Archive of Our Own ^beta

You knew better than to help Jiraya. You knew better than to accommodate his pleas for help, and you certainly knew better than to offer to help him. What had possessed you to say the words... 

“Sure! I don’t have any other plans, I can come over to help tonight.” 

You had plenty of time to ponder this misstep of yours, as you lie supine on his desk, wearing only your underwear, as he stands over you (entirely clothed, well as covered as he ever was) with his notebook open, brush between his teeth, and brows pinched in intense focus. 

Scrutinizing focus.

Insecurity prompting focus. 

The ceiling of his office was not nearly as interesting as you now desired. Craving intricately painted tile work, murals, or even heavily grained wood that your anxious eyes could follow. Anything to focus on instead of the way he looked up and down your body observationally. 

“Why are you so nervous?” He raised an eyebrow down to you, “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.” 

He grinned down at you, his eyes smoothing over your bare stomach, the fabric of your panties stretching around your hip, the soft hair of your legs. You felt more like you were on a surgeon's table, than the private office of a former lover. Although, Lover, may be putting it a bit generously. You knew, however, exactly what he was referring to. 

The night you and he, among a few other drunk wedding guests took to skinny dipping after a particularly hot, crowded, well danced ceremony. Cool river water soothing your hot, sweaty skin, your formal pulled up hair falls as the water weighs it down, letting the styled curls fall down your neck and your back. You noticed Jiraiya as he stripped on the shoreline, his hard body, the scars adorning his skin, the way his hair fell when it came untied; white and thick and long, all the way down his back. He moved it over one shoulder, turning his back to you, allowing you to admire the equally stacked muscle as he pulled his belted trousers down. His ass was toned and surprisingly pert for his age, but certainly his years training had kept him solid. Turning back to the water your breath held, but he kept a hand over the front of his pelvis, but you could tell it was a struggle to contain in just the one hand.  

The water heated around you, although it may have just been your skin flushing. The wine in your blood seemed to open your eyes to how the moonlight pearled the droplets on his skin. Your friends clung in a group, using their body heat to warm one another, but you sunk further into the water, moving closer, maybe subconsciously, maybe not, to where he stood. 

“Feeling cold?’ He had noticed you, and your gravitation towards him. 

You shook your head, your arms covering your chest as you waded in the lapping, moonlit water. 

You had always known he was tall, but with you crouched in the water, he seemed statuesque. 

“Did you enjoy the festivities?” He sat on the riverbed, side eyeing over to you. 

“Of course. No one seems better suited than Asuma and Kurenai. Even if they kept it quiet until now.” You dipped your head back into the water as you did, your chest rose, your breasts peaking up against the glassy surface. 

Jiraiya took notice, watching how the water rippled around your cold-peaked nipples, round, larger than he would have expected, natural and complimentary to your skin. He let his eyes trail down your stomach, watching how the shadows of the night’s clouds tattooed themselves onto your figure. The natural curves and shadows of your body, darkened with the waters motion contrast against the moon illuminated portions of your skin. 

“..beautiful…” Jiraiya marveled. 

“They are a beautiful couple.” You agreed, opening your eyes again to look up at him. 

Jiraiya rolled closer, his elbows holding him up. You felt his side brush against him after his movement. Hips brushing one another, so close to intimacy, although benign in their intentions. His body heat transfers to you under the water, the proximity making your heart race. 

“Think you’ll ever get married?” He didn’t make eyecontact, too fixated lower on your face. 

You shrugged, water rippling around your arms and chest. 

“Waste of your talents?” He cocks his head, looking down at your body as it waves under the water. 

You laughed, rolling to lay the same way, elbows bent, hip to hip, tummy down against the smooth stones on the riverbed. Water lifted his hair making it whirl in fern frond spirals around the both of you. Snowy tendrils pulling you closer, tickling your back. Jiraiya’s gaze stayed fixed on your lips, while yours moved up the smearing red markings on his cheeks, up to his jovial, kind eyes. You wondered how anyone as deadly, as controversial, as boisterous as him could have such gentle, sweet eyes. 

Jiraiya’s smile was wicked as he leaned closer, “Do you want me to kiss you?” 

Maybe it really was the wine. Maybe you had always felt this way about him. Maybe it was the feelings that weddings brought out of everyone. Maybe you were lonely. Maybe you were finally seeing just what it was that made him into the legend that he was. That he is. 

You nodded. 

He closed the gap between you, water splashing up as he brought a cold, wet hand to your cheek to kiss you closer. HIs lips were burning hot and incredibly soft, the gentle, organic flavor of beeswax having made them smooth, now melting against your own mouth. His boozy tongue slipped between your gasping breaths and lapped against yours. Even from one kiss you could tell his tongue was just as expert as his hands were. Rough, kunai callused hands that slid across your waist and over your goosebumping back. 

You moved your hands up and into his hair, it was surprisingly soft, you had always expected it to be coarse and wiry, but it was downy and fluffy, like unspun cotton or dandelion fluff. Until it caught in the setting of the ring you wore on your middle finger and as you tried to grab at his back you yanked his head back. 

“Ah! Ah! Careful, gorgeous. You wouldn’t like me bald.” He winced, his face scrunching up as you tried to untangle your hand from his mane. 

When you finally got it free the moment had passed, the water felt cold, the moonlight wasn’t high enough to light the river anymore, and the group of partiers you came with were gathering their dressings from the shore. 

And that was the only time that Jiraiya had seen you naked. And the only kiss you had ever shared.

“I’m cold.” You finally answered him, the memory gone from your hazy vision. 

“Oh! What kind of cold?” He seemed to perk up, taking a thinner brush in his writing hand, “How deep does it feel?” 

You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion, “Seriously?” 

“Come on, you’re here to help, so help. Describe it to me. Everything you feel, even if it feels insignificant. I want to know everything.” 

His voice was different when he was like this. Focused. An Intellectual rather than a Soldier. Deep and smooth and thoughtful. No attempt to posture or present. Just inquiring thoughtfully. 

“My foot is falling asleep.” You felt dumb even as you said it. 

“Which one?” 

“The left one.” 

“Hm.” He scribbled something down, “Go on.” 

You thought for a moment, closing your eyes, listening to the soft brush strokes of his brush on paper, “The desk is cold under me. The wood, the varnish on top feels glossy and sticky. But not sticky like syrup or honey, sticky like….like leather. Like when I sit up the table top will be reluctant to let go of my skin.” 

Jiraiya smiled, pleased with your answer, maybe even impressed. 

“So is that all? You want to know how it feels to be naked on your desk?” 

He sighed, setting his nosebook and brush to the side, putting his hands on either end. One hand under your knees, knuckles against your skin, and the other by your head. 

“I’m trying to give an authentic feminine perspective. I want my readers to feel as though I’m representing them honestly. You’ve read my books right?” He leaned his head down over you. 

“Some…parts of them…” 

“Ouch.” He shakes his head, “Honey, I’m wounded. I thought I at least could have piqued your interest.” 

“You got me nearly naked on a table allegedly helping you out, shouldn’t that show you my level of interest?” 

The hand at your knees’ thumb smoothed over the underside of your leg, “And I assure you, I’m grateful. Eternally so, and if this book is a massive success, maybe you’ll find a nasty dedication just for you right at the front.” 

You laugh, “Just a dedication? After this I better get at least a ghost writing credit.” 

He rolled his eyes, gathering his notebook once more, “Ghost writers, famously, don’t get credit. That's why they’re called ghost writers. Now lie back.” 

You settled back on the table, stretching out your prickling left foot, trying to regain the blood flow. He made a few more notes as you looked back up at the ceiling, swallowing down your breath. 

“Anticipation is what I’m after. How it feels to wait…like this.” He held the brush’s handle in his mouth as he spoke, “So you told me about the table, cold…tense…sticky. But how about the rest of your body?”

You looked down your body toward your feet, at the hills and curves of your body, “I--I don’t really--”

“Don’t be shy. Anything you think of.” The focused voice returned, “How does your neck feel?” 

“It feels tight, my breath is shaking. Like my lungs are anxious.”

“Anxious?” His voice arches. 

“Tight. Weak. Shaky--I guess.” You tried to bring in a deep breath, but found you were right. 

“How do your breasts feel?” Jiraiya keeps his focus on his notebook. 

“Jiraiya---”

“How do they feel? Cold? Hard?” 

“Heavy. They feel heavy, my--uh” You felt a furious blush, “my nipples are poking through my bra and it's hurting a little bit.” 

“Aching or pinching?” 

“More like an ache. Like swollen and…sensitive. I feel like I can feel every stitch of my bra, and everytime I breathe it feels more…”

“Sensitive?” Jiriaya looked down at you over his notebook, starting to feel a flush crawling up his own neck. To make an eroticist blush…it was a powerful feat. You surely had talent.

It was time to move to the next phase. He discarded his notes and writing materials before moving to a chest of drawers off to the side. You watched him, sitting up on your elbows. 

“What now?” 

He digs around in the drawer, “The scene is a demonstration of trust between the two romantic leads. One that involves pushing the others boundaries, testing their limits. Using different materials to test their reactions.” 

You shifted a bit, “What kind of…materials?”

He turned, holding two red candles. 

“No way.” You sat up, moving your legs over the side, ready to bail and go home and keep your fantasies about Jiraiya in your head. 

“Wait!” He moves to the table, keeping you from standing up, “Please? I promise, it wont hurt. You may even like it…” 

“I’m not going to like it! You’re crazy, Jiraiya.” You shook your head. 

“Why don’t I try it first? I’ll show you it won't hurt.” He raised his eyebrows, dark eyes now desperate. 

How bad did he really need your help? 

Sensing you were potentially easing up on the idea, He hurried to remove his shirt, and your reservations went to the floor with it. He lit the candle with one of the oil lamps off to the side of the room, the golden candle light flickering against his body, making you fawn. 

He allowed the candle to burn, the flame growing taller, blooming light throughout the room. Wax shining around the wick’s base, pulling in a small concave before spilling over one edge onto his forefinger. 

“See?” He gestures with his eyes down to the wax now sliding down his finger toward his palm, “No harm done.” 

You followed the trail of red down his finger, watching it spread into his knuckles. Jiraiya tipped the candle toward his chest, and you gasped as a drop fell onto his chest. He hummed, letting his eyes shut. The low, rumbling sound making your stomach tighten. Instead of spreading further the drop stayed, round and splatter like. 

“It feels nice.” He took your hand, bringing it to his chest, where you could feel the wax disk against his skin, “I think you’ll like it.” 

He turned your wrist over, exposing the root network of veins under your skin. He looks at you through his eyebrows before tilting the candle downward. You bit your lip waiting for the brown wax to splat on your skin. When it did, in three symmetrical drops, the burn was gentle. It stung momentarily but dissipated almost immediately. Like a small electric shock, like the static you would feel doing laundry, or the sweet sting of the tip of a blade, sharpened to perfection. Your heart sparked at the sensation, and at the warmth of Jiraiya’s hand around yours. 

“Not so terrible, huh?” 

You shook your head, “no…”

“Lie back down.” He guides you back to his desk by the hand still held in his, he lays you down.

Your absence renewed the icy chill of the table’s surface. He stood over you, but the hand that held yours didn’t leave your body, traveling down your leg as he rounded the desk, moving back up the other as he came back to your face.  He smiles down at you, his eyes lighting up in intrigue and curiosity.

 Jiraiya smoothed a hand over your hair, “Remember, be descriptive.”

You nod, the flame reentering your vision. Crimson, glowing red wax pooling in the well around the candle’s wick.

“How do you feel watching it?” 

“It’s…making my heart beat fast. I feel muscles all over my body pinching in wait. Trying to prepare…” 

“Are you aroused?” Jiraiya hovers the candle over your stomach, bringing it closer without tipping. 

You swallowed, feeling your shaky breath, looking down your body, seeing your perked nipples. A low beat of interest keeping time in your clit. 

“Yes…” your voice was low and secretive. 

A gentle, affirmative hum comes from Jiraiya. He tips the candle forward, letting its waxen drool spill forward hungrily. You feel its sting the same moment you see it fall off the lip of the candle. Your chest shuddered upward, the muscles in your groin clenched as you hissed. 

“Ooooh,” He marveled above you, watching the wax drip on your stomach, hardening against your skin, the muscles pulling together under the skin, the way your face controted and relaxed in a single second, “Tell me.”

“Hot.” Is all you can manage to begin, “It’s hot…hot on my skin, hot under my skin, it’s hot…between my legs.”

“Oh? Where?” 

“Raiya---don’t--”

He dripped more, the sweet sizzle of blotted wax tapping against you making you keen back more, “You said you’d be honest, and tell me everything.”

“It’s working!”

“Working?” 

“It’s…making me,” You pulled your legs together as though the tighter they were, the tighter your lips would be and the less you could say, “Wet. And…hot. It’s throbbing, drumming along with my heart.” 

He tipped the candle again, dragging it down above your body, letting the drips lead downward to the waistline of your panties. Once it reached the top of your pelvis, you gasped, your eyes rolling slightly. 

“Oh, does it feel more intense the lower I go?” 

You nodded as the whimpers grew syllables, “Yes! Yes.”

He nodded, there was a whole new air about him, the focus had returned but there was a darkness…a sense of pride as he pushed you further and further. Like he was…breaking a horse, bending it to his instruction, teaching it to obey. And you started to understand how one could be made to run race after race for whatever prize was promised by your rider. You had moved up onto your arms, now sitting upward. You were close enough now to see the soft lines of age on his face, the silver flecks in his eyebrows, the gentle curl of his lashes. 

“Tell me…” You can feel his gentle breath on your face, right under your nose, above your lip, “...what you want.” 

You feel the hardened wax crack as you sit up, now falling to either side in pieces, “I want…I-I-I want…” 

Your mouth was syrupy and wet. Your words stuck against your teeth, desire like honey gumming up the works. Jiraiya watched you struggle, but just for a moment. He could only ignore his own desire for so long. The demands of being a well learned writer were plenty, and he really did want this book to be successful, but he was still just a man. A man with base, simple desires, and plenty of them. But he didn’t want to push his luck. He leaned forward gently, and you countered with the same gentility. The wax was slipping through a spout that had formed in the lip of the candle, it trailed down his fingers, but the pain was easily forgotten when you were looking at him…like that. Like you did that night on the beach.  

“I want…you, Jiraiya.” You scanned his face for a reaction, any kind of indication that he was disgusted and put off or….anything. 

But you saw nothing, and nothing closer as he leaned in until your lips met. His hand held the back of your neck, keeping you locked against him. You felt wax on your legs, now no longer directed to specific spots. The heat between your thighs now mirrored in speckling rain drops. But it was electrifying. It reminded you that you were alive and human and housed within a body that was made up of sensation. Sensation that demanded to be felt. 

He separated from your lips, enough to blow out the candle and toss it onto the office floor, bringing his other hand to your waist, pulling you up and to his lips once again. Harder now. Deeper still. His tongue parting your lips and kissing yours within already engaged mouths. 

You moved your elbows over his shoulders and around his neck. Letting his hands support you further into a seated position, him slotting between your legs like he was coming home. Your top was thin enough that you could feel the soft, white hairs of his chest against your breasts. Much as he could feel the gentle point of your nipples against his own chest. 

His other hand grips at your thigh, nails sinking into the soft flesh of your legs. You rolled your hips against the desk, letting out weak moans against Jiraiya’s mouth as your damp, wanting pussy ground down against the wood. 

“You sound good like that,” he lips curve up against yours, “taste good too.” 

As he took to speaking, you redirected your lips to the warm, thin skin of his neck. Soft dapples of stubble shaved previously but now beginning their growth coarse and rough against your tongue. His smell of jasmine and musk filling your nose, his thick, heavy hands moving into your hair, holding the back of your head. 

“I think I ought to keep you like this for now on, huh?” He groans in your ear pulling you closer again, moving your legs over his hips, “wet and waiting for me. Hungry.” 

You let your teeth sink, albeit gently, into his neck, and he moaned. A sweet, rough moan, that made your pussy leak against his trousers. 

The night has made you drunk, without a drop to drink. Your mind had fuzzed its edges to snow. Your body was as hungry as your mouth, lapping and making at his skin, his jaw, up to his lips once more. 

“Jiraiya…please…don’t tease anymore.” You pled, moving your hands between your bodies to feel him. 

Really feel him against you, twin groinal heartbeats, throbbing in want. He had grown hard, the bastard was probably hard the moment he had you nearly bare on the table. 

Research. An authentic female perspective. 

What a crock. 

But it wasn’t like you could really be that upset. You did know better than to think this wasn’t how it would end. And despite any part of you that delighted in reminding you that Jiraiya would never be yours, that he belonged to the nomadic life of both the artist and the Sanine, you desired him still. You had since that night on the beach, a low burning desire, like a trickling creek that smooths a jagged stone to pebble. Consistent but unimposing. 

But he, he was inconsistent, and in this moment, incredibly imposing. He hooked his elbow under one of your knees, hiking you up further. Your pawing at him must have had the desired effect. His other hand held you up by your back, supporting you fully as the heat between your bodies melted your bones. He licks into your mouth, consuming kisses that cover your lips and explore the soft inside. You’ve never been kissed like this before. Like you were something made to be devoured. Although maybe you had, in a similar fervor, in a river not too far from here. 

You were melted silver in his hands, he could mold and move you into any shape he willed, and you would harden. You would steel yourself in whatever pose he desired of you, just as long as he was the one to fold you into it. 

It didn’t take long before he joined you on the desk, his wide frame overtaking your vision, his hair falling into your hands behind his back. He nudged his knee against between your legs, which then parted to make room for him to find your clothed, although barely, cunt. How it had grown wet through his decadent torture. You rocked your hips against the hard muscle of his thigh, whimpering against his lips at the sensation. He chuckled at your wanton grinding against him. He had you exactly where he wanted you. 

“You should be a singer, I;d certainly pay a lot of money to hear you sound like that. Again.” He kissed your neck, “And again.” He kissed again, opening his mouth, letting you feel his teeth, “And again.” 

You dig your fingers into his back, arching upward, feeling embarrassed by how ruined you were already, but unable to truly do anything to stop yourself. 

“...’Raiya…” you whine again as he sucks along your neck. 

“I know, I hear you, gorgeous. And I love when you say my name. Tell me what you want me to do, anything in the world. If you can say it…”He pressed his leg harder into your pussy, “You can have it.”

Your voice climbs in pitch, from whiney to falsetto in a single long, drawn out moan. You can barely think of a full sentence let alone verbalize one. 

Jiraiya removes your arms from his back, moving them above your head, wrists in one hand, clasped against the table’s surface. 

“Come on, baby, let me hear it.” He grins, sliding his other hand down your body, watching you shiver to rock your hips against his thigh once more. 

Finally, your voice bursts forth. The night on the beach, all the small glances that could have amounted into nothing, the nights you had spent reading and rereading his stories, tonight's build up, the wet trail of his lips down your neck…all culminating in your braying cry for him to 

“Fuck me! Fuck me, Jiraiya! Please! Just shut the fuck up about your book and fuck me.” 

A wolf’s grin spread across his face, his canines pearly and dangerous, “I thought you’d never ask.” 

His mouth consumed you again, but his hands released yours, you tangled one another up with clumsy, desperate hands. He removes his pants, a practiced clearing of the knot, and swift dropping to the floor. You steal your lips back from him, trying to catch a glimpse of what he’s really been working with all of these years.

 But he guides you elsewhere, to his bed. Carried in his arms, bridal style, one arm under your back, the other under your knees. His chakra ordained strength makes you feel weightless, but the way he stays eye-locked with you makes you feel lighter than air. 

Eighteen steps from his office to his bedroom. Only eighteen steps to the warm, lantern lit room with a large mat strewn with handmade red and grey bedsheets and opened and carefully stacked books along the walls and floor. Eighteen careful, reverent steps, muscle memory led him down the hall to his room, and thank god for it, his focus was completely consumed by the sight of you in his arms. Pleasure flushed, wet lipped, wide pupiled, and completely his. The weight of you in his arms, something he had only dreamed about, how it would feel to carry you, actually you, into his bed.

Soft amber and red light breaks across the room, casting bichromatic patterns to either side of each pillow, each book, each misplaced pen. The two light sources color each part of your face as he lays your back on the bed. 

The sheets are soft linen, hand sewn and dyed to their bright hues, wrapping around you in gentle folds and drapes. He takes one more moment to simply marvel at you, not caring if it wastes the time that could be all too brief. But even he can’t waste a moment longer. He slides his hands from your waist, down to your hips, catching the sides of your panties and pulling them down your legs, unveiling the soft, whetted tuft of hair. He notes which side of the bed he discards your panties, hoping you would be too forgetful to ask for them back afterwards. You shivered as a chill gasped over your cunt, he watched the chills bump across your skin. 

“So reactive…” He runs his fingertips down your stomach, watching the skin jump and the muscles contract. 

You smiled, leaning back into the plush bed, "That's why you picked me, right? For your ‘female perspective’?”

He looked at you, puzzled for a moment, before settling his hands over your hips and pulling you back, slotting himself between your legs, “No, I chose you because I wanted us to be alone together.”

You felt him against you. Hard, sliding the curve of his cock between your swollen, wet lips. You keen back at the feeling, at the proximity, at the heat between your sexes. His veneer cracks, having to put a hand up next to your head, gripping the pillow under you to sturdy himself. He rocks his hips, feeling you coat him.

“F-fuck…you’re…you’re something different.” He groans above you, pinching his eyes closed, the lines of his face deepening in focus. 

The tip of his cock presses against your clit, and you gasp. You grip the arm near your head, watching the veins emerge underneath the skin, wrapping over the muscles. Using your grip on him, you push, guiding him to roll with you. He allows you to push him onto his back, and he guides you by your hips to straddle his lap. The charmed smile returns to him as he settles below you. 

“So you’re going to take me for a ride, then, pretty girl?” He tucks one hand behind his head and licks his lips. 

You reach behind yourself, pulling your bra over your head, feeling his cock twitch below you at the revealing of your breasts. You feel the weight of them dropping, now freed, and you sighed at the relief. He mirrored your sigh at the sight, watching the perfect teardrop shape fall to form. He leaned up but you pushed him back into the mattress. 

“Well look----”

“You talk too fucking much.” You lifted your hips over him, moving your pussy to kiss the head of his cock before sinking down, feeling him fill you completely, surely pressing against the back of your belly button. 

His abdomen pulls upward at the immediacy of you. He feels you clench. Velvet soft muscles wrapping around, swallowing him whole. It takes everything inside of Jiraiya to not give over completely, to rut upward into you like some awkward, uncoordinated virgin, or worse, spill himself inside of you after a single stroke. You’re similarly stunned by how it feels for him to be inside, you let your head ball back, testing your range of movement. Every circle of your hips, sending cymbal crashes on each and every one of your nerve endings. You find a good rhythm, grinding and rolling your hips in a perfect cycle to feel him press against your g spot, and feel the soft friction of his pelvis against your clit. 

“Oh…” You fawn, your eyes fluttering closed. 

Jiraiya watched you from below in awe, your body writhing against him. Your breasts bouncing with every thrust, every grind. He moves one hand up your waist, over your stomach and takes hold of one breast, pinching and twisting its nipple between his fingers. You squeeze around his cock, feeling him pulse inside of you in response. He sits up, taking the nipple into his mouth, sliding his tongue around the soft, pebbled surface. 

You wrapped your hands around his head, this new leverage allowing you to lift yourself higher before sinking back down again and again. WIth him sat up and clutched against you, you could feel the soft public hair against your clit, making you throb and leak around him. Jiraiiya can feel you dripping into his lap, rolling down his balls, saturating into the sheets below you. The sight in his mind of the puddle your efforts would leave behind in his bed is enough to make him pull off your breast and groan, pulling your hips closer, if that were even possible and guiding them back and forth on him. Somehow he can fuck you deeper like this, and you bury your face into his hair. 

“I-I wanted to taste you. To feel you come apart on my tongue before this. I-I wanted to do this right…but I can’t last like this. It’s too…fuck…you’re too---” He moans again, panting aginst your skin, moving your hips faster, and deeper still. 

You bite hard on your bottom lip, letting him fuck into your, letting him lead this dance of pleasure. You won't last either, especially not as he seems to swell inside of you. His cock bloating further, stretching you beyond your limits, a sweet burn emerging in your all too full pussy. 

“Please, please, Jiraiya, cum inside. It’s okay, I want you to. I need it.” Your voice sounds unfamiliar, too broken to be yours. 

He manages to fit his beefy hand between your flush laps, circling his thumb over your clit, sending you down the spiral of climax. You pull yourself closer to him, a broken half scream half moan filling the gasping walls of the bedroom. The way you tighten around him in your orgasm makes him join you on your descent. Your hands tug his hair, and he lets you pull his head back as he carries on thrusting up into you.  You kiss his now accessible mouth, breathy, open kisses spilling over with affections and pleasured promises, that would surely go unkept. But it's not for you to think of now. Either of you. Not while his hot cum is gluing the two of you together. Leaking from the barely perceptible space between skins. 

The heat of your bodies has melted the wax that once stuck to your stomach, making it soft enough to take on the impressions of his swirling, porous skin. Organic divots and lines etched into the red splatters. A wax seal all his own. 

You pant together into the noiseless room, which just moments ago had been filled with the sounds of moaning and plapping skin against skin. You feel his body tighten once more, the last dregs of cum emptying into you, and you imagine the thick, hot, white substance sticking over every inch of your insides, sinking into your womb, permeating your skin. You collapse fully, letting him hold you up, and he strokes your back in tender, soft circles. 

“If you don’t dedicate your book to me, we’re never doing this again.” 

He chuckles underneath you, patting your thigh, “If I name the book after you, can we do it again right now?” 

You laugh, knowing neither of you could manage that again. But before even the second laugh, you find yourself on your stomach with Jiraiya behind you. His hand pull your asscheeks apart, spreading open your pussy and watching the white cum, his cum, starting to spill out. 

“Don’t waste what you begged for, honey.” He swiped up the escaping leak, pushing it back inside and curling his fingers against your g spot again, making your thighs quiver.

You should have known better than to think one round was enough for a guy like him. And you wondered just how many books you could get named in your honor tonight.