Pairing: NarutoxNaruto, SasukexSasuke
Rating: R
Warnings: Nongraphic scenes of self-gratification

It was terrible. Shameful. Downright sacrilegious and yet he couldn’t stop looking. Page after page of excellently drawn sketches - done in pencil or charcoal upon the white sheets of the sketchbook. Such impeccable detail.

Every line. Every curve. Each sultry look. The toe-curling anticipation of a motion that would forever remain frozen in time.

He salivated and swallowed tightly.

Yet another picture. This time both of them, naked – amongst thin reeds of black grass – bodies arched like crescent moons into the other – eyes closed, tiny drops of sweat on obviously flushed skins. Lips mere inches apart – the tease of hungry tongues…

The longing in their eyes.

Oh, dear gods. The want.

He squirmed and closed his thighs together. And swallowed again.

He wasn’t surprised to find his hands trembling.

He shouldn’t be doing this really. I mean…it was just so wrong.

But she left it here. I was going to return it to her and she left before I could stop her and I didn’t mean to open it. I just…

A low moan escaped his lips. He shivered and snapped the book shut….

…and opened it again to stare at the image.

A half-lidded gaze filled with raw heat and passion.

He moaned again and realized he was hard.

How…but how? How would she know all of this? How could she capture such emotions so easily? So deep and poignant? And with a pencil or piece of charcoal no less.

Why…why us?

It made no sense. Nothing made sense.

Not this feeling. Always this feeling whenever it came to him.

He left the page open and slipped a trembling hand into his pants.

He stared into the sultry dark eyes and shivered.

And stroked.

And moaned. A breathless cry.



That name hovered on the edge of his tongue. Heavy and thick like the juices coating his fingers.

Amazing how a few simple but precise pencil lines could evoke such intense emotions within him.



The heat was becoming unbearable. He arched his body like a crescent moon, like one of her sketches - his features eerily similar to one of her sketches.


Light beads of sweat on his brow – features taut with concentration as he felt the big explosion approaching.

Her very sketch coming to life.

His toes curled in delight – pure orgasmic pleasure.

How beautiful. How eloquent. How absolutely breathtaking!

And the tears of joy rolled down his cheeks.

He fell back to the grass and tried to catch his breath. Heart beating too fast, pulse racing, his mind a sweet blank of satiation.

But sat up long enough to wipe himself clean with his shirt.

But oh, how he wanted more. So much more.

With him.


Like the sketches promised and teased. How cruel she was to draw such things when they’d never come true.

Not ever.

How cruel.

Perhaps he could hate her for this but it wouldn’t be fair.

It was her fantasy – rather surprising – but his fantasy too. Oh, how he wished…


Her voice! She was back! She must have realized she had forgotten her book and now she wanted it back!

Feign innocence! Hide it from her! Tell her you never saw it! But oh…what’s this? What’s this blotch on the page?

He cursed and tried to wipe it away, but it only created more of a smudge on the beautiful sketch – it smeared the once well-defined jaw and oh! She would tell the difference. She would!

He heard her footsteps and snapped the book shut. Heart pounding in fear and embarrassment.

She would know. She would see his flushed visage and she would know everything.

His fantasies. His shameful feelings for the other.

“Naruto? Oh, thank goodness you’re here. You wouldn’t happen to have seen a notebook around here, would you?”

Feign innocence! Feign innocence…!

“A book?” God, his voice sounded awful. It screamed of guilt!

I just sullied your precious book with my seed!

But she only smiled – a sweet shy smile that made him flush harder. “Sorry, I was careless…”

“It’s okay, I’ll help you look for it.” He smiled, but oh how he loathed her at the same time.

It’s all your fault, he wanted to scream. For making me feel such things. If only you didn’t draw such things…!

“I found it,” she said and held it up in triumph. “Phew, I’m so glad I didn’t lose it. It had some rather important things…”

She stopped and her cheeks grew pink. He kept his expression as open and as innocent as possible.

“It had what, Hinata?”

“Oh…nothing…nothing…I better get going now.” She rose to her feet, holding the book to her chest.

She turned away. Walked a few steps and turned back to look at him.

“Is something wrong, Hinata?” he asked. It was incredibly hard to keep a straight face.

She studied him a moment longer and then smiled again. “It’s nothing…nothing at all. Thank you for helping me look for it.”

And she was gone.

Leaving behind a boy who sagged to the cool earth with a huge sigh of relief.

He thought he had done a good job with his act.

And hoped there would never come a time, when she’d question the mysterious smudge on the other boy’s image.

Later that night, in the safety and confines of her room, she opened her book to begin a new series of sketches.

An artist is an observer.

And with the boys today, she was so glad that her plan had worked after all.

It was a risky plan.

But she was a patient young woman and ready to face the consequences.

With the dark one, she had wondered if he would be tempted to look.

It had taken him almost half an hour to give in – to stare and to finally lose himself in the images she had created.

And it was oh-so-beautiful to watch.

He had almost cried with his completion. Choking out the other’s name over and over again like a mantra.

It was bittersweet but well worth it.

She had captured him at his most vulnerable.

And it was the most priceless image of all.

With the light one, it had been far easier.

How she had loved to see his rather cute attempts to hide his embarrassment.

But she loved him all the same.

And would continue to love him for as long as she lived.

And as she sharpened her pencils and began to hum beneath her breath, the young artist closed her eyes and allowed the pictures and emotions of the day to guide her talented fingers across the pages.

For maybe…

Just maybe…

She would one day be able to get her main characters together.

To create the perfect masterpiece.


Naruto Fiction

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