Silent Storms
They never look at each others.
Most of the time, they don’t even face each others. She’s on her hands and knees before him, panting, writhing and moaning loudly into the stillness of the room.
He’s gripping her waist tightly, she can hear his teeth grinding against each other’s as he forces the sounds back. He’s got it harder than her, because he was never one to stay silent.
They never speak.
There are no words, except for their harsh breathing, the rustling of sheets, the slapping of one sweaty body moving against another, there is no sound.
No words.
No names.
No sound.
No faces.
No looks.
No eyes.
Those are the rules.
Then they can pretend.
Actually, this position is the one she likes the most. Because even thought she really hasn’t got a single idea, she thinks that this is how he’d take her. His grip on her hips would be just that hard, and she knows that Naruto knows that too. She also knows that he doesn’t care, that he’s too lost in his own fantasy to realize that he’s going to bruise her.
She doesn’t care either. This would be how he’d take her, and this is how he’d let himself be taken.
This is their game, their survival.
And her mind screams into the silent room as she comes, screams the name of the one they’re both pretending the other to be, their pleas joining in the silence, a plea that will never be heard, never be answered.
They will continue to play their game.