Work Text:
Sasuke pushed open the glass door of the Jinchuuriki Art Studio, the scent of drying paint and pencil shavings curling around him as he entered the small lobby.
It was a Thursday night in late October, Sasuke had just submitted his hellish final assignment for the last uni semester of his creative writing degree, and he’d come here to see Naruto after he finished teaching his wine and painting class.
After spending the whole day hunched over his laptop, worrying over his assignment—spending literal hours on end staring at single words, trying to make them meaningful—Sasuke was ready to hang out with Naruto and just . . . forget uni existed. He loved creative writing, enjoyed his course, but he’d been drowning in assignments for the last week and the pressure of being creative and eloquent was starting to take its toll on him. It also didn’t help that he’d also gotten more late shifts at the library and Hiruzen’s insistence that all employees not use technology had made it extremely difficult to work on his large assignments.
It was because of all this mental noise that Sasuke had come straight to Naruto’s work after Naruto finished his class. No way was he going to hang out awkwardly at Naruto’s dorm and wait the half an hour it would take for him to get home from work.
Sasuke had never been to the Jinchuuriki Art Studio before, but as soon as he stepped into the deserted lobby, he could tell it had a good vibe. Almost every spare inch of wall space was covered in paintings—samples of artwork from their various classes—and it made Sasuke feel like he’d stepped into a world of colour and canvas. Instead of overhead lights, there were origami paper lanterns strung from wall to wall and clusters of LED candles sitting on the front desk, diffusing the room with golden yellow light. It made Sasuke keenly aware of the late hour (it was past 10pm), but in a way that made him feel warm and cosy instead of tired, though he could still feel the residual buzz of uni stress under his skin.
“Sasuke?” Naruto’s voice echoed from the hallway past the desk. “Is that you?” A pause. “I hope you’re Sasuke and not an art thief.”
Sasuke rolled his eyes and followed the sound of his dumb boyfriend into the main studio.
This room was large, open, and airy, with high ceilings and cracked-open windows covering every wall, soft white organza curtains wisping softly with the spring breeze. The middle of the room was filled with long tables covered in used palettes, brushes in water jars, and wine glasses—probably from the class Naruto just taught—but around the perimeter of the room were easels, a couple of which displayed different versions of the painting at the front of the room. It was an abstract wave pattern of purples and oranges that reminded Sasuke of muscle fibres. Against the cream-coloured walls and floors, the bright paintings stood out, and the splashes of old paint smudged into the furniture made the room look worn, almost comfortingly authentic.
In the centre of it all though, sitting on one of the paint-stained tables, confidence radiating off him, was Naruto. He was wearing a bright orange art smock over what Sasuke knew was just sweatpants and a ratty old Road to Ninja t-shirt. His dandelion blond hair was tousled in a way that was so gorgeous it almost seemed manufactured, like he’d deliberately styled it to look like a sexy bedhead but Sasuke knew it was genuine because . . . well, it was Naruto. He was genuine to a fault.
“Hey, Sasuke,” Naruto said, voice softening as soon as their eyes met, cheeks dimpling with his smile.
Fuck, there were even streaks of red and orange paint on Naruto's cheeks, sideways slashes like coy little whiskers, as if he was a fey or a shapeshifter, come to tempt Sasuke. The wickedness at the edges of his smile didn’t help either, the sharp tilt that whispered, i’ve been dreaming about fucking you.
Sasuke wasn’t one for flowery descriptions in his writing. His style, even in poetry, tended towards sparse, but Naruto—and only Naruto—drew Sasuke’s mind to metaphor and the mythic.
I want to worship you with the written word, Sasuke thought.
“Hey,” he replied.
Even under the bright LED lights of the studio, Naruto glowed. In the orange smock with his blond hair, he looked like a candle and Sasuke gravitated towards his flame like a moth.
After weaving through the tables, walking faster than he wanted to admit, Sasuke shoved his face in Naruto’s chest and inhaled, his sunshine scent chasing away some of the tension at his temples.
In response, Naruto beamed down at Sasuke like the sun itself before cupping his face with one tan, paint-stained hand and sliding it down the front of Sasuke’s neck—making him arch into the touch—then around to cradle the back, fingers curling into the small hairs at the base of his skull.
Sasuke nearly dropped his bag as he melted into the warm caress.
“Goddammit, Naruto,” he gasped out.
“Hello to you too,” Naruto murmured, bringing his other hand up to trace Sasuke’s jaw.
Unconsciously, he tilted his head back to bare his neck and Naruto ran his fingers down the centre of Sasuke’s throat, over his Adam’s apple, settling in the dip between his collarbones, exposed from his loose jumper. There was sinful promise in that touch and, fuck, Sasuke had been here for less than five minutes and already he was a puddle at Naruto’s feet.
He met Naruto’s gaze, weighty and simmering with hunger, and suppressed a groan. God, he had to cut this short before Naruto ended up blowing him under the table in a public place. (Again).
“Idiot,” Sasuke said, batting Naruto's hand away and surging forward to kiss his cheek, the dried whisker-like marks of paint rough against his lips. “Hurry and lock up so we can go back to yours.”
The fire in Naruto’s blue eyes receded from wildfire to hearth at the soft kiss and he drew Sasuke into a crushing hug.
“You’re stressed, aren’t you?” he whispered into Sasuke’s neck.
Sasuke sighed. “How did you know?”
Naruto kissed his neck and Sasuke shivered involuntarily. “I can read you.”
Sasuke exhaled into the sensation, into the way it cleared his mind of stress, replaced it with lavender-scented smoke.
When Naruto chuckled into his skin, low and warm, Sasuke knew his boyfriend had been aware of this effect, aware of how his actions were making heat drip into Sasuke’s lower abdomen.
“You just like turning me on in public places,” Sasuke grumbled.
“Nuh uh, that’s not one of my kinks, check my fanfic tags.”
“You should reassess your preferences,” Sasuke shot back before shoving some paper plate palettes and wine bottles aside to lie down on the table, head resting in Naruto's lap, Naruto’s fingers lightly settling atop his head. He hummed in pleasure. This stupid blond had a hold over Sasuke and, despite all his grumbling, he really didn’t mind it one bit.
“I assume it’s the assignment that stressed you out?” Naruto asked, looking at him upside-down.
His eyes are so blue.
Sasuke nodded.
“But you got it submitted in time,” Naruto soothed. “And now you’re totally done with uni! Not like me, I still have my Honours next year, blegh.”
Sasuke grimaced. “I think the fact I’m finished with uni is part of the problem.” Over the last six weeks of procrastinating his major project (so against his studious nature) and then the last six hours of frantically smashing it out in an emotional tornado, it had dawned on Sasuke that he was finished with his degree. The studies that had consumed his life for three years were now just . . . done. Provided he passed (which was likely), he would be attending his graduation that December.
But what about after that? Would he go and apply to work for a publishing house? There was that publishing house his uni ran—he could intern there. Would he just try to pitch pieces to journals and magazines? There was that journal that only published writers under 30. Maybe he should submit to that before it was too late. Would he attend all those writers’ festivals he always said he would go to once he’d graduated? He probably needed to, right? Networking and all that crap.
Sasuke sighed, gazing up at the high ceiling. It had that weird popcorn-like texture and the LED studio lights were cold. “What am I going to do with my degree?” he asked the ceiling.
Naruto moved into his line of sight, blocking the light. “You’ll write, of course,” he said, like it was obvious. “You’re always writing something. It just so happens that something has just been uni stuff for the last few years. Now you get to write for you.” Naruto stroked his hair gently. “You’ll write and I’ll read. I always love reading your work, Sasuke. I . . . I appreciate how you let me into your mind.”
There was a whole genre of writing dedicated to documenting love, in all its many forms. However, in many ways, the act of writing itself was an expression of love—to the written word, to the subject matter.
To the person reading on the other end.
Naruto was still talking. “Writing is just a part of you, Sasuke. You write me those love poems all the time.”
Sasuke scrunched up his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No, it’s so cute, you handwrite them for me and everything.”
“I’ve never seen them before in my life.”
Okay, so Sasuke did write stupidly sappy love poems for Naruto. But that wasn’t writing-writing, was it? It was just something he did for fun—because he had too many thoughts about Naruto that they kept him awake at night and the only way to get them out was to write them down and then Naruto read all his writing so of course he read those too. Sure, it was something Sasuke thought he’d never do in a million years but Naruto just had a way of pushing Sasuke out of his comfort zone, while still keeping him comfortable.
Sasuke shifted his head in Naruto’s lap, relishing in how the muscle of his thigh supported his stiff neck. “How was work?”
Naruto accepted the subject change and pointed to the abstract paintings on the easels. “I think everyone had fun and the paintings look great so that’s my job done, really!” He scratched the back of his neck. “I liked the inspiration picture Jiraiya chose for this class.”
“Can I see yours?”
Naruto had always been eager to read Sasuke’s writing, even when they were just acquaintances, but now that they were dating, Sasuke adored getting to see Naruto’s artwork.
Naruto hopped off the table, went up to the easel at the front of the room and brought back the canvas, guiding Sasuke's head back onto his lap when he returned. “I don’t know why you always want to see mine, ya know, they’re the same as all the ones the students did.”
Sasuke took in the muscle fibre-esque shape, the colours. “Yours is always better,” he defended. “Your colours are brighter and I like that you can see the brushstrokes, like the texture of the paint. It’s not so neat like all the others.”
Naruto took the canvas back. “Ah, that’s just my style bleeding through,” he said nervously. “Technically, I’m not supposed to do that, I’m supposed to do it all cleanly and stuff, but I’ve been working on that big project, ya know, so I keep wanting to paint in that style." He touched Sasuke's head lightly. "Speaking of my project, is it okay if we stay a little bit longer? I’m nearly finished with it.”
Sasuke quirked an eyebrow. “Is it here? I thought your boss would kill you if you stayed late.”
Grinning cheekily, Naruto replied, “I told him I needed to use the space some nights this month for my uni major project.”
“You don’t even study art,” Sasuke noted. Naruto was a communications major with a minor in philosophy. “And technically the semester is over for both of us.”
“Jiraiya doesn’t know that though,” Naruto said with an exaggerated wink. “Plus he’s too busy working on his new frog puppet show so he doesn’t care so long as I don’t burn the place down.”
“Is that a genuine risk with your current project?”
“Eh, not this one.”
Sasuke chuckled but agreed to stay. Honestly, it was never really a question. Within just a few minutes of being in his presence, Sasuke was already starting to feel the stress of the day ebb away.
Naruto quickly cleaned up the supplies left from his class and beckoned Sasuke over to the main easel at the front of the room.
“You can lie down here,” Naruto said, pulling some tarps off a tan velvet futon near the easel. “The models use it for figure drawing classes and it’s really comfy.”
Sasuke dropped his bag next to the futon then flopped onto it like a pancake. Naruto was right, it was deliciously squishy in a way it seemed only futons could be and the material was soft on his skin.
As he stretched out on his back, Naruto knelt beside his head. “Ya know,” he started, “you could totally be a model, Sasuke. You’re gorgeous.”
Sasuke felt his cheeks heat at the compliment. Naruto handed out praise with such ease, showering Sasuke with the verbal affection and affirmation he didn’t realise he had always craved until he met Naruto, until Naruto read his writing and left praise in the margins in orange gel pen that Sasuke reread over and over and over, long after the piece was finished.
There were large drying racks for paintings in the corner and from them, Naruto pulled out a large portrait canvas and propped it on the easel.
This was the first time Sasuke had seen this particular artwork in person, having only previously heard descriptions from Naruto. He’d described it as an exploration of touch, intended to be multi-sensory, for its appreciation to involve touching the textures of his brushstrokes as well as admiring them from afar.
Naruto was just so creative like that. Sasuke would envy him if he didn’t love him so much.
So far, a quarter of the canvas was covered in light purple paint—the colour of wisterias and Earl Grey tea and lavender smoke—layered on thickly in crests and ridges and swirls. Even knowing little about painting, Sasuke could see the faintly rippled paths of brushes, the sharp lines of palette knives, even the smooth, oval indentations of Naruto’s fingers.
He could see the history of Naruto’s touch in the painting and it was kind of poetic honestly.
“Didn’t you say you were nearly done?” Sasuke asked, brow crinkling as he scanned the large swathe of empty primed canvas.
“I am,” Naruto said softly, setting up his palette and unscrewing a large tub of impasto medium. “This honestly takes no time at all. It’s more about the process and I . . . I wanted you to be here for it. I just like having you next to me.”
Sasuke’s heart blossomed with warmth. “Okay,” he said and settled down on the futon to watch Naruto paint.
It had only been six months since he’d started dating Naruto, since they’d read erotic fanfiction together under the stained glass ceilings and fairy lights of the Hidden in the Leaves Library and taken their connection from acquaintances to something much more in just one night. Only six months since Sasuke had stayed over at his dorm, then woken up to Naruto’s natural bedhead and waffles that weren’t too sweet and the promise of if not forever, then something damn near close to it.
Sasuke watched Naruto slap a glob of the thickened lavender paint into the centre of the canvas and smear it messily across the white space.
Fuck. Sasuke was so in love and the only thing more sickening than that was how much he actually liked being in love. How comfortable it made him. Never before in his life had Sasuke felt safe enough to voluntarily let all his walls down with someone else— for someone else—for the express purpose of letting them in, letting them wander and touch and explore.
There was such a sweet kind of comfort in being able to surrender like that.
Feeling a little better, Sasuke settled onto his back on the futon (which really was very comfy) and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Naruto’s brushes clinking off his water jar, palette knives against paint, bristles against canvas.
A few minutes later, he blinked his eyes open to see Naruto focused on his painting with the same intensity he used for reading, for pleasuring Sasuke, as he carefully—almost sensually—dragged his fingertips through the thick paint.
Suddenly feeling the need to be closer to Naruto, like a magnetic force that hooked into his lower abdomen, Sasuke crawled along the futon, closer to the easel. There, sitting at Naruto’s feet, Sasuke watched Naruto paint, listened to the various sounds.
“Hey you,” Naruto murmured, carding his free hand through Sasuke’s hair, leafing through the strands like the pages of a book.
Sasuke sighed, leaned his head onto Naruto’s thigh, humming softly. The feeling of Naruto’s fingers in his hair—no, Naruto taking care of him, soothing him because he knew he'd had a rough day—was addictive.
Naruto laughed above him. “You’re like a cat,” he said.
“Shut up,” Sasuke shot back weakly, arching into the touch, the warmth, as that pleasant and familiar tingly feeling started to spread down his body, settling in the hinge of his jaw and the base of his spine.
“Ah . . .” he moaned softly.
Sensing the shift in their dynamic, Naruto chuckled low.
“I love how turned on you get just from me touching you,” Naruto mumbled.
Sasuke shuddered at the lowered pitch of Naruto’s voice, the way it raised the hairs on the back of his neck, made his scalp sing. This—this was the voice Sasuke used to listen to in those dirty audios by the artist NineTails, long before he ever met Naruto and learned he was one and the same. Now Naruto’s low voice was even sexier because Naruto only spoke this way for him. Sasuke was the only one who got to hear this voice now.
“Naruto . . .” he panted.
Reading the unspoken request, Naruto's touches changed, the hand in Sasuke’s hair sliding down his cheek to run across the seam of his lips where Sasuke parted them, wet. Those fingers then trailed up his jaw, then down from earlobe to shoulder.
He couldn't stop the whine that escaped his throat.
“Fuck, I love watching you fall apart,” Naruto breathed into the shell of his ear, the words dripping down his neck and soaking into his nerves. “I can actually feel your skin get hotter when you blush, ya know.” His fingers reached Sasuke's collarbone, tripped over it to slip below his loose sweatshirt. “You've got goosebumps even here”
Sasuke dug his nails into the futon, turned against Naruto's leg so he was arched back against it, neck fully exposed, already burning for Naruto's touch, wanting it lower, heavier, inside him.
I want to wreck myself on you.
“Fuck, Naruto, let me blow you or something. Fuck the painting,” Sasuke gasped out.
Naruto’s eyes flashed, then he shoved away the stool to kneel on the futon beside Sasuke, facing him. “I have an idea,” he said, eyes twinkling.
“Is this from your smut?” Sasuke asked, eyebrow raised.
Naruto laughed, wiped off his paint-covered hand, then ran the flat of both palms down the sides of Sasuke’s neck. “No—at least, I don’t think so?” He shook his head. “So ya know how when we first started dating, I blew you under the table at the library while you read that smutty fanfic?”
“How could I forget, dumbass? That’s how we got together.”
“Well . . . what if you warmed my cock while I finished the painting?”
Sasuke groaned around the surge of arousal that hit him, not just from the prospect of submitting to Naruto so thoroughly but from the intensity and care with which Naruto looked at him.
“So, I would just . . . hold your cock in my mouth?”
“Essentially, yeah.” Then Naruto’s eyes shifted from caring to utterly wicked as he leaned forward on his knees to bring his lips to Sasuke’s ear. “But I know it’ll make you feel good. Being good and staying still on my cock.” He drew back, taking Sasuke’s breath with him, before bringing their lips together, lightly, softly, barely touching. “However long it takes. Do you think you can do it?”
Sasuke felt saliva pool in his mouth in anticipation. Could he really do this? He met Naruto’s glittering sing-you-to-your-death, siren-scale blue eyes.
Yes.
This was a challenge, just like that Hysterical Literature style situation at the library those months ago.
“Fuck yes,” he breathed back, running his hands up Naruto’s chest, fisting in his art smock.
Naruto grabbed Sasuke’s hands, stopped their journey. “Good,” he purred. “And if you want to stop?”
“I’ll just stop. Or bite your dick off.”
Naruto kissed him then, deep and shuddering and smiling. “I love you, Sasuke.”
Sasuke rolled his eyes to distract from the fuzzy happy feeling that buzzed through him. “Idiot. Let me warm your cock already.”
Naruto traced Sasuke’s jaw with his knuckles. “So impatient,” he whispered. “Okay—” Naruto’s throat clicked and he let out a shaky breath before sitting back on the stool, towering over Sasuke, drawing that dominant armour around himself. It was fascinating, watching it settle onto Naruto’s shoulders, steeling the lines of his muscles. This was restraint for Naruto as much as it was for Sasuke. Looking down at Sasuke, broad-shouldered and powerful, Sasuke felt his cock instantly lengthen, his muscles relax. This was where he belonged.
Biting his lip, Sasuke shuffled around on his knees, situating himself between Naruto’s legs, back to the easel.
Naruto stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you don’t kneel for me, remember?”
Sasuke rolled his eyes but shifted to sit cross-legged instead. “Happy?”
Naruto’s laugh felt like sunshine on his skin, like those tingly little pricks when the sun was bright, bright, burning. “Perfect,” he purred. “You’re perfect and you’re mine.”
Sasuke’s hands closed around the hem of Naruto’s smock, then the waistband of his sweatpants. With a grin, Naruto guided them to remove the garments, leaving him in just his worn grey t-shirt, the printed anime characters cracked and warped from wear.
“You’re going to get paint in your hair, ya know.”
“I don’t care,” Sasuke replied simply.
All his senses were fixed on Naruto’s half-hard cock, hanging heavy and thick beneath the hem of his t-shirt—all heat and musk and temptation. Sasuke licked his lips, parted them, held them against Naruto’s soft warm head.
“I’m yours, Sasuke,” Naruto murmured. With that, Sasuke let him in.
As soon as he stretched his mouth around the girth and the weight settled on his tongue, Sasuke’s body flooded with sensation, as if Naruto’s cock had activated his skin. He was aware of the temperature of the room, the light breeze through the wispy curtains, Naruto’s quiet erotic groan.
Having Naruto’s cock in his mouth was filling in a different way from when Naruto fucked him, different from the thrusts that shook his whole body and grounded him in their impact. Giving a blowjob was so fucking overwhelming. To be so viscerally confronted with Naruto, to have his very air stolen by hot velvety flesh filling his mouth.
But he wasn’t giving a blowjob. Right now he was just keeping Naruto’s cock warm while he painted. And while on the outside it may have looked like this was something Sasuke was doing for Naruto, that he was letting Naruto use him for his own pleasure, in reality, this was all for Sasuke.
Naruto had read between the lines and saw that Sasuke needed this grounding hedonism—needed to clear his mind by stuffing his mouth with cock, filling him up so there was no room for nothing but Naruto.
So just like that, Sasuke melted and let himself just . . . receive. He relaxed his jaw, breathed through his nose, inhaled that smoky heat that always swirled between them. His head spun and his mind went slippery, the way it always did when he surrendered himself to Naruto, forming his body—his hole, his mouth, his hands—to the shape of Naruto, to the constant gentle pressure of being full.
His head lolled to the side, caught by Naruto’s inner thigh muscles. “So good to me, Sasuke,” Naruto sighed. “So good . . .”
Heat pooled in Sasuke’s lower belly at the praise, stiffened his own cock in his shorts and he rested a hand over it, massaged gently.
“Ah, ah, Sasuke,” Naruto whispered, lilting.
Sasuke whimpered as Naruto’s words guided his hands behind his back, tied them with cuffs made of words. Naruto hadn’t laid a hand on him but his erection ached harder, his arousal roared against his own restraint, and Sasuke fucking loved it.
“That’s it . . .” Naruto praised. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Sasuke's eyes were starting to well up with involuntary tears from the physical fullness of his mouth, lips stretched—the mental control heady and soothing.
“Are you comfortable there?” Naruto asked, laying a gentle hand on his head.
Shifting back slightly so that Naruto’s cock sat shallowly in his mouth, barely more than the head, Sasuke nodded, Naruto’s shaft sliding gently between his lips.
The blond grinned. “Good.” And he let go of Sasuke’s head, picked up his brushes again.
Stay, he said.
And Sasuke stayed.
The amount of time that passed was indeterminate but with each moment that bled past, Sasuke’s mouth got used to the weight and the stretch, grew accustomed to the luscious texture.
He heard bristles on canvas, heard Naruto hum contentedly.
(God, Sasuke could almost sleep here, he was so comfortable.)
Naruto’s brushes clinked off his water jar.
(Sasuke never got paint in his hair—Naruto was too careful.)
Sometimes, his cock would soften in Sasuke’s mouth, then Sasuke would shift his lips, stretch his tongue against the underside and Naruto would stiffen again, plump, fill Sasuke once more.
Sometimes Sasuke heard Naruto’s shudder in the sound of unsteady brushstrokes, a mumbled curse, but his back stayed straight, shoulders wide.
After a day of writing, of looking for the right words, when Naruto’s cock was in his mouth, Sasuke didn’t need words—he could speak with his body.
Eventually, after more indeterminate time, Sasuke's jaw began to ache from being held open around Naruto, but there was something honeyed in that, in his body’s recognition that he belonged to Naruto, and Naruto to him.
At the brush of something soft and deliberate against his cheek, then his forehead, Sasuke blinked the world back into focus—blinked Naruto back into focus.
Naruto was looking down at him and smiling, running a clean paintbrush over Sasuke's skin, as if he was the masterpiece. The soft bristles slid to Sasuke's lips, collected the saliva dripping there.
“Are you okay?” Naruto asked.
Sasuke broke his invisible restraint to reach up to Naruto, hold his hand over the paintbrush.
Yes. I love you.
The only sign that Naruto was affected by all this was the slight flush on his cheeks, the shaky expansion and contraction of his chest beneath the t-shirt. He was so composed still, that armour of control clinging to his muscles. It was an art, really, how Naruto performed dominance without force, asserted control with nothing more than soft touches and careful words.
Naruto was an artist and Sasuke was honoured to be the canvas upon which he painted.
One of Naruto’s fingers traced Sasuke’s wet stretched lips, touched the seam where their bodies connected with reverence. Naruto looked at him with such focus, such care, Sasuke couldn’t help but shudder, the desire resonating from his tongue all the way down to his ass, so painfully empty, and his cock, so wet and hard.
“You’re so desperate, aren’t you, Sasuke?” Naruto asked, measured.
He moaned around Naruto’s cock, shifted his hips against the desire to touch himself, clenched and released his fists behind his back but didn’t dare move them.
He wanted to jerk himself off with Naruto in his mouth. He wanted to sink himself down on Naruto’s cock and fuck. And he wanted Naruto to deny him all of that, leaving nothing but the cock in his mouth to sate his desire, to drive himself mad fixating on every vein and texture.
Sasuke never begged verbally and Naruto never asked him to. But when Naruto worked him up into a state like this, Sasuke’s entire body just screamed with please.
“It’s seriously so hot watching you get off on this,” Naruto said, short-of-breath. “Watching you be so good and not touch yourself.”
Sasuke sucked, licked, swirled his tongue—tried to say with his body what he couldn’t with his words— i love you, i love this, thank you, you’re mine, please fuck me before i go insane.
“Ah—Sasuke . . .” Naruto moaned softly.
He sucked harder.
“Sasuke.” Naruto’s voice was richer, firmer and Sasuke relaxed under the command. “That’s it . . .” Then, in a whisper, “You’re perfect for me.”
Under the praise, the control, Sasuke felt safe.
Naruto deserved everything. So Sasuke gave him all of himself.
It was as simple as that.
“Okay . . .” Naruto said a few minutes later, setting down his brushes, “I’m just about finished.”
Then fuck me fuck me fuck me .
Naruto looked down at him with that wicked smile, pushed his bangs back from his forehead. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” he asked cheekily, as if it wasn’t written into every aching line of Sasuke’s body.
Sasuke wanted to glare but the burning in his skin, the ache in his cock, the tension in his jaw, was too strong that all he could do was moan weakly, lashes fluttering.
“God, Sasuke, you kill me,” Naruto groaned. “I want to fuck you—I really do, so bad, oh my god—but before that, I . . . I want to paint you. You’re just . . . you’re just so beautiful and I want to see you in colours and I think it’ll feel really good so just . . . can I paint you?”
Sasuke blinked, pointed up at the canvas behind him.
Naruto shook his head. “No, I mean here . . .” His brush, then his knuckles slid down Sasuke’s cheek again, “here . . .” his neck, “here . . .” his chest, settling over his heart.
Ordinarily, Sasuke would’ve blanched at the thought of wet paint on his body. But now, drunk on the weight of Naruto’s cock on his tongue, on his own surrender, he wanted it—wanted the mess and the artistry, wanted the evidence of Naruto’s love visible and colourful on his skin.
Okay, he blinked up at Naruto.
Gently, smiling, Naruto pulled his cock free from Sasuke’s lips, hissing at the sensitivity, before massaging the joint of his jaw with his thumbs.
“Come on, open and close your mouth a few times . . . there you go,” he soothed, before pressing his lips into Sasuke’s own, reddened and saliva-wet. “Talk to me, Sasuke. What do you want?”
Sasuke tipped his cheek into Naruto’s palm, slightly delirious. “I want you to paint me,” he said, voice rough and soft from disuse. “Cover me in your colours. Make me yours, Naruto.”
Naruto cupped both his cheeks in his hands. “You already are,” he breathed. “Come on.”
Pushing the futon aside, Naruto laid out a tarp and guided Sasuke to stand in the middle of it, facing the back wall. “Stay there, I’ll be right back.”
There were some shuffling noises and soon Naruto returned with a full-length mirror with an antique gold frame, which he propped up in front of Sasuke.
At the sight, Sasuke gasped. His chin was slick with saliva in the light, cheeks red from arousal, cock tenting his shorts.
“Clothes off,” Naruto said, reaching for the hem of Sasuke’s sweatshirt.
In the mirror, Sasuke watched Naruto undress him, reveal the canvas of his skin before running one tanned hand across it possessively, deliberately avoiding his hard cock.
“Mmm, Sasuke . . .”
He felt beautiful. He felt owned.
Naruto stripped off his own shirt too and Sasuke took a moment to admire his sun-kissed skin while he laid out a row of paint tubs on benches next to the mirror.
Crimson. Tangerine. Sunflower. Emerald. Cerulean. Violet.
Lavender.
Sasuke’s skin tingled in anticipation.
I want to look good for you. Let me show you how proud I am to be yours.
In the mirror, Naruto stood behind him, fingertips resting on his shoulders, butterfly-light.
“I want you to watch me, Sasuke,” he said, holding his gaze in the mirror. “Watch me paint you. Keep your hands by your sides.”
Naruto walked over to the paint cans, dipped his hand in the red. It dripped loudly onto the tarp.
“Ready?” Naruto said, looking him in the eye.
Sasuke raised his chin and nodded.
“It will be cold, I’m sorry,” Naruto apologised.
And then he touched Sasuke with his painted hand, smearing red across his chest like his heart was bleeding and Sasuke gasped. It was indeed cold. It was thick, somehow sticky and slippery at the same time but through it, Sasuke could feel the passion and the purposefulness of Naruto’s touch, could feel the pressure from his fingertips through the foreign medium.
This was how Sasuke made him feel. This was the intensity with which Sasuke was well and truly loved.
Naruto dragged his hand down Sasuke’s chest, his nipples, his abdomen, leaving finger-streaks of vermilion. It looked messy, it looked arbitrary but it wasn’t—every line, every streak, it meant something to Naruto, the same way every word of Sasuke’s poems felt like it carried a piece of his very soul.
Naruto was painting him with his hands, not brushes, nothing separating their skin except thickened colour.
“Feel good?” he murmured, hand splayed across Sasuke’s stomach like a tattoo.
Sasuke’s lips were parted, almost as red as the paint. “Yeah . . . fuck.”
Between colours, Naruto wiped his hand off on a cloth.
Next came orange and with this one, Naruto dipped just his fingertips and smeared the citrusy colour across Sasuke’s lips, down his chin, then his neck.
Sasuke let out a shaky gasp as Naruto continued the line down his shoulders, walking behind him. Both barefoot, they were almost exactly the same height.
“I like this one,” Naruto whispered in his ear, his bare chest just barely grazing Sasuke’s shoulder blades.
Sasuke liked it too—it looked like he’d drunk too gluttonously from Naruto’s energy, which had always been orange to Sasuke, as orange as his signature jacket and his gel pens and his warmth.
As the paint dried, it tightened on Sasuke’s skin and when he breathed, when he shifted his muscles, he could feel it crack and bend slightly. It reminded him that Naruto had touched him there, and there, and there . . . everywhere.
There was something hazy in both of their eyes when Sasuke met them in the mirror, like they were both submitting to this sensual impulsivity, to this visceral need to visualise the passion—borderline obsession—they felt for each other.
Yellow came next—as bright as lemons and sunshine—and while Naruto coated one hand entirely in yellow, the other hand was clean and he hooked that thumb into Sasuke’s mouth, pressed down on his tongue like he previously had with his cock while his fingers cradled his jaw, held his face aloft while Naruto painted yellow lines on his cheeks, like whiskers, like rays of light.
Naruto tangled their fingers together, leaving Sasuke’s hands yellow too. Sasuke reached out, wanting to touch, to stain Naruto as well.
Naruto stepped back, eyes dancing. “No touching,” he said, just shy of sharp. Then he winked. “It’s not your turn yet.”
Next came green where Naruto dipped both his hands and then stood behind Sasuke, painting his ribs from behind, watching in the mirror as the colours smeared across his skin.
Blue was poured over the jut of his hip bone where it dripped down the hollow, down his thighs and Sasuke shivered, whimpered with how close Naruto got to touching his aching cock.
Purple stained the sides of his neck up into his hair, then all the way down his spine, over the globes of his ass, as Naruto sank to his knees before him, panting.
“Sasuke, I love this,” he said from his feet, looking up at Sasuke with adoration. “I love you, god, you’re perfect.”
There was wildness in Naruto’s eyes, something sparkling and intense and Sasuke felt his cock drip with a glistening pearl of precum, just shy of hitting Naruto’s face and joining the swirled droplets of paint at their feet.
“Naruto . . .” he whined and Naruto breathed lightly over Sasuke’s shaft, making his knees quiver.
“You’re doing so well, Sasuke,” Naruto praised, grabbing Sasuke’s blue hips with red hands, mixing a new shade of purple in his grasp while he supported him.
Back and forth Naruto painted, shifting from colour to colour, the patterns smearing and blurring on his skin as Naruto’s touches got more hungry, more desperate.
In this sense, perhaps Sasuke was a companion artwork to Naruto’s canvas. Where that revealed touch in absence—in indentations, paths where paint had been cleared or displaced—on Sasuke, Naruto’s touch was revealed in presence—in the colourful marks everywhere he had touched—the overlapping shades highlighting where he liked to touch the most.
Sasuke looked at himself in the mirror, covered in paint, messy and hard and breathless. He looked at Naruto, on his knees before him, paint of every colour staining down to his elbows, but the rest of his skin relatively bare.
The canvas. And the artist.
His skin felt tight where the paint had dried, tacky where it hadn’t and normally having stuff on his body felt gross but now, it felt fucking luxurious, like a physical manifestation of the velvet arousal he felt around Naruto.
It felt rich, fluid, plush—and that excess of adjectives was warranted.
This is what Sasuke wanted to be for Naruto. He wanted to submit to him, be a canvas and just receive his love. For it was in receiving—in submission, in surrender—that Sasuke felt he could give Naruto everything.
“Naruto,” he said, reaching forward to touch Naruto’s dandelion hair. “Can I paint you now?”
Naruto grabbed the tub of light purple paint and held it out to Sasuke. “This is your colour,” he said and Sasuke’s heart swelled.
It was the colour of wisterias and Earl Grey tea and lavender smoke.
It was the same colour as Naruto’s textured painting on the easel.
When he lowered his hands into the tub, the paint felt heavenly on his fingers and when he lifted them out, he watched the lavender, so pastel and pretty compared to Naruto’s bright palette, drip down his forearms.
Naruto placed his hands on his knees, looked up at him. “Paint me, Sasuke.”
And so he did, sinking to his knees in front of Naruto and smearing the lavender down his chest, then up his shoulder blades, into his hair.
“Fuck,” Naruto moaned, blue eyes fluttering closed.
Sasuke couldn’t take it anymore. Here was Naruto, stained in his colour, by his own hand. It made something inside him flare.
Their lips collided hard enough to bruise and after so long of light touches, masked by the medium of paint, the feeling of Naruto’s lips bare and hot and hungry on his made Sasuke cry out.
“ Holy shit, ” Naruto gasped and then they were kissing again, wet and slippery, Naruto’s hand in the centre of Sasuke’s spine pressing their chests together, sticking faintly with the paint.
When Sasuke pulled back, Naruto’s lips were orange, his cheeks lavender. “Fuck me,” he panted, just shy of begging.
“Yes. Please, ” was all Naruto said in reply.
Scrambling over to the futon, Sasuke sunk back into the cloud-like softness, pulling Naruto over him, completely uncaring of how his paint-sticky skin stained the tan material.
Their cocks brushed and Sasuke reached down to hold them together.
“Oh god,” Naruto groaned into his shoulder, then rolled his hips.
Sasuke keened at the feeling of that velvet slide, of Naruto pulsing against him, of friction after being denied for so long, and rocked his hips in tandem, drowning in the feeling of their muscles working against each other.
“Fuck, I could cum just like this,” Naruto moaned. “Just paint you in my cum.”
Sasuke choked, gasped into Naruto’s neck. “No, fuck, need you inside so badly.”
Naruto’s thrusts stuttered and he reared back, running a hand down Sasuke’s cheek, “Okay, yes, please, yes, you’ve been so good to me, Sasuke, yes—shit, do we have lube?”
“My bag,” Sasuke panted, reaching for it and pulling out the small bottle.
Naruto slid off him, kissing the red splatter over his chest. “Hopeful, were you?”
“Just really fucking horny,” Sasuke replied.
Naruto laughed, bright and effervescent, before lifting Sasuke’s legs to rest on his shoulders, warming the lube between his fingers.
Even when Sasuke didn’t need it, Naruto would stretch him, finger him, make sure he was ready, because Naruto was always gentle. At the first brush of lubed fingers against his hole, Sasuke’s entire body jerked. His body was so sensitive, the way it always was after such extensive buildup like they’d had tonight, but never before had it been this intense.
When Naruto’s fingers finally entered him, one, then two, then three, he immediately clamped down around them, whimpering helplessly into the empty studio as his hole was finally filled, finally stretched, finally.
“That’s it,” Naruto breathed, his other hand curling around Sasuke’s cock. “Be loud for me, Sasuke.”
When Naruto nudged the tips of his fingers into Sasuke’s prostate, his whine was piercing and Naruto moaned. “I love all the sounds you make.”
“Naruto—” God, he was so, so fucking close to begging for it. “I wanna ride you. Need your cock.”
Naruto’s fingers shook inside him. “Oh, god, yes.”
He shifted on his back on the futon and Sasuke straddled him, looking down on the canvas of tanned skin, splattered with lavender, with Sasuke .
He’s all mine.
Grabbing the lube with shaking hands, Sasuke poured more onto his fingers, slicked it over Naruto’s cock. He’d gotten so familiar with its shape and texture while warming it with his mouth, he was absolutely desperate to feel it in his ass.
“No condom?” Naruto checked.
“No,” Sasuke said, holding his gaze. “You painted my body, now I want you to paint my insides with your cum.” The dirty words fell from his lips without hesitation, all inhibitions burned away in the heat between them.
Naruto squirmed beneath him. “Holy fuck, Sasuke—yes, let me fill you with cum, let me fill you up, fuck, fuck —”
With one firm push, Sasuke sheathed Naruto’s cock inside him, wet and slick. For a moment, he just sat there, muscles rhythmically clenching, shaping his body around Naruto’s thick cock. He felt so stretched, so open, so fucking full—when he rose up and slammed back down with force, felt his ass tighten then widen to accommodate Naruto, to fit him in where he belonged, balls deep inside Sasuke, it set his entire body alight. Sasuke rode rough and hard and fast, painted hands pressing into Naruto’s chest, his balls slapping Naruto’s skin, relishing the bass-like, almost-too-deep thud of his cockhead inside him.
While Sasuke rode, Naruto stroked him carefully, gently, torturously, and while Sasuke drunk in the excruciating pleasure for a while, held out against the sharp blade of too much, eventually he just fucking crumbled to the feeling, collapsing down on Naruto’s chest.
When Naruto first thrust up into him, so hard it rattled his bones, Sasuke bit down into Naruto’s shoulder with a cry that echoed around the studio.
“I forget how rough you like to be fucked sometimes,” Naruto breathed, awestruck.
And then he thrust again. Again. So hard Sasuke felt it in his chest.
“Come on, Sasuke, let me flip you over and fuck you rough, please . . .”
“Beg me again,” Sasuke gasped.
“Please,” Naruto begged, emphatic and wide-eyed, palms sticky with sweat and paint on his hips and his cock.
“Again.”
“Please, Sasuke.” This one was just short of a growl, timed with a rough thrust and Sasuke relished in the shatter, relinquished.
Before he could react, Naruto had flipped him onto his stomach and Sasuke was arching his back, sticking his ass up as Naruto filled him all over again, this new angle pressing right into his prostate.
“Be loud,” Naruto growled, and then he started fucking in earnest, plowing down into Sasuke, pushing his hips into the soft futon.
One of Naruto’s hands twisted in the back of Sasuke’s hair, pulling him up slightly, not enough for it to sting but enough for it to ache, just like the stretch of his ass and the soreness in his jaw and the tightness of dried paint all over his skin, a pain that was slow and liquid and comforting.
“Yes, Naruto, fuck, yes!” was all Sasuke could cry as Naruto railed him, as he surrendered to the roughness he’d craved, the roughness he’d earned with his surrender. This was the only time Naruto was ever even remotely harsh with Sasuke, when Sasuke could taunt and tease and ply that tightly leashed red energy out of him.
He could feel the edge of his orgasm approaching, sharp and tantalising. Naruto seemed to sense it too, grabbing Sasuke by the hips and pulling him up onto his knees, still pressing his chest into the futon, giving him just enough room to reach around and stroke Sasuke’s cock.
The syncopation of Naruto’s ragged thrusts and uneven strokes was dissonant and beautiful. This wasn’t some carefully plotted story or smut scene—it was real and messy like the paint on their skin, like Naruto’s honey voice, hot and wet on the back of his neck with, “So good, Sasuke, fuck, so good, so good, please cum for me, please . . .” voice rough like bare canvas and soft like the corners of a well-worn paperback and, that was it, Sasuke was just fucking— gone.
Orgasm felt like a colour Sasuke couldn’t describe, somewhere between purple and orange. It was hot and sticky on his stomach, electric and cooling in his nerves, but then the warm, liquid feeling of Naruto cumming inside him soon after, of Naruto’s quiet gasped sob into Sasuke’s shoulder—it was fucking iridescent.
Where they were once syncopated, they now breathed in sync, each of Naruto’s inhales pressing and releasing on Sasuke’s fluttering heartbeat.
Gently, Naruto pulled out and Sasuke felt the hot rush of cum follow, trickle steadily down his perineum.
Somewhere beneath the sound of his own heartbeat, of Naruto’s panting, Sasuke swore he could hear it drip onto the futon.
Softly, lazily, Naruto’s fingers brushed over Sasuke’s sensitive hole, swiping the warm natural-feeling stickiness onto his skin, in such contrast to the cold, foreign-feeling paint from earlier.
Sasuke flopped onto his back and looked up at Naruto. At his genuine sex hair and siren blue eyes, his paint-stained everything and his posture, now relaxed and easy, no longer controlled and assured with dominance.
Sasuke was sure he looked the same.
“We made such a mess,” Naruto said, eyes wide as he scanned the room. Sasuke followed his gaze from their paint and cum stained bodies, to the futon, the tarp.
Naruto’s face was flushed beneath the streaks of colour, beneath the original painted whiskers. While there were some rainbow patterns on his torso that had transferred from Sasuke’s body, most of his skin was covered in lavender smudges and handprints—evidence of Sasuke’s touch.
He completely understood why Naruto wanted to see him like this, wanted to paint him.
If he wanted to be poetic (which he did because he was around Naruto), Sasuke would say it was a visual representation of how they’d stained each other’s lives.
“I like the mess,” Sasuke admitted.
“I like you,” Naruto shot back.
Sasuke shuffled his weakened body over to Naruto and pressed their foreheads together.
Maybe he would write another poem about this. They could clean up later.
Later that night, after they’d showered together and Sasuke had scrubbed the layers of rainbow paint off his skin and down the drain, when he looked in the mirror, he could still see all the colours.