Seven Deadly Sins [Part 1]
Title(s): Ira
Author: julia_dreamer
Fandom(s): Naruto
Pairing(s): Itachi/Sasuke. Oh boy.
Length: 1463 words
Summary: Wrath, noun - strong, stern, or fierce anger; deeply resentful indignation; ire.
Note: WARNINGS: Dub-con. Eye-stealing. Incest. Dirtiest thing I've ever written? Probably.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
He’s blinded by it.
More than anything, his anger drives him. It’s nearly a tangible thing, the passionate desire for violence that overtakes him when they encounter each other again - finally - and Itachi smirks at him, Sharingan eyes surveying him like a disobedient child.
And here Itachi thought he was the sightless one.
They clash - as always; Sasuke is far too hasty when they fight each other, rushing to attack with no consequences considered. It doesn’t register that this is a problem until it’s far too late, until he’s torn and bleeding - but is he really? - and barely on his feet, desperate to reach his brother just one more time, to try just one more attack, to lash out, to land even a single hit, to find out if this too is just a dream--
Stillness.
He screams - he thinks he screams - desperate, hatred bubbling to the surface, laced with fear, shot through with agony. He must have looked into his brother’s eyes - god, when did he look? - because he can’t really be on his knees, one trembling hand propping him up as the other grasps at his face, covering the gaping hole where his eye used to be, blood oozing thickly between his fingers. He can barely think - what rationality he had left under all that anger is drowned now in pain, and he gasps raggedly for breath. He can’t stop shaking.
Distantly, a jar being opened - the distinct plop of something being dropped in liquid - his stomach turns, he’s dizzy, the pain is so much that it’s numbing now. He’s going to pass out, he thinks, as his brother’s long fingers catch under his chin and tilt his head up. A whole new wave of nausea rolls through him at the sight of the jar - this had to be real, how could it be real? - but Itachi doesn’t seem to notice, gently removes Sasuke’s hand from his face, grins.
Sadistic. Twisted. He wants to scream again. He hates this, hates feeling so helpless, hates being here at his brother’s mercy, hates knowing he’s failed. It burns through him. Maybe it’s enough. Itachi’s hand moves, poised over his remaining eye, blunt nails pressing lightly into the delicate skin of his eyelid.
It’s enough. Sasuke moves - almost falls as he pushes his brother away, over on to the ground because he couldn’t possibly get up and he can’t fight with Itachi looming over him like that - pushes him and follows the motion, catching up a kunai that he’d used earlier and digging the point into the pale flesh of his brother’s throat, straddling his oddly still form.
Blood slips down his cheek. His head is spinning. Itachi is just looking up at him, eyes flat black and unfeeling - unseeing - and Sasuke can’t even register the tears falling from his intact eye. The shaking he can’t seem to stop makes the edge of the blade shift against Itachi’s skin. That longer-fingered hand moves again, delicately closing around his wrist, steadying the kunai against his neck.
“Will you do it?” he murmurs - the first coherent thing either has said. Sasuke just stares at him, and it’s difficult to have an answer because he’s lost so much blood, because he can’t think anything beyond hate-kill-punish and Itachi’s blank expression cracks into a smile that chills him. This isn’t his brother anymore, this man underneath him, this person with blood drying under his fingernails, this thing that laughs at his trembling inability to form the thoughts, this isn’t his brother--
He loses the kunai as quickly as he gained it, grip too weak to keep Itachi from slipping it out of his shaking fingers, but it isn’t used against him - he has enough wounds already anyway, bleeding gashes litter his pale skin, his white shirt covered in blooms of bright red - but tossed aside. He’s shaking more than ever now. His anger is deserting him, leaving him broken and empty as Itachi’s hand travels up his arm, fingertips trailing over his torn shirt, nails skimming his collarbone, his throat, sticky from the blood on his cheek, threading through his tangled hair and tightening painfully in dark locks to drag him down.
Maybe he screams again - weak and breathless against Itachi’s lips, shuddering as the older Uchiha shifts his weight and rolls them over, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand, grip so tight Sasuke swears he can feel his bones grind together. Maybe again when he realizes what’s happening - when Itachi’s hips move against his own and his traitorous body responds, sick desire twisting through him as he arches up against his brother’s body.
He’s panting now, swollen lips parted, head thrown back, barely registering the hands that carelessly cut his clothes from him, leaving red scratches on his arms, his hip, his thighs. Itachi isn’t holding him down anymore and Sasuke doesn’t know when he stopped. Half-formed pleas are muffled as Itachi’s lips catch his own once more, that hand - why had he always focused so intently on his brother’s hands? - wrapping around his aching cock, stroking him, practiced and sure.
Their lips part and the other hand, the one not currently making him arch and mewl, smooths his cheek. Fingers thread through his hair, gently brushing back his sweaty bangs, trailing through the drying blood on his skin. Itachi murmurs something that Sasuke doesn’t catch, leans in and purr against his ear and laughs when Sasuke writhes beneath him.
Hazy thoughts - he’s never been so disoriented in his life - he doesn’t remember Itachi moving him, doesn’t know how he ended up with his legs pushed up towards his chest, decides this can’t be real when his brother enters him, slick and hard and not waiting for him to adjust. He’s been taken before, more times than he can count, but never like this, never rough and unforgiving, and it hasn’t hurt quite like this in a while. He shudders, lips part to beg for stillness, for just the moment because some sick part of him wants this to feel good like he knows it would if he could breathe for just a second, but nails scratch skin and Itachi’s fingers frame his eye once more.
Sasuke doesn’t dare move. His brother watches him, dark eyes clouded with lust, his movements slower now, the hand that doesn’t threaten the last of his vision trailing teasingly over Sasuke’s erection. He moans and it’s painful, weak, little noises falling from his lips as he tries not to arch into his brother’s thrusts. Itachi tilts his head to the side, considering him and, almost as an afterthought, shifts enough to alter the angle.
He’s screaming again and he doesn’t know why. The pain is overwhelming, mind-blowing, he’s never felt anything like it before but he can move again now and he’s shuddering and digging his nails into his brother’s strong shoulders as Itachi hits just there and if he had any vision left it would be going white with pleasure or pain or both. The older Uchiha is speaking again, in that low heated rasp that finally betrays how close he is, but Sasuke can’t hear him, can’t think past the pain and the pleasure and the shuddering rush as his orgasm rips through him--
Sunlight streams through the trees, flickering and speckled as the leaves shift in the wind, alternately casting shadows across Sasuke’s pale face and flooding light over delicate eyelids. He wakes slowly, light-headed and frowning, one hand coming up to cover his eyes. Sitting up from the tree he’d been sprawled against, he leans his elbows in his knees, frowning slightly at the ache in his lower back, the barest echo of--
Black eyes open wide, bleeding red immediately, peering through trembling fingers at the empty forest surrounding him. Nothing. No one.
The hatred wells up again, bright and sharp and overwhelming. Sasuke stands, using his katana to push himself up before sliding it back into its place at his back. He turns - Hebi must be nearby, he can feel the slight pull from his cursed seal that signals Juugo’s proximity - only to find the kunai, dug into the tree above him.
It’s been a long time since he last saw his brother’s handwriting, but the letters are more familiar than anything else. He sucks in a breath and burns the note before he can think about it, and stalks away. Their next encounter will require more planning, more training. He’ll be strong enough soon.
Next time, it will be real.
( Part 2)
Author: julia_dreamer
Fandom(s): Naruto
Pairing(s): Itachi/Sasuke. Oh boy.
Length: 1463 words
Summary: Wrath, noun - strong, stern, or fierce anger; deeply resentful indignation; ire.
Note: WARNINGS: Dub-con. Eye-stealing. Incest. Dirtiest thing I've ever written? Probably.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
He’s blinded by it.
More than anything, his anger drives him. It’s nearly a tangible thing, the passionate desire for violence that overtakes him when they encounter each other again - finally - and Itachi smirks at him, Sharingan eyes surveying him like a disobedient child.
And here Itachi thought he was the sightless one.
They clash - as always; Sasuke is far too hasty when they fight each other, rushing to attack with no consequences considered. It doesn’t register that this is a problem until it’s far too late, until he’s torn and bleeding - but is he really? - and barely on his feet, desperate to reach his brother just one more time, to try just one more attack, to lash out, to land even a single hit, to find out if this too is just a dream--
Stillness.
He screams - he thinks he screams - desperate, hatred bubbling to the surface, laced with fear, shot through with agony. He must have looked into his brother’s eyes - god, when did he look? - because he can’t really be on his knees, one trembling hand propping him up as the other grasps at his face, covering the gaping hole where his eye used to be, blood oozing thickly between his fingers. He can barely think - what rationality he had left under all that anger is drowned now in pain, and he gasps raggedly for breath. He can’t stop shaking.
Distantly, a jar being opened - the distinct plop of something being dropped in liquid - his stomach turns, he’s dizzy, the pain is so much that it’s numbing now. He’s going to pass out, he thinks, as his brother’s long fingers catch under his chin and tilt his head up. A whole new wave of nausea rolls through him at the sight of the jar - this had to be real, how could it be real? - but Itachi doesn’t seem to notice, gently removes Sasuke’s hand from his face, grins.
Sadistic. Twisted. He wants to scream again. He hates this, hates feeling so helpless, hates being here at his brother’s mercy, hates knowing he’s failed. It burns through him. Maybe it’s enough. Itachi’s hand moves, poised over his remaining eye, blunt nails pressing lightly into the delicate skin of his eyelid.
It’s enough. Sasuke moves - almost falls as he pushes his brother away, over on to the ground because he couldn’t possibly get up and he can’t fight with Itachi looming over him like that - pushes him and follows the motion, catching up a kunai that he’d used earlier and digging the point into the pale flesh of his brother’s throat, straddling his oddly still form.
Blood slips down his cheek. His head is spinning. Itachi is just looking up at him, eyes flat black and unfeeling - unseeing - and Sasuke can’t even register the tears falling from his intact eye. The shaking he can’t seem to stop makes the edge of the blade shift against Itachi’s skin. That longer-fingered hand moves again, delicately closing around his wrist, steadying the kunai against his neck.
“Will you do it?” he murmurs - the first coherent thing either has said. Sasuke just stares at him, and it’s difficult to have an answer because he’s lost so much blood, because he can’t think anything beyond hate-kill-punish and Itachi’s blank expression cracks into a smile that chills him. This isn’t his brother anymore, this man underneath him, this person with blood drying under his fingernails, this thing that laughs at his trembling inability to form the thoughts, this isn’t his brother--
He loses the kunai as quickly as he gained it, grip too weak to keep Itachi from slipping it out of his shaking fingers, but it isn’t used against him - he has enough wounds already anyway, bleeding gashes litter his pale skin, his white shirt covered in blooms of bright red - but tossed aside. He’s shaking more than ever now. His anger is deserting him, leaving him broken and empty as Itachi’s hand travels up his arm, fingertips trailing over his torn shirt, nails skimming his collarbone, his throat, sticky from the blood on his cheek, threading through his tangled hair and tightening painfully in dark locks to drag him down.
Maybe he screams again - weak and breathless against Itachi’s lips, shuddering as the older Uchiha shifts his weight and rolls them over, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand, grip so tight Sasuke swears he can feel his bones grind together. Maybe again when he realizes what’s happening - when Itachi’s hips move against his own and his traitorous body responds, sick desire twisting through him as he arches up against his brother’s body.
He’s panting now, swollen lips parted, head thrown back, barely registering the hands that carelessly cut his clothes from him, leaving red scratches on his arms, his hip, his thighs. Itachi isn’t holding him down anymore and Sasuke doesn’t know when he stopped. Half-formed pleas are muffled as Itachi’s lips catch his own once more, that hand - why had he always focused so intently on his brother’s hands? - wrapping around his aching cock, stroking him, practiced and sure.
Their lips part and the other hand, the one not currently making him arch and mewl, smooths his cheek. Fingers thread through his hair, gently brushing back his sweaty bangs, trailing through the drying blood on his skin. Itachi murmurs something that Sasuke doesn’t catch, leans in and purr against his ear and laughs when Sasuke writhes beneath him.
Hazy thoughts - he’s never been so disoriented in his life - he doesn’t remember Itachi moving him, doesn’t know how he ended up with his legs pushed up towards his chest, decides this can’t be real when his brother enters him, slick and hard and not waiting for him to adjust. He’s been taken before, more times than he can count, but never like this, never rough and unforgiving, and it hasn’t hurt quite like this in a while. He shudders, lips part to beg for stillness, for just the moment because some sick part of him wants this to feel good like he knows it would if he could breathe for just a second, but nails scratch skin and Itachi’s fingers frame his eye once more.
Sasuke doesn’t dare move. His brother watches him, dark eyes clouded with lust, his movements slower now, the hand that doesn’t threaten the last of his vision trailing teasingly over Sasuke’s erection. He moans and it’s painful, weak, little noises falling from his lips as he tries not to arch into his brother’s thrusts. Itachi tilts his head to the side, considering him and, almost as an afterthought, shifts enough to alter the angle.
He’s screaming again and he doesn’t know why. The pain is overwhelming, mind-blowing, he’s never felt anything like it before but he can move again now and he’s shuddering and digging his nails into his brother’s strong shoulders as Itachi hits just there and if he had any vision left it would be going white with pleasure or pain or both. The older Uchiha is speaking again, in that low heated rasp that finally betrays how close he is, but Sasuke can’t hear him, can’t think past the pain and the pleasure and the shuddering rush as his orgasm rips through him--
Sunlight streams through the trees, flickering and speckled as the leaves shift in the wind, alternately casting shadows across Sasuke’s pale face and flooding light over delicate eyelids. He wakes slowly, light-headed and frowning, one hand coming up to cover his eyes. Sitting up from the tree he’d been sprawled against, he leans his elbows in his knees, frowning slightly at the ache in his lower back, the barest echo of--
Black eyes open wide, bleeding red immediately, peering through trembling fingers at the empty forest surrounding him. Nothing. No one.
The hatred wells up again, bright and sharp and overwhelming. Sasuke stands, using his katana to push himself up before sliding it back into its place at his back. He turns - Hebi must be nearby, he can feel the slight pull from his cursed seal that signals Juugo’s proximity - only to find the kunai, dug into the tree above him.
It’s been a long time since he last saw his brother’s handwriting, but the letters are more familiar than anything else. He sucks in a breath and burns the note before he can think about it, and stalks away. Their next encounter will require more planning, more training. He’ll be strong enough soon.
Next time, it will be real.
( Part 2)