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Hate.
It was a funny thing. Especially when it came to Deidara. Deidara hated many things. Many people. He respected a lot of people, sure, but that didn’t mean he liked them. Kakuzu, for an example. It’d be cool to have lots of lives, Deidara could blow himself up a bunch. It’s art. For that, Deidara respects Kakuzu. But he’s still an old miser.
Deidara never appreciated Itachi Uchiha. If anything, he hated the man. Hated him with all his heart, his soul, his body. He hated Itachi Uchiha. Hated him for beating him, hated him for his stupid Sharingan eyes, hated him for his black hair, onyx eyes, his perfectly sculpted body… He hated him.
Deidara hated Itachi Uchiha.
But…
But…
Having the man between his legs, lips wrapped around his clit, sucking gently, hands on his thighs, massaging them… Maybe he hated him a little less. Just a little. Just for now. Just for now, he hated Itachi a little less. Maybe he appreciated the tiny flicks of his tongue on his pussy. Maybe, just maybe. Maybe his tongue was a god-send. Maybe.
Itachi lifts his head, slick and saliva on his face. Deidara felt his face heat up. Itachi made eye contact with him, gazing into his eyes. To Deidara, it felt like a challenge. Deidara holds the eye contact, even when Itachi leans back down, lapping up his slick, sliding his tongue against his folds. Deidara bites his bottom lip, trying to hold the eye contact.
Itachi’s lips wrap around Deidara’s clit once more, suckling gently. Deidara sighs, closing his eyes, tilting his head back, accepting defeat. Just this once. Because fuck Itachi was good with his mouth.
Itachi laughs at him, a low, dangerous chuckle that sends delicious vibrations through his entire body and causes Deidara to whimper. He can feel Itachi smirk against him.
He pants, chest raising and falling, hand traveling down, knotting itself in Itachi’s perfectly smooth hair. He tugs slightly. Itachi’s eyes narrow at him. Deidara grins. He always loves getting beneath the man’s skin. He felt Itachi’s grip on his thigh tighten, and he obediently stopped tugging. He liked being a brat, but being a brat to someone who had their mouth on your pussy wasn’t the best idea.
Relaxing against the bed, he lets Itachi do the work, lapping at his cunt, suckling his clit. Deidara felt himself getting close. He let out soft gasps, pushing Itachi’s face into his pussy, rutting helplessly against the man.
Bringing his spare hand up to his face, he bit the back of his knuckle, letting out a soft mewl, legs wrapping around Itachi to pull him closer. He could feel everything, Itachi’s warm breath, his amazing tongue, his– “Fuck,” Deidara whines. His pussy gushed on Itachi’s tongue, and the man lapped it up like honey.
Body tensing, Deidara’s back arches slightly, riding out his orgasm. He clenched around Itachi’s tongue, his body spasming and contracting. Finally, he had gone practically entirely limp, flopping onto the bed, chest heaving. Itachi chuckles at his dramatic display, rising from between Deidara’s legs after untangling the blond’s hand in his hair and unwrapping his legs.
Deidara watches Itachi wipe his slick-covered face with the back of his hand, looking smug. Deidara wanted to wipe the look off of his face. Deidara settled for glaring at him.
Itachi chuckled at him, bringing his not-slick-covered hand to Deidara’s face, cupping it, leaning down. It was a small gesture, but it made Deidara feel unbearably hot. “I hate you,” the artist whispered. Itachi smiled at him, just barely.
“I’m sure you do,” Itachi whispered back. Deidara pouted, an automatic reflex to most things Itachi said.
“I’m serious,” he grumbled. Itachi just shook his head, leaning down to kiss Deidara softly. “Ew,” Deidara whispers. Itachi laughs at him. Not one of his signature, superior-to-all chuckles this time, surprisingly. A genuine, real laugh. Deidara’s face burns, making Itachi laugh harder. “You’re impossible,” he grumbles.
Itachi didn’t reply this time. Just slid his hand down to Deidara’s crotch, rubbing his slick folds. “Impossible?” He whispered. Deidara nods, refusing to look at him, even when he leans down to his ear, breathing against it.
“Impossible,” Deidara repeats. He whimpers when Itachi slides a finger in, cooing at the lack of resistance, already adding another. Then he starts scissoring them. “Fuck,” Deidara whispers. Itachi had the audacity to shush him and Deidara didn’t have enough energy to glare at him or make some smart-ass retort.
Deidara feels Itachi’s fingers pressing on his walls, spreading them wide. Feels them crooking into his spot that made him weak and his legs feel like jelly. He preferred when Itachi’s mouth was on his cunt, unable to make him flush with just a few words, lips too busy to shit-talk him and fluster him in a single sentence.
Itachi bent down, sucking a spot on Deidara’s neck, biting down until the Uchiha was sure there’d be a blooming purple mark there in the morning. Deidara grunts, Itachi moving down to his collarbone, then to his shoulder, then on his chest, anything he could reach, really, finding his way to Deidara’s surgery scars, planting gentle kisses to them that for some reason made Deidara’s heart flutter. He told himself it didn’t mean anything, Itachi was cold-hearted, not meaning anything by it. If anything, he would be making fun of Deidara.
He didn’t get to think about it long because Itachi added another finger. Deidara lets out a soft sound, something akin to a whine. Itachi just smiled at him and crooked his fingers pressing into him. Deidara gasps, back arching, tilting his head to the side, biting his bottom lip. “Asshole,” Deidara grunted. Itachi chuckles and leans down, positioning himself between his legs once more, suckling gently on Deidara’s clit.
Deidara gasped and bucked into the Uchiha, moaning softly. The sensations were almost too much. He hated this Uchiha. Hated his stupid talented fingers and stupid tongue.
Itachi lapped at Deidara’s clit, alternating between flat-tongued licks and sucking on it, pumping three fingers in and out, in and out, driving Deidara insane. He was already pretty sensitive before any orgasms.
With a long, drawn out moan, he arches his back and comes into Itachi’s mouth for the second time that night. His thighs clench around Itachi’s head, pulling him closer. Itachi smirked around Deidara’s pussy, slurping him through his orgasm, lapping up his slick.
After Deidara comes down from his orgasmic high, Itachi pulls out his three fingers, wiping them and his face clean, coming back up to face Deidara. Deidara blushes, cupping Itachi’s face. “Gross,” he whispers. Itachi smiles and swoops down to steal a kiss.
Plopping down next to Deidara on the bed, annoyingly graceful, Deidara might add, Itachi pulls Deidara into his arms, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to Deidara’s forehead. Deidara grumbles something about being cold and snuggles into him, closing his eyes.
Deidara hated Itachi Uchiha. He hated everything about that smug Uchiha man. But he hated him a little less every time he pampered him like this, took care of him, fed him, got him off.
For now, just for now, he tolerated him. Maybe, just maybe, he even liked him.