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Izuna opens his eyes to everlasting darkness.
His mind is hazy, memories fuzzy at best. He remembers red, blood dripping from his wounds painting his skin and clothes crimson, remembers Madara calling for him in distress as he helps him lay down, remembers pain — and the cause of it, a man whose name makes his sharigan itch to be activated.
Tobirama Senju.
Izuna breathes and it feels wrong, closes his hands into fists and his muscles don’t feel entirely his, tingling. It’s akin to waking up after a deep nap, the weird sensation of pulling oneself back to reality.
Except he hasn’t been napping.
“What…” is going on, where is he, who did this to him, why his body doesn’t feel right; Izuna has so many questions, but the words get stuck in his throat, struggling to come out.
“So you can speak,” Izuna hears someone — a deep, masculine voice, one that is well engraved in his brain. “Tell me. How are you feeling?”
Izuna digs his nails into his palms.
“Tobirama,” the name slips between his lips like venom. “What are you doing?”
Then there’s touch; Tobirama’s fingers grazing on his face, thumb caressing his cheek. Izuna feels the urge to jump at him, bite his finger, but his legs barely move. He wants to yank his hand and the blindfold he’s wearing away, too, but his arms seem to be almost as useless as his legs.
Whatever he’s doing to him, Izuna knows it’s not good.
“A new jutsu,” Tobirama answers, his thumb going from his cheek to the base of his ear. Izuna shudders as Tobirama’s fingers slips behind it, stroking the long dark hair near the nape of his neck. “One that crosses the border between life and death.”
He grabs Izuna by his chin, making him draw his head back. Izuna grits his teeth as he notices Tobirama inching closer to him, breathing near his neck, thumb dangerously close to his lips. It’s a weird gesture, intimate yet powerful; it makes Izuna’s heart skip a beat, anticipating something terrible.
He waits, wonders: will Tobirama bite him? Kiss him? Pull back and set him free so they can fight it out as they should?
“It gives me control, you know,” Tobirama talks, lips brushing ever so lightly against Izuna’s skin. “Over my summons, I mean. This way I can choose how to use them. What they can and can’t do. Very useful in and out of battlefield.”
His nails scratch Izuna’s skin, making him emit a low hiss; he hears a step, notices Tobirama putting one leg between his, thigh lightly pressing against his crotch.
“Intriguing, isn’t it?” the Senju finishes with a question, voice filled with victory and malice. “I bet your brother would be delighted to see you alive again.”
Then it hits him: the reason for his fuzzy memories, his body not feeling entirely his, Tobirama’s control over him.
He shouldn’t be there, breathing, talking, feeling.
Tobirama’s doing is a crime against nature — against the laws of the world and life itself.
“You are fucking sick,” the words slip between Izuna’s lips with disgust, and he hopes Tobirama can smell the bile in them. He curses his blindfold — he’d love to see Tobirama’s fuming face at Izuna’s insolence.
Izuna feels, however, the way Tobirama overpowers him, throwing him to a hard surface — he assumes it’s a table. He winces, groaning in discomfort as Tobirama goes after him; he hears the Senju huffing as he grabs onto his hair, yanking it hard and forcing Izuna to change position, laying with his face down.
He tries to use his legs to stand up, only to find out that Tobirama’s pinning him down. Usually this wouldn’t be a big problem; sure, he’s a Senju and he’s big, he’s strong, he’s an excellent shinobi, but Izuna was never that bad of a shinobi either, despite having a smaller, lither built compared to him. He could, in theory, try to mess with Tobirama’s balance and reverse their positions — this would not be the first time Izuna’s done this before.
Except he can’t. There’s not enough strength in his legs, his muscles aren’t cooperating right; Izuna feels like a puppet with broken strings, falling into Tobirama’s trap and failing to escape his rough handling.
His heart races — it feels wrong, knowing it shouldn’t be beating. He fists the surface, grits his teeth, ignores the heat rising on his face.
This is not like back then. Not like when he was alive, when he and Tobirama used to clash every so often, sometimes in secret, many times ending up caught discarding their armors and trying to best each other with their naked, sweaty bodies.
Izuna knows Tobirama won’t have the warrior’s honor to ask him permission.
“You’re one to talk,” Tobirama says, yanking Izuna’s hair yet again — heaven, it hurts, it hurts and he can’t do anything about it. “You can barely walk, much less land a punch. Not without me granting you more control, anyway.”
Of course Tobirama’s messed with his senses before giving him consciousness.
It’s all part of his plan.
“You can scream all you want,” Tobirama’s grip tightens, keeping him in place. Izuna hisses as he feels the roots of his hair pulled to their limits. “Curse me, call me names, mark me for death; big brother won’t be here to save you.”
Izuna’s blood boils with Tobirama’s talk — the disgust he puts as he mentions Madara, not even calling him by name. Not like he’d like to hear it coming from the Senju.
“Stop talking about Madara,” Izuna manages to speak through his pain, the discomfort, the horror of having Tobirama’s body pressing against his in ways he knows it shouldn’t, at least not now — a mixture of familiar and terrifying. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”
Tobirama presses him harder against the surface, and Izuna hears the shuffling of his body before realizing by positioning alone that he’s practically mounting him from behind.
He bites his lips as soon as he registers Tobirama’s crotch grinding against his ass.
“I thought you’d get it by now, Izuna,” his voice is a low growl at this point, words said close to his ear. “Guess I’ll have to show you the new limits of your body.”
Izuna has no time to answer; Tobirama releases his hair so he can covers Izuna’s mouth — no, more like half his face — with his hand, big and calloused, fingers shutting him off, suffocating. Tobirama’s other hand goes underneath his clothes, running over his chest; it’s only at this moment that Izuna realizes how vulnerable he is, not even allowed the protection of his armor.
Tobirama’s touch is warm, and his fingers are quick to find their way over his nipples; Izuna shudders at how their tips graze over them, his face flushing in horror at how quick they harden with his caressing. Tobirama gropes his chest, nails sinking on his flesh, and Izuna grits his teeth.
The moment his lips part for a bit, Tobirama forces his fingers inside Izuna’s mouth. Izuna almost chokes on them, surprised with the sudden invasion, nostrils flaring in search for oxygen. His rival has no care about his breathing nor his gag reflex, pushing his index and middle fingers deeply, brushing against the back of his throat. They’re quickly covered in saliva, and Tobirama begins to fuck his mouth, thrusting them back and forth, spreading them, having them push over his inner cheeks and teeth.
He makes Izuna open his mouth further to the point it hurts, pushing a third finger in. Izuna’s eyes water at the discomfort, vision getting blurry while Tobirama plays with his mouth and begins to undress him, pulling the fabric away.
He feels Tobirama’s clothed erection pressing on his ass cheeks, making Izuna feel his own cock twitch between his legs. It’s shameful; he doesn’t want any of this, hell, he’d rather die again than to submit, but Tobirama doesn’t let him go, trapping him in this twisted situation.
Izuna wants to blame Tobirama for making his body heat up, however, he does know better — the other man knows how his body works, how to make him gasp and moan and beg. He knows because he let Tobirama in far too many times before, sharing his scars, his flesh, his weaknesses.
And Tobirama is taking full advantage of it.
He shudders as Tobirama undoes his fundoshi, freeing Izuna’s half hard cock. Tears roll on his cheeks the moment he feels thick fingers wrapping around his length, rolling down his foreskin, thumb circling his sensitive glans. Izuna closes his eyes, trying to ignore the way Tobirama’s touch feels nice against his skin, how he’s heating up despite everything, how he feels the need to hold back a moan with Tobirama’s fingers on his mouth.
It’s a good thing that Tobirama isn’t into talking; Izuna can only imagine how he would have been called names at this point, being played with by his rival — his enemy — and reduced to nothing more than a toy.
He tries to close his legs, bite Tobirama’s fingers, but it does nothing. With impressive ease, Tobirama spreads him open again, pushing his digits deeper inside Izuna’s mouth. He chokes, coughing and drooling all over his chin and on Tobirama’s hand, wetting his face along with all the pretty tears.
Tobirama squeezes his cock and Izuna feels it throb, pre slicking its way out of his slit. He sniffles against Tobirama’s fingers as he keeps working him up, jerking him off with care contrasted with his rough handling of Izuna’s mouth. He works his way with Izuna’s cock easily, coating his fingers with Izuna’s pre and smearing it around his length, pumping Izuna’s cock with the lewdest sounds.
In another life, Izuna would have been loving it.
It’s getting harder to breather, with Tobirama not letting his mouth go; his jaw aches for release, and with the crying, snot is making its way on Izuna’s nostrils, clogging them. It’s disgusting: he can only think about how messed up he must look, how Tobirama must be smiling as he breaks him, how disappointed Madara would be if he ever got to see him in this sad state.
Perhaps it’s a blessing that Madara can’t save him.
Izuna still wishes for it, trying to call his name with Tobirama’s fingers pressed against his tongue, making him gurgle a mess of saliva and strangled noises.
He feels heavier. He feels lighter.
His blindfold is damp, yet he can barely feel his chakra, as if sealed away.
Tobirama’s sinks his teeth on his shoulder and Izuna’s consciousness drifts away.
The blindfold is dry when Izuna wakes up.
He finds his body in a new position. His arms are bound, lifted above his head. They’re sore; Izuna knows they’re tied to something, though he can’t recognize it fully well by touch alone.
What startles him are his legs, parted and lifted up, resting on someone’s shoulders — he knows because he can feel hair brushing against his skin. Between them, however, he can feel his hole being fucked, hear the slapping of his abuser’s skin against his own alongside the grunts of pleasure, make up the shape of hands holding him in place.
His skin feels dirty, sweaty and slimy. Izuna winces at the internal stretch, bites his lips as he feels cum dripping down his ass.
“Took you long enough,” Tobirama’s voice startles him, making Izuna gasp. “Have I made you that weak?”
Izuna closes his hands into fists, nails pressing against his palm.
“Just fucking stop,” he replies, doing his best to ignore the way Tobirama’s cock rubs against his prostate. “You’ve proved your point already.”
Tobirama makes a disgruntled sound.
“I don’t think you understand,” Tobirama presses their bodies close together as he speaks, his breathing caressing Izuna’s face. “Your existence belongs to me.”
Izuna feels Tobirama pulling out slowly, only to thrust hard into him with no warning. Izuna moans, his cock hardening and dripping slick; he hates this situation, hates Tobirama, and hates himself even more for feeling aroused out of it. He wants nothing more than to scream and bite and kick Tobirama away from him, rip him to pieces, yet he knows he’s unable to, his body reduced to nothing more than the Senju’s play thing.
Tobirama fucks him with no care about comfort or pleasure. His arms hurt and his legs ache but Tobirama is too busy biting his shoulders and collarbones to care, too entranced in groping his ass and using his hole.
It’s selfish, a demonstration of power and dominance rather than an exchange between two rivals; it tells Izuna enough, however. Whatever they had is over and done, and they’re not equal anymore.
He had already lost long before Tobirama brought him back to life.
Yet Izuna feels his cock twitch and hears hoarse moans coming out from his mouth, body hot and craving for release. He shivers at every subtle change in Tobirama’s finger placement, flushes at the lustful sounds of his rough kissing and biting, groans at the contact between their bodies.
His cock bounces between his legs, ignored by his captor, and Izuna can imagine his pre falling and sticking in Tobirama’s hard muscles. He remembers his touch, the way he enjoys to jerk him off, and it makes Izuna bite his lip.
He is not going to ask for it.
Not like Tobirama seems to care about it, with his rapid thrusting. Izuna believes he’s getting close — he must be enjoying himself a lot, and it’s astonishing that he has enough stamina to last for more than one round.
He considers asking him how many times he has been used before waking up, if this is going to be Tobirama’s second or third or fourth orgasm. In the end, Izuna’s better not knowing; no matter the answer, it would only prove him that he’s not the shinobi he used to be.
His orgasm hits him as hard as ever, though; taking his mind completely and leaving it blank, body trembling all over while his cock throbs and shoots cum all over between his body and Tobirama’s. Izuna can’t hold back the moan, and he hears Tobirama letting out a small laugh at his pathetic display, proving him right — in the end, it’s the Senju that owns him, and he can do as he pleases.
Tobirama’s fucking grows faster, even more merciless than before. Izuna convinces himself it’s due to his own orgasm, and that Tobirama perhaps can’t hold back much longer with how hard his hole clenched around his prick. Still, whatever the reason, it doesn’t change that it’s rough, to the point that Izuna’s back hurts as he slides against the surface — a wall, he realizes — he’s tied up against.
He hears Tobirama’s grunts and groans going lower in pitch, his breathing turning more and more erratic. His hands hold him with more force, and Izuna is sure that it’s going to leave marks all over him, alongside with the bites.
Not like it matters. Madara won’t save him — Izuna doesn’t think he’d be able to deal with the shame of having his brother witness him in such as state.
When Tobirama eventually comes, he keeps him close, almost crushing him with his weight and wide frame. Izuna opens his mouth, searching for air and release while Tobirama fills him, claiming him even further.
It’s fast, but it lasts an eternity for Izuna — he feels Tobirama’s skin pressing against him, wet and warm, hears Tobirama’s moans of satisfaction that reverberate in his ribs, smells the sweat coming from their bodies.
He feels dirty all over, and it takes Tobirama a long time to finally slip out and let him go.
Izuna is thankful for his bindings, as they keep him from falling face first to the floor.
For a long moment, there’s silence. All Izuna can hear is breathing — both his and Tobirama’s, labored and exhausted. He waits, heart beating hard in his chest as anxiety and doubt sets in: what now? Would Tobirama free him and let him go of this cursed state? Would he torture him? Assault him again?
He hears Tobirama walking, dressing himself up again. Izuna wonders if he’s being watched or completely ignored — he’s unsure which option is worse.
Tobirama sighs audibly and steps closer, a hand holding him by his chin and lifting his face up. This time, Izuna can feel Tobirama’s gaze tearing him apart.
He waits, yet Tobirama keeps standing there, breathing against him, devouring him with eternal silence. Instead of talking, Tobirama pushes their bodies together once more and closes the gap between their faces, lips pressing against Izuna’s in a deep kiss.
Izuna closes his eyes and pleads forgiveness from the heavens above.