Disclaimer: Not mine
Warnings: Minor, masturbation, voyeurism
Summary: Stalker!Hanabi spies on Shino changing. It sounds like mindless porn but it's well-written, I swear.
The Affairs of a Duke universe, though that fic hasn't gotten to the point where Hanabi is obsessed with Shino and stalking him yet. Eleven-year-old Hanabi, if that squicks you then LEAVE.
(The head maid has a rather extensive erotica collection she keeps unlocked, which accounts for Hanabi’s experience in the subject.
The trellis is pretty high, but Hanabi hitches up her skirts and begins to scale it. The thorns catch on her clothes, and she’ll surely catch hell from the maid, but if she’s successful it will be so worth it. The air’s a bit humid, thick with the smell of roses, but cool, and the metal latticework is chilly against her skin. An insect crawling over her hand causes her to lose her footing, and she spits out a few words that an 11-year-old really shouldn’t know as the resulting scramble leaves her with a scrape on her hand. She brings it to her mouth and sucks the blood off, still hanging twenty feet above the ground—it wouldn’t do to get the Aburame’s nice white roses all bloody. She climbs, wishing she had some sort of footwear: the wrought iron and thorns are hard on her feet, but the dainty slippers she left on the ground would be more of a hindrance than a help. As she approaches her goal, the foliage gets more dense, and she hears some definite ripping. Fantasies begin to run through her head of him catching her, finishing the job of ripping her clothes off and ravishing her. Would he be the violent type, or more for subtle mind-games? She shivers a bit, pricking a finger in her distraction. The end is in sight, though, and she climbs the last few feet gingerly, hoisting her head up onto the balcony ledge. It’s the third floor at least, and she’s glad once again that she has no fear of heights. The French doors between the balcony and his chambers are wide open, and she thanks whatever deity is watching out for her, adjusting her weight to a semi-comfortable position before she devotes herself fully to watching.
His room is filled with insects, pinned and framed, butterflies and beetles and dragonflies and things she’s never even seen before, and it’s all just wow, awesome. He’s studying a luna moth that has somehow lighted on the bed post, a look of deep concentration on what she can see of his face. God, he’s so sexy…that messy hair, and those odd little lenses make him look so mysterious. Rawr. She watches, intently, as the moth takes off, ducking her head in a panic as it flutters above her into the night air, and wow, he must have some amazing mystic power of bug-attraction to get aluna moth to fly into his room, she’s only seen dead ones before. Hanabi creeps her head back up as soon as she dares; thankfully he’s turned away. He’s moving, getting up, reaching down…hand on the fastening of that annoying yet sexy cloak covering his undoubtedly gorgeous mouth…and yes, it is gorgeous, Hanabi decides, as he removes the cape and hangs it by his wardrobe. Thin, straight lips, with just the right hints of definition and fullness. She wonders how his voice sounds unmuffled by the fabric, and it sends a small tingle down her spine, which is practically forgotten as he reaches for the hem of his tunic. Come on…lift it, she silently urges, and somebody’s listening, because he peels it off in one smooth, slow motion, except where it catches on his chin, obscuring his face for a moment but leaving her with an excellent view of his chest. Warmth sparks in her groin, and she wishes she could clench her legs together except she’s hanging on to a rose trellis forty feet above the ground and that would be a really bad idea. He turns, so his back faces her, and she pouts a moment before deciding that his back is quite pretty too…mmm, especially if he’s taking off his trousers...oh yes. She’s never seen a man naked before, seen children but not men, but despite her lack of experience in the matter she decides that his rear is nice, if it flares that spark up again. Then he turns, and oh, oh God, she didn’t know those things got that big. It isn’t monstrous or anything, but the proportions are completely different than the little servant boys who run through the halls starkers, and why have those books never mentioned the things got bigger with age? Like a chest, she supposes, though hers isn’t really there yet. Perhaps she’ll take after her sister, that would be nice. Would Shino like them big like that? Hopefully, if she gets them, and hopefully not, if she doesn’t. But he’s almost fully facing her now, and suddenly she has no more time for that train of thought, because she wants to take in as much as she possibly can. She’s fascinated by it, though—those books call it so many different things she can’t remember any of them, and it’s a little weird but she really wants a closer look, and almost considers revealing herself and asking for one. He’d probably kick her out then, though, and she’s not willing to risk that, so she stills her eager limbs and waits to see what he’ll do next.
He heads toward the bed, and sits on it, though she can still see everything quite well, thanks to whatever higher power’s been helping her thus far. He leans back toward the headboard, and does he sleep with nothing on at all? She’s never considered doing that, but she hates her stuffy nightclothes and maybe it would be a good idea. Feel nice, too, cool sheets brushing against skin as she rolls over, or as Shino rolls over, and oh, they’d have a connection then! Something to chat about if she ever meets him in normal circumstances, except that probably wouldn’t be very socially correct. He’s still sitting up on top of the covers, eyes closed, and his hand is moving from his side, skimming over his torso and heading down there, and is this that thing the books talk about? Mas…masticulation…masteration…oh fine, it’s a long word and she’s never paid that much attention to sounding it out, but she knows what it means, and she really hopes that’s what Shino’s doing because that would be just amazing. And yes, his hand is definitely down there, and it’s moving a bit, rising, and now it’s standing up and his fingers are curling around it, stroking up and down. So that’s what it means for it to be “hard,” she’s always had trouble picturing it. But, wow, it’s even bigger like that, and she wants badly to touch it, pick her own adjectives from the plethora of descriptions the books provide. He gasps loudly, thumb running over the tip of it, and it’s that breathy sound that floods her groin and makes her want to clench her legs, desperately. She frees one hand and presses it against the front of her dress, but it’s not enough, and she tries to lift up her skirts for access until she almost loses her balance and decides that’s not such a good idea after all. But the ache of it burns down there, and she needs to do something about it, so she fumbles with her skirt until she finds a rip that’s close enough, and is preparing to just tear the whole thing off when she realizes she can’t, because Shino’s right there and he’d hear her. She squeezes the stone of the balcony in frustration, wiggling her thumb into the little tear and hooking it, pulling down as slowly as she can bear, feeling the fabric rip stitch by stitch. It’s excruciatingly slow and torturous, and this has to be what hell’s like. It’s quiet, though, and just as Shino groans and she’s ready to screw subtlety and climb over the balcony, the hole’s big enough to wiggle her hand through. She shoves it under her bloomers, stifling her hiss in her sleeve as she finally contacts that place. It’s not exactly comfortable for the cuts on her hand, stinging a little, but compared to the agony of moments before it’s sweet, blissful relief. She watches Shino, rubbing faster when he does, watching his expression and the muscles moving under his skin, and wow, this is a million times better than when she’s ever tried it at home, rubbing absently until she grew bored of just nothing happening. She feels warm, all over, down to her toes still digging into cold metal in the brisk night air. She presses her fingers, hard, against that little nub, she feels something coming and wonders if it’s just that, coming, as she’s never figured out just what they mean by that. Shino’s fist is moving quickly now, and he reaches for something, and she really wants to see the stuff come out but he’s holding a handkerchief over the tip of it and that must be what’s happening, darn it, as he lets out a final, drawn out moan, but suddenly she doesn’t quite care as something washes over her, and wow, this has to be it, oh God oh God oh God, and she feels her knees almost give out, the trellis rattling a bit as she scrambles to right herself. He turns at the sound, and her heavy breathing freezes in her throat, but her head is beyond the circle of light cast by the doors, and thank God, he didn’t see her. She descends the trellis with trembling knees, a pleasant sensitivity still simmering between her legs. She pulls on her slippers with her scratched hands, her feet aching from the narrow metal bars. Her dress is in ruins, and she’ll catch hell in the morning, but as she takes off at a sprint into the night, adrenaline pumping through her veins, she can’t stop laughing.