear what else would be happening between them as a result of that ‘coincidence.’"

“When he’s killed in action,” Itachi said, right against Sasuke’s ear, his voice hoarse with need, “you’ll move in with me.”

“I—I’d never—”

“Why do you think I won’t let you marry anyone else?” Itachi body was pressed all along Sasuke’s side, his erection a brand Sasuke could feel even through the briefs that were all Itachi ever wore to bed. “I’d be too tempted to try the same thing.” His voice was breathless with amusement and arousal both, but Sasuke heard the warning in it. “It’d be unfair to your spouse, dealing with that kind of friendly fire.”

“Then don’t.” The words came out weakly. Sasuke knew he needed to do better, but Itachi was stroking a wicked finger into his cleft, and he couldn’t. All he could think about was the moment that slightly slick finger would brush against his hole, testing it. “Don’t…”

“I’m not a good person, otouto,” was the slow, teasing reply. “Even if I promised I wouldn’t…” The finger slowly pressed in. “Surely you wouldn’t trust it, after all this.”

Sasuke gritted his teeth, trying not to let by the slightest sound. He hated—he wanted to hate this. He hated himself, and when Itachi’s finger pushed in another inch, he found himself moving into the motion because it felt just that good.

“You want to get fucked,” Itachi said, “don’t you?”

Sasuke bit the inside of his lip, swallowing hard. It still didn’t stop the moan he’d been trying to hold back. Itachi’s thumb was angled in just right, barely stroking over his prostate gland. He clenched down around the finger, trying to get more stimulation, only to stop with a shudder when he realized what he was doing.

“You were thinking about this,” Itachi said, hoarsely. “Right?”

“Nngh…” Now, it was too much, that wicked finger putting such direct pressure against his gland that Sasuke shuddered. “Nnh… no…”

Itachi let out a low, breathless laugh. “This is why I’m like this,” he said, stroking Sasuke’s trembling shoulder again. “You’re never honest.” And then he moved that comforting hand down to take hold of Sasuke’s cock, even as his finger went on thrusting in and out. “You know I only raped you once, right? You want it. You always want it.”

It wasn’t every time they did it that Itachi pulled that insulting argument out, in that semi-serious, disgustingly self-righteous tone. As always, just hearing the word ‘rape’ made Sasuke tense up all over, and things went downhill from there.

Sasuke knew what Itachi was doing. That was nearly the worst part of it, along with the way Itachi moved to pin him down almost as soon as Sasuke tried to get leverage to push him off. For a few breathless moments, it felt as if they were right back in that terrifying moment, with Itachi pressing his advantage on top, ignoring Sasuke’s useless struggles.

You don’t have a choice, his every action said. You’ll take my cock whether you want it or not. And it felt so good, so horribly good to wilt beneath the pressure of Itachi’s superior weight, grip and reach, and feel Itachi’s thick cock thrusting between his closed, trembling thighs.

The rape hadn’t happened quite like this; Itachi had been more hurried then, more forceful, more urgent. More desperate.

Now, he knew he could take his time, and he did, pausing to grab hold of the lubricant and squirt it on, savouring the flinch that garnered out of Sasuke.

Sometimes, Itachi liked to rub against him like this for a long while, keeping him restrained and desperate and on the edge of coming from the filthy friction and shameless gropes.

Sometimes, like now, Itachi paid more attention to his own cock, and to slicking and stretching open Sasuke’s needy hole in preparation from the rough treatment that was sure to follow.

“No,” Sasuke said, one last time, his voice a thread. He knew exactly how it made him sound, but he could never help it.

Itachi entered him with one harsh thrust, bearing down on him, forcing his sweaty, slippery thighs apart. Itachi’s mouth came down on his soon after, biting his lip first, then sucking on it.

The next clear moment Sasuke had, he was flat on his back and moaning, his eyes shut tight against Itachi’s gloating expression. He hated—he hated himself so much. His left leg was bent over Itachi’s shoulder, and his right was folded up against his chest, and Itachi’s hand had both of his pinned above his head, but he knew it wasn’t just to keep him down.

More than once, Sasuke had ended up holding Itachi to himself. He wasn’t supposed to. He wasn’t the one forcing—continuing, maintaing this, and yet, sometimes he was so needy he couldn’t keep from trying to get closer. Trying to touch. Putting his hand on Itachi’s firm, flexing ass to better feel the effort of his thrusts.

“Ssh,” Itachi was saying now, his hot, heavy breaths against Sasuke’s ear a poor match for his soothing tone. “Take it.”

Just like that, Sasuke came, going still, his eyes rolling back as he poured out spurt after spurt all over the both of them.

“Oh,” Itachi said, satisfaction thick in that one knowing word. “Mmm.” He seemed to know this wasn’t the time for further teasing; rather than ask embarrassing, filthy questions (“Did it feel good, otouto? Did I satisfy your thirsty hole?”), Itachi simply picked up the pace, ramming deep into Sasuke’s clenching ass. “Fuck, you’re tight tonight.”

Apparently, Sasuke had spoken too soon. He cracked open an angry eye, trying to get the breath to say something cutting, only to fall silent when he met Itachi’s dark gaze.

Sasuke wanted to look away, but he didn’t. He couldn’t bear to.

This is why I don’t stop him, he thought. When he looks at me like that…

It satisfied him. That look, just that look, more than anything Itachi could do to his body, was more than enough to have Sasuke wilting and spread and all too ready to be taken.

The end came suddenly. One moment, Itachi was panting over Sasuke, fingers digging cruelly into the flesh of Sasuke’s folded-up leg, and in the next, he was thrusting forward so hard it hurt, and closing his eyes. His body shook against Sasuke’s once, twice, and then stopped with a fine, silent shudder.

As always, it took another moment for Itachi to relax. Sasuke could almost feel the effort it took for him to reorient himself, to exchange that naked intensity for the bland, roguish smile he liked to use on Sasuke after he’d got what he wanted. “Good?”

Sometimes, Sasuke was so incensed by that shift in attitude that he’d lash out, whether with cutting words or pointed silence. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly wrung out, he’d respond to Itachi’s teasing with a shallow nod.

Tonight, a different, far more careful response was required. So, instead of rolling his eyes at the stupid, knowing smirk Itachi was directing down at the mess on both of their bodies, Sasuke cleared his throat.

Annoyed as Sasuke was at having that stupid, knowing smile directed down at the mess he’d made on both their torsos, he didn’t let the feeling blind him or alter what he knew he should be staying. “I’ll think about it,” he murmured. “The marriage thing.”

Itachi’s gaze brightened. “Oh?”

“I said think, okay? Not yes. I’m just going to think about it.”

“Mm, I hear you.” But the naked triumph in Itachi’s gaze was proof enough that he thought the argument had been solved in his favor. Not trying to punch that smug expression away was a testament to Sasuke’s much-improved impulse control. “Next week, then?”

“Shut up,” Sasuke muttered, but that was the extent of his resistance. Pathetic, he thought at himself, even as Itachi fished a couple handkerchiefs out of nowhere and began to wipe away the cone and lube and sweat all over the both of them. You can’t just keep giving into him like this. You can’t.

But he wanted to. He wanted his brother’s careful, calloused hands on him like this.

Tomorrow, he could be better. Tonight, just for tonight (just like every fucking night, the angry, guilty part of Sasuke said), Sasuke would allow himself this thing.

I can’t marry anyone else, he told himself. Niisan might kill them; he’s certainly crazy enough about me to do it.

This wasn’t giving in. It was… tactical retreat. Yes. That, exactly.

“I won’t marry at all,” Sasuke said, just as Itachi levered his lazy limbs off Sasuke’s bed. “There. Happy?”

Itachi shot him a quick, barely-there smile. “Yes,” he said, simply. “Thank you.”

It was only several minutes later, after turning his head so Itachi couldn’t press a soft, lingering thank-you kiss to his lips that Sasuke realized how easily he’d been played.

Naturally, Itachi’s smile remained offensively bright even under the focus of Sasuke’s angry glare. In the next moment, Itachi was strolling out into the hallway in search of the bathroom, leaving Sasuke fuming behind his carefree back.

I’ll get him back for this somehow, Sasuke thought. I definitely will.

He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach, and the accompanying, hidden warmth that told him very well how low the chances were that he’d do anything against Itachi for revenge.