Sasuke came home late.
The compound was silent, the way it always was, and the silence pressed against his eardrums like water. He stripped off his sweat-damp training shirt, dropped it on the floor, and stood under the shower until the hot water ran cold.
Naruto had beaten him again today. Not by much—just half a second in the shuriken drill—but it was enough. Enough for the dobe to grin that stupid, bright, infuriating grin and yell "I win, teme!" across the entire academy yard.
Sasuke hated losing.
He hated the way Naruto's voice cracked with joy when he won.
He hated the way the sunlight caught on those ridiculous blond spikes.
He hated the way his own pulse had stuttered, just for a second, when Naruto's shoulder bumped his as they walked away.
He hated it so much he couldn't sleep.
He lay on his back in the dark, arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling beams. The room smelled faintly of cedar and old blood.
Stop thinking about him, he ordered himself.
Think about Itachi. Think about revenge. Think about power.
But the harder he tried, the more Naruto's face slid into the space behind his eyes.
At first it was easy to keep him in the rival box: loud, orange, dead-last, annoying.
Then the memory shifted—just a fraction—and Sasuke remembered the way Naruto had looked at him after the drill. Not mocking. Not really. There had been something warm in those blue eyes. Something that made Sasuke's stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with anger.
He rolled onto his side, scowling into the pillow.
It's nothing. Just adrenaline. Just irritation.
But the warmth stayed.
It pooled low in his belly, soft and persistent, like someone had left a candle burning inside him. He shifted his hips, trying to get comfortable, and realized with a jolt that he was half-hard.
Not from training. Not from any girl.
From thinking about Naruto's stupid grin.
Disgust and heat surged through him at the same time. He pressed the heel of his hand against his cock through his shorts, trying to will it down. It only throbbed harder.
This is ridiculous.
I'm not—
I don't—
The candle-flame warmth spread outward, slow as honey. It licked along his hipbones, curled around his spine, settled behind his ribs. His breathing changed without permission—shallower, quicker. His nipples tightened against the sheets.
Sasuke froze.
He had never been sensitive there. Never.
But now every tiny shift of fabric felt like fingers dragging across raw nerves. He hissed through his teeth and rolled onto his stomach, grinding his hips into the futon to make it stop.
It didn't stop.
It got worse.
The warmth turned liquid. It soaked into his skin, his muscles, his bones. His hips rolled again—slow, involuntary circles that made his breath catch in his throat. He bit down on his forearm to keep from moaning.
Rival, he told himself desperately.
He's just a rival.
I want to surpass him. That's all.
I want to be stronger than him.
I want him to look at me the way he looks when he's proud of himself—
I want him to look at me and only me—
The thought slipped in so smoothly he almost didn't notice how it had changed.
His cock was fully hard now, leaking into his shorts, and every grind against the mattress sent sparks up his spine. He couldn't stop moving. His body had decided it liked this rhythm, liked the slow, filthy roll of hips that belonged to someone else entirely.
Naruto's voice echoed in his head, low and teasing:
"Ne, Sasuke… you're thinking about me, aren't you?"
Sasuke's eyes flew open in the dark.
He hadn't imagined it.
The voice had been inside his skull, warm and amused and fond.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
He shoved himself up on his elbows, panting. Sweat slid down his spine. The room felt too small, too hot. His skin prickled like a thousand tiny mouths were kissing him all at once.
Another wave of heat—this one deeper, heavier—settled between his legs and stayed there.
His cock twitched, then pulsed, then began to shrink.
Slowly.
So slowly he felt every millimeter.
It wasn't painful. It was the opposite of painful. It was the most exquisite relief he'd ever experienced—like the world's longest, slowest orgasm that refused to crest. His shaft folded in on itself, softening, shortening, the head pulling back like a turtle retreating into its shell. The skin grew silky, hypersensitive. His balls drew up tight, then higher, splitting, reshaping, sliding inward with a wet, intimate pop that made him cry out—high and shocked and nothing like his own voice.
He clapped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide in the dark.
The warmth kept moving.
It poured into his ass, his thighs, his hips. His pelvis cracked—slow, wet, deliberate—and widened with luxurious patience. He felt his bones spread like warm taffy, felt flesh bloom outward in soft, fertile curves. His ass inflated inch by torturous inch, cheeks rounding, lifting, growing so heavy he had to adjust his knees wider just to stay balanced on all fours.
He was on all fours now. He didn't remember moving.
His waist was being cinched—gently, relentlessly—until he could feel the dramatic dip between ribs and hips, the perfect hourglass that made his breath come in tiny, needy gasps.
Then his chest.
It started as a tingling under his nipples. Then pressure. Then fullness. Then weight—real, swaying, aching weight that pulled at his skin and made him arch his back without thinking. He watched in the dim moonlight as flat pectorals swelled into soft mounds, then fuller breasts, then obscene, perfect tits that bounced with every shuddering breath. His nipples darkened, thickened, grew so sensitive that the brush of air felt like a tongue.
He couldn't stop touching them.
His hands moved without permission, cupping, squeezing, pinching. Each touch sent lightning straight to the slick, empty place between his legs that was no longer a cock but a dripping, needy pussy. He could feel it—puffy lips, swollen clit, a tight virgin hole that clenched around nothing and begged to be filled.
Naruto, his mind whispered, syrupy and adoring.
Naruto's fingers. Naruto's tongue. Naruto's cock—thick and hot and perfect—stretching me open, breeding me, marking me, loving me—
The last of Sasuke's pride shattered like glass.
He—she—collapsed onto her side, legs scissoring, fingers buried knuckle-deep in wet heat, fucking herself slowly while tears of pure overwhelmed lust rolled down her cheeks.
"Naruto-kun," she whimpered, voice high and broken and sweet. "Naruto-kun, please… Sasuki needs you so bad…"
She came for the first time as a girl with three fingers inside herself and Naruto's name on her tongue, body shaking, tits bouncing, long black hair fanned across the pillow like spilled ink.
She came again twenty minutes later, riding her own thigh, imagining his whiskered smile.
And again an hour after that, on her knees in front of the full-length mirror, watching her new body jiggle and drip while she practiced saying "I love you, Naruto-kun" in the breathiest, dumbest voice she could manage.
By the time the sky outside turned pale gold, Sasuki Uchiha was perfect.
Lips plump and glossy black.
Eyes wide, smoky, permanently heart-shaped Sharingan spinning lazily with devotion.
Tits so massive she had to hold them when she walked.
Ass that clapped when she crawled.
Mind empty of everything except one single, shining truth:
Naruto-kun was her entire world.
She spent the last half-hour before dawn picking out the sluttiest outfit she owned—black lace thong, orange crop top that barely covered her underboob, pleated skirt so short it was basically a belt—and practiced her vacant smile in the mirror.
Tomorrow was the bell test.
Tomorrow she would finally, finally get to kneel for him.
She fell asleep curled around a pillow she pretended was Naruto's hips, drooling happily, pussy still twitching with aftershocks.
Chapter 2 – Sakura's Turn
(to be continued…)