The limited confines of a sixteen-year-old's imagination, put to slumber, this thing; for Itachi had not co-existed in the same household with the other two during such a time when this activity had been achievable. Thus while his mind combs, frantically, its lengths, its recesses, asking, Is this real? It must be real, for I felt it, I felt -- It is not real. It is a chimera, the bones and marrow of unreality, the fibrous concoction of fantasy, but --
The sensations are real.
The perspiration on Itachi is real.
The visions are real.
The images are really there to witness.
His brother, sharply-coloured, in a square box.
His brother.
A former senpai.
His brother asking, wanting, to be fucked -- the word in the dream -- fucked, and Itachi feels it.
The shuddering want.
His brother's want.
Misplaced within his body.
An unspeakable vileness that replaces arousal.
Replaces contemplation.
A reality of unreality.
His brother. Filmed. And he watched. Five minutes before.
Three-hundred seconds later.
Three-hundred seconds in which Itachi's every nerve flared to life, then died, clawed to death by the same source.
Oh, well. You see, do you. Of course, Itachi sees. He saw. The whole fucking thing, the whole thing he just dreamt which was -
Better not to think of things like that. Better to turn over, close your eyes, go back to - Sasuke doesn't even finish this thought because come on. Come on, at some point, even Sasuke has to learn, even Sasuke has to figure himself out enough to know that no, he is not going back to bed. No, he will not turn over. Go back to dream of something better. Something that doesn't end in a place like that. Or to dream of nothing, which might be preferable. But he won't.
I see. Well, so he does. He sees, and thinks, and what does he think? That is what concerns Sasuke. Seeing - Itachi sees everything regardless. But now that he sees, he is thinking. Thinking what. Who knows, but what he is saying is I see, and he is saying it in that tone. That tone, that voice, that push-him-against-the-wall-and-lean-in-close, with his mouth right against Sasuke's ear, and he tells him, you lack hatred - that voice.
But he told himself he wouldn't fear. He told himself that he wouldn't shy away from this. No, not even this. This anger is his brother as well, and so he'll face it.
Also - besides which -
It's unfair, isn't it. When Sasuke knows that he just - what, yesterday. Just crawled off with that other bastard.
Fucking. Itachi.
Sasuke doesn't bother waiting for the Hitomi to repair itself. Itachi's room isn't far enough off to talk over this thing anyway. And Sasuke always prefers to see him face to face. So - he opens the door himself. Stands with his arms hanging above his head, hands on the doorframe, because he is not - not - threatened by Itachi right now. No, he is not. This is Sasuke not threatened by Itachi one. Fucking. Bit.]
Itachi.
[He could leave it at that. Maybe he will. Maybe he will just -]
His first thought: An impossibility.
The limited confines of a sixteen-year-old's imagination, put to slumber, this thing; for Itachi had not co-existed in the same household with the other two during such a time when this activity had been achievable. Thus while his mind combs, frantically, its lengths, its recesses, asking, Is this real? It must be real, for I felt it, I felt -- It is not real. It is a chimera, the bones and marrow of unreality, the fibrous concoction of fantasy, but --
The sensations are real.
The perspiration on Itachi is real.
The visions are real.
The images are really there to witness.
His brother, sharply-coloured, in a square box.
His brother.
A former senpai.
His brother asking, wanting, to be fucked -- the word in the dream -- fucked, and Itachi feels it.
The shuddering want.
His brother's want.
Misplaced within his body.
An unspeakable vileness that replaces arousal.
Replaces contemplation.
A reality of unreality.
His brother. Filmed. And he watched. Five minutes before.
Three-hundred seconds later.
Three-hundred seconds in which Itachi's every nerve flared to life, then died, clawed to death by the same source.
Three-hundred seconds of all emotion and none. ]
I see.
[ A sibilant hiss. ]
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Oh, well. You see, do you. Of course, Itachi sees. He saw. The whole fucking thing, the whole thing he just dreamt which was -
Better not to think of things like that. Better to turn over, close your eyes, go back to - Sasuke doesn't even finish this thought because come on. Come on, at some point, even Sasuke has to learn, even Sasuke has to figure himself out enough to know that no, he is not going back to bed. No, he will not turn over. Go back to dream of something better. Something that doesn't end in a place like that. Or to dream of nothing, which might be preferable. But he won't.
I see. Well, so he does. He sees, and thinks, and what does he think? That is what concerns Sasuke. Seeing - Itachi sees everything regardless. But now that he sees, he is thinking. Thinking what. Who knows, but what he is saying is I see, and he is saying it in that tone. That tone, that voice, that push-him-against-the-wall-and-lean-in-close, with his mouth right against Sasuke's ear, and he tells him, you lack hatred - that voice.
But he told himself he wouldn't fear. He told himself that he wouldn't shy away from this. No, not even this. This anger is his brother as well, and so he'll face it.
Also - besides which -
It's unfair, isn't it. When Sasuke knows that he just - what, yesterday. Just crawled off with that other bastard.
Fucking. Itachi.
Sasuke doesn't bother waiting for the Hitomi to repair itself. Itachi's room isn't far enough off to talk over this thing anyway. And Sasuke always prefers to see him face to face. So - he opens the door himself. Stands with his arms hanging above his head, hands on the doorframe, because he is not - not - threatened by Itachi right now. No, he is not. This is Sasuke not threatened by Itachi one. Fucking. Bit.]
Itachi.
[He could leave it at that. Maybe he will. Maybe he will just -]
Do you have something to say to me.
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