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The domed roofs of Suna have round-bottomed wells at the top of them. Lee was told once what they were for—catching rainwater, maybe, or encouraging air circulation. Perhaps both.
When he was informed of the wells’ purpose, he never expected that one day he’d be splayed in the bowl of one, the Kazekage himself on his lap with one deft hand on the placket of Lee’s jumpsuit zipper. At least it’s the dry season, Lee thinks, so that the back of his jumpsuit and the knees of Gaara’s robes aren’t wet.
It was supposed to be a sunset rooftop picnic. Sweet and romantic, with no attempt at seduction. But now the blanket is threatening to flap away in the high wind, containers of curry and rice upended on it.
“G—Gaara,” Lee gasps, with teeth to his throat. They’re sharp—sharper than a person’s have any right to be—and dangerous. One wrong move and Lee’s blood would spill down his throat, his jugular severed. He trusts Gaara not to do this, though the implicit threat sends a thrill through him.
“Do you want me to stop?” asks Gaara. His robes are hiked up, hat discarded and forgotten. The hard line of his cock ruts against Lee’s thigh.
They should stop. Whatever shadowy concealment their little hiding place offers is scarcely enough, and though the Kazekage Tower is the tallest building in Suna, there are occasional aerial patrols, and that’s not even to mention the sensor nin stationed throughout the Tower, plus Gaara’s ANBU.
But Gaara knows Lee too well. His fingers are so clever as they skate over the bulge behind Lee’s zipper, teasing precisely the right amount. His mouth applies pressure right below where the collar of Lee’s flak jacket falls, promising a mark that will peek just far enough over the edge to incite questions. His body is warm, and firm, and wanting.
“Do you?” Gaara prods him, when Lee tips his head back and bites off a moan. The teeth of his zipper tick slowly apart. “I don’t think you do.”
“No—” Lee manages.
Gaara’s body goes utterly still. He watches Lee like a creature encountering another in its territory, uncertain whether to fight or flee. His eyes are inhumanly bright, fixed on Lee pinpoint, like senbon through the heart.
“I mean no,” Lee gasps, “I don’t want you to stop.”
A smile grows on Gaara’s lips. Predatory. With teeth. It’s an expression Lee rarely sees on him, never except for behind closed doors.
Although there are no doors here. Any sense of privacy is mere illusion, a sham.
Gaara eases Lee’s fly open, leans in. “I would do anything you told me to,” he husks. “I would open my ribcage and give you my still-beating heart. I would place it in the palm of your hands to be cradled or crushed. I would drink the blood of its last beats from your cupped palms. Anything at all, I would do it.”
“That’s not true.” Gaara’s hand finds Lee’s cock; he shivers. “You would never betray Suna. Not even if I asked you.”
Gaara breathes in sharp, yanks the elastic neck of Lee’s suit down with his free hand just far enough to get to his collarbones, bites one hard. Sits back with blood on his lips, licks it away. “You’re right. Anything but that.”
The confession doesn't bother Lee; he’s used to coming second. He curls himself backward like he’s rolling to catch a fall, bringing Gaara and his hot little hands with him. The shadow of the hollow falls more fully over them; dusk is settling down over Suna.
“But you would never ask me,” Gaara husks.
Lee has always known he loves Gaara differently from how Gaara loves him. Lee would turn traitor for him, he thinks. Would abandon his village, become a ronin. Would break open every last Gate to run anywhere Gaara happened to be.
A bead of blood rolls up Lee’s throat, hot and sticky. Gaara laps it away.
Lee pushes the thoughts of treason from his mind as Gaara twists his wrist, rubs his thumb over the head of Lee’s cock. Lee’s body arches, his well-trained muscle control tossed aside at the careful application of Gaara’s fingers. When he can manage to wrench his eyes open, he looks up at the dimming, cloudless sky and sees no hint of life. Even the messenger hawks have begun bedding down.
And then Gaara cranes into his vision, hands at either side of Lee’s head, settling himself fully alongside Lee’s erection. The sunset has caught in his eyes, shades of orange-yellow in his irises. Streaks of red decorate the chapped edges of his lips.
Lee wants to groan at the loss of contact, but Gaara’s trousers are thin, and he never wears anything beneath them. The heat of his cock is palpable, worse than the swelter of the fading daylight.
“Look at me,” Gaara whispers.
Down on the street below, vendors are setting out their stands for the night market. Thick canvas hangings are unrolled. Wares thud into bins and baskets. The scent of heating oil and spice wafts up to touch their noses, and the musical lilt of Suna’s civilians conversing rises to fill their ears.
Flickers of chakra circle the round hallways of the Tower below them.
“One of us has to keep a lookout!” Lee protests, straining his voice in an effort to keep it hushed.
Gaara rolls his eyes, looking surprisingly juvenile. He gestures over his shoulder, and Lee half-sits up to chance a peek. Above where the gourd has rolled aside, trailing a sparkle of shed sand, is Gaara’s third-eye jutsu.
“You’ve gotten better at that,” Lee remarks. Both of Gaara’s eyes are clear, his hands free. He does not press his fingers to one eyelid.
“It has its purposes.” Gaara pushes Lee back down and kisses his mouth bloody. Air mingling hot between them, he breathes, “You should have seen yourself at the training field this morning.”
“You were spying on my training?”
“Not spying. Keeping watch.” There’s a long, heated pause. “You’d rolled your top down. I had a long gap between meetings.”
“You planned this,” Lee accuses him, bucking up and grinding until Gaara hisses. “You should have been working.”
“The paperwork will keep. You don’t show yourself like that unless you think you’re alone.”
“Which I apparently was not,” Lee huffs.
“Watching you—” Gaara jerks Lee at the pace of his words. “—I couldn’t help but touch myself. Under the desk, with the windows open. You were drenched in sweat. Shouting.”
(“What, did you send a sand ear, too?” Lee mutters.)
“You’re never quiet. You’re always so loud.”
As if to prove his point, Gaara rolls his hips against Lee’s, sinuous as a snake.
Lee bites his wrist to stifle a cry. It feels so good. Not nearly enough to get him off, but more than sufficient to get him worked up.
“I think I could make you forget to muffle yourself,” says Gaara, riding the wave of Lee’s hips like they’re the eddies of a sandstorm, keeping himself just out of reach, stroking him slow and soft now, teasing. “I could make you be loud.”
Something flares bright behind Lee’s breastbone. “Are you challenging me?”
Gaara’s hand moves sinfully smooth, achingly slow. “Maybe. What will you do if you lose?”
Lee gives Gaara a thumbs-up and tries his best to wink confidently, though his breathlessness at Gaara’s movements gets the better of him. “If I cannot keep quiet, I will do eight hundred high kicks at—!”
“No.” Gaara squeezes him, makes Lee’s hips buck. “This isn’t a self-rule. This is my rule.”
“Oh.” Lee’s mouth falls open at the sound, his Nice Guy pose lost to the dusk as Gaara’s eyes burn holes into him. “Then …”
Gaara smiles at him: a thin, crooked thing with pink teeth. His face is rimmed gold, the motions of his hands increasingly obscure. He slithers down Lee’s body, his hand still working over Lee’s cock.
“I will—” Lee bites off a grunt when Gaara shoves his knees wide to sink between them. “I will … let you do this again. Wherever you want. Whenever you want.”
Gaara’s hand stills. He looks up, eyeshine flashing green. “Wherever I want?”
“Y—” Gaara scrapes the back of his thumbnail up the underside of Lee’s cock. “Y—es.”
“What if I want you over the desk in my office, stripped bare, when someone could walk in to request a meeting any moment?” Gaara vanishes into the shadows between Lee’s legs, but his voice is like a ghost’s song, dancing up to Lee’s ears on the rising evening breeze. “What if I want to leave the curtains open, so anyone could see us? What if I want you up against the window of my bedroom during guard change, when the ANBU are looking right in? What if I want you on my lap in the middle of a Council meeting, so every last one of them knows you’re mine and I’m yours?”
“I said wherever you want,” Lee gasps, feeling Gaara’s hot breath on the head of his cock. “But I don’t think I’ll lose.”
Gaara chuckles. The noise is dark and sinister and it turns Lee’s blood molten.
Times like this, Gaara seems only half-human.
Lee loves it.
Gaara used to hold himself back during sex, keeping himself perfectly restrained, his face an impassive mask that only revealed its emotions in the flush of his cheeks. Lee wondered, for a while, if Gaara even enjoyed it when they made love, or if he just participated out of a sense of duty or an assumption that it was the ‘done thing’ for people in relationships.
It wasn’t until the night Lee came home bloodied from a mission to find Gaara waiting in his kitchen that he saw this facet of Gaara. The true, unrestrained side.
He hasn’t let Gaara go back to polished and stoic since.
“I don’t think I’ll lose,” Gaara growls mockingly. “You’ve never beaten me before.”
Sand rustles; something gold-flecked shivers just out of Lee’s line of sight. Suddenly, his jumpsuit is being pulled down by hands that aren’t Gaara’s. Or, hands that aren’t directly attached to Gaara, anyway. The sand makes quick work of him, stripping him in seconds, threatening to tear his suit at the slightest resistance. Gaara tosses off his Kazekage robe for Lee to squirm over to lie on.
At night, the cold comes over Suna fast. Despite the blood thundering in his veins, Lee suppresses a shiver.
Gaara bites the inside of one thigh and sucks like he’s trying to drain the blood from Lee’s very veins. Lee’s leg jerks; sand grabs his ankle and pins him still.
“This isn’t a physical battle,” Lee argues, staring up at the darkening sky unseeing, his ears full of the wet sounds of Gaara’s breath.
“Not physical?” The path of Gaara’s exhales moves, and suddenly the head of Lee’s cock is engulfed in hot, damp heat.
Lee shoves his bare wrist into his mouth and bites down to stop a moan from coming out. His toes curl.
It’s those teeth that get him every time. The risk of them nicking him, scratching him. Even unrestrained, Gaara tries to be careful … but he isn’t always successful.
Lee shouldn’t like it—thinks there’s probably no one else in the world who would like it—but he does.
Gaara’s tongue sweeps over him, trailing just around the edge of his pushed-back foreskin where he’s most sensitive. There’s a little purr of pleasure that winds up from down below, blunt nails digging hard into the top of one thigh to keep him steady.
Lee bites his lip and doesn’t make a sound.
“Hm?” Gaara hums around him, all vibration, then continues undeterred.
The problem is that he’s so good at this. Lee knows that Gaara never did anything like this before him, and that the first few times they made love were … a bit awkward, but now he’s sure that either Gaara practices when Lee isn’t in Suna or that his natural genius must somehow extend to this act as well.
His tongue slips from his mouth to leave spit-damp trails down Lee’s shaft. Frissons of heat race up to spark between Lee’s legs. He swallows the reckless noises that surge up his throat before they can escape. He will not lose!
Gaara hollows his cheeks and pulls back slow, all slick and dirty, staring up at Lee like he knows how absolutely amazing he looks down there. Lee’s abdominals tense. His hand clenches over his mouth to contain a whimper and throws his head back, eyes shut tight. He won’t last long with Gaara looking at him like that.
“Look at me,” Gaara whispers, popping off the head of Lee’s cock with a wet, licentious noise. “And no cheating.”
Another tendril of sand grabs Lee by the wrist and wrenches his arm out flat, pinioned against the rooftop. The restraint is repeated on the other side.
“I don’t remember us setting those terms,” Lee gasps, as Gaara sinks back down on him.
Another filthy pop of suction and spit. “I’m setting them now. Unless you want me to stop?”
There’s music on the streets below, raised voices. Chatter and laughter, the flickers of civilian chakra intermixed with the blazing fire of shinobis'.
The ruckus would drown him out even if he slipped up.
Probably.
“No,” he gusts out. “Don’t stop.”
His lone free limb twists up, his knee raising to give himself the slightest bit of leverage so he can look down at Gaara’s face, thrust up into his mouth.
Color is becoming gradually more indistinct as dusk fades to night proper, so Lee can’t tell if Gaara’s cheeks are flushed, if his lips are red. They’re swollen though, fat from friction. There’s the slightest trace of tears on his waterline when Lee bucks up hard enough to rub against his soft palate. His eyes are narrowed in a half-smile, radiating smugness.
He’s gorgeous. Wrecked and ruined from just their short coupling, with the confidence of a predator in the dead of night.
Lee winces in what he hopes will be mistaken for a slow blink, biting the inside of his cheek to contain a gasp.
And then Gaara pulls off him entirely, sits back. His thumbs rub shivery circles on the insides of Lee’s thighs, tracing up to the main artery of his groin, pressing down to either feel or stop his pulse.
The sand grabs Lee’s free ankle and yanks his last leg wide, leaving him spread-eagled on the flimsy pillow of Gaara’s robes. He’s completely exposed to the cold night air. Beyond Gaara’s shoulder, the lights of the village burn golden. Stars start to blink into existence on the tapestry of sky.
“What do you think would happen,” Gaara says conversationally, stroking Lee’s cock with one small, tight fist just the way he likes it, “if someone did come up here. Even if you don’t make a sound, we still might get caught.”
Lee sucks in a breath and holds it, counting down by threes in his mind, an old meditation technique to calm his racing thoughts.
With his free hand, Gaara begins unbuttoning his own trousers, wickedness written all over his spit-flecked face.
“What would they think,” Gaara murmurs. “if they saw you utterly at my mercy. If they saw how I have you pinned and bound.”
nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-six … nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-three … nine thousand nine hundred and ninety …
The sand helps Gaara pull his pants down and off, so intuitive that the rhythm of his hand never falters.
Gaara’s bare skin is blue-tinged, speckled with gold where his hair catches lantern light. His cock is just starting to fill out, half in shadow. The sand rustles in Lee’s periphery, and then Gaara’s holding a small vial up to the light, squinting before he unstoppers it.
Lee recognizes the shape of it. Recognizes the sound of the liquid sloshing inside it, the scent.
“You really thought of everything,” he says, trying his darndest to keep his voice to a whisper—something that has never come easily to him.
Gaara smiles, all sharp teeth and flashing light. “A good shinobi is always prepared.”
He reaches between his own legs. Counterpoint to the rhythm he’s established on Lee’s cock, Lee hears the moist sounds of him working himself open.
nine thousand nine hundred and eighty-seven … nine thousand nine hundred and eighty-four … nine thousand nine hundred and eighty-one …
“If someone saw us,” Gaara pants, head tipping back on a sigh, “do you think they would know how often I think about cutting into you. How I want to eat you up bit by bit so you can be fully inside me, so we can finally be totally one.”
His mouth is at a devious slant. The temperature has dropped enough that little crystals escape the corners of his lips as he speaks, as he breathes heavy. The muscles of his thighs strain.
nine thousand nine hundred and seventy-eight … nine thousand nine hundred and seventy-five … nine thousand nine hundred and seventy-two …
“Sometimes I wish I’d succeeded in killing you. If I had crushed you and fed your body to my sand, we would be together always.”
nine thousand nine hundred and sixty-nine … nine thousand nine hundred and sixty-six …
Gaara leans over him, nostrils flaring, smile wide and crazed.
“But then, of course, we couldn’t do this.”
And he lines himself up and sinks down onto Lee’s cock in a single, fluid motion, swallowing him to the root.
nine thousand nine hundred and … nine thousand … nine …
Lee nearly bites a hole in his lip trying to stifle his moan.
“Ahh,” Gaara sighs. “You fit inside me perfectly. If we got caught—” He moves his hips in a sharp, desperate jerk. “—would they see that? Would they recognize we were made as two halves of a whole, ripped apart at the stitches and sewn back together crooked?”
Lee swallows—gulps, really. The creature on top of him is Gaara at his most animalistic. The words spilling from his mouth are his deepest, darkest thoughts—the things he’d never admit to anyone but Lee because it would call into question his rehabilitation.
In public, Gaara pretends that he’s been tamed.
With Lee, though, he makes it clear that even a kept pet monster is still a monster. He shows how easily he could slide back into chasing only his basest desires.
He trusts Lee that much.
He rolls his hips, grinding down. Stares at Lee with lust-shattered bliss.
Lee tries to retreat to the back of his mind, tries to organize the sequence of the most complicated kata he knows. Gaara’s gaze captures his, sears right through him. Just at the edge of his vision, he can see that Gaara’s fully hard now, that his cock jogs with every rise and fall of his hips.
How badly Lee wants to touch him.
He could break away from the sand, he knows, if he really wanted to. Could wrap his hand around Gaara and get him so close to the edge that he’d forget their challenge entirely. But Gaara’s set out his rules, and Lee’s honor is on the line.
He watches Gaara ride him and tries not to go mad. His body’s all slickness and scorching heat, a lean shape terminating in hands that clutch Lee’s shoulders like they want to shatter his clavicle.
They probably do.
Lee bites the tip of his tongue at the thought. At this rate, his mouth will be chewed as raw as it is after a session of heavy petting with Gaara in his lap.
Gaara angles his hips, adjusting the stroke of Lee’s cock inside him. He rises, falls, shifts like sand dunes in blistering wind.
His breath catches as he finds a familiar rhythm. Lee knows he’s right there by the way Gaara stops stroking him with his body and instead starts jerking his hips over and over, brutalizing himself with pleasure.
“Do you know—haah—what I think?” His hips kick, kick, kick, kick, working at that spot. Precum leaks pearlescent from the head of his straining cock. “I think that—unh—if we were caught right now …” His head falls back, he grits his teeth at the sky like a beast that wants to swallow the moon whole. “... I think they would know that when I rest my head on your chest at night, I listen to the beat of your heart and thank every god and spirit that I spared you.”
Spared is a funny synonym for was stopped from killing you by force, twice, Lee thinks, before a particularly tantalizing squeeze of Gaara’s insides kicks the thought from his brain.
“They’d know that I—ah!—track you around the village because I need to keep you safe. I need to—fuck, Lee—protect you from any harm.” Gaara’s hands lock so tight on Lee’s shoulders that the joints creak. He leans all the way forward until their chests are brushing, until he’s staring unblinking into Lee’s eyes and breathing the air from Lee’s mouth. “I can’t bear the thought of anyone hurting you. When you go on missions, I want to follow you and slaughter anyone who dares oppose you. I want to track down the origin of every last one of your scars and eliminate them so that I’m the only living person who’s ever touched your insides. I’m the only one who gets to know your blood and sinew, the only one who gets to hurt you.”
He’s fervent, fervid. This is the most dedicated swearing of devotion Lee’s ever heard.
“No one is allowed to kill you but me.”
A whimper escapes Lee’s lips.
Gaara’s smile widens until it nearly touches his ears. His words barrel out of him in a rapid, breathless stream.
“You were the first one to ever touch me. The first one to cause me pain. I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t shattered my bones and bruised my organs. If I hadn’t broken you down into bone meal and iron.” His body is just undulating around Lee now, tensing and relaxing unceasingly. “I don’t even like to think about it.”
“Neither—” It’s an immense effort for Lee to keep his voice low. It comes out as a strained croak. “Neither do I.”
The trajectory of his life without Gaara is unimaginable. There’s nowhere else in the world where he could find someone like him.
“I know that my affections are dark and strange and undesirable to most.” Gaara licks his teeth. His eyes flutter as he holds Lee inside him, tight as a vise. “But you’ve never rejected me. You’ve never even flinched. You’re the only one who knows the true me, what I’m like on the inside.”
Gaara’s love is one characterized by a pure, soul-baring honesty, a full view behind the curtain of politeness and decorum to the ichor-black heart that pulls his strings.
A charring affection builds in Lee’s chest, leaving a scarred path of embers in its wake. He loves Gaara so much it hurts like the Seventh Gate’s been unlocked, muscles snapping and nerves sizzling. Gaara’s name and love letters and inchoate sex-blown noises all war their way up to the space behind his gritted teeth.
Gaara’s gaze darts all over his face, dissecting him with an anatomist’s precision.
He’s beautiful.
He’s dangerous.
He’s Lee’s pet monster.
Gaara says, low, “You’re the only one I could ever love like this.”
He bites Lee full on the mouth.
Lee’s head flies back and cracks against the rooftop.
“Gaa—raaaa!” An unconstrained moan flies from his mouth as he bucks up into Gaara’s body and comes hard.
Gaara’s eyes blaze like ghost lights in the dark, lips rolled back and blood-dark.
“I win.”
Lee breaks free from his sand bindings in a single exertion, flipping Gaara backwards until he’s bare-assed on the sandstone. His hand finds Gaara’s cock by instinct and works him in quick strokes: one, two, three—
“Lee,” Gaara exhales, and cum spatters up over Lee’s fist and both their bellies.
All of a sudden he goes loose-limbed and limp, all his breath gone in a single, cloudy burst. Their sweating bodies give off steam when they separate.
Gaara sits up; his back cracks.
Lee shoots him a tired smile; his muscles ache; his wrists and ankles are chafed raw. “We might not be youthful enough for these sorts of excursions anymore.”
“You?” Gaara arches a pale brow, sardonic, the crazed light fading from his eyes. “Didn’t you once tell me that you’d be in the Springtime of your Youth forever?”
“Well …” Lee hedges. “We will get old one day.”
“It won’t make a difference to me,” says Gaara as the sand moves independent of him, the third eye dissolving, wisps of grit returning their clothing. “As long as we’re together.”
Lee chuckles, pulling up his legwarmers. “Even when I have gray hair and wrinkles?”
Gaara pauses with his pants half-on. “I like the lines of you,” he says, very seriously. “I like my tongue in the grooves of your skin. What’s a few more?”
It’s a strange mental image, the idea of Gaara licking his crow’s feet and smile lines. One that’s quintessentially Gaara.
Lee gives him a megawatt grin, then he stretches up and peers over the edge of the roof to ensure they haven’t been spotted. Suna’s streets are just as crowded as always, the hustle and bustle seemingly undisturbed by their rooftop tryst. Not that Lee would necessarily be able to tell. But at least no one’s looking up at him.
“Congratulations on your win,” he says, turning back to Gaara, who’s got his Kage robe halfway over his head, looking like a bedsheet ghost. “Have you decided where you’ll have me?”
He’s a little apprehensive, if he’s honest, given some of the more scandalous ideas Gaara proposed. But a deal is a deal, and he’ll gamely accept whatever Gaara decides, even if he’s mortified. He probably won’t choose the Council meeting one, at least.
Probably.
Outside of their hiding place, the sand sets itself to cleaning up the remaining mess of their picnic. That is, if ‘crumpling it all into a ball and squeezing it until it evaporates’ can be called ‘cleaning’.
“Hmm.” Gaara stretches and searches around idly for his hat until Lee hands it to him. “I think …”
Lee’s pulse picks up speed, enraptured by the glint of Gaara’s eyes peeking out from under the shadow of the brim.
“... in my bed.” Gaara smiles, soft and sweet and tired.
Lee’s heart clenches. Because this Gaara is just as much the true one as the feral creature who tumbled him onto the roof and threatened to eat his heart.
Gaara stands and extends his hand so Lee, too, can be swept up by his sand. In the moment before they’re carried away, he cradles Lee’s chin and kisses him tenderly.
Sand whipping around them, Gaara murmurs, “There I can have you all to myself.”