#io.ui

Itachi, if at all reasonable based on the position and if you have pushed him out of his own head enough to feel he is allowed it by making you pleased with him, will hold onto you, as tight as wooded over ivy, with all the gentleness he was denied setting down. Especially through his first one or two completions, while he needs your body around his to be able to come at all, to feel safe in the surrender of it. He's fought so long, had to give so much, that true surrender is a gift he needs you to pull from him with gentle tugs on the ropes holding him wound tight, like the secret knots of a message only you know how to undo and tie again, take him apart, put him back. He wants to see you as he comes because you have become his moon, but a larger part of him does not want to see himself, the expanse of his betrayer body, the way it embraces yours although he does not deserve it... and until he's too weak to hold on, he would rather hide himself in you. it doesn't matter how long it's been, it's strange still to get lost in his body as he pulses around you, whimpers spilling from his throat that you are gracious enough to tuck into your own, guarding him in every lifetime that will let you have him from his own weaknesses

naruto is a bit noisy during sex. he's not the kind to hold anything back once given permission to let it out, but his deepest emotions still take some coaxing free, to let him know it's not too much, that he is also enough. it's a balance most people don't realize as necessary to get to the real naruto, the one who grew into full capability in making hard decisions, who worked hard with you and his teachers and himself to see himself not just as a sacrifice to his village, a severed thread reaching back to the a past where he might have been loved, earning the love of acceptance, but as it's first spear, wielded to save lives that include his own, to serve as both weapon, and as the support rod around which growing things can climb and become strong. making love is affirming for him, and that makes the tone of his voice when he comes a little pitchier, any and all forced happiness stripped away in favor of explicit physical emotion that connects him to his alpha in a letting go as a gentler rain rather than a stormburst, especially as one orgasm bleeds continuously into the next as he takes your hands, your knot, your whole heart in a way he never thought before he would receive without blood on his knuckles or between his teeth.

sasuke always starts with trying to stay quiet. now that you know one another very well, there is absolutely delight in showing him for a liar and stealing away the self control he uses to conceal the extent of his devotion. sasuke has always loved hard and deep, with every part of his being, but when it's twined so deep into him, everything hurts all the more. it's invasive, and he has tried to tear it out by the roots but love hardy enough to burrow deep into the arid landscape he became is harder to remove than that with shallow roots in soft soil. sometimes he wants you to feel that pain with him, to dig his claws into your shoulderblades and rake them down, but you are so much part of him. so much part of him that he also cannot bear making you suffer together, that it's all he can do to wind his fingers against your roots, press his fingers just shy of to bruising your hip, your ribs, your shoulder, and his mouth to yours to gift the sounds of his passion until he can't breathe and breaks away with a struggle to gasp, rattling for air through the little death that soaks the bed beneath him

haku makes love like he is welcoming a second world into himself, like he is a conduit, no longer for the dreams of others, but for all the things that awaken him. the delicate-petaled flowers that grow at the roadside, the little black-muzzled hares that dotted the cold lands near the place of his birth and now nibble grasses in his backyard, the budding trees with their tufts soft as mouse fur. he welcomes your pleasure before his own, because it is life-affirming for him to be loved, and some part of him has never let go of wanting to be of-use, even as he lets you hold the dark parts of that need between your fingertips, the dark, deep ice of his heart, held between your lips so safely it wouldn't melt, cupped in palms so careful a snowflake wouldn't fade. winter thinks itself so monochrome, but like diving deeper into a blank page, in love he has shown new subtle shades. he loves to watch the blue sky as you swell in him, seal into him, sear his core with your heat spilling, see the birds wheeling, feel the echo of the seasons across his skin, whether this is the liquid summer morning sun and riotous green scent of growth, or a damp fall rain with its scent of leaf-mold and mushrooms, in tandem with the steam from your breath or the sweat of your skin on his. as he comes, the feeling gallops though him after the feeling of your peak found in him, and he looks as you, his mate, holding your face, turning it to his, or to the world he sees, so he can share every part of his life with you inside and out