Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/698602.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Naruto
  Relationship:
      Deidara/Uchiha_Sasuke, Tobi/Uchiha_Sasuke
  Character:
      Uchiha_Sasuke, Deidara, Tobi_(Naruto)
  Additional Tags:
      Manhandling, Gags, Bondage, Sex_Pollen, Orgasm_Delay/Denial, Kink_Meme
  Stats:
      Published: 2007-09-17 Words: 4215
****** Good Things ******
by kinoface
Summary
     Kink meme fill for an OP who wanted noncon wherein Sasuke is a
     virgin, Deidara has "mastered a host of perverse and sadistic 'erotic
     tortures' and mind games after years of partnering with Sasori," and
     Tobi helps out. HOW COULD I RESIST. Alternate ending to the forest
     battle in 356-357.
Notes
     OH HO HO HO~ This thing is from way back in 2007 and I completely
     forgot about it until it randomly popped into my head this morning:
     "Oh, yeah! I wrote that one crazypants Deidara/Sasuke/Tobi fic! Those
     were good times." It is old, unbeta'd, and only slightly refurbished
     for the sake of readability (holy cow I used to write some painfully
     long sentences). Originally posted here.
     ONCE AGAIN, IN CASE YOU MISSED THE WARNING: THIS IS 100% NONCON.
     There is nothing dubious about it. Just so we're all on the same
     page.
"Hold him, un."
"Yes, senpai."
Sasuke fights against the hands grabbing for his arms, but they close in just
above his elbows and hold him fast. His muscles are pulled taut; there's an
acute tightness in his shoulders that tells him struggling is not an option.
After all, there's not much he can do with a pair of dislocated shoulders. Not
much he can do at all, at this point, and he's boiling inside with all the
thoughts of how easily this could have been avoided. It was a thoughtless
miscalculation, becoming separated from the others — a foolish mistake, getting
cornered like this, alone and injured.
A foolish mistake. The word sticks in his head, echoing painfully. Perhaps if
he hadn't underestimated his enemy — hadn't held back — had fought harder — if
he hadn't been so damn impassive —
But hatred has never come easily, has it? And now he's here, on his knees in
the dirt, drained and exhausted and slowly realizing that he's bitten off more
than he can chew. Even his sharingan has slipped away from him now, and it's
hard to make out his surroundings here in the forest, beneath the trees that
soak up the sunlight. The figure before him, however, is unmistakable even in
the darkness: with blond hair falling to hide half his face, half his twisted
smile, Deidara takes a step forward and nods once to his partner.
The gloved hands at Sasuke's elbows are tugging him to his feet, pulling hard
at his arms. The pain inches up through his shoulders until they feel as if
they might come undone altogether. He grunts and tries hard not to move, not to
struggle, but that doesn't stop him from fighting back in other ways. He snaps
his teeth at Deidara's fingers when the other's hand comes too close, and he
twists away until Deidara grabs him by the jaw and pulls his face up into the
sparse light, examining him with that one eye and that infuriating smirk.
Sasuke can feel the warm center of Deidara's palm, where skin gives way to hard
teeth and a slick tongue, wet and hot as it slithers out across the curve of
his jaw. He tries to jerk away, but Deidara holds him tight, and his arms are
wrenched farther back until his elbows are almost touching. He grits his teeth
and forces himself to meet Deidara's half-gaze. He is not afraid.
Deidara says, "You look like your brother, un," and despite what Sasuke just
swore to himself, he can't help but bristle at the words.
"Fuck you," he spits out, but it's weak, lackluster, and the only
acknowledgment it gets from Deidara is a condescending scoff before he moves
his hand to grab the lower half of Sasuke's face. His thumb hooks under
Sasuke's chin to hold him still and his palm presses down hard until Sasuke can
feel the hand-mouth smiling over his own in a perverse imitation of a kiss. His
first instinct is to pull away, try to put as much distance between himself and
that bizarre mouth as possible, but between the tight grip on his straining
arms and Deidara's fingers digging hard into his cheeks, he is kept firmly in
place.
He can't help it, curses himself for it, but when the mouth opens wide and the
hot, wet tongue moves against his pursed lips, he shudders.
Deidara's other hand is busy untying his own forehead protector; then his
fingertips are at Sasuke's chin, pulling his mouth open, forcing the scarred
metal plate between Sasuke's teeth. The blue cloth is tied tightly at the back
of his head to hold the protector in place, and as much as Sasuke tries to work
his mouth around the metal, it effectively keeps his jaws pried open even after
Deidara's fingers slip down to his chin, tilting his face once again into the
light. He finds that it's damn near impossible to form legible speech with his
jaws held so wide open, and the sound he makes instead of the curse he had
planned comes out as little more than a grunt.
He doesn't do a very good job of hiding his panic.
Angry and humiliated and frightened though he refuses to admit it, he tries
again to twist away from the grip on his arms, glares and tries to curse at
Deidara, but he can't form the words. The series of small, inarticulate grunts
that spills out of him only makes him angrier. The look of amusement spreading
quickly over Deidara's features makes him downright furious.
In the next instant, Deidara's hand is slipping away to join its other in a
sudden flurry of gestures. Sasuke recognizes the act of preparing a jutsu, even
recognizes some of the seals Deidara is using, but he can't make sense of the
pattern they create when strung together, and doesn't know what to expect. When
one of Deidara's palms presses flat against his bare chest while the other hand
forms the final seal, Sasuke braces himself for the worst.
With a hiss of breath and a quick push against Sasuke's chest, the jutsu is
complete, and immediately Sasuke knows what's happened. He feels the buzz of
it, the thrum of energy exchanged, Deidara's chakra pumping into his chest
where it mingles with his own and travels, warm, through his whole body. What
confuses and unnerves Sasuke is that, upon examination, nothing terrible seems
to be happening. He was expecting some form of devastating pain, but this warm,
tingling chakra is nothing of the sort. If anything, it actually feels good,
and when Sasuke really thinks about it, everything else feels a little nicer
too. From this new chakra, warming up his body from the core outward, to the
clothes on his back, suddenly softer than they were before, to the hands at his
elbows, the pressure of which is soothing where not moments earlier it had been
maddening... Even the pain in his shoulders feels a little more pleasurable,
less like they're on the verge of popping out of their sockets and more like
that sweet burn of overworked muscles, the lazy stretches in the early morning
sun that hurt but at the same time send pleasure bubbling up and down his
spine.
He doesn't realize that Deidara is untying the rope from around his waist until
it's already gone and his shirt is falling open. He's so taken aback by the
crisp forest air as it envelopes his pale, newly exposed chest that he barely
notices Deidara passing the rope to his partner, and when he feels it
encircling his arms, heavy and rough, he tries to struggle out of it, but he's
so distracted by his own hypersensitive nerves that he can't concentrate enough
to even come close to breaking free. It's just so overwhelming, this flood of
new sensations, like the rope around his arms drawing ever tighter and the
insistent tug of the knots being tied, first at his elbows, then again at his
wrists. The rope tightens until his elbows are touching and his shoulders are
screaming and every inch, every spark, is pulsing through him bright and hot
and coming to rest at the hardening warmth between his legs, where a gloved
hand snakes around from behind him and gives him a single, firm squeeze.
He moans.
The sound of it brings him back into himself, clearing his head and reminding
him where he is and who he's with. His arms are now tied securely behind his
back, and Deidara is giving him that infuriating smirk. Sasuke grunts and tries
to twist away from the arm still stretched across his hips, fighting until the
other arm curls around his chest to hold him steady. He tries to ignore the
waves of pleasure that wash over him as the arms holding him close rub against
him in all the right ways. He refuses to break away from Deidara's stare even
as his cheeks burn with shame. He is not afraid. He is not afraid.
Deidara never even blinks as he says, "He's ready, un."
"Yes, senpai."
Then the arm around Sasuke's chest shifts, the gloved fingers find one of his
nipples and give it a pinch, and the other hand begins to stroke him through
the thick fabric of his trousers. He shivers, his legs shake, and his eyes are
drifting closed before he can even think to stop himself.
Deidara smirks, something sharp and sinister. "Definitely ready."
The gloved hands move to pull his shirt off his shoulders, tugging the material
down his arms to rest at his bound elbows. Then the hands are back, moving over
his now bare shoulders, his chest, down along his waist and his hips. A soft
fingertip traces the jut of his collarbone, and he arches into the touch; a
thumb brushes past one of his nipples, and he whimpers; a thin wrist presses
into the crease of his hips, fingers teasing him, and he tips his head back and
moans.
He hates every minute of it, and he dulls the guilt by telling himself that he
isn't fighting because he's one wrong move away from dislocating his shoulders,
or because the two shinobi at his side wouldn't let him get very far even if he
could get free. Not because he's so mind-numbingly, crazily desperate for the
way the gloved hands are touching him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Deidara forming the movements of another
jutsu. Then the gloved hands are gone, and Deidara's hands are slipping down
into his trousers and stroking him skin-on-skin, and he can't think, can barely
breathe for the pleasure that's spiking through him, driving into every part of
his body, every nook, every crevice, every buzzing nerve, from his straining
arms to his shaking legs and all the way into his fingertips, his curling toes.
He feels the wet, hot tongues, feels the gentle nip of sharp little teeth,
feels the quick, sure hands that stroke and squeeze and slip down to circle
tight around him. Everything is warm and buzzing with the build-up of chakra,
and then — and then Deidara is repositioning his hands, and then — and then one
of the mouths closes around him, the other lapping at what the first can't
reach, and Sasuke is crying out, arching into the touch, unable to wrap his
mind around how something so terrible can feel so good — how anything can feel
this good — and then —
He can't hear anything but his own whimpers and Deidara's voice, somewhere in
the haze: "Help me out here, un."
"Yes, senpai."
— and then there's a warm body pressed close against his bound arms, and the
gloved hands are back, ghosting across his chest, rubbing and scratching,
pinching, twisting, both at once, and it's all too much, too much, pushing him
to and over the edge, and he falls and falls and falls and then —
Another sharp pulse of chakra, and the jutsu is complete.
— and he never hits the ground.
Deidara pulls away, and the gloved hands follow suit. Sasuke is barely aware of
the fact that he's still rolling his hips, searching for a warmth that's no
longer there. He's barely conscious of his own cries, turned to keening, hungry
little noises by the metal between his teeth, drowned out by the buzzing in his
head. All he knows for sure is that he's still falling, still grasping for
release where there is none, and it's the most delicious, most terrible thing
he's ever felt.
The gloved hands give him a single, solid shove, sending him to the dirt with a
hard thud. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can see himself lying there,
legs splayed, mewling like a wounded animal, and he hates himself for it,
despises this weakness, feels his cheeks burn with shame even as he writhes and
begs. He can't stop himself, though, can't seem to pull himself together, not
when every feel, every touch — the rope digging into his arms, the soft dirt
beneath him and the sharp pebbles pressed into his skin — sends him reeling,
grabs hold of him and pulls him deeper into this desperate frenzy. Not when
he's still falling, and every cell in his body is screaming for touch.
He faintly registers the image of Deidara watching him, intent, as his cloak
slips down his shoulders. "Prepare him, un."
"Yes, senpai."
One of the gloved hands twists through his hair, pulling hard and dragging him
back to his knees. One arm snakes around his chest and holds him there while
the other works at undoing his pants and pushing them down to pool at his
knees. Then there's a hand at his back, a row of knuckles pressing into the
burning, straining spot between his shoulder blades and pushing until he's
face-down in the dirt, still on his knees, bare ass in the air, exposed and
vulnerable and humiliated even as he pushes up into the hand still holding him
to the ground.
He feels Deidara stand behind him and kick his legs further apart. He hears the
thump of Deidara's knees hitting the ground between his legs, and without
warning, Deidara's palm is pressed against him, its hand-tongue flicking out to
tease his entrance. Then it pushes inside. Sasuke howls and jerks, unused to
the feel of anything, let alone a warm tongue, inside of him, and even in this
hungry stupor, he knows this is not something he wants. A wave of panic washes
over him like ice water, he feels a bit of himself rise up above the craving
and the need and the spinning in his head, and he fights hard, thrashing
against the ropes and growling into the gag. But the fist at his back and
Deidara's biting hand on his hip hold him in place, and the tongue continues to
move inside of him.
There's a slick, wet sound when the tongue finally slithers away. He hears
rustling fabric, feels Deidara moving behind him, and he knows what's about to
happen. As Deidara takes him by the hips and positions himself, Sasuke gives
one last jerk, a weak final attempt to get away — it doesn't work, though he
wasn't expecting it to — and then Deidara is pushing inside.
Sasuke screams.
That first, shocking thrust carves out a trail of fire, a new kind of pain
Sasuke's never felt before. Just as each and every sensation up to this point
was magnified a thousand fold, so too is this pain, and it eats away at him,
sending barbwire tendrils through his stomach, fanning hot little flames that
lick up his spine and all the way into his fingertips. Deidara grunts, tightens
his hold on Sasuke's hips, and thrusts in to the hilt. Somewhere in the back of
his mind, Sasuke hears himself sob.
Deidara pulls out and makes some comment that Sasuke hears but can't
comprehend. Then he's thrusting in again, and it's just as terrible as the
first time. It doesn't end there. The thrusts come fast and hard, and each one
sends Sasuke reeling, pain sparking out across his every nerve until he can
hardly breathe. He struggles and gasps and still doesn't feel as if any air is
reaching his lungs.
If Deidara notices or cares, he doesn't show it.
With time, the pain becomes a little less excruciating, dying down with each
thrust as Sasuke's body grows used to the harsh treatment. The gloved hand
shifts against his back until the knuckles are no longer pressing into him,
replaced by a thumb that rubs slow, soothing circles into his skin. He closes
in on this one, small comfort, latches on to it and makes it his focus, uses it
to take him somewhere deep inside his own head where the pain can't reach. The
thumb presses harder, working at his sore and knotted muscles, and slowly,
surely, it washes away the pain, coaxes him down, makes him feel better, makes
him feel good, and before long he's arching up into it. The appreciative noises
he's making in the back of his throat might embarrass him if he weren't so
swept away in the warm, solid pressure undoing all his twisted knots.
The next time Deidara thrusts into him, there's something different, something
that grabs hold of him and pulls him back into the here and now. The gloved
hand is still at this back, but there's something else now, some faint whisper
of pleasure that weaves itself into the pain, a little knot of pressure that
hums in rhythm to the thrusting and cools the fire inside of him. It's not
enough to erase the pain, but it's enough to change it, back to that sweet,
bubbling burn. Before he realizes what he's doing, he's backing up to meet the
thrusts, to find that wave of pleasure and crash into it head-on.
Deidara's hand-mouths bite at his hips. "I knew you were just a little slut,
un." He can hear the smile in Deidara's voice.
But Sasuke doesn't care. He doesn't cares about the humiliation, the anger, the
vestiges of real pain still spiking up into his belly, so long as the rest of
this feeling continues. The second gloved hand joins the first in kneading the
hard muscles in his back, and he feels his spine arch of its own accord,
leaning up into the touch. One of Deidara's hands curves over Sasuke's hips and
grabs hold of him, stroking and licking simultaneously, and Sasuke's panting
breaths dissolve into moans. In those few moments he has come undone, climbing
up out of the chilly ocean of panic into which he had been sinking, and he sees
himself again, from somewhere outside of his own mind, rocking back against
Deidara's hips and straining greedily for more as his voice spills out from
behind the gag in low, pathetic moans.
He has no energy left for anger, no energy for hatred. The only thing he can
bring himself to focus on is the sensations all around: that little knot inside
of him, the sharp crests of Deidara's hips against the backs of his thighs, the
tongues and the gloved hands and the rope, the dirt crunching beneath his
chest, his sweetly sore jaw, his fingertips tingling and electric with the
onset of numbness. The pressure builds and builds and he aches for release,
would beg for it if he could form the words, but it just won't come.
One harsh, blinding thrust, and suddenly Deidara is gone, the gloved hands
disappearing with him. Sasuke whimpers after him and feels hollow inside.
"Turn him over, un."
"Yes, senpai."
A swift kick to the ribs has Sasuke falling onto his side, grunting into his
gag. The gloved hands are in his hair again, pulling him onto his back, and a
warm body slips in behind him, knees framing his hips, the curve of a shoulder
fitting perfectly against the back of his neck. Then Deidara is back, panting
and flushed and smiling wide. He pushes Sasuke's legs apart, tongues lapping at
the sweat behind Sasuke's knees, and then he's thrusting back in, and from this
angle he's hitting that little knot full-on and fast and hard and perfect. The
gloved hands have returned, not at Sasuke's back but at his chest, brushing his
nipples and pinching and twisting, and those tongues are squirming in the
crooks of his knees all slick and hot, and it's all Sasuke can do not to fall
into hysterics as he arches his back, tips his head against the shoulder behind
him, with his eyes squeezed shut, hips rolling, voice coming out in little
keening shouts.
When he opens his eyes, Deidara is peering down at him, closer than before,
close enough that Sasuke hears his soft panting and feels the warm breath on
his face. Deidara leans in closer and opens his mouth — some small part of
Sasuke wants to flinch away, but he doesn't, can't — he sees the tongue before
he feels it — and then Deidara's eyes flutter closed and the tip of his tongue,
the real one, wet and soft and hot, presses flat against Sasuke's flushed
cheek. He takes one long, deliberate lick, lapping up the tears Sasuke didn't
even realize were there. He dips his head to lick at Sasuke's collarbone,
presses his tongue flat into the hollow of Sasuke's throat and licks up to the
corner of his jaw, traces the shell of Sasuke's ear with the tip of his tongue,
and all the while Sasuke is whimpering, shivering, letting his head fall back
to offer the sharp line of his throat.
The rhythm of Deidara's hips is growing faster now as he withdraws one hand
from Sasuke's knee to untie the knot at the back of Sasuke's head. He takes the
cloth in his teeth and rips the forehead protector away before spitting it out
to the side, and then his fingers are curling in Sasuke's hair and he's
crushing his mouth against Sasuke's own. Sasuke jerks back, startled, but the
hand in his hair holds him fast, hand-tongue licking the sweat from the back of
his neck. Deidara's mouth is hot and open and Sasuke feels that he isn't being
kissed so much as devoured as Deidara's teeth nip at his lips, tongue licking
obscenely at the corners of his mouth and the backs of his teeth, Deidara's
hips setting a frantic pace as he hungrily swallows Sasuke's protesting cries.
Deidara's fingers pull painfully at his hair, hand-mouth biting mercilessly at
his thigh. The rhythm breaks as Deidara's hips pound into him once, twice, and
then for one long, brathless moment, everything stops: Deidara presses hard
against him, breath hitched, fingers still. Sasuke feels Deidara twitching
inside of him. He feels Deidara's thighs shaking just so. And then Deidara is
moaning into Sasuke's mouth, his whole body trembling as he comes undone.
They're both gasping when he breaks the kiss, slipping out and away, sinking
bonelessly to the ground and choosing simply to lie there, legs still
shivering, chest heaving.
The gloved hands are rigid, all affection gone, as they shove Sasuke away. The
warm body at his back rises and steps away, pausing only to kick his legs out
of its path. Sasuke cries out, but it's more needy than pained. The hands, the
tongues, the thrusting against that little knot inside of him and all the
little bubbles of pleasure that came with — they're all gone, now, but he's
still here, aching for touch, grasping for release, for anything other than the
straining in his arms and the soreness in his jaw and the stinging in his chest
where it's been rubbed raw against the dirt. All he needs is something to fill
the throbbing emptiness inside of him.
He tries to call after them, but his jaw cracks and his voice breaks, and all
that comes out is a wrecked moan.
Feet away, Deidara is reaching out for a gloved hand and using it to pull
himself to his feet. He pulls his trousers up around his hips and brushes the
dirt off of them. He points in Sasuke's direction, breath still coming in
little puffs when he says, "Fetch that for me, will you?"
"Yes, senpai."
Sasuke is so focused on Deidara — his damp hair, still hiding half his face;
his one, heavy-lidded eye; his satisfied smile and his flushed cheeks — that he
barely notices the figure beside him, bending low to retrieve the abandoned
forehead protector and taking special care to avoid touching him.
Deidara takes his forehead protector back and ties it into place as the gloved
hands retrieve his cloak from the ground, shaking it out to dust off loose
flecks of dirt. Then Deidara takes that as well, slipping his arms in through
the oversized sleeves, buttoning up the front, the whole time watching Sasuke
with that one eye. He watches as Sasuke flexes his worn jaw, as he tries to
work his arms out of the rope but can't; he watches as Sasuke rolls his hips
into nothing and strains for release and never finds it. Deidara just smirks
through it all, gaze hard, unwavering. His voice is cool and satisfied when he
says, "I wonder what your brother will think when he hears about this." He
smiles cruelly. "The bastard'll probably thank me, un."
Before he can stop himself, Sasuke meets Deidara's eye and whimpers, voice
hoarse, "Please — please just let me..."
The words taste more bitter on his tongue than anything he can remember. It's
an action for which he will never forgive himself.
Deidara scoffs at him, gives him one final, condescending smirk. Then he turns
to his partner and says, "Let's get out of here, un."
"Yes, senpai."
And so they leave him there, bound with his own rope, his whole body thrumming
and aching. It isn't until some time later that one of his teammates finally
finds him, and by then he's sobbing and incoherent, still writhing, still
helpless and hard and half-mad with need.
Karin kneels at his side, licking her lips, and thinks to herself, Good things
really do come to those who wait.
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