I don't own Naruto nor make money from this fic.
Warning: Strange first person ramblings. The point of view will change. And yes, this is a partial submission to SasuNaru day so that means this first part is NaruSasu while the second half will be SasuNaru.
Happy (early) birthday to Master of the Rebels! As I will be in Japan for her birthday, this fic will be posted slightly early. I hope you like it Master!
Part I: A Porn Writer's Tale
"...So I've been watching this guy for years. We moved in the same weekend at our penthouse here in New York. Yeah, funny, right? I really DO live in a penthouse. Anyway, it's been sexually frustrating as hell from day one. It's clear he's gay, but of course, just because he likes guys doesn't mean he would like another gay guy off the start, yeah, I know that, but still –
He's gorgeous: black hair, dark eyes, with creamy skin color that just begs to be bitten and marked up. He's an amazing photographer/artist, so maybe I shouldn't have been surprised at how anti-social he was at first, but he has this great intensity to him that just drew me in even if it took me nearly three years to finally get close to the guy.
So, for the past three years we've lived in the same penthouse complex, and it hasn't been until four months ago that we started really talking. He's been coming over in the morning for coffee because (despite initial appearances) he's actually got a very laid back style. His clothes are always immaculately clean, but his tie is always loose, and his shirt buttons area always only buttoned up halfway. He really hates the mornings, and so I have no problem letting this sexy guy come in and bum some coffee off of me.
Anyway, this morning he comes over, and it's a bit earlier than usual for when he comes for coffee, and I totally wasn't expecting it.
I came out of the shower wearing nothing but my towel, padding around the kitchen half-naked, and he's already there inside my pad. For once his shirt is completely unbuttoned, and I can see his hard abs, and I just want to run my hands over his stomach to see if they feel like mine.
There's this little fuzz of a happy trail sitting right below his black pants, and I hate how it leaves my sight when he turns slightly so that the white of his button down shirt covers it from view. I want to run my fingers through it to see if it's as unusually soft as it looks.
He's looking extra good this morning, and I'm drooling, and it's not over the coffee I poured myself. Of course, he notices.
"Like something you see, usuratonkachi?"
His voice is smooth, richer than the coffee I'm drinking, and even his insult doesn't deter from the way his words make me hard. I press closer to the counter, nonchalantly hiding my hard on from him.
"Maybe," I said. Like I've said: we've been hanging out pretty regularly for four months. I know he's gay. He knows I'm gay. But nothing has ever happened before.
But shit, his hot chest is all but exposed, and I'm in nothing but a fucking towel, and I'm hard and hornier than I can ever remember being.
It doesn't help I had been masturbating to his image in the shower just minutes before and my hand got too sore, so I didn't get a chance to shoot my load.
"Maybe?" The bastard was actually indignant that I'd only said maybe.
"Maybe – it's hard to tell with your shirt still on."
Damn, I'm smooth, aren't I? But damnit, so is he, and in one movement, his unbuttoned shirt is off and on the floor.
"I took off something, shouldn't you too?" he says. He's smug. Of course the only thing I'm wearing is my towel. He's got this look on his face like he doesn't think I will actually do it – like I won't take off my towel. But he's wrong. I slip it off and step away from the counter.
He all but gapes at me before responding, looking at my cock, and smirks, saying "Clearly you like something you see after all." Yeah, my hard cock is a giveaway.
"Do you like something you see?" I murmur back.
"Come over here and find out."
I can't help it; I practically fling myself at the guy, and I all but tear his pants off him, and oh yes, he's liking what he sees.
Now I've imagined my first time with this guy for years, but like I said, I'm hornier than I can ever remember being, so after his pants are off, I can't contain myself.
Wrapping my arms around him, I kiss him hard. His lips are moist and warm, and I almost want to cum when he lets me dominate the kiss.
I press my entire body up against his and push him back into my pantry, grinding against him.
His skin is soft, and his hair is damp and smells strongly of shampoo. For some reason, it turns me on even more that he's had a shower already, and I wonder if he jerked himself off thinking of me just like I had jerked myself off thinking of him.
I can't help the noises that start coming from my mouth as his hips start to thrust and grind against me.
I pull him away from the pantry door, and I fling it open. Knocking a few things over, cursing at a bottle or two that smashes on the floor, I finally find the cooking oil that I rarely use but am grateful at the moment for having.
He smirks at me in an almost condescending way as he sees my eagerness, but I won't feel ashamed. I want him, and I know he wants me.
Besides, I know the exact thing to wipe the smirk off his face. Dropping to my knees with my eyes still on his face, I relish in the surprised expression of ecstasy I get from him when my mouth takes in most of his cock. His fingers dig deep into my shoulders as I look into his eyes, loving the way he gasps and moans as I begin to suck on him. Meanwhile, I pour the cooking oil on my fingers. I would smile if his cock weren't in my mouth when he starts to spread his legs, using his hands on my shoulders to steady himself as he moves his body into a better position to let my fingers enter inside of him. He doesn't seem to mind at all when my fingers began to stroke him intimately.
In fact, he seems utterly blissful.
His normal cold look is lost as a beautiful look of fulfillment comes over his face as I suck him and finger fuck him. I can feel he's not one hundred percent ready, but I'm selfish.
I want him. I want him bad.
He growls at me, literally fucking growls at me, when I pull my fingers out of him and let his cock fall out of my mouth.
"Usuratonkachi -" I don't let him scold me further because I pull him down to his knees before flipping him around, so I can mount him. Using the left over oil, I coat myself – not as good as I should have – and press myself into him. My fingers slip a little on the wooden floor of the kitchen as they're still slick from the cooking oil, but he helps me slide into him by pushing back into me.
Fuck, he feels better than everything I've imagined, let alone experienced before.
We're they're, fucking like animals on my kitchen floor, and it's amazing.
I can't even describe it properly because it felt so good that I can't remember half of it, except the way he cried my name when I began stroking his cock, only for him to orgasm almost right after. I only had to pound into him for another few seconds before I too was coming inside him.
It was amazing, utterly amazing, and I can't wait for him to come over for coffee tomorrow morning..."
Uchiha Itachi finished reading the penthouse letter to his younger brother.
For his part, Uchiha Sasuke's face was red, ironically more from anger than any embarrassment at the contents of the article.
"Imagine my surprise, otouto, when I was reading through my normal penthouse letters and found this, written by that charming neighbor of yours, Uzumaki Naruto."
Sasuke's fists were clenching and unclenching, as though he wanted to strangle something – or someone.
"It was truly intriguing, reading through this particular article: his description of the dark hair and eyes, the creamy skin, and of course the anti-social photographer/artist made me think of you immediately. But I was sure I had to be mistaken as you always refer to him as 'usuratonkachi,' indicating your distaste for him rather than someone who you would want to be intimate with. Imagine my surprise to see his mystery lover calls him the same thing."
"I'm going to kill him," Sasuke whispered darkly.
"Was your experience not as up to par as he made it seem?" Itachi inquired lightly.
"Experience? Experience?!" Sasuke all but exploded, "That moron is delusional! The morning I believe he was basing his pathetic and childish fantasy on happens to be a morning when he, who has been mooching off my coffee despite my protests, had taken the last of my coffee down to his place! I marched down there, intent on getting it back. Of course I wasn't properly dressed at the point and time because I was in a rush to get my fucking coffee! I knocked on his door for a good ten minutes. He didn't answer. The idiot that he is had a key hidden under his welcome mat. I used that to go into his apartment. I located my coffee, ready to leave, but before I left, the idiot comes out of his bathroom in nothing but a towel, sees me, and squawks before turning tail and running back to the bathroom. I haven't seen the idiot since. And he has the nerve to write something like this!"
"Ah, I knew it couldn't be true," Itachi said thoughtfully.
"Of course not! As though I would ever sleep with such an idiotic porn writer like him!"
"Actually, I was thinking you just wouldn't let him top you. At least, not until you remove that pole shoved up your ass," Itachi said.
Sasuke glared death at his brother.
"I hate you," Sasuke snarled. Itachi nodded.
"I know," Itachi said unfazed. "You may keep this. Do with this what you like."
"I'm going to shove it down his throat," Sasuke snapped as he snatched the magazine with the fabricated sex story in it, and marched out of his brother's penthouse three blocks away from his own.
Itachi smirked. He had no doubt Sasuke would be shoving something down Naruto's throat, but he doubted it would be the magazine.
Next and Final Part: A Photographer's Perspective
Yes, the next part will be SasuNaru. ~ Jelp