[ficlet] Works Well: Zabuza/Haku
For the corpse-eaters, you know who you are. (more than there should be)
Too late for Pr0ntober, but I think everyone's used to that by now.
Works Well
NC-17
Zabuza/Haku
Post the Bridge-Arc, as if no one had died and Haku had lived to become a teenager, along with everything else that that means. Contains sexual situations, UST, bits of light-humor, and everything else you need in a well-balanced diet.
Haku’s belligerent in the only way that works on Zabuza-when he cuts Zabuza off on the bridge with the Leaf shinobi, disobeys direct orders, he does it in a way that Zabuza allows for the moment, but gets slapped hard for it later in private, after the Jounin’s hole in Haku’s chest has healed.
In all his partners and teammates, from the Village he’s betrayed and hates to the brief crumbly relationships with criminals he’d made from time to time, Zabuza has never allowed anyone to drive him, bully him: it just doesn’t work well.
Someone winds up dead, he winds up pissed, and he has to go find a new partner all over again: it’s a mess, and a stupid idea.
And then there’s Haku.
Who could’ve died, but not at Zabuza’s hand. That means something, and they both acknowledge it.
If Haku refuses to help him on a mission, an assassination, Zabuza doesn’t bother hitting him anymore, forcing him, because Haku, in his own soft and detailed ways, has become a man, and to a certain extent Zabuza can respect that. He doesn’t like it, but he respects it. The kid would be hell to deal with, otherwise.
He simply excludes him from his life in every way possible; leaves the kid home, alone, until the brat starts to go crazy from isolation.
The sun’s not even up yet; it won’t be for a good while more. Maybe an hour, an hour and half; Zabuza tries to force himself back to sleep, ignore the fingers brushing the side of his neck. For some reason, it reminds him of his mother. Which is strange, because Zabuza never knew his mother.
He’s doing a good job of ignoring the fingers, when the slight body on top of his stretches and presses against him, snuggling up on his chest with lips pressed under his jaw line. He can feel Haku’s eyelashes moving against his skin as he blinks.
If this were a woman, he would’ve kicked her out of bed by now-if this were a man who wasn’t Haku, he would’ve cut his throat while he slept, out of practice. He doesn’t sleep well with others; he’s had sex with more whores and sluts than he can honestly remember, but he doesn’t sleep well with other people.
“Shut up.”
“It’s morning,” soft lips press against his cheek, hard and rough with stubble. He can feel the kid smile. “I want you to wake up.”
“I want you to shut up.”
“Early to bed, early to rise,” Haku’s voice buzzes against his chest, “makes a man healthy, wealthy--”
“And dead,” Zabuza snaps, coarse and thick. “Go to sleep.”
The body on top of his settles complacently, fingers now tangled in his hair. Zabuza doesn’t relax, but starts to go back to sleep, and longs for the day when Haku will quit being a teenager.
As he’s drowsing, nearly asleep but still ready to throw Haku out the window, Zabuza reads the world around him: how the air outside the blankets is cool, liquid; the soft soughing in the topmost branches of the trees around them; the moist silence of pre-dawn. He doesn’t feel threatened; he’s off the ground.
This rough tree-house they’ve thrown together isn’t as big as the last one, but Zabuza hates to sleep on the ground, and Haku has an innate eye for architecture, for creating designs that Zabuza can build.
It’s very warm underneath the sheets. It soaks in him, through him, syrupy and heavy and luxurious, and it’s a long, long time before he realizes that Haku’s scratching his scalp in a way that turns his skin minty green, fresh and biting.
He hates it when Haku does that; no one’s ever tried to do that to him, no whore or quickie has ever been curious enough to find out what turned him on besides well-rounded ass or wet cunt.
With Zabuza, sex is hard and sex is rough and sex is fast, and his partners are either immensely satisfied or sore and aching. Sometimes they’re both, but as long as he gets what he wants, he doesn’t give a damn.
He can’t quite shove Haku away; the kid knows all his pressure points, stress-zones and pleasure-peaks. As it is, he can’t even pretend he’s asleep anymore; he realizes three seconds after Haku does that his toes are curling.
One of these days, he’s going to kill the kid. Or at least beat the mother-loving shit out of him. Whichever was more convenient.
Fingers start stroking his stomach, lightly and maternal (he’s never known his parents he’s never known anyone remotely parent-like), but maybe because his body’s already turned on, or because it’s the kid doing this, or because Haku’s fingers pull his sensitive hairs below his navel (pain) and soothe his skin afterwards (pleasure) until he’s hot and melty, Zabuza acquires an erection from almost no where.
If he were to open his eyes, he knows he could see it, poking up against the blanket. He knows Haku can.
And then the kid sticks his tongue in his ear. And that does all sorts of things to him.
And it gets the kid what he wants, if the subdued shriek and wide and nervous smile are anything to go by when Zabuza chucks him on his back so hard the mattress bounces, the way the kid opens his mouth wide and lets Zabuza fuck him with his tongue while his fingers go about fucking him in other ways, wet and hot and fast.
The kid’s own fingers claw at his skin, push down between his shoulder blades, while Haku mutters, “Yes, yes, yes, there, yes, like, ah, yes, god, yes I--” until the kid goes incoherent, moaning and panting into Zabuza’s shoulder or his mouth when he takes the kid brutally, sharp.
The bedroom-or wherever it is Zabuza feels like screwing Haku, on the meadow’s grass or bathtub or against a tree-is the only place Haku looses his precision, his exactness.
Dirty talk doesn’t turn him on, and the kid doesn’t know how to do it right anyway: Zabuza never mentions this to Haku. He doesn’t say anything, but he likes it quiet when he’s screwing someone, wants to focus on the small, genuine details.
Except with Haku, everything is genuine. The kid doesn’t lie. Not to him.
Which isn’t the reason why Zabuza doesn’t tell him to shut up when the kid’s screaming into the pillow, but it is the reason why Zabuza doesn’t stop screwing the kid while he does.
It’s not as fast or rough as Zabuza is with his whores, but it’s still pretty fast and rough for an amateur like Haku, who’s never known anyone’s touch except Zabuza’s, who’s never looked at anyone else with desire, and quietly loathes everyone and anyone that Zabuza fucks, either in a brothel or against an alley wall.
But since the kid doesn’t tell him to slow down or flinch-much-and digs his nails into Zabuza’s shoulder and his ankles into Zabuza’s back as he’s fucked first fast and hard, and then slow and deep to make the kid buck impatiently and complain, Zabuza doesn’t change who he is. How he is. Not for the kid.
Which Haku seems to like just fine, if the sloppy kisses against his nose and cheeks mean anything, the needy wanton look in the kid’s dark eyes before Zabuza drives in until the kid digs his head into the pillows and comes, stuttering and full.
Haku’s sexy in the only way that really attracts Zabuza-and that works well for them both.
***
A/N: Written in, like, half an hour, hour, so there are probably typos. Don’t think so, but I’d expect it.
Too late for Pr0ntober, but I think everyone's used to that by now.
Works Well
NC-17
Zabuza/Haku
Post the Bridge-Arc, as if no one had died and Haku had lived to become a teenager, along with everything else that that means. Contains sexual situations, UST, bits of light-humor, and everything else you need in a well-balanced diet.
Haku’s belligerent in the only way that works on Zabuza-when he cuts Zabuza off on the bridge with the Leaf shinobi, disobeys direct orders, he does it in a way that Zabuza allows for the moment, but gets slapped hard for it later in private, after the Jounin’s hole in Haku’s chest has healed.
In all his partners and teammates, from the Village he’s betrayed and hates to the brief crumbly relationships with criminals he’d made from time to time, Zabuza has never allowed anyone to drive him, bully him: it just doesn’t work well.
Someone winds up dead, he winds up pissed, and he has to go find a new partner all over again: it’s a mess, and a stupid idea.
And then there’s Haku.
Who could’ve died, but not at Zabuza’s hand. That means something, and they both acknowledge it.
If Haku refuses to help him on a mission, an assassination, Zabuza doesn’t bother hitting him anymore, forcing him, because Haku, in his own soft and detailed ways, has become a man, and to a certain extent Zabuza can respect that. He doesn’t like it, but he respects it. The kid would be hell to deal with, otherwise.
He simply excludes him from his life in every way possible; leaves the kid home, alone, until the brat starts to go crazy from isolation.
The sun’s not even up yet; it won’t be for a good while more. Maybe an hour, an hour and half; Zabuza tries to force himself back to sleep, ignore the fingers brushing the side of his neck. For some reason, it reminds him of his mother. Which is strange, because Zabuza never knew his mother.
He’s doing a good job of ignoring the fingers, when the slight body on top of his stretches and presses against him, snuggling up on his chest with lips pressed under his jaw line. He can feel Haku’s eyelashes moving against his skin as he blinks.
If this were a woman, he would’ve kicked her out of bed by now-if this were a man who wasn’t Haku, he would’ve cut his throat while he slept, out of practice. He doesn’t sleep well with others; he’s had sex with more whores and sluts than he can honestly remember, but he doesn’t sleep well with other people.
“Shut up.”
“It’s morning,” soft lips press against his cheek, hard and rough with stubble. He can feel the kid smile. “I want you to wake up.”
“I want you to shut up.”
“Early to bed, early to rise,” Haku’s voice buzzes against his chest, “makes a man healthy, wealthy--”
“And dead,” Zabuza snaps, coarse and thick. “Go to sleep.”
The body on top of his settles complacently, fingers now tangled in his hair. Zabuza doesn’t relax, but starts to go back to sleep, and longs for the day when Haku will quit being a teenager.
As he’s drowsing, nearly asleep but still ready to throw Haku out the window, Zabuza reads the world around him: how the air outside the blankets is cool, liquid; the soft soughing in the topmost branches of the trees around them; the moist silence of pre-dawn. He doesn’t feel threatened; he’s off the ground.
This rough tree-house they’ve thrown together isn’t as big as the last one, but Zabuza hates to sleep on the ground, and Haku has an innate eye for architecture, for creating designs that Zabuza can build.
It’s very warm underneath the sheets. It soaks in him, through him, syrupy and heavy and luxurious, and it’s a long, long time before he realizes that Haku’s scratching his scalp in a way that turns his skin minty green, fresh and biting.
He hates it when Haku does that; no one’s ever tried to do that to him, no whore or quickie has ever been curious enough to find out what turned him on besides well-rounded ass or wet cunt.
With Zabuza, sex is hard and sex is rough and sex is fast, and his partners are either immensely satisfied or sore and aching. Sometimes they’re both, but as long as he gets what he wants, he doesn’t give a damn.
He can’t quite shove Haku away; the kid knows all his pressure points, stress-zones and pleasure-peaks. As it is, he can’t even pretend he’s asleep anymore; he realizes three seconds after Haku does that his toes are curling.
One of these days, he’s going to kill the kid. Or at least beat the mother-loving shit out of him. Whichever was more convenient.
Fingers start stroking his stomach, lightly and maternal (he’s never known his parents he’s never known anyone remotely parent-like), but maybe because his body’s already turned on, or because it’s the kid doing this, or because Haku’s fingers pull his sensitive hairs below his navel (pain) and soothe his skin afterwards (pleasure) until he’s hot and melty, Zabuza acquires an erection from almost no where.
If he were to open his eyes, he knows he could see it, poking up against the blanket. He knows Haku can.
And then the kid sticks his tongue in his ear. And that does all sorts of things to him.
And it gets the kid what he wants, if the subdued shriek and wide and nervous smile are anything to go by when Zabuza chucks him on his back so hard the mattress bounces, the way the kid opens his mouth wide and lets Zabuza fuck him with his tongue while his fingers go about fucking him in other ways, wet and hot and fast.
The kid’s own fingers claw at his skin, push down between his shoulder blades, while Haku mutters, “Yes, yes, yes, there, yes, like, ah, yes, god, yes I--” until the kid goes incoherent, moaning and panting into Zabuza’s shoulder or his mouth when he takes the kid brutally, sharp.
The bedroom-or wherever it is Zabuza feels like screwing Haku, on the meadow’s grass or bathtub or against a tree-is the only place Haku looses his precision, his exactness.
Dirty talk doesn’t turn him on, and the kid doesn’t know how to do it right anyway: Zabuza never mentions this to Haku. He doesn’t say anything, but he likes it quiet when he’s screwing someone, wants to focus on the small, genuine details.
Except with Haku, everything is genuine. The kid doesn’t lie. Not to him.
Which isn’t the reason why Zabuza doesn’t tell him to shut up when the kid’s screaming into the pillow, but it is the reason why Zabuza doesn’t stop screwing the kid while he does.
It’s not as fast or rough as Zabuza is with his whores, but it’s still pretty fast and rough for an amateur like Haku, who’s never known anyone’s touch except Zabuza’s, who’s never looked at anyone else with desire, and quietly loathes everyone and anyone that Zabuza fucks, either in a brothel or against an alley wall.
But since the kid doesn’t tell him to slow down or flinch-much-and digs his nails into Zabuza’s shoulder and his ankles into Zabuza’s back as he’s fucked first fast and hard, and then slow and deep to make the kid buck impatiently and complain, Zabuza doesn’t change who he is. How he is. Not for the kid.
Which Haku seems to like just fine, if the sloppy kisses against his nose and cheeks mean anything, the needy wanton look in the kid’s dark eyes before Zabuza drives in until the kid digs his head into the pillows and comes, stuttering and full.
Haku’s sexy in the only way that really attracts Zabuza-and that works well for them both.
***
A/N: Written in, like, half an hour, hour, so there are probably typos. Don’t think so, but I’d expect it.