Chapter Text
“We don’t have to talk.”
Those might be Gaara's favorite words from Kiba. The slighter redhead met the singer while they were both in high school through a mutual friendship with Naruto, and somewhere along the way, they’d been dragged into a little garage band with Sasuke Uchiha. Between actual skill and the fact that Neji Hyuga had taken one look at the notebook that passed as their method of management, accounting, and scheduling rolled his eyes and told them he took fifteen percent to manage their shit after they graduated the little garage band turned into an actual band. They picked up other friends along the way; Shikamaru Nara was a genius but preferred to spend his days in the band house designing band art with Gaara and doing the occasional marketing than pursuing an actual degree.
Complaints of ‘Troublesome’ were regular, but merchandise got updated regularly and shows always had people at them.
Sakura and Shino worked surprisingly well together on the band’s website, Ino handled publicity with a ferocity that’s hard to rival. Tenten and Lee train them into the ground, while Choji and Hinata keep them fed. Gaara’s sister and brother, Temari, and Kankuro, handled pyrotechnics and general showmanship at the actual shows.
It worked. Against all odds, it really worked.
In the same vein, Kiba and Gaara worked, against all odds. Because Kiba didn’t need Gaara to talk when they got into bed. And Gaara didn’t need to do anything but sink into the feeling with Kiba’s hands on his skin. The leather belt looped around his wrists and secured to the bars of Kiba’s headboard while Gaara kneels in the singer’s ridiculously expensive sheets helps that too as he jerks against his restraints. One of Kiba’s big hands comes down on the curve of his ass, making Gaara hiss through his teeth as the singer rumbles a pleased sound from deep in his chest.
“Ya know, yer fuckin’ gorgeous, don’t ya’ sweetheart?” Gaara didn’t have to talk, but he also didn’t stop Kiba from doing so as he pleased. Rough fingers trail up the length of Gaara’s spine, tracing tattoos and until he can grip the back of his neck, curling fingers through shaggy red hair. It hadn’t always gone this smoothly, where Gaara didn’t mind that Kiba never quite shut up and Kiba didn’t need Gaara to keep up with the conversation. They built up to the mutual understanding, like everyone involved in the band had. Different combinations with different needs and they managed to make it work.
Lips and tongue follow the path of his hand, making Gaara shift under the touch of metal from Kiba’s tongue piercing tracing the knobs of his spin before sharp teeth press in just below his shoulder blade, making Gaara hiss. The brunet’s canines are sharp and prominent to the point of looking cosmetically enhanced.
They’re not, and Kiba’s mother delighted in bringing out baby pictures of her youngest that proved that teething must have been hell around the house. His sister takes even more joy in pointing out the tiny teeth marks in the furniture.
Gaara grunts an impatient noise as those same teeth dig into the nape of his neck, just the right side of too rough where they threaten to break the skin. It wouldn’t be the first time, neither inclined to complain even outside of sex. None of them do, really. Shikamaru and Sasuke had matching marks on their hips from what had been described as a particularly inspired threesome, and Lee proudly wore a mark on his shoulder from a drunken dare.
“Seriously,” Kiba’s voice had dropped an octave, hands drawing down Gaara’s sides. Just firmly enough not to tickle as his bare chest pressed against Gaara’s back. He inhales at Gaara’s neck, drawing lips up beneath his ear to catch an earring with his teeth and tug. The low timbre of Kiba’s voice, nearly a growl right in his ear, is enough to earn him a full-body shiver from the man beneath him. “ ‘specially when ya’ let all tha’ fight go outta ya’, all pliant n’ helpless in m’bed.’
The compliments make Gaara shift under him, arms caught when he shifts to pull them down without thinking. He settled for dropping his head forward between his shoulders, pressing the length of his body back against Kiba’s, grumbling under his breath at the feel of denim against the back of his legs. A half-clothed Kiba usually meant a patient Kiba with a plan. A patient Kiba could be a very dangerous prospect.
The singer’s ADHD could be used to the advantage of someone with a mission. “I won’t stay pliant for long if I have to fuck up your belt and kick your ass for taking too long, Mutt.”
It’s a gamble, depending on whatever Kiba has managed to put together as any sort of plan. Impulsive decisions were easy to detour and the challenge could usually win over anything else. Teeth close in on his shoulder as large hands span his hips to squeeze and for a second, Gaara’s pretty sure he’s distracted him. Then lips curl into a smile around the skin and muscle caught between them, jaw tightening for a long moment to strengthen the hold to near painful before it's released and Kiba’s shifting back on the bed.
A solid, open palm lands on the curve of Gaara’s ass, making him jump. It’s not hard, surprise more than anything that makes him gasp. “Real nice try, baby,” Kiba’s voice is whiskey rough, satisfaction dripping from his tone like melted honey. It works a shiver down Gaara’s spine as Kiba grips his hips to shift his position just slightly. Forcing his back to arch and his head to drop forward more, supporting himself on his forearms. “There ya’ are, gorgeous,” Kiba’s voice soothes low and it’s the only warning Gaara has before a hand connects with his skin again, harder this time. Enough to sting, the tingling rush of pain-pleasure making muscles tense and jump before he can relax again. “Red for full stop, yellow t’slow down, yeah? ‘Cause ya’ call me a sadistic bastard even when I ain’t teasin’ an’ tellin’ ya’ not t’come until I say.”
Patience apparently isn’t on the menu; when Gaara’s acknowledgment of the safe words is slow to come (Kiba is patient in all aspects of his plans and Gaar is well aware), teeth meet Gaara’s flank, right on the edge of too much and not enough. Not hard enough to break the skin, but Gaara can already tell it’s going to bruise. “That’s because you are a sadistic bastard. But you’re good in bed, so we let it slide.”
Kiba barks a laugh, allowing his teeth to slide over the skin again, finding a spot on the back of his thigh that makes Gaara jerk with a mumbled threat. Kiba’s laugh is low and deep, arousing, and dangerous. “I know,” the motion of his shoulders indicates a shrug as he sits up, but Gaara can’t be bothered to lift his head to actually check over his shoulder. “I ain’t the one lettin’ a sadistic bastard tie me t’his bed, knowin’ full well he’ll beat my ass, so what does that make you?”
“I’d say fucked, but one of us isn’t living up to his half of that barg- Fuck!“
The words cut off with a smack, decidedly harder than the rest, even leaving Kiba shaking his hand, though his tone is affectionate. “Figures, ya’ get mouthy with rhetorical questions. Brat.”
Anyone outside of the house and the word would have turned Gaara violent. Then again, outside the band, Gaara wouldn’t be in the same position. A smart remark for the sake of a smart remark is worth putting actual effort into speech because it spurs Kiba into action. There’s a hiss of displaced air, something moving fast, and it gives him just enough time to brace before leather meets skin. Another belt; Kiba’s got a collection of them, but he only ever wore one or two. The rest are well cared for and well used.
“Fuck, ya’take that so gods damned well,” Kiba’s voice had deepened, closer to a growl, only a short pause between the praise and the next strike of the belt. The strikes are nowhere near as powerful as Kiba could manage, Gaara’s more than experienced with Kiba’s rougher play, but he appreciates the further ability to sit as the belt lashes the back of his left thigh before moving to his right. The praise continues as strikes rain down on his skin, lines down his ass and the backs of his thighs. When they stop, Gaara is gasping, panting for air with his chest nearly pressed to the bed as his cock drools precome onto the sheets as heat laces over his skin
Warm hands feel nearly chilled as they press against the hot skin, dragging over the edge of welts. Gaara gasps at the touch, arching to press into it as his hands ball into fists before relaxing. The hot tongue that follows drags a short whine from his lips as the tongue ring drags over the edge of a forming welt before pressing closer to his balls, dragging over them as he shuffles his knees further apart. “So fuckin' good, baby,” Gaara chokes out a gasp as the words follow with Kiba’s tongue dragging over his hole, pressing firmly. He wants to jerk away from the touch, hips hitching as his arms jerk. Kiba catches his hip with one hand, holding him in place as his tongue works the tensed muscle. Swiping over it slowly, wet heat pressing firmly to drag up to the base of his spine to bite there before moving down again.
"Kiba," muscles shaking, Gaara's voice is reduced to a whine, body hitching back into the touch. Kiba’s laugh is rich against his skin as he rubs a rough cheek against his ass, sending shivers up the length of Gaara’s spine, and he murmurs something affectionately about ‘needy’. Gaara honestly could not give a fuck less, earning a growling bite at the curve of his ass to accompany the click of the bottle of lube. He does release a hiss, not unlike an angry cat when cold lube hits the heated skin at the base of his spine. “Mother fucker!”
Kiba laughs shamelessly, dragging his fingers through the cool mess to press two slick fingers against his hole, barely teasing as he does. “Sorry,” though his tone indicates he is nothing of the sort. “Warm ya’ up soon enough.”
Warm is a persistent tease, fingers working into him slowly to spread lube and stretch as Kiba’s other hand pets up his sides, over his hips and thighs, and he works to leave marks between the line of tattoos up his spine. Slow, spreading heat while Gaara tries to remain stubbornly quiet under the assault to his body as he’s toyed with. Three fingers curl with practiced ease and shatter that determination, drawing out a shout that's rewarded with a sharp bite to the back of his neck and firmer press of fingers against his prostate before the fingers shift, spreading to stretch and withdraw. Gaara’s back arches, stretching lithe limbs to chase the feeling. Kiba allows it, holding his hand still to let Gaara fuck himself on the fingers for long moments before he pulls away to smack his ass with his clean hand. It’s not a hard swing by any measure, but against the already sensitive and bruised flesh, it makes Gaara cry out, sharp and a little desperate.
Kiba growls deep in his throat, a sound that comes across deep and unbearably aroused. “Fuck, baby. Yer so fuckin’ good for me,” another smack before he presses back in with four fingers. Gaara arches, physically shaking as blunt nails drag over his bruising flesh. “Yer so fuckin’ temptin', sweetheart. Gorgeous, stretched out n’ desperate for m’ touch,” a kiss presses to the base of his spine, fingers spreading and making Gaara gasp. Kiba’s hands are big and rough and strong. Dexterous from playing guitar for years and Gaara grunts with the widest part of Kiba’s hand pressed against him as fingers spread and curl. “So fuckin’ temptin’ to take ya right here n’ now.”
Kiba’s door slams open without warning, and he shifts slightly to drag his gaze over a very naked Sasuke. Pale skin is dotted by marks, bruises decorating his skin as he pants with his cock curving towards his stomach.
A dark brow lifts as he stills. It makes Gaara whine, pressing back and Kiba just presses a hand to the base of his spine to still him. “Can I help ya’ with somethin’, Uchiha?”
“Get. The fuck. On. With. It,” he fixes a glare on Kiba, breath a little short as his door opens again in the hall. “When you get sadistic and patient, Neji gets sadistic and patient and I do not have the patience to wait to get fucked tonight, you sadistic fuck.”
Neji steps up behind him, apparently having taken the time to pull on a pair of sweats before charging out into the hall, wrapping an arm around Sasuke and placing a hand over his mouth before he can continue with what was sure to be an impressive rant. Sasuke shifts and jerks, but Neji holds strong. “Apologies. He slipped his ropes,” a shrug lifts the slender shoulders, a deceptively strong arm dragging Sasuke back against his body. “We’ll use the handcuffs this time.”
Sasuke jerks but Neji mumbles something low into his ear that makes him still, muscles tensing for a moment before he relaxes reluctantly to allow himself to be dragged away.
The door is left open and Kiba laughs, low and dark as he turns his attention back to Gaara. The sound of a hand meeting skin and the following gasp are easy to hear, even from the hallway. ”Seems ya’ ain’t th’ only one sufferin’ tonight, pretty.”
Gaara grunts a response, not bothering to be embarrassed at the situation that had been walked in on. He just shifts back, seeking the push of Kiba’s fingers into him as his back bows. “Kiba, please.”
“Aw, ya’ desperate for me, sweetheart?” He croons softly, working fingers deeper until Gaara gasps with a soft whine, turning into a shocked cry as those fingers press against his prostate. “Mmmm, ya’ really have been real good all night. Might deserve a little somethin’, huh?”
Gaara has a scathing reply, he really does. It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell Kiba to get the fuck on with it, or else maybe he’d track down Sasuke and relieve them both from the unerring teasing.
Words are there and readily available until fingers retreat, leaving him empty with a whine that he would absolutely deny later. Big hands grip his hips, urging him to his side and then his back. The belt is long enough to twist with him, leaving Gaara’s arms over his head, blinking at Kiba with a faint frown. The brunet just offers a sharp-edged grin, dragging his hands up Gaara’s sides to his stomach to idly tease a pierced nipple. He has just enough room to bend his elbows, but not much more.
Kiba moves up his body, leaving a harsh bite over his pectoral muscle, before moving to suck a harsh mark into the base of his throat. “Like ya’ like this. Get ta’ watch yer face while I take ya’ apart,” his hand comes up to grip Gaara’s chin, licking into his mouth. It’s not so much a battle of dominance as it is allowing Kiba to taste every bit of him. Gaara whines as his hips thrust up against Kiba and his cock catches on the edge of his jeans. Kiba swallows the sound with a pleased growl of his own as he breaks the kiss with a sharp bite to his lower lip. “Can’t hide all th’ pretty sounds ya’ make, neither,” Kiba leans down to kiss him again before climbing down off the bed, shoving his jeans down and kicking them off. It takes less than a minute, but it leaves Gaara squirming, arching against the air for some sort of friction.
He stops when Kiba circles to the bottom of the bed, tanned skin over generous muscles and lithe limbs, decorated in ink and metal. He grabs a condom from the sheets, crawling up the bed in slow movements. He grips the foil between his teeth, dragging his hands up Gaara’s legs until he’s fit between them, sitting up enough to tear the wrapper open with one hand. He smooths the latex down his length, adding lube with a hiss at the cold slick.
“So fuckin’ pretty,” the words come on a sigh, moving to hitch Gaara’s hips up over his knees. Gaara shifts, readjusting his body as much as he can, digging his heels into Kiba’s hips. “Yeah, yeah, gettin’ on with it, baby.”
Gaara grunts a response, but it turns into a gasped sigh as Kiba grips his cock and steadies himself to press into him slowly. Gaara gasps, hips rolling and Kiba sinks into him in one slow thrust. Gaara’s back arched sharply, shoulders pressed into the bed as his mouth hangs open. “Ohhh, fuck! Kiba!”
Kiba hitches Gaara’s legs over his arms, leaning over him to arch his back, reaching deeper as Gaara rolls to adjust with him. Kiba waits, panting and pressing kisses into his legs where he can reach until Gaara arches again, an impatient roll of his hips.
His hips pull back until just the head of his cock remains stretching Gaara's body before thrusting back in. Hitting deep, and Gaara shouts, the sound caught in a groan as Kiba does it again, using his weight to bend the redhead under him nearly in half. The kiss that meets him is biting, caught somewhere between panting gasps and moans as Gaara jerks against the belt around his wrists. Each snap of Kiba's hips slaps against the reddened skin of Gaara's ass, making him cry out in time.
"Fuck, baby, ya feel so fuckin' good," Kiba swears, driving his hips into him harder. "So good for me."
Gaara shudders at the words, his whine turning into a breathless moan as Kiba shifts his angle to drive into his prostate with every punishing thrust. He shouts, writhing under the other's weight, twisting for more stimulation and jerking hard on his hands. He gasps out words, begging for more and less and more and please, fuck, touch his cock for fuck's sake.
Kiba growls low, dropping Gaara's legs from his arms, sliding an arm under his back to maintain his angle as his body bows over Gaara. "So fuckin'... pretty, gorgeous," he pants, his other hand coming to wrap around Gaara's cock. He grips firm, stroking in pace with his thrusts when he can. "Gonna… gonna come so pretty fer me, ain't ya' sweetheart? So.. so good fer me."
Gaara cries out, arching to pull Kiba closer as much as he can, heat rolling through him. He might call Kiba's name as a nail scrapes over his slit on an upstroke, eyes practically rolling back as heat surges through him, coiling low in his gut, balls tighten to his body. It rolls over him as Kiba leans to bite his nipple, teasing the pierced skin before widening his jaw to sink his teeth into the surrounding muscle. He feels the sharp teeth break the skin and his back arches, spilling over Kiba's fingers. He's trembling with it, sensitive and breathless beneath Kiba's hands.
Kiba pants over him, almost stilling as he leans up to kiss Gaara slowly. Gaara groans at the taste of his own blood on Kiba's mouth, arching into him again.
Hands shift, gripping his hips to leave bruises as Gaara shifts his hips. "C'mon, Kiba. Move."
Kiba growls low, hips rolling to thrust into him harder. Focused more on his pleasure as he chases his own orgasm. Sweat drags their skin together, his grip on Gaara slipping a little as he fuck's into him. Kiba gasps out Gaara's name as his muscles tense, and Gaara clenches around him to encourage it along as Kiba thrust unsteadily through his orgasm.
He barely catches himself on his elbows, panting against the side of Gaara’s neck. He pulls together enough sense to reach above them, a twist of his wrist releasing the belt from the headboard, and then untangling it from his wrist to toss aside.
Gaara grunts as Kiba massages his wrists and arms slowly, feelings pins and needles as he flexes and brings his arms down to drag fingers through Kiba’s shaggy hair, pulling idly, but he doesn’t make the effort to hold on as Kiba stretches slowly to climb out of the bed, disposing of the condom and disappearing through the door to the bathroom. Gaara resists the urge to roll to his stomach until Kiba returns with a wet cloth, cleaning his own spend from his stomach, chest, and even lingering traces over his throat. Then he rolls with Kiba’s assistance to his stomach. There are a water bottle and generic pain pills offered to him while Kiba rubs the bruise cream over his skin.
His hands get wiped on a cloth before wrestling the top sheet out from under Gaara before dropping to his back on the bed. Gaara grumbles as Kiba urges him to rest against his chest. “Yeah, yeah sweetheart. Ya’ get yer ass beat, ya’ get fuckin’ cuddled. Buck it up, buttercup.”
Gaara huffs into his neck, but he relaxes with an arm over Kiba’s chest lazily. Idly, he traces the lines of tattoos over his ribs. “You know I’m going to get back at you with a flogger, right?”
Kiba presses lips to his temple with a grin. “Lookin’ forward to it, baby. Lookin’ forward to it.”