Tobirama

The soft whooshing of the fire was unmatched by the exclaims made by the audience.

The poi were a favourite among the guests of the beach club, basically two metal balls covered in Kevlar and lit on fire, suspended by chains which I held. I loved them, too, as they strained my muscles in a way the staff did not, enabling me to feel I'd done a real workout once I was done.

I stood on the soft sand on the beach of the beach club surrounded by people with drinks in their hands, exactly the way I wanted it. The palm trees were ghostly silhouettes against the dark sky. I could feel the orange glow of the fire covering the poi reflect on the glistening skin of my upper body; bare, of course. My trousers hung loosely off my hips, showing off a V-line I knew made me popular among the guests, the boys wanting to be me, the girls believing they could change me.

And there was him. Watching.

I loved it when he watched because I knew he was impressed and that that gave him the hots for me. I knew he was frustrated, frustrated to show me he was good at something, too, but I never allowed him. I wanted this sense of power over him.

From time to time, I would look over at the open sky bar where he worked, mixing things of incomprehensible complexity and he would be looking at me, biting his lip playfully, adorable in his working garment; a white, oversized shirt, a black bowtie, black trousers. He had his long, black hair nonchalantly up with two chopsticks, lifting his pointed face to the skies.

Madara...

I smirked at him before I did my final number, which was spinning the poi with an immense force creating two enormous wheels of fire on either side of me, causing the tipsy audience to shriek and back off in pure glee.

After I had extinguished my poi in the ocean, I walked back up the beach, noticing and enjoying but ignoring the glances and words of admiration from the guests as I walked to the bar. I leaned my elbow casually on the desk. Madara stood with his back to me, pretending to ignore me, but I knew every fibre of him was hyper-aware of my presence. He knew he would be lucky tonight. 

He knew I would fuck him.

"Usual?" he asked casually in his sing-song voice, still not turning around to meet me.

"Mmm", I said flatly.

Madara poured up a White Russian without the coffee liqueur, leaving just vodka and milk, in a glass for me and finally turned around to slam it on the bar desk. I took it and chugged it.

"Ten dollars", he said.

"But it's me", I said.

"Ten dollars", he repeated.

"But I'm going to make sweet love to you tonight."

"Oh... Then twenty dollars. For the effort."

I stuck my tongue out at him playfully; I had a piercing there which I knew he liked.

"You look lovely tonight", I complimented.

"You were really good", he said back, blushing.

"When do you get off?"

"Three am."

I frowned.

"You're joking?"

"You're an adult", he said. "You should be able to stay up."

"If you give me another one."

He mixed another glass of vodka and milk for me.

"Drink it slow", he demanded. I chugged it. "Twenty dollars. Forty, all-in-all."

"Go fuck yourself", I said.

"Oh, I don't have to. You'll do it for me."

I grabbed his chin harshly, brought his face dangerously close to mine. He moaned softly, closing his eyes in anticipation.

"Cheeky fuck", I said darkly.

"Thirsty whore", he retorted.

"Hehh..." I said and smirked, then released him without kissing him which would be punishment enough. For now.

I turned and left to go shower in the room I had at my disposal at the club and then wait for him.

The sweat was pouring from me to him.

As I encapsulated him with my arms from my position on top of him, he hugged my waist with his legs, put his arms around my neck. A perfect opportunity for me to bite his neck while thrusting, which I gladly did. He moaned en par with my thrusts, which forced me to work so, so hard not to come immediately by the mere sounds he made.

I knew he was in love with me. I knew he would do anything for me. But I felt nothing for the man other than physical attraction and a knowledge that if anything happened to him, I would, indeed, be sad. Somewhere deep within me, I knew I did him wrong. That he was a good person that deserved so, so much better than me. But I didn't let that part of myself come forth. I was just desperate to fuck. To own. To eat.

And he gladly let himself be eaten.

Truth was, he knew. He knew he was being used, yet he let me just because he loved me so much. And neither of us did anything to prevent it.

I thrust one final time with a harsh grunt and with that, I came, and he threw his head back and screamed, pouring himself onto my abdomen as I poured myself inside of him. His hands were in my hair, clinging, the only time I allowed harshness from him being when he came, or when I came, as a reward. I lay convulsing over him, grunting with every pulsation until I slumped over him, glistening of sweat as if I'd been dipped in oil. He bit my shoulder softly, tickled my neck, kissed my cheek.

I turned on my back, brought him into my embrace. Madara wasn't short or small by any means, but I was huge, both tall and broad, making him feel small beside me anyway. He put his hand on my chest, nuzzled in comfortably. I knew he enjoyed these times most of all, more than the fucking, because it was the only time I allowed him closeness that did not serve the purpose of stilling my insatiable sexual hunger. This closeness was just for soft comfort, just for him. I knew he wished I would do it for my own sake as well, yet, he indulged. He didn't say much. Or anything at all. He knew there was nothing to say. But I could feel how he enjoyed it. It was as if he was drinking me.

He truly was a gentle man.

I had to admire him, though. He never begged. Never even asked. He had just accepted our relationship the way it was; purely sexual, a way for me to get release. He never asked why, or why not, or anything else, for that matter. He never offered to change himself to please me. He just took me, and himself, and us for what we were. I suspected that if you had a conversation with him about it, about the entire situation, you would find an immense depth within the man, a depth which I was lacking.

And I was not the right person to dive in.

"Wanna sleep here tonight?" I asked him, lips to his hair; a rare offer.

"No", he said.

"Okay", was all I said. I suspected that if I had asked him why not, he would tell me it would hurt too much as it would get his hopes up.

I put my arms beneath my head, closed my eyes. I wasn't tired, I thought, but I must have been, because when I opened my eyes next time, it was light out.

And the man beside me was gone. 

Izuna

The city where I lived was hot in the summer. Warm, humid, sweltering. But no heat in the world could warm a wet body.

I was shivering as I sat outside the biggest grocery shop in the area, wet to my bones. Yet I knew I was lucky. This particular spot was one of the best ones in the city when it came to receiving money. And as I was so small and young, I always gained extra sympathy.

Wasn't it terrible? That people who passed were more likely to give their money to me because of my appearance as opposed to an older, more ragged-looking beggar? Oh, what a cruel world we lived in! Yet when it rained, it was hard even for me as people were in a hurry to get inside.

I looked into the can I used to collect money. Pennies... There were only pennies. It made me incomprehensibly nervous. How would I be able to afford next week's insulin with mere pennies? I had nothing left to sell anymore.

I closed my eyes, not wanting to look the people passing by in the face; I was so ashamed. In moments like these, it would be so easy for me to think about my old life, to long back to it. But I didn't allow myself that as I knew it would crush me, even if some aspects of the ballet world had, indeed, been harsh. Instead, I allowed the dread of my dwindling insulin stock to take over, a panic that was much more manageable than the panic over the life I had lost.

Oh, how have I come to this?

I also had no change of clothes. I would have to sleep cold tonight. Cold and wet. I felt tears burn my eyes, a welcome sensation as perhaps, that one point of burning could spread throughout my body to create warmth.

Suddenly, a shadow appeared before me. I blinked myself awake; I must have slumbered. I should really check my blood glucose, something I never did in public as I knew some thought it looked strange as I did it manually. In front of me stood a middle-aged, kind-looking man.

"You're too young to be out here", he said.

I suddenly felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, he would offer me a place to stay! Even if it was just for the night! I knew it was risky following unknown men home, but in my situation, you took every risk, and he seemed to be a gentle man. But he didn't offer me anything of the sort. Instead, he took out his wallet, fished out a hundred dollar note and put it in my can.

I just stared at the note long after he left to go into the grocery store. Then, I realised I was at risk of being robbed, so I quickly took it, alongside my can, stood up and ran to the backside of the grocery store.

As I moved, I felt I was trembling. Shit. This meant my blood glucose was way too low. I took a little needle out of the pocket of my thin coat, poked a hole in the side of my middle finger which was my only means of checking my blood glucose now I couldn't afford my sensor. I was so cold, drawing blood was almost impossible as my blood vessels had contracted to try to prevent any body heat from evaporating. I took out the little blood glucose measuring device, the only electronics I owned, out of the same pocket as the needle and filled the little glass plate with my blood. 3,4, it read. Shit, this is bad. Out of another pocket, I fished out fruit sugar, took several cubes and ate them. Then, I took my insulin pen, lifted my drenched T-shirt up, grabbed a piece of skin on my abdomen, completely void of any body fat due to years of ballet as well as two months of being homeless. I took the protective cap of the needle of my pen with my mouth, put the needle to my skin, and...

"There you are, I was just wondering..."

I looked up, and there stood the kind, middle-aged man who had given me the money. Shit.

He was carrying a paper bag of bread as well as a big bottle of a smoothie and a piece of fine-looking cheese with the clear intention of giving it to me. Even in this awkward situation, the mere sight of it made my mouth water. I was really hungry.

"You..." He stared at the insulin pen. "You lying fuck!" No... "Here I was, thinking I would help you! And you're out here doing drugs!"

"It's insulin", I tried to say, voice muffled as the plastic cap was still in my mouth, but I knew it was fruitless. It was always fruitless.

He put the food he'd gotten me into his own grocery bags, perhaps to bring home to his family, to feed a wife and child in the cosy warmth of an actual house. He approached me, and I backed away on pure reflex; I was short and tiny and stood no chance against literally anyone.

"Give me my money back."

No...

"But it's for my insulin!", I begged, hating myself.

I didn't even notice. One moment, I was begging, the next, the side of my face was burning with a red-hot sensation and I was on the ground. The man had slapped me.

"Give me my money back."

With a trembling hand, I fished up the hundred dollar note from my pocket and gave it to him. He took it, and before he left off, he kicked me in the side.

"Fucking scum", he said.

I couldn't feel whether I was crying or not due to the rain drenching my face.