Narutofic
Whee, posting here a Naruto fic I wrote awhile ago.
Disclaimer: Naruto isn't mine.
Warnings: BoysLove, Uchihacest and Narusasu, self-mutilation (yes, cliché, but whatever) angst, angst and more angst, but then again it's Sasuke-centric so of course its going to be dramatic.
It was nights like these, when the rain fell against the roof in torrents, mocking the sound of footsteps running across a distant memory, after just coming home from Naruto's small apartment, that Sasuke felt utterly alone. The nights where the scabbing streaks on his back were the only reminders that someone was willing to be close to him, the knowing that with every time he was with someone he loved, at the end of the night, there would always be pain, nothing more, nothing less.
The physical pain wasn't what bothered him; he'd gotten used to his and Naruto's frenzied trysts long ago. That wasn’t what drove him over the edge. What drove him crazy was that each time they kissed or touched or fucked, he'd always wonder when Naruto was going to get sick of him, hurt him, cast him aside like the only other person that had ever mattered in his life had done so long ago. It was when he was happiest that he could feel the corners of him mind closing in on him, the remnants of his past crushing whatever fleeting joy he found in his blonde-haired companion.
It was Itachi who haunted his every moment, waking or otherwise. Even when he and Naruto were pressed together, pleasure wracking their bodies, it was always his face he saw when he came, his voice that he longed to hear calling out his name in frenzied gasps. His past wouldn't let him escape; behind all of his hatred and need for revenge, he still obsessed over and loved his brother with all of his being. Every particle of him wished nothing more than to go back in time before Itachi had crushed everything in what had to be the most painful experience of Sasuke’s young life, back to the times where they'd do everything together. When they would talk for hours about the future, their future, where they would live together and be ninjas and always be with each other and everything would be perfect, perfect, fucking amazingly perfect.
But things were far from perfect. All he had left of those memories was a beaten up old picture that was soft from being caressed throughout the years, faded to white around the edges, torn in half and taped together. Sasuke had tried so many times to destroy the picture, to get rid of the only solid remaining anchor to any good feelings attached to his brother. But when he would hold the picture in his hands, he’d always find himself staring, transfixed at the image. How happy they looked, standing side by side, Itachi’s hand resting atop Sasuke’s small head. He’d trace the lines of Itachi’s smile, wondering what it would be like to press against those soft looking lips. Hold those hands that had so easily torn apart their picturesque reality.
If Itachi came to him right now, what would he do? Would he put up a fight if his brother pressed him into the bed and renewed some of their old promises? Would he be strong enough to carry out his revenge, or would he bend under the weight of his emotions and let Itachi have control over him? Would he ever be strong enough?
Even if he had the physical strength, he knew it would be the same situation as his desperate clinging to his picture; unwilling to destroy something that hurts him more than anyone or thing should be able to. It wouldn’t matter, he wasn’t ready yet, he didn’t know if he ever would be, ever could be, and yet, it was the reason he was living. So he could confront his brother, get answers for all the questions he had.
These thoughts would always be there, lurking like a predator in the shadows of Sasuke’s mind, ready to jump of him if he left himself open to their grasping, desperate claws. That is why he would try to keep as busy as possible. He’d do anything to keep his mind always racing, pacing, circling any thought besides those of the past; extra chakra training with Sakura, his nights with Naruto, missions with the both of them and Kakashi. But there were always the nights where he was too tired to train, Naruto was too busy to spend the night with him, there were no missions were lined up. It was these nights when Sasuke would stare for hours at nothing, at the picture, the back of his eyelids. When he’d pace and feel himself slipping into a spiral of self-loathing and the only way to stop it was to pull back the blue-rimmed white arm band and let his emotions out with the tip of his kunai; red, flowing, beautiful, chaotic. It was the color of Itachi’s eyes, the color of his clan’s eyes; Sasuke had to constantly remind himself that he too bore those shocking crimson irises. He too shared the same promise of those eyes. The promise of hardship, death, and betrayal that each Uchiha carried within them inherently. The promises of the past, his future, his everything.
These crimson lines allowed him relief like nothing had ever offered since those times with his family. Each new scar reminded him that he was still able to feel and that short burst of pain each time he drew the cold metal across his pale skin gave him enough to concentrate on to keep his demons where they belonged.
When he didn’t have access to even this small comfort, he would feel himself slipping, into a cold dream or memory, where no matter how hard he fought, he would always be one step behind, too scared to catch up even if he could. In that sense, he would always be the one who was dead last. Last of his clan unharmed by his brother, last to realize his true feelings toward anything, last to admit he was wrong, last to admit he needed someone to comfort him with more than just sex. And most importantly, last to realize that Naruto was there for him that night, and he didn’t realize that he’d cut too deep.
As he fell to the floor he looked at the blonde, and realized maybe it wasn’t just for the comfort, maybe it was for real, and maybe he could move on. If only he didn’t feel so tired. And why was Naruto screaming like that? Teary-eyed and kind of in the background? And why was it so cold, even wrapped in Naruto’s arms? He’d think about it when his brain felt like it could actually process something and he didn’t feel so damned fuzzy and…could someone feel fuzzy? He laughed softly, letting out a watery cough, which caused Naruto to look even more frantic. Sasuke smiled and hugged Naruto the best he could with his sluggish limbs and whispered goodbye.
The next morning he awoke with the worst headache he’d ever experienced. He looked around through bleary eyes and saw the worried, tear streaked faces of Naruto and Sakura, along with the stone-faced, but still concerned looking Kakashi. He smiled weakly at them. Yeah, he’d get along fine.
Disclaimer: Naruto isn't mine.
Warnings: BoysLove, Uchihacest and Narusasu, self-mutilation (yes, cliché, but whatever) angst, angst and more angst, but then again it's Sasuke-centric so of course its going to be dramatic.
It was nights like these, when the rain fell against the roof in torrents, mocking the sound of footsteps running across a distant memory, after just coming home from Naruto's small apartment, that Sasuke felt utterly alone. The nights where the scabbing streaks on his back were the only reminders that someone was willing to be close to him, the knowing that with every time he was with someone he loved, at the end of the night, there would always be pain, nothing more, nothing less.
The physical pain wasn't what bothered him; he'd gotten used to his and Naruto's frenzied trysts long ago. That wasn’t what drove him over the edge. What drove him crazy was that each time they kissed or touched or fucked, he'd always wonder when Naruto was going to get sick of him, hurt him, cast him aside like the only other person that had ever mattered in his life had done so long ago. It was when he was happiest that he could feel the corners of him mind closing in on him, the remnants of his past crushing whatever fleeting joy he found in his blonde-haired companion.
It was Itachi who haunted his every moment, waking or otherwise. Even when he and Naruto were pressed together, pleasure wracking their bodies, it was always his face he saw when he came, his voice that he longed to hear calling out his name in frenzied gasps. His past wouldn't let him escape; behind all of his hatred and need for revenge, he still obsessed over and loved his brother with all of his being. Every particle of him wished nothing more than to go back in time before Itachi had crushed everything in what had to be the most painful experience of Sasuke’s young life, back to the times where they'd do everything together. When they would talk for hours about the future, their future, where they would live together and be ninjas and always be with each other and everything would be perfect, perfect, fucking amazingly perfect.
But things were far from perfect. All he had left of those memories was a beaten up old picture that was soft from being caressed throughout the years, faded to white around the edges, torn in half and taped together. Sasuke had tried so many times to destroy the picture, to get rid of the only solid remaining anchor to any good feelings attached to his brother. But when he would hold the picture in his hands, he’d always find himself staring, transfixed at the image. How happy they looked, standing side by side, Itachi’s hand resting atop Sasuke’s small head. He’d trace the lines of Itachi’s smile, wondering what it would be like to press against those soft looking lips. Hold those hands that had so easily torn apart their picturesque reality.
If Itachi came to him right now, what would he do? Would he put up a fight if his brother pressed him into the bed and renewed some of their old promises? Would he be strong enough to carry out his revenge, or would he bend under the weight of his emotions and let Itachi have control over him? Would he ever be strong enough?
Even if he had the physical strength, he knew it would be the same situation as his desperate clinging to his picture; unwilling to destroy something that hurts him more than anyone or thing should be able to. It wouldn’t matter, he wasn’t ready yet, he didn’t know if he ever would be, ever could be, and yet, it was the reason he was living. So he could confront his brother, get answers for all the questions he had.
These thoughts would always be there, lurking like a predator in the shadows of Sasuke’s mind, ready to jump of him if he left himself open to their grasping, desperate claws. That is why he would try to keep as busy as possible. He’d do anything to keep his mind always racing, pacing, circling any thought besides those of the past; extra chakra training with Sakura, his nights with Naruto, missions with the both of them and Kakashi. But there were always the nights where he was too tired to train, Naruto was too busy to spend the night with him, there were no missions were lined up. It was these nights when Sasuke would stare for hours at nothing, at the picture, the back of his eyelids. When he’d pace and feel himself slipping into a spiral of self-loathing and the only way to stop it was to pull back the blue-rimmed white arm band and let his emotions out with the tip of his kunai; red, flowing, beautiful, chaotic. It was the color of Itachi’s eyes, the color of his clan’s eyes; Sasuke had to constantly remind himself that he too bore those shocking crimson irises. He too shared the same promise of those eyes. The promise of hardship, death, and betrayal that each Uchiha carried within them inherently. The promises of the past, his future, his everything.
These crimson lines allowed him relief like nothing had ever offered since those times with his family. Each new scar reminded him that he was still able to feel and that short burst of pain each time he drew the cold metal across his pale skin gave him enough to concentrate on to keep his demons where they belonged.
When he didn’t have access to even this small comfort, he would feel himself slipping, into a cold dream or memory, where no matter how hard he fought, he would always be one step behind, too scared to catch up even if he could. In that sense, he would always be the one who was dead last. Last of his clan unharmed by his brother, last to realize his true feelings toward anything, last to admit he was wrong, last to admit he needed someone to comfort him with more than just sex. And most importantly, last to realize that Naruto was there for him that night, and he didn’t realize that he’d cut too deep.
As he fell to the floor he looked at the blonde, and realized maybe it wasn’t just for the comfort, maybe it was for real, and maybe he could move on. If only he didn’t feel so tired. And why was Naruto screaming like that? Teary-eyed and kind of in the background? And why was it so cold, even wrapped in Naruto’s arms? He’d think about it when his brain felt like it could actually process something and he didn’t feel so damned fuzzy and…could someone feel fuzzy? He laughed softly, letting out a watery cough, which caused Naruto to look even more frantic. Sasuke smiled and hugged Naruto the best he could with his sluggish limbs and whispered goodbye.
The next morning he awoke with the worst headache he’d ever experienced. He looked around through bleary eyes and saw the worried, tear streaked faces of Naruto and Sakura, along with the stone-faced, but still concerned looking Kakashi. He smiled weakly at them. Yeah, he’d get along fine.