Title: Take Solace
Series: Take Heart
Challenge: Holiday Bingo 2022.
[Prompt: Music, Holiday: Christmas Eve]
Category: Modern AU, PWP
Ratings: R
Pairings: Uchiha Itachi/Nara Shikaku/Nara Yoshino
Words: 1,006
Summary: Yoshino has to miss date night to keep with her ruthless holiday baking schedule, but Shikaku has things well in hand.
Itachi is ‘things’.
Hark how the bells/
Sweet silver bells,
All seem to say/
Throw cares away.
Itachi gasped, fingers clenching hard in the sheets. Shikaku’s long, thin fingers drew his head back and up, pressing a messy kiss to the corner of his mouth.
He couldn’t even return it properly, panting with wild eyes as he was lovingly, expertly, ruthlessly fucked from behind. His mouth was long-since wet and kissed red.
His long hair was matted to his skin with sweat, pale limbs tangled in the sheets.
Shikaku gripped his jaw and fucked into him, forearms braced on Itachi’s shoulders. There was no recourse, no mercy, and he gasped every breath desperately.
Christmas music floated from the rest of the house, muffled from the insulation of the playroom. Distantly he could smell the cookies Yoshino was baking with equally ruthless efficiency as her husband fucked; she’d been at it since 6am and had breaks and snacks planned in to the minute.
Sunday was usually their “date” night, but Shikaku had things well in hand on his lonesome. Afterwards Itachi would wander into the kitchen with cooling skin and damp everything, and help her with her latest batch– and maybe eat her out on her next break if she was so inclined– but for now he was delirious with distraction.
There was no later; only the here, the now, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin, and the ache in his neck as he was held like a whore and a precious thing all at once.
He gurgled out a plea, eyes rolling back, and one of Shikaku’s hands left his jaw, trailing up along his ear until he could wrap a fistful of hair in his hand for leverage. He caressed the curve of Itachi’s throat, then readjusted his grip as he rode him harder.
Christ on fire.
Itachi’s cock was a wet mess against the sheets, long ago buried in their softness. It throbbed with each bruising thrust, spitting out precome.
His thighs burned from the position. He would stay like this for hours and days if given the choice.
Shikaku pulled his head back by the hair, baring the side of his throat to press searing kisses along the fevered skin there, soothing and inflaming all at once. His hips did not pause, did not stutter; he kept the same pace, pelvis flush to Itachi’s ass as he bottomed out with each stroke.
He bit down and Itachi let out an aborted scream, biting his lip halfway to quell it.
“Careful. We don’t want the boys to hear us, heh.” Shikaku laughed, voice low and raspy in his ear. He leaned down and his chest hair brushed soft and sexy against Itachi’s back, the impressive tautness of his pectorals and abdominal muscles a tease all its own.
Itachi arched into him, hand-print shaped bruises of earlier throbbing eagerly under his skin as he moved.
They weren’t purpled or visible, yet. They might not even darken to that state in the morning, but Itachi could feel the tenderness, the mark of it. He hoped they purpled; that they were dark and bold against the pale of his skin. If it wouldn’t scar Sasuke for life he’d wear low-slung pajama pants and no shirt down to the kitchen so Yoshino could see them and the other bite marks littering his chest and abdomen, eyes hot. She knew exactly what they were doing up here and approved every inch of it, but they’d still pay for having fun without her.
Itachi couldn’t fucking wait.
It was a debt he’d owe gladly.
Shikaku bit a fresh ring of bruises around his throat like a rosary, each tooth mark a loving prayer.
Hail Mary, full of Grace, Itachi thought deliriously.
In the rest of the house, the Christmas Playlist switched to “Holly Jolly Christmas.”
Shikaku slowed his pace to match with a frankly evil chuckle and Itachi groaned a protest.
Every time he got close, the song switched. From anyone else, he’d think it coincidence, but in the Nara household they played 3D fucking chess and Itachi could break something.
Shikaku hummed along, the absolute asshole, pressing the words into the skin just under Itachi’s ear.
“It’s the best day of the year.” He breathed, with deliberate joy.
Itachi laughed, broken and laid out. He loved him– loved them — even when it was torture. Even when every inch of him burned to come, there was warmth. Was love, laughter.
“Cruel.” Itachi slurred. The hand at his jaw slipped around to pet at his lips, two fingers slipping in and he laved his tongue around them, groaning.
“That’s the spirit, love.” Shikaku encouraged. The weight of him, pressed down like this, was intoxicating.
“Jackass.” Itachi muttered around his fingers, and Shikaku tugged playfully at the webbing of his cheek in retaliation.
A particularly hard stroke rubbed exaggeratedly against his prostate and Itachi shivered all over. He’d been edged for half an album.
He wanted to come so badly, body aching for it, to the point that he might manage without a hand on him at all.
It was rare he could achieve that, required frankly tedious amounts of denial, and yet he still managed to hover on the cusp of it.
“Cheer up, honey. I think Rocking Around the Christmas Tree is up next.” Shikaku said, grinding deep and slow.
Itachi bit as his fingers, halfheartedly. Shikaku’s hand tightened in his hair to the point of pain, dancing along the line of too much; a delicious warning.
The song changed.
“Oh, would you look at that.” Shikaku said with quiet humor. “I was wrong.”
Joy To The World began its slow tempo and Itachi thought he would cry.
“Oh, gorgeous.” Shikaku said. His fingers slipped, spit-slick, from Itachi’s slack mouth, trailing down his jaw, his still-bared throat.
“Don’t worry.” He assured. “We’ll get you there.” He dipped down to pinch and tug at a peaked nipple, matching the pace to the tortuously slow rock of his hips.
“It just won’t be any time soon.”