The chill of the Konoha night seemed to seep into Uzuki Yugao's bones, yet it was the cold resolve hardening in her heart that truly numbed her. The Third Hokage's words still echoed in her mind, a quiet command veiled in grave concern: "Get close to Indra Uchiha, Yugao. We need to understand him. His power… his influence… it grows. Gather information."
Yugao had accepted, not just out of duty, but from a deeper, more personal conviction. She knew of Indra Uchiha's reputation, his immense, terrifying power, and the dark aura that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. More intimately, she knew of his current entanglement with Yuhi Kurenai, her friend, her comrade. The thought of Kurenai, so vibrant and free, caught in Indra's shadowy orbit, twisted something inside Yugao. This mission wasn't just about Konoha's security; it was about Kurenai. She would find a way to free her. From the moment she'd walked out of the Hokage's office, a singular, burning determination had ignited within her: she would infiltrate Indra Uchiha's world, gather the necessary intelligence, and somehow, by Kami, she would pull Kurenai out of that darkness.
Now, as she stood before the imposing, almost foreboding gates of the Uchiha compound, a place often whispered about in hushed tones, her breath hitched. The air itself felt heavy, charged with an inexplicable energy. She took a deep breath, pushing down the tremor of apprehension that threatened to unravel her composure. This was it. The first step.
A soft glow emanated from one of the compound's larger, more secluded residences – Indra's according to her intel. Drawing upon every ounce of her ANBU training, Yugao moved soundlessly, her steps light as a falling leaf on the gravel path. The front door was ajar, a silent invitation, or perhaps a challenge. She pushed it open slowly, her hand resting instinctively on the hilt of her katana, though she knew she wouldn't draw it. Not yet.
The sight that greeted her stopped her cold.
The spacious living room was dimly lit by paper lanterns, casting long, dancing shadows. And there they were: Indra Uchiha, lounging casually on a low, plush couch, one arm draped over the back, his gaze sharp and unsettlingly intelligent. And snuggled beside him, her head resting on his chest, was Yuhi Kurenai. Kurenai, whose laughter usually rang like bells, now seemed subdued, though a faint, contented smile played on her lips as Indra idly stroked her hair.
Yugao's carefully constructed composure threatened to crack. So, it was true. Kurenai truly was here, with him. The sight ignited a fresh surge of resolve within Yugao. This confirmed her deepest fears – Kurenai needed to be pulled away from this man. Whether Kurenai knew it or not, she was trapped. Yugao would be the one to release her.
Kurenai, sensing a presence, stirred and looked up, her eyes widening slightly as she saw Yugao. A flicker of surprise, then something unreadable, crossed her face.
"Yugao-chan?" Kurenai murmured, her voice soft, almost sleepy. She disentangled herself gracefully from Indra, sitting upright.
Indra's gaze, which had been fixed on Kurenai, now shifted, piercing directly into Yugao. It was a look that seemed to strip away her layers, exposing her true intent. A shiver, not entirely of fear but of primal instinct, ran down her spine. He knew. He knew why she was here. The thought was a cold splash of water, sobering her.
"Uzuki Yugao," Indra rumbled, his voice low and rich, like distant thunder. It wasn't a question, but a statement of recognition. A ghost of a smirk played on his lips. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
Yugao swallowed, forcing herself to meet his gaze head-on. "Indra-sama. I… I was sent by the Hokage. To deliver a message." It was a flimsy excuse, and she knew he saw right through it.
Kurenai stood up, smoothing her clothes. She walked over to Yugao, placing a hand on her arm, a gesture that was both comforting and subtly dismissive. "Yugao-chan, it's good to see you." Her eyes, however, seemed to convey a silent message Yugao couldn't quite decipher. "You… you should go with Indra. I need to start dinner."
Go with him? Yugao blinked, dumbfounded. Kurenai, her friend, was sending her straight into the lion's den? Was she truly under his sway to this extent? The fire of determination within Yugao flared brighter. Yes, Kurenai was definitely lost in his web, but Yugao would pull her out.
Before Yugao could protest or even respond, Indra rose from the couch with a fluid, almost lazy grace. He moved towards her, his presence dominating the room, filling it with an oppressive weight. His eyes, the infamous Sharingan not active but still holding an unnerving intensity, never left hers.
He reached her, and without a word, he simply scooped her up. One arm went under her knees, the other supporting her back, lifting her effortlessly into a princess carry.
Yugao gasped, a flush rising to her cheeks. The suddenness, the sheer audacity, caught her completely off guard. Her ANBU training screamed at her to resist, to break free, but she was frozen, suspended in his arms, the scent of him – ozone and something musky, distinctly male – filling her senses. She felt incredibly small, utterly vulnerable.
"Indra!" she managed, her voice a surprised squeak. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Her shyness, a rarely seen facet of her ANBU persona, clawed at her. This wasn't how she'd envisioned the infiltration. She was supposed to be in control, subtly gathering information, not being swept off her feet like some damsel in distress.
But even as her body reacted with a maidenly blush, her mind was a whirlwind of strategic assessment. This was a direct path. He was taking her somewhere private. This was her chance. She could gather information, yes. She could endure this, whatever 'this' was, for Kurenai. She steeled herself, clamping down on her rising panic. This was a mission. A difficult, deeply uncomfortable mission, but a mission nonetheless. She would see it through.
Indra merely grinned, a slow, predatory curve of his lips that sent another shiver down her spine, not from fear this time, but from a strange, unsettling thrill. It was a grin that spoke volumes, confirming her earlier suspicion. He knew. He knew her purpose. He saw through her lies, through her feigned innocence, through her mission. But his grin also conveyed something else, something possessive and darkly amused – that despite her intentions, she was here now. And she was his delicious meal delivery. He would savor every bite. The thought sent a jolt of both dread and perverse curiosity through her.
He began to walk, his steps even and unhurried, carrying her as if she weighed nothing. Kurenai, meanwhile, had already disappeared into the kitchen, the soft clatter of pots and pans already audible, as if she merely viewed this as a mundane occurrence.
He carried her through a dimly lit hallway, past closed doors, until he stopped before a heavy, dark wooden door at the far end. He pushed it open with his foot, revealing a large, opulent bedroom. It was sparse yet luxurious, dominated by a massive, low-set bed draped in dark silks, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through sheer curtains.
He stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind them with a soft thud that echoed ominously in the quiet room. He walked directly to the bed, and without breaking eye contact, he gently, almost reverently, lowered her onto the plush mattress.
Yugao lay there, her breath caught in her throat, her ANBU uniform feeling suddenly constricting, heavy. She was on foreign territory, utterly exposed, and her instincts warred with her programming. Her hand hovered near her kunai pouch, but she knew it was futile. To resist now would be to fail the mission, to reveal her true hand before she had even begun. No, she had to endure.
Indra knelt on the bed beside her, his body a formidable silhouette against the moonlight. He reached out, his large hand gently cupping her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. His touch was surprisingly soft, yet incredibly potent, sending sparks through her skin.
"You're trembling, Yugao," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that resonated deep within her chest. His eyes, dark and fathomless, searched hers. There was no malice in them, only an intense, almost scientific curiosity, mixed with something else, something very primal and hungry.
She tried to speak, but no words came. Her throat felt tight. This was not the battle she was trained for. This was… overwhelming.
He leaned in, slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away, but she stayed frozen, caught in his magnetic pull. His lips, warm and firm, descended upon hers.
It was a soft kiss at first, exploratory, tasting, testing. Yugao's lips were stiff, unresponsive. She had never truly been kissed like this, not intimately, not with such possessive intent. This was her first time, her innocence laid bare for him to claim. She was a shinobi, trained for combat, for espionage, for death, not for this tender, terrifying vulnerability.
He deepened the kiss, a gentle coaxing, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. A small, involuntary sound escaped her, a whimper of surprise as his tongue slipped inside, exploring her mouth with slow, deliberate movements. He tasted like smoke and something wild, something ancient. Her mind screamed mission, information, Konoha, Kurenai, but her body was beginning to betray her, responding to the slow, sensual rhythm. Her hands, which had been clenched into fists beside her, slowly uncurled, her fingers twitching with uncertainty.
His hand left her jaw, trailing down her neck, over her collarbone, and then down to the buttons of her ANBU vest. He undid them with surprising dexterity, his movements unhurried, almost teasing. The cool night air hit her skin as the vest parted, and a fresh wave of mortification, mixed with a strange, unfamiliar heat, washed over her.
"Beautiful," he whispered against her lips, pulling back just enough to gaze at her, his eyes blazing with an undeniable hunger. He shed his own robe, revealing a powerful, sculpted physique that made her breath catch. He was all muscle and sinew, radiating a raw, untamed strength.
He leaned down again, his lips finding the hollow of her throat, then trailing lower, down to her exposed collarbone, his kisses sending delicious shivers through her. She gasped, arching her back instinctively, a silent invitation she hadn't meant to give. He took it as a cue, pushing her vest off her shoulders, revealing the smooth skin beneath.
He moved slowly, deliberately, his every touch a calculated assault on her senses, eroding her defenses one by one. His lips moved over her skin, his hands exploring the curves of her body, awakening dormant desires she hadn't known existed. He lingered at her breasts, teasing the sensitive tips through the thin fabric of her undershirt, drawing out soft moans she barely recognized as her own. She was lost in a haze of unfamiliar sensations, her skin tingling, her blood humming.
His fingers found the hem of her trousers, slowly working their way up her legs. The fabric peeled away, revealing her long, toned limbs. He then stripped away her remaining undergarments, leaving her completely naked beneath him. A blush of shame and arousal flooded her, but he paid it no mind, his eyes devouring her with an intensity that was both terrifying and thrilling.
He shifted, positioning himself between her legs. He didn't rush. He watched her, his gaze unwavering, as if enjoying her vulnerability, her raw innocence. His fingers found her, trailing gently, eliciting another gasp from her lips. She was wet, already, a shocking realization that made her feel even more exposed. Her body was reacting, betraying her mission, her resolve, her very self.
"Relax, Yugao," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl. "Let me show you."
And then he entered her.
It was slow, excruciatingly slow, yet utterly overwhelming. A sharp, piercing pain, unlike anything she had ever felt, tore through her. She cried out, her back arching, her hands instinctively clutching at the sheets beneath her. Her vision blurred, tears stinging her eyes. It was raw, primal, and utterly consuming.
Indra paused, his body hovering above hers, his eyes searching hers, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. He waited, allowing her body to adjust, to stretch around him. He kissed her forehead, then her lips, gently, soothingly, easing her through the initial shock.
"It will pass," he whispered, his voice a balm. "Trust me."
And then, when she felt a strange, aching fullness, a primal urge to have him move, he slowly, deliberately began to thrust.
The pain was still there, a dull throb, but it was quickly overshadowed by a new sensation, a building pressure, a delicious friction that sent waves of heat through her core. He pulled back almost completely, then drove back in, deep and full. Each movement was a calculated rhythm, a slow, sensual grind that began to unravel her.
He was no longer gentle. The slowness gave way to a powerful, unrelenting rhythm. He fucked her, hard and deep, showing her no mercy, no quarter. Her hips began to move instinctively, matching his pace, a primal dance she hadn't known she was capable of. Her hands, which had been clutching the sheets, now found purchase on his strong shoulders, her fingers digging into his flesh as she clawed for purchase in the storm of sensation.
Her breath came in ragged gasps, choked moans escaping her throat as he mercilessly drove into her again and again. He filled her completely, stretched her, consumed her. Her body was a foreign landscape, writhing beneath him, lost in the raw, unbridled pleasure and the intoxicating pain. Her mind, once so focused on her mission, was now a fractured mess of sensations – the rhythmic pounding of his hips against hers, the slick warmth of their bodies, the scent of sex and sweat, the desperate whimpers escaping her lips, his low grunts of pleasure.
He pushed her higher, faster, harder. She was a wild thing beneath him, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. She gasped his name, or maybe it was just a sound, a plea, a surrender. The world narrowed to the confines of that bed, to the raw, carnal act consuming them both.
With a final, powerful thrust, he stiffened, a guttural groan ripping from his chest as he poured himself into her, a hot, liquid release that sent her own body into violent spasms. Her muscles clenched around him, her senses exploding in a brilliant, shattering climax that left her breathless, trembling, utterly spent.
He collapsed onto her, his weight heavy, his breath ragged against her ear. She lay there, shattered, her body tingling from the aftershocks, her mind a blank slate. The mission, Konoha, Kurenai – all of it had vanished, replaced by the overwhelming, undeniable reality of what had just happened.
Indra Uchiha, the man she was meant to gather intelligence on, the man she was meant to free her friend from, had just taken her, completely, utterly. And in the depths of her shame, she couldn't deny the electrifying, terrifying pleasure of it. He had fucked her up, truly, as if unraveling the very fabric of her being, leaving her raw and exposed. And as she lay there, her body humming, a dangerous thought flickered through her exhausted mind: how could she possibly extract information if she was already so thoroughly compromised? And how could she free Kurenai, when she herself felt so inexplicably, terrifyingly… claimed?