the thread may tangle, but it will never break

I FUCKING HATE DRAWING HANDS

hi guys, as I promised— catboy Obito. and obkk mentioned.

Shiba Togo presses his lips to your ankle, his kiss careful and slow despite the hurried, frantic touches that led here, that found you spread open atop a pool of messy, unmade sheets.

“What are you, a romantic?” you laugh, heart trembling at the way his eyes meet yours, brows lifting in a challenge as he strokes the arch of your foot and drags his mouth up the side of your calf.

A half-empty pack of cigarettes sits precariously at the edge of his nightstand beside a face-down book left open beside it.

The whole room smells like him.

There’s something reverent in the way Shiba’s palms caress the outside of your thighs as he drags up the skirt of your dress, fingertips hooking in the waistband of your panties.

You swallow, shifting under his steady gaze. He huffs, the corner of his mouth twitching at the way you try to hide how badly you want to squirm.

His blond hair is loose and mussed from your hands, fingers now fisted in cotton sheets.

Shiba leans in, slowly. A pathetic noise leaves your throat as he mouths at your mound through the flimsy fabric of your panties.

“What?” He asks, gently teasing your swollen clit through the hot, damp material. “Nobody ever take their time with you?”

You think about divorce. About the bare place left on your finger, the way the handle of your katana rubs against the skin there now.

You think about the younger man between your thighs.

“I guess not,” your voice wavers. Just a little.

It’d be embarrassing, probably. If not for the way he presses another kiss to the curve of your hip, nose tracing the ghost of his mouth after.

“Then will you let me?”

(It is embarrassing, you think—the desperate, needy way you moan when he finally sinks one long finger inside of you. The way you buck and writhe, fingers gripping his shoulders for purchase as he gives you more.

Slick and wet and gasping like you’ve never been fucked.