For: vivpiv19
For: vivpiv19
Title: Sinking Euphoria
Rating: M
Summary: A tangle of emotions and feelings that shouldn’t rightfully exist, but I’m in too deep to be able to escape them. SasuNaru/Sasu
Warnings: Angst
A/N: Slaved for five+ days after trashing three or more fics that didn’t work. Hope it turned out alright, even if it turned out more angst than hurt/comfort…
Mod note: Reminder for the author/artist of this submission, please do not reply to comments signed in, if you want to reply anon commenting is enabled.
I'm sitting there, doing nothing as I think--How did it come to this?
I'm not really sure what I mean by how exactly, but it seems that I'm asking this answer-less question despite the fact that I know I won't get a reply. A reply from myself, maybe. But I'm not into getting hollow answers right now. This...this bond that I have with you, this connection that we share-it’s become warped, distorted into something I don't recognize anymore and don't quite know how to describe. It's real, I can see it, but I can't grasp it. I can't hold onto the meaning that it supposedly held when we were kids. But I know it exists, even after all this time, the things we've been through, the shit we've been, it's alive and breathing, just like us. Just like this. But it's slipping away, falling through my mind and easing into nothing like grains of sand in a warm, disastrous blowing desert wind. It's now-and always has been-foreign to me with how close, such a purely friendly brotherly connection we had and now we are in a...confusing situation, to put it in the simplest form I can imagine. I don't think I could come up with something complicated, anyway. I'm smart, I know I'm smarter than I look and act sometimes... but dammit, why can't anything better come to mind? Maybe if I weren't this dense, if I had somehow grown as intelligent as you I'd be able to solve this.
It's just so strange to me that our connection feels, looks, and for all intents and purposes is the same besides when we 'get together', but there's a kind of underlying intensity that thrives only behind the reality that everyone faces and that has no meaning to it at all but to relieve certain...urges, I suppose you would call them. I never had any urge beside the ones to either punch him in the jaw, make some lame attempt--yeah, I know I act lame sometimes, but I can't stop myself before the words fly out and miss their pinpointed targets--at cursing him, or stuffing ten bowls of ramen down my throat at once. It was simplistic, it was nice.
It was normal.
That's really all there is to it, I swear. Just an outlet to make our day jobs better, right? I know he'd agree with me, the cheap bastard. At least, that should be it, and there shouldn't be any more thought put into that, let alone emotions that scream at me to reach out and touch him, feel his skin rub against mine even as we are in the thick heat of battle-somehow the craving rears its ugly head when we are on missions, lying there in our sleep or even talking nonchalantly about the weather and things not related to our frequently frustrating and exhausting assassination missions. The whole time it's the only thing I can think about when I should be focusing on a certain report, battling an especially difficult enemy or even in the throes of our peculiar mannerisms. I want to touch his cheek, his smooth skin as it glistens with sweat and bunches in frustration. I wish I could regain my normal thoughts of beating it senseless instead, maybe then I wouldn't feel like upchucking when I'm supposed to be concentrating, maybe then I wouldn't feel so guilty about smiling at Sakura every day and telling her I was fine... that he hadn't done anything lately, and was the same as always. Maybe then I could grin at her and mean it for once.
I can't help but feel these emotions as the collect in a ball deep inside my chest like a thick knot of guilt, built up and ready to explode as the time spans out and my mind compiles lists of his tiny oddities, the way he blows his bangs out of his face unknowingly when he's nervous. The way he pockets his hands and hunches his shoulders just the slightest when the feeling of anger and isolation creeps to the very core of his being; the way he lets his midnight-dark hair hide his equally dark and compelling eyes when he broods on things he shouldn't be upset over with me at his side, trying to be boisterous and annoying, as usual, to make him forget, force him to talk and get his ass moving and joust him into another pointless argument. The more it happens, the more I pay precious attention to his smallest movements, the more I start to have...more than just friendly thoughts about us, what we do. And him.
I shouldn't care about him like this-not this much.
Why did I have to fight for someone like you?
The worst part, though, the one that I cannot think to be true, even as I lay my head down, fold my arms as a cushion just beneath my head and think on it while pursing my lips in frustration on some nights, is that it hadn't started when we were just normal friends in a brotherly relationship. This...this building up of emotions that always pools between two close-as-kin friends is never normal for us, the concept of family distorted in ways that could never have been normal. And they weren't.
So, the question is, should it be normal at the end if it were never normal to begin with? Ah, I don't think so-but this was not even where these feelings started. These feelings that invade my very consciousness, expanding into indescribably omnipresent cravings started when we chose to help each other with the emotions that we saw were hurting each other with the way they filled our minds to the brim, the way they left no escape. Oh, this all started when we decided that coiling our emotions until they were unrecognizable in the mixed, frayed muck of our minds was the best way to deal with them, and the very sadistic, most painful way to make those things disfigure our nearly erupting passion was to-simply-fuck each other until our dicks bled and asses beamed red with sore skin. That was the way to go. And it was wonderful at first.
It wasn't normal, of course not, because feeling good while fucking your best friend-a man as my figurative brother no less-wasn’t something that anyone should allow. Things have gotten pretty screwed up since that fated confession you gave, calling me your best friend and declaring so bravely-so stoically-that you were going to kill me because of it. What was that supposed to be, anyway? Some weird kink of yours you hadn't voiced? Things being out of the ordinary shouldn't scare me-I’m a shinobi, one of the most skilled in the village-with a fox demon sealed inside me and normal still scares me? Why couldn't I have regular fears like heights, snakes or even the dark? Well, snakes are an obvious no because no one has you for a fuck buddy and gets away with being afraid of snakes. Of course not- why waste an opportunity to leak your chakra while screwing? It hasn't happened much, but it's happened, and it was one of the most stress-relieving nights I've had in a long while, but those are the most difficult to deal with, especially with thoughts of your parted mouth invading my sleep and while I train, when we get close enough in spars to see the small crystalline specks of color fraying his coal eyes. It's a sick thing to think, but I actually like them when they're that close. And what I can revel in is that he never uses his sharingan in fights with me. I can't figure out why, I've yelled and screamed for answers while I enjoyed seeing his nerves visibly pop one by one in his body, but he doesn't give. He never does. Maybe that’s why I rebel so quickly against him.
The only thing that scares me right now is that I'm convinced I'm starting to accept myself with these thoughts-accepting him, but of course he wouldn't know the fear that comes with this sort of feeling...he only thinks of me as a way to relieve his frustration, right? Get his kicks while you can-and it scares me to death. Of course, this always happens to me. Why does it always have to be my fucked up mind that comes to me with these insane ideas, claiming that whenever I'm near my best friend I have to be immediately tense and excited because his aura radiates something that drives me insane? I'm just messed up like that. I'm that screwed already. Isn't there any way to go back?
No, I think despairingly. There's no way.
His voice snaps my mind in two.
"Ugh....want it," His groaning is so desperate, so delicious that it clings to my eardrums with an oily quality. You moan once more before finishing your question. "...mm...deeper?"
No. No I don’t, you selfish asshole. But I almost smirk and taunt him, knowing that from the long wait I'm tight and he wants it--wants me. He's going to be desperate for it and that amuses me. Who would have thought that the Uchiha Sasuke's one weakness was sex? But what do I...
"I...nn....don’t care..." My mouth chooses to open and drawl this instead, moans erupting from the back of my throat and I know that I'm saying this for him, not me... I know he’s asking this for his own, not my benefit. It's such a sickly fair trade that I quiver once beneath his body flexing against my own, hissing when he gets too rough. I don't care as much as I used to for the primal start of these sessions, what it was meant to be from. But ever since a short time ago I've felt it doesn't help any more. In fact, it makes it a hell of a lot worse. If that's possible. I don't really understand or grasp how... it just happened.
The sheets underneath me crinkle as he pounds roughly, unabashedly into me. I can hardly keep my balance, rubbing the palms of my hands into the bed and whispering quickly-shaking my head and elevating my voice at times just because he makes it so goddamn good-things that I can't even begin to understand. It's a rush of things at once, and I'm sure we both don't take the slightest bit of attention toward it. The warm breath rushing back to me from the sheets in front of my face is starting to feel uncomfortable. But I don’t say anything-he doesn’t like to tolerate my idiotism. Goddamn him, any other time I would give him a fist in the face and tell him to get over it, or possibly goad him even more.
I look at my knuckles as they turn a ghostly shade of white in their grip, and think why I can’t manage it now. I know I wouldn't be able to, and the embarrassment wouldn't be worth it in the long run. Better to run with it, right?
"Ungh...!" His hands slide up my hips, body jerking forward roughly. My head swirls and I can't even remember ever having a tighter grip on something my entire life. No wonder my hands are as pale as the sheets they're gripping. For some reason this feels different-something’s not right.
It feels so...so good and mind-blowing that I can't stop myself from moaning deeply and thrusting back onto him desperately, unheedingly, like a lantern in the pitch blackness of Hell. Despite the dull ache it causes, though I'm unsure of the focal point, I grunt and withhold his name leaving my mouth, biting my lips to the point where they become sore. I can't remember if they spill blood or not, I'm not concentrating on that. I can't think it, but I do as my thoughts water before my eyes and they become wavy with tears. Oh, god it feels so good. Was this the Eden we had been searching so desperately for? So wantonly that we had subconsciously searched it out and grasped onto it when it had been discovered? Found right here in the confines of our bedrooms in the middle of the night so no one is to find a clue, a source. No wonder we're addicted like helpless teenagers-there's no way you can let this go, not even if you wanted to.
"Nnn...hah-ah!" My breath hitches as it moves into my throat, caught by the rough panting that’s leaving me and hitting me back in the face. Even to myself my voice sounds craggy and rough, like I had been lost in the scorching heat of the desert for days, months. I almost want to swat the warmth, make it go away, but I restrain the urge and shut my eyes. The sheets are probably soaked with moisture by now, but why the hell am I thinking about that now? My mind wanders too much lately and yet not enough to ignore the hair brushing the back of my neck and the hands at my hips. Anything that's his becomes alight like a beacon on my newly sensitized skin-everything stands out as if it were screaming directly into his nerves, every cell on his body forced to submit to the screeching need that was his friction rubbing against my pliant body. Only my body. Only his.
Think....about something else...or nothing at all. Nothing's good. Don't think about it. Don't think about.... "Ah..." Don't think about how good it feels, how wonderful it feels to be filled by him, how I can't help but love it. Don't think about how I’d love to do this to him sometime, how I would love be more familiar with how it feels like to be the one pounding into a quivering pale body beneath me and love every inch of that tight heat squeezing me into the same submission this causes me. It makes my body ache and my mind lust.
Don’t think.
My mind blanks out, and then all I can think about is the thrusting, the sliding, the way our skin sounds as it slaps together each time he plunges back in. In, out, in. Out. In. Out. In-- I can feel the waves breaking against my consciousness, my very thoughts snapping in two as he forces his way into something that shouldn't want him.
"Ah...! God, fuck...." And then my eyes clamp shut as white flashes in front of them. Waves and waves of pleasure course through my body, making everything worse. It isn't often that he finds that spot, but when he does I usually get lost and give in to my damn emotions like the emotional wreck I am right now.
"Mn....found it...." he breaths a heady sigh, like he's enjoying it too. Bent over me, his lips are touching my skin uncomfortably. I squirm against it slightly, arching my back to get away. The tone sounds sadistic and so husky that it sends a shiver jolting up my spine from the source, the shudder doubled as one of his calloused hands runs up my back to push up my blue jonin shirt further. I was in such a hurry that I didn't even bother with clothes; I just pulled down my cotton pants and gave him free reign. It was already decided long before we began this time that he'd get this position tonight-though it’s the biggest joust to my pride I’ve ever had to endure, I enjoy being bottom more anyway. I was too tired from my mission to do much in the way of pleasing. Call me a bum, I don’t care as long as I get my end of the deal and he doesn’t stop before I get it.
And that reminds me....Oh, so by 'I found it' he means he was looking for it, huh? Well, that explains a lot. But in this current situation I really can't blame him, since today I was the one who asked for it-more like threw him against the wall and plundered his mouth, but it’s basically the same thing. He's trying to make it seem like he’s trying harder to make it good for me. But it confuses me. If he wanted me to feel good, then why not let me top? That's how it's done. Whoever needs it most at the time does the thrusting, while the other is bottom. What kind of man would willingly submit to being submissive though?
It's hard to believe sometimes, but I would.
Why can’t it be simpler? Why do I have to start developing...feelings for this guy? It aches, but I won’t ever admit that. It was friendship before, and that's all I had wanted it to be. But maybe not now. How could we go back to something as simple and meager as that, when we’re doing something that’s meant to be intimate on the highest of levels? When I think about it, it really shouldn’t be that way, not when the two participating parties don’t think of it that way. Just like practice, where battle should always been to protect or to kill, we never really mean any of that at all. And who’s idea was that, anyway? Just because this is what makes the stress go away the fastest, no matter how miniscule, why does it have to be intimate?
How can we go back?
"Ngh....faster...go faster...."
But I can't help but like it. I can't stop. It's an addiction that I need, breathe, taste like air. Sasuke may need it more than me, because in the beginning it was only meant to be a onetime thing-we’d been drunk, he’d been wasted and suddenly his beer soaked lips had been on mine, clumsy hands pushing my jacket down my shoulders and knee put between my legs in an adolescent nature. I’d moaned because I really had no clue what was going on, and Sasuke was pretty enough to be a girl, but he wasn’t and that hard, pressing warmth jabbing into my thigh was a swift reminder of that. But we couldn’t stop. Maybe by then it was already too late.
"Moron..."
He complies to my need but somehow, instead of making it better, it makes it worse. Oh, so much worse. I can already feel the burning in my body from the way he angles himself into me. Pounds into me in a merciless way that makes me forget that this is supposed to be about me this time. I'm quite sure that by the time we're done we'll have each forgotten why we started this, why we're even trying to help each other through whatever is happening-and by this time, I've even forgotten why I've come.
Not of my own will, I push back onto him to meet each of his thrusts. He groans in approval and increases the pace, makes it go deeper. The grip on my hips is almost painful now but I don't care, it only adds to the blinding pleasure. Which is technically something that I should be avoiding in this situation, but I don't really want to think at the moment. I don't want to think about this situation, or how wrong it really is, or how right it feels. Release is all I want, all I should need.
I'm sick, I know. This is the person I consider to be my brother, and yet…
"So...how did your mission...ngh...go?" He asks me as nonchalantly as possible, lifting himself so his breath isn’t fanning on my shoulder and neck, I breathe a sigh of relief. I almost have to chuckle at that, but it’d come out distorted so I refrain again from doing anything of the sort.
"Fine..." I mumble back and grip grab a pillow to bury my face in. He thrusts in a few more times, making me jolt forward. "Now....ahn...stop trying to have a conversation...mm...kinda busy right now…”
"Hah....doing...what...?" His breath puffs out darkly; even though I can't feel it, I can imagine the warmth fanning across my damp skin and intoxicating me with his smell. I feel like an alcoholic, in that I can't get enough of all of his mannerisms and his comments and everything that makes him Sasuke. Sasuke, my best friend.
"Shut up.... you bastard...You know what-I...mean."
He stops for a moment, plunging rhythm halted suddenly. "Geez...what's your problem today? You're not nearly as responsive as you usually are."
I push back again but he still doesn't start. Damn that stupid bastard. I should've taken top today. "I'm not supposed to be responsive....not to another guy."
He gives a shallow thrust; probably just out of instinct and need but it still makes me draw in a deep gasp. "Well...that's just stupid...the whole point is to make it feel good."
"Idiot! It's not supposed to feel good like this! And even thinking like that is just sick, Sasuke!" I yell in annoyance. Like he didn’t know that already. My shoulders hunch in defeat, legs shaking from the lack of movement.
I can't see it from the position I'm in, but I know he's smirking in that completely arrogant way that always annoys me. "So...it feels good, does it?" He grinds himself deep into me, circling his hips. "Even though it's 'sick'?"
I can't see it, but I can damn well hear the quotation marks he's making with his voice.
The fucking starts up again. I refuse to call it anything but that because that's all it is, and I don't want to delude myself anymore. I feel really stupid thinking this way, trying to think that I know exactly what's going on when I don't know a thing; my hands ball into fists. Not even Sasuke does, but that just makes it worse and makes me feel insecure about it. He of all people should already have it in his mindset that this is nothing more but a discharge of the emotions ninja shouldn't have. Sexual urges included.
He moans loudly and pushes deeper and much more sporadically from his earlier pace that I was enjoying. This is good too, but sometimes it's too much, too much that I don't want to elaborate further on. I try to focus on the rough panting drawing breath from both our lungs, but it's hopeless with all of the pleasure filled noises he's making. When it's just breathing I can imagine we're fighting, brawling in an open field or perhaps just on another mission and battling a new enemy. Perhaps we're rolling in the grass, throwing half-hearted punches at each other just in order to achieve some form of contact, nostalgic of the days we spent on Team Seven, but when it sounds as if Sasuke is pouring his very soul into me along with his climax....I just can't seem to keep my thoughts in one piece. God, I love how he sounds when he's that close, though it destroys me completely and utterly. I’m sick.
I usually know what I’m doing, always sure with my decisions even if they’re stupid and brash… but how is this either one of those?
A few more thrusts and I feel something fill me as he cries out and pounds into me even harsher than before. Slower, but just as pleasuring. Does he even realize that he's doing that? Making me feel so good? I bet he does and that's why he does it, stupid bastard. He always knows.
"Ah...sorry...forgot the condom."
He mumbles into the skin of my back and then falls to his side, leaving me to pant and deal with my own problem, which isn't too hard because I was almost there when he finished. All I have to do now is pump a few times, and then it's over-done with. We can both go our merry ways. But I'm more than certain that he's going to be spending the night again, like always does after a session like this.
I grunt softly and shudder as streams of cum fill my hand and cover my stomach as well as the sheets below. I'll have to change those later when I’m not feeling as drained as I am now. Sex always does that to me even though I supposedly have more stamina than anyone else in Konoha. Why is that? Perhaps Kyuubi doesn't want to interfere-I wouldn't blame him. I don't want any of this fucked up mess either, but it's mine to take and mine to push for more.
I hear footsteps padding a few feet away, and then a towel is shoved in my face. I hadn't even noticed Sasuke had left, but apparently he did.
My face is blank as I take it from him and utter a small 'thanks'. It always sucks to be bottom when you have to do the cleanup. I like falling unconscious better, because then Sasuke always has the courtesy to clean me up when I do. I bet he enjoys it too, the cheeky bastard. In a strange way it makes me want to grin, because that’s all it was in the beginning, when it had first started out. Just friendly comforting and beating each other up to get there. We hadn’t noticed how deeply we had been affected by it until it had been too late.
"You completed your mission then...?"
The sentence is a lot softer than what I expected from Sasuke. He usually acts so normal after this and we both appreciate it. Even though we do this, we're still friends. Is that wrong...? It annoys me that I don't know-the genius who just spilled himself inside me doesn't even know, and that's just as irritating. Isn’t he, be default, supposed to know what’s going on when I don’t?
"...Yeah." I grab the covers and pull them over my waist, pissed off that Sasuke is still mostly dressed and will be able to stay that way while I have to clean all of this shit. "...And what about you? When is your next mission?" I kick off my pants and start to clean up the cum starting to dry on my thighs with the slightly damp towel.
He hesitates, which is something very unusual for him to do. "It's..."
As soon as my legs are clean I start on the last bit that always makes me cringe. "What...?"
He's still at the edge of the bed, he hasn't moved since he brought me my towel. His eyes are downcast, focused on the floor below, fists tightening.
"...I've been assigned an S-rank mission."
My hand freezes.
"Long term. Lady Hokage has estimated it will take half a year, at the least."
I say nothing; just stare blankly ahead of myself.
I take another moment just to process my thoughts. I don't know what I should be feeling, but he’s my friend, so I should be able to worry about it, right? It can't be too abnormal for me to have this gut twisting, heart-wrenching feeling that's clawing at my ribcage, right? And if my stomach feels like it's about to swallow my heart and jump out of my chest, living be damned, that's also completely acceptable, right?
...Right?
I start to clean myself again, wiping away the sweat covering my arms with a different part of the cloth. "When do you leave...?" I hope to whatever deity lives up there that he can't hear the worry and pain lacing my voice, can't see the trembling of my fingertips in the soft cloth. To stop myself and him from seeing, I still my clean-up and rest my elbows on my knees nonchalantly in an off manner.
Again, he hesitates, though it’s hard to tell. "Tomorrow..."
I almost didn't hear him with how low he uttered the word.
"In the morning."
For some reason the wrenching, sinking feeling increases with the knowledge of dawn coming so soon. It's late; we only have a few hours left before I won't be able to see him for six months-or longer. If he even comes back at all. I bite the inside of my cheek, a frown the only thing giving me away.
"I have to go and get ready. Sleep well." He turns and starts to head for the door, his shirt in hand.
A word bubbles up in my throat, blocking my brain waves before I can think about it properly.
"No." And, just like that, I've sentenced myself to something...something that I'm not so sure I regret.
He turns around again to look at me strangely. I blink as the meaning of that small word registers in my mind and then scratch my cheek sheepishly, avoiding his eye as he stares at me a bit incredulously. His eyes only widen a fraction, but I can tell he’s as surprised as I am.
"Um...I mean-you always spend the night any other time we..." I struggle for the right word for a brief second. "...'Get together'." It's all I can come up with when I'm under such an intense stare. Damn Sasuke. Damn him to Hell, and his damn fucking eyes too.
He hesitates for a few seconds, a few minutes, a few hours. I don’t know anymore. All I know is that it’s too long. I turn my head to stare ahead of me as a tense and heavy aura surrounds the room, making my throat dry up. We both know what it means if he stays-what it would imply. And again, I wanted him to pick the most dangerous decision. I want him to stay. But at the same time I want him to say no and make me feel less like a freak. It'd feel weird if he stayed-but then again, I'm already fucked up, aren't I? Finish the job, why don’t I?
"You..." He seems just as much at a loss for words as I am. Lately Sasuke’s become so weird. When had this happened? When had he become so indecisive? The Sasuke I always knew would tell me I was weird, and then walk away. That was normal. That was right. He would leave and wouldn't come back, like what had happened for always and forever.
I can do nothing but stare down at the covers that had just served as a small shield to the sinful activities we'd just done. It makes my head throb to think about it that way, but it helps to not focus on what I was waiting for. Rejection hurts less when you’re expecting, prepared, ready for it to happen.
Rejection-that was that I was waiting to hear. Either way, I lose. Looking at it logically, it didn't matter anymore. I’d get it done and over with, we’d stay friends and he’d come back in six months-maybe I’d reject any advances he would make and we would forget this ever happened. It could go back to the way it was, when we were just…
"...Alright."
My head snaps up almost immediately. That word was something I wasn't expecting, coming far out of left field. I could handle rejection, I could handle an insult, I could handle....anything but that. Anger stabs and pulls at my chest, so I spring up-much to the protests of my body-and grab him by the collar of his shirt so our faces are but a few centimeters away. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my tongue and lips-that’s how close we are, and I want to punch him in the mouth, clench his throat in my fist and-against my own will or not-kiss the living breath out of him. My own thoughts and urges are like a slap to the face, I don’t drop my mask of hate and anger, but I falter for a moment longer than I should have.
"What the hell was that?!" I yell at him. No, he couldn't do this. He couldn't say that. Even though I was the one that had asked, I hadn't expected Sasuke to agree with me.
He looks down, away from me as his eyes search around the floor for something that obviously isn’t there-an answer.
"You can't..." My voice breaks pathetically and my hands drop away from his shirt. A light buzzing is at my fingertips, but I ignore it. "What...?" The buzzing reaches all over my body, seeping into my brain and coating my hearing as his downcast eyes continue to roam the floor. It isn't like Sasuke-he’s bold, he's strong, he isn't hesitant or uncertain when it comes to me, ever. How could this have happened?
"Alright." He mumbles again, a little more sternly; maybe he’s reached his own resolve, one that I don’t want. "Alright.... Naruto!" It's louder, but still as pathetic as I've ever heard it. I don't even think he knows what he's saying anymore. It makes no sense at all, no sense and even so I'm struggling to keep those words in my heart and play them over and over like a childhood nursery rhyme. My name leaving those lips, being acknowledged...in a sense, I find it awkward and ugly considering our activities, but I also find the slight respect and undertones of...something positive in there, pleasing beyond imagination.
And then a heavy silence befalls us again. I don't know what to do; he doesn't know what to do. We're both a couple of morons with absolutely no experience in the field of showing emotions in the form of words. All we know is the violent physical, and that's the only way we'll probably ever know it.
But emotions shouldn't be balled up with-with this. Nothing emotional about fucking each other just to let out some pent up frustrations, fears and tension. It’s like jacking off, or even paying for a slut on some street corner. It was just do it and go. Nothing. Nothing at all should be in this sort of thing. Nothing should have built up behind each orgasm, each penetration, every single feeling of skin-on-skin and gut-wrenching contact, but it did.
Does it mean something more since we're friends...? Rivals?
No, no it doesn’t. That just makes it more convenient for us. We understand each other-know what the other needed and what should be said or not said when doing this sort of thing. This. Is. Nothing.
And the word brings just what it promises. Emptiness.
"...I'm staying." Sasuke words the sentence differently, but it’s still the same, still has the same effect on me. Disbelief crowds my vision as I force out my words, bit by bit, just as I had forced myself into his life and his heart ages ago.
"And what makes you think...that I want you to stay...?" I can't help but whisper. The silence is too strong. Too heavy as it presses down on me and crushes my windpipe to nothing but a small pinpoint.
"I don't know...but I'm going to anyway."
He's trying to lighten the mood, but it's not working. I still feel like my world is going to end if Sasuke walks out of that door, turns his back on me again. But at the same time I'll be happy, glad that it's finally over. I can put it behind me when he's gone and my mind is free to think of other things. I don't think of Sasuke when he's not around me and I don't have to, I don't want to and I will probably do it anyway when I'm relieving the stress that up till a year ago, when he had been forced back, I had been taking care of myself.
"Fine." I turn and go back to plop down on the bed, leaving the covers below me so I don't have to lay in my own mess. I could care less that I'm half naked, what’s the use in humility and bashfulness at this point? "Do what you want."
And he does do what he wants. After he shuts off the light to the bathroom, he walks back to the bed quietly, takes off his shirt that he had tossed back on a little while ago and lays down right beside me, a little too close for my liking. Our skin is touching, and the electric sparks shooting from the contact point only serve to remind me that this is so. Fucking. Wrong.
I don't take any more time to think. All I do is take a last moment to think about Sasuke and his new mission. How I might lose my best friend if it goes wrong, or someone screws up and Sasuke is left to save their sorry ass, risking his own life for someone else. He'd die a hero, but I promise I'll spit on his grave for being so lame. For me being so lame. For letting myself be lame with him and after he’s gone, even though I just got him back.
Because I know I'd be crying too-as fucked up as that sounds. I'd be crying for all I lost in a brother, a friend, a soul just as lonely and empty as I am. I don't know what I'd be crying for, don't know how I'd ever stop the tears from falling from my eyes, how I could never let go of the memories we built in between bed sheets and inside our hearts that never quite reached our minds. Would I be sobbing for lost opportunities? Severed ties? A soul mate?
I don't know what I'd be weeping over, what I'd spend my days thinking about in the darkest recesses of my mind, but the only thing I know for sure is that, the thing that I've been meaning to say is...
I don't know what we are anymore.
My hand weaves its way across the space between us. Maybe not as nonchalant as we would have liked, a hand finds my own.
…but I think I’m willing to find out.
Title: Sinking Euphoria
Rating: M
Summary: A tangle of emotions and feelings that shouldn’t rightfully exist, but I’m in too deep to be able to escape them. SasuNaru/Sasu
Warnings: Angst
A/N: Slaved for five+ days after trashing three or more fics that didn’t work. Hope it turned out alright, even if it turned out more angst than hurt/comfort…
Mod note: Reminder for the author/artist of this submission, please do not reply to comments signed in, if you want to reply anon commenting is enabled.
I'm sitting there, doing nothing as I think--How did it come to this?
I'm not really sure what I mean by how exactly, but it seems that I'm asking this answer-less question despite the fact that I know I won't get a reply. A reply from myself, maybe. But I'm not into getting hollow answers right now. This...this bond that I have with you, this connection that we share-it’s become warped, distorted into something I don't recognize anymore and don't quite know how to describe. It's real, I can see it, but I can't grasp it. I can't hold onto the meaning that it supposedly held when we were kids. But I know it exists, even after all this time, the things we've been through, the shit we've been, it's alive and breathing, just like us. Just like this. But it's slipping away, falling through my mind and easing into nothing like grains of sand in a warm, disastrous blowing desert wind. It's now-and always has been-foreign to me with how close, such a purely friendly brotherly connection we had and now we are in a...confusing situation, to put it in the simplest form I can imagine. I don't think I could come up with something complicated, anyway. I'm smart, I know I'm smarter than I look and act sometimes... but dammit, why can't anything better come to mind? Maybe if I weren't this dense, if I had somehow grown as intelligent as you I'd be able to solve this.
It's just so strange to me that our connection feels, looks, and for all intents and purposes is the same besides when we 'get together', but there's a kind of underlying intensity that thrives only behind the reality that everyone faces and that has no meaning to it at all but to relieve certain...urges, I suppose you would call them. I never had any urge beside the ones to either punch him in the jaw, make some lame attempt--yeah, I know I act lame sometimes, but I can't stop myself before the words fly out and miss their pinpointed targets--at cursing him, or stuffing ten bowls of ramen down my throat at once. It was simplistic, it was nice.
It was normal.
That's really all there is to it, I swear. Just an outlet to make our day jobs better, right? I know he'd agree with me, the cheap bastard. At least, that should be it, and there shouldn't be any more thought put into that, let alone emotions that scream at me to reach out and touch him, feel his skin rub against mine even as we are in the thick heat of battle-somehow the craving rears its ugly head when we are on missions, lying there in our sleep or even talking nonchalantly about the weather and things not related to our frequently frustrating and exhausting assassination missions. The whole time it's the only thing I can think about when I should be focusing on a certain report, battling an especially difficult enemy or even in the throes of our peculiar mannerisms. I want to touch his cheek, his smooth skin as it glistens with sweat and bunches in frustration. I wish I could regain my normal thoughts of beating it senseless instead, maybe then I wouldn't feel like upchucking when I'm supposed to be concentrating, maybe then I wouldn't feel so guilty about smiling at Sakura every day and telling her I was fine... that he hadn't done anything lately, and was the same as always. Maybe then I could grin at her and mean it for once.
I can't help but feel these emotions as the collect in a ball deep inside my chest like a thick knot of guilt, built up and ready to explode as the time spans out and my mind compiles lists of his tiny oddities, the way he blows his bangs out of his face unknowingly when he's nervous. The way he pockets his hands and hunches his shoulders just the slightest when the feeling of anger and isolation creeps to the very core of his being; the way he lets his midnight-dark hair hide his equally dark and compelling eyes when he broods on things he shouldn't be upset over with me at his side, trying to be boisterous and annoying, as usual, to make him forget, force him to talk and get his ass moving and joust him into another pointless argument. The more it happens, the more I pay precious attention to his smallest movements, the more I start to have...more than just friendly thoughts about us, what we do. And him.
I shouldn't care about him like this-not this much.
Why did I have to fight for someone like you?
The worst part, though, the one that I cannot think to be true, even as I lay my head down, fold my arms as a cushion just beneath my head and think on it while pursing my lips in frustration on some nights, is that it hadn't started when we were just normal friends in a brotherly relationship. This...this building up of emotions that always pools between two close-as-kin friends is never normal for us, the concept of family distorted in ways that could never have been normal. And they weren't.
So, the question is, should it be normal at the end if it were never normal to begin with? Ah, I don't think so-but this was not even where these feelings started. These feelings that invade my very consciousness, expanding into indescribably omnipresent cravings started when we chose to help each other with the emotions that we saw were hurting each other with the way they filled our minds to the brim, the way they left no escape. Oh, this all started when we decided that coiling our emotions until they were unrecognizable in the mixed, frayed muck of our minds was the best way to deal with them, and the very sadistic, most painful way to make those things disfigure our nearly erupting passion was to-simply-fuck each other until our dicks bled and asses beamed red with sore skin. That was the way to go. And it was wonderful at first.
It wasn't normal, of course not, because feeling good while fucking your best friend-a man as my figurative brother no less-wasn’t something that anyone should allow. Things have gotten pretty screwed up since that fated confession you gave, calling me your best friend and declaring so bravely-so stoically-that you were going to kill me because of it. What was that supposed to be, anyway? Some weird kink of yours you hadn't voiced? Things being out of the ordinary shouldn't scare me-I’m a shinobi, one of the most skilled in the village-with a fox demon sealed inside me and normal still scares me? Why couldn't I have regular fears like heights, snakes or even the dark? Well, snakes are an obvious no because no one has you for a fuck buddy and gets away with being afraid of snakes. Of course not- why waste an opportunity to leak your chakra while screwing? It hasn't happened much, but it's happened, and it was one of the most stress-relieving nights I've had in a long while, but those are the most difficult to deal with, especially with thoughts of your parted mouth invading my sleep and while I train, when we get close enough in spars to see the small crystalline specks of color fraying his coal eyes. It's a sick thing to think, but I actually like them when they're that close. And what I can revel in is that he never uses his sharingan in fights with me. I can't figure out why, I've yelled and screamed for answers while I enjoyed seeing his nerves visibly pop one by one in his body, but he doesn't give. He never does. Maybe that’s why I rebel so quickly against him.
The only thing that scares me right now is that I'm convinced I'm starting to accept myself with these thoughts-accepting him, but of course he wouldn't know the fear that comes with this sort of feeling...he only thinks of me as a way to relieve his frustration, right? Get his kicks while you can-and it scares me to death. Of course, this always happens to me. Why does it always have to be my fucked up mind that comes to me with these insane ideas, claiming that whenever I'm near my best friend I have to be immediately tense and excited because his aura radiates something that drives me insane? I'm just messed up like that. I'm that screwed already. Isn't there any way to go back?
No, I think despairingly. There's no way.
His voice snaps my mind in two.
"Ugh....want it," His groaning is so desperate, so delicious that it clings to my eardrums with an oily quality. You moan once more before finishing your question. "...mm...deeper?"
No. No I don’t, you selfish asshole. But I almost smirk and taunt him, knowing that from the long wait I'm tight and he wants it--wants me. He's going to be desperate for it and that amuses me. Who would have thought that the Uchiha Sasuke's one weakness was sex? But what do I...
"I...nn....don’t care..." My mouth chooses to open and drawl this instead, moans erupting from the back of my throat and I know that I'm saying this for him, not me... I know he’s asking this for his own, not my benefit. It's such a sickly fair trade that I quiver once beneath his body flexing against my own, hissing when he gets too rough. I don't care as much as I used to for the primal start of these sessions, what it was meant to be from. But ever since a short time ago I've felt it doesn't help any more. In fact, it makes it a hell of a lot worse. If that's possible. I don't really understand or grasp how... it just happened.
The sheets underneath me crinkle as he pounds roughly, unabashedly into me. I can hardly keep my balance, rubbing the palms of my hands into the bed and whispering quickly-shaking my head and elevating my voice at times just because he makes it so goddamn good-things that I can't even begin to understand. It's a rush of things at once, and I'm sure we both don't take the slightest bit of attention toward it. The warm breath rushing back to me from the sheets in front of my face is starting to feel uncomfortable. But I don’t say anything-he doesn’t like to tolerate my idiotism. Goddamn him, any other time I would give him a fist in the face and tell him to get over it, or possibly goad him even more.
I look at my knuckles as they turn a ghostly shade of white in their grip, and think why I can’t manage it now. I know I wouldn't be able to, and the embarrassment wouldn't be worth it in the long run. Better to run with it, right?
"Ungh...!" His hands slide up my hips, body jerking forward roughly. My head swirls and I can't even remember ever having a tighter grip on something my entire life. No wonder my hands are as pale as the sheets they're gripping. For some reason this feels different-something’s not right.
It feels so...so good and mind-blowing that I can't stop myself from moaning deeply and thrusting back onto him desperately, unheedingly, like a lantern in the pitch blackness of Hell. Despite the dull ache it causes, though I'm unsure of the focal point, I grunt and withhold his name leaving my mouth, biting my lips to the point where they become sore. I can't remember if they spill blood or not, I'm not concentrating on that. I can't think it, but I do as my thoughts water before my eyes and they become wavy with tears. Oh, god it feels so good. Was this the Eden we had been searching so desperately for? So wantonly that we had subconsciously searched it out and grasped onto it when it had been discovered? Found right here in the confines of our bedrooms in the middle of the night so no one is to find a clue, a source. No wonder we're addicted like helpless teenagers-there's no way you can let this go, not even if you wanted to.
"Nnn...hah-ah!" My breath hitches as it moves into my throat, caught by the rough panting that’s leaving me and hitting me back in the face. Even to myself my voice sounds craggy and rough, like I had been lost in the scorching heat of the desert for days, months. I almost want to swat the warmth, make it go away, but I restrain the urge and shut my eyes. The sheets are probably soaked with moisture by now, but why the hell am I thinking about that now? My mind wanders too much lately and yet not enough to ignore the hair brushing the back of my neck and the hands at my hips. Anything that's his becomes alight like a beacon on my newly sensitized skin-everything stands out as if it were screaming directly into his nerves, every cell on his body forced to submit to the screeching need that was his friction rubbing against my pliant body. Only my body. Only his.
Think....about something else...or nothing at all. Nothing's good. Don't think about it. Don't think about.... "Ah..." Don't think about how good it feels, how wonderful it feels to be filled by him, how I can't help but love it. Don't think about how I’d love to do this to him sometime, how I would love be more familiar with how it feels like to be the one pounding into a quivering pale body beneath me and love every inch of that tight heat squeezing me into the same submission this causes me. It makes my body ache and my mind lust.
Don’t think.
My mind blanks out, and then all I can think about is the thrusting, the sliding, the way our skin sounds as it slaps together each time he plunges back in. In, out, in. Out. In. Out. In-- I can feel the waves breaking against my consciousness, my very thoughts snapping in two as he forces his way into something that shouldn't want him.
"Ah...! God, fuck...." And then my eyes clamp shut as white flashes in front of them. Waves and waves of pleasure course through my body, making everything worse. It isn't often that he finds that spot, but when he does I usually get lost and give in to my damn emotions like the emotional wreck I am right now.
"Mn....found it...." he breaths a heady sigh, like he's enjoying it too. Bent over me, his lips are touching my skin uncomfortably. I squirm against it slightly, arching my back to get away. The tone sounds sadistic and so husky that it sends a shiver jolting up my spine from the source, the shudder doubled as one of his calloused hands runs up my back to push up my blue jonin shirt further. I was in such a hurry that I didn't even bother with clothes; I just pulled down my cotton pants and gave him free reign. It was already decided long before we began this time that he'd get this position tonight-though it’s the biggest joust to my pride I’ve ever had to endure, I enjoy being bottom more anyway. I was too tired from my mission to do much in the way of pleasing. Call me a bum, I don’t care as long as I get my end of the deal and he doesn’t stop before I get it.
And that reminds me....Oh, so by 'I found it' he means he was looking for it, huh? Well, that explains a lot. But in this current situation I really can't blame him, since today I was the one who asked for it-more like threw him against the wall and plundered his mouth, but it’s basically the same thing. He's trying to make it seem like he’s trying harder to make it good for me. But it confuses me. If he wanted me to feel good, then why not let me top? That's how it's done. Whoever needs it most at the time does the thrusting, while the other is bottom. What kind of man would willingly submit to being submissive though?
It's hard to believe sometimes, but I would.
Why can’t it be simpler? Why do I have to start developing...feelings for this guy? It aches, but I won’t ever admit that. It was friendship before, and that's all I had wanted it to be. But maybe not now. How could we go back to something as simple and meager as that, when we’re doing something that’s meant to be intimate on the highest of levels? When I think about it, it really shouldn’t be that way, not when the two participating parties don’t think of it that way. Just like practice, where battle should always been to protect or to kill, we never really mean any of that at all. And who’s idea was that, anyway? Just because this is what makes the stress go away the fastest, no matter how miniscule, why does it have to be intimate?
How can we go back?
"Ngh....faster...go faster...."
But I can't help but like it. I can't stop. It's an addiction that I need, breathe, taste like air. Sasuke may need it more than me, because in the beginning it was only meant to be a onetime thing-we’d been drunk, he’d been wasted and suddenly his beer soaked lips had been on mine, clumsy hands pushing my jacket down my shoulders and knee put between my legs in an adolescent nature. I’d moaned because I really had no clue what was going on, and Sasuke was pretty enough to be a girl, but he wasn’t and that hard, pressing warmth jabbing into my thigh was a swift reminder of that. But we couldn’t stop. Maybe by then it was already too late.
"Moron..."
He complies to my need but somehow, instead of making it better, it makes it worse. Oh, so much worse. I can already feel the burning in my body from the way he angles himself into me. Pounds into me in a merciless way that makes me forget that this is supposed to be about me this time. I'm quite sure that by the time we're done we'll have each forgotten why we started this, why we're even trying to help each other through whatever is happening-and by this time, I've even forgotten why I've come.
Not of my own will, I push back onto him to meet each of his thrusts. He groans in approval and increases the pace, makes it go deeper. The grip on my hips is almost painful now but I don't care, it only adds to the blinding pleasure. Which is technically something that I should be avoiding in this situation, but I don't really want to think at the moment. I don't want to think about this situation, or how wrong it really is, or how right it feels. Release is all I want, all I should need.
I'm sick, I know. This is the person I consider to be my brother, and yet…
"So...how did your mission...ngh...go?" He asks me as nonchalantly as possible, lifting himself so his breath isn’t fanning on my shoulder and neck, I breathe a sigh of relief. I almost have to chuckle at that, but it’d come out distorted so I refrain again from doing anything of the sort.
"Fine..." I mumble back and grip grab a pillow to bury my face in. He thrusts in a few more times, making me jolt forward. "Now....ahn...stop trying to have a conversation...mm...kinda busy right now…”
"Hah....doing...what...?" His breath puffs out darkly; even though I can't feel it, I can imagine the warmth fanning across my damp skin and intoxicating me with his smell. I feel like an alcoholic, in that I can't get enough of all of his mannerisms and his comments and everything that makes him Sasuke. Sasuke, my best friend.
"Shut up.... you bastard...You know what-I...mean."
He stops for a moment, plunging rhythm halted suddenly. "Geez...what's your problem today? You're not nearly as responsive as you usually are."
I push back again but he still doesn't start. Damn that stupid bastard. I should've taken top today. "I'm not supposed to be responsive....not to another guy."
He gives a shallow thrust; probably just out of instinct and need but it still makes me draw in a deep gasp. "Well...that's just stupid...the whole point is to make it feel good."
"Idiot! It's not supposed to feel good like this! And even thinking like that is just sick, Sasuke!" I yell in annoyance. Like he didn’t know that already. My shoulders hunch in defeat, legs shaking from the lack of movement.
I can't see it from the position I'm in, but I know he's smirking in that completely arrogant way that always annoys me. "So...it feels good, does it?" He grinds himself deep into me, circling his hips. "Even though it's 'sick'?"
I can't see it, but I can damn well hear the quotation marks he's making with his voice.
The fucking starts up again. I refuse to call it anything but that because that's all it is, and I don't want to delude myself anymore. I feel really stupid thinking this way, trying to think that I know exactly what's going on when I don't know a thing; my hands ball into fists. Not even Sasuke does, but that just makes it worse and makes me feel insecure about it. He of all people should already have it in his mindset that this is nothing more but a discharge of the emotions ninja shouldn't have. Sexual urges included.
He moans loudly and pushes deeper and much more sporadically from his earlier pace that I was enjoying. This is good too, but sometimes it's too much, too much that I don't want to elaborate further on. I try to focus on the rough panting drawing breath from both our lungs, but it's hopeless with all of the pleasure filled noises he's making. When it's just breathing I can imagine we're fighting, brawling in an open field or perhaps just on another mission and battling a new enemy. Perhaps we're rolling in the grass, throwing half-hearted punches at each other just in order to achieve some form of contact, nostalgic of the days we spent on Team Seven, but when it sounds as if Sasuke is pouring his very soul into me along with his climax....I just can't seem to keep my thoughts in one piece. God, I love how he sounds when he's that close, though it destroys me completely and utterly. I’m sick.
I usually know what I’m doing, always sure with my decisions even if they’re stupid and brash… but how is this either one of those?
A few more thrusts and I feel something fill me as he cries out and pounds into me even harsher than before. Slower, but just as pleasuring. Does he even realize that he's doing that? Making me feel so good? I bet he does and that's why he does it, stupid bastard. He always knows.
"Ah...sorry...forgot the condom."
He mumbles into the skin of my back and then falls to his side, leaving me to pant and deal with my own problem, which isn't too hard because I was almost there when he finished. All I have to do now is pump a few times, and then it's over-done with. We can both go our merry ways. But I'm more than certain that he's going to be spending the night again, like always does after a session like this.
I grunt softly and shudder as streams of cum fill my hand and cover my stomach as well as the sheets below. I'll have to change those later when I’m not feeling as drained as I am now. Sex always does that to me even though I supposedly have more stamina than anyone else in Konoha. Why is that? Perhaps Kyuubi doesn't want to interfere-I wouldn't blame him. I don't want any of this fucked up mess either, but it's mine to take and mine to push for more.
I hear footsteps padding a few feet away, and then a towel is shoved in my face. I hadn't even noticed Sasuke had left, but apparently he did.
My face is blank as I take it from him and utter a small 'thanks'. It always sucks to be bottom when you have to do the cleanup. I like falling unconscious better, because then Sasuke always has the courtesy to clean me up when I do. I bet he enjoys it too, the cheeky bastard. In a strange way it makes me want to grin, because that’s all it was in the beginning, when it had first started out. Just friendly comforting and beating each other up to get there. We hadn’t noticed how deeply we had been affected by it until it had been too late.
"You completed your mission then...?"
The sentence is a lot softer than what I expected from Sasuke. He usually acts so normal after this and we both appreciate it. Even though we do this, we're still friends. Is that wrong...? It annoys me that I don't know-the genius who just spilled himself inside me doesn't even know, and that's just as irritating. Isn’t he, be default, supposed to know what’s going on when I don’t?
"...Yeah." I grab the covers and pull them over my waist, pissed off that Sasuke is still mostly dressed and will be able to stay that way while I have to clean all of this shit. "...And what about you? When is your next mission?" I kick off my pants and start to clean up the cum starting to dry on my thighs with the slightly damp towel.
He hesitates, which is something very unusual for him to do. "It's..."
As soon as my legs are clean I start on the last bit that always makes me cringe. "What...?"
He's still at the edge of the bed, he hasn't moved since he brought me my towel. His eyes are downcast, focused on the floor below, fists tightening.
"...I've been assigned an S-rank mission."
My hand freezes.
"Long term. Lady Hokage has estimated it will take half a year, at the least."
I say nothing; just stare blankly ahead of myself.
I take another moment just to process my thoughts. I don't know what I should be feeling, but he’s my friend, so I should be able to worry about it, right? It can't be too abnormal for me to have this gut twisting, heart-wrenching feeling that's clawing at my ribcage, right? And if my stomach feels like it's about to swallow my heart and jump out of my chest, living be damned, that's also completely acceptable, right?
...Right?
I start to clean myself again, wiping away the sweat covering my arms with a different part of the cloth. "When do you leave...?" I hope to whatever deity lives up there that he can't hear the worry and pain lacing my voice, can't see the trembling of my fingertips in the soft cloth. To stop myself and him from seeing, I still my clean-up and rest my elbows on my knees nonchalantly in an off manner.
Again, he hesitates, though it’s hard to tell. "Tomorrow..."
I almost didn't hear him with how low he uttered the word.
"In the morning."
For some reason the wrenching, sinking feeling increases with the knowledge of dawn coming so soon. It's late; we only have a few hours left before I won't be able to see him for six months-or longer. If he even comes back at all. I bite the inside of my cheek, a frown the only thing giving me away.
"I have to go and get ready. Sleep well." He turns and starts to head for the door, his shirt in hand.
A word bubbles up in my throat, blocking my brain waves before I can think about it properly.
"No." And, just like that, I've sentenced myself to something...something that I'm not so sure I regret.
He turns around again to look at me strangely. I blink as the meaning of that small word registers in my mind and then scratch my cheek sheepishly, avoiding his eye as he stares at me a bit incredulously. His eyes only widen a fraction, but I can tell he’s as surprised as I am.
"Um...I mean-you always spend the night any other time we..." I struggle for the right word for a brief second. "...'Get together'." It's all I can come up with when I'm under such an intense stare. Damn Sasuke. Damn him to Hell, and his damn fucking eyes too.
He hesitates for a few seconds, a few minutes, a few hours. I don’t know anymore. All I know is that it’s too long. I turn my head to stare ahead of me as a tense and heavy aura surrounds the room, making my throat dry up. We both know what it means if he stays-what it would imply. And again, I wanted him to pick the most dangerous decision. I want him to stay. But at the same time I want him to say no and make me feel less like a freak. It'd feel weird if he stayed-but then again, I'm already fucked up, aren't I? Finish the job, why don’t I?
"You..." He seems just as much at a loss for words as I am. Lately Sasuke’s become so weird. When had this happened? When had he become so indecisive? The Sasuke I always knew would tell me I was weird, and then walk away. That was normal. That was right. He would leave and wouldn't come back, like what had happened for always and forever.
I can do nothing but stare down at the covers that had just served as a small shield to the sinful activities we'd just done. It makes my head throb to think about it that way, but it helps to not focus on what I was waiting for. Rejection hurts less when you’re expecting, prepared, ready for it to happen.
Rejection-that was that I was waiting to hear. Either way, I lose. Looking at it logically, it didn't matter anymore. I’d get it done and over with, we’d stay friends and he’d come back in six months-maybe I’d reject any advances he would make and we would forget this ever happened. It could go back to the way it was, when we were just…
"...Alright."
My head snaps up almost immediately. That word was something I wasn't expecting, coming far out of left field. I could handle rejection, I could handle an insult, I could handle....anything but that. Anger stabs and pulls at my chest, so I spring up-much to the protests of my body-and grab him by the collar of his shirt so our faces are but a few centimeters away. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my tongue and lips-that’s how close we are, and I want to punch him in the mouth, clench his throat in my fist and-against my own will or not-kiss the living breath out of him. My own thoughts and urges are like a slap to the face, I don’t drop my mask of hate and anger, but I falter for a moment longer than I should have.
"What the hell was that?!" I yell at him. No, he couldn't do this. He couldn't say that. Even though I was the one that had asked, I hadn't expected Sasuke to agree with me.
He looks down, away from me as his eyes search around the floor for something that obviously isn’t there-an answer.
"You can't..." My voice breaks pathetically and my hands drop away from his shirt. A light buzzing is at my fingertips, but I ignore it. "What...?" The buzzing reaches all over my body, seeping into my brain and coating my hearing as his downcast eyes continue to roam the floor. It isn't like Sasuke-he’s bold, he's strong, he isn't hesitant or uncertain when it comes to me, ever. How could this have happened?
"Alright." He mumbles again, a little more sternly; maybe he’s reached his own resolve, one that I don’t want. "Alright.... Naruto!" It's louder, but still as pathetic as I've ever heard it. I don't even think he knows what he's saying anymore. It makes no sense at all, no sense and even so I'm struggling to keep those words in my heart and play them over and over like a childhood nursery rhyme. My name leaving those lips, being acknowledged...in a sense, I find it awkward and ugly considering our activities, but I also find the slight respect and undertones of...something positive in there, pleasing beyond imagination.
And then a heavy silence befalls us again. I don't know what to do; he doesn't know what to do. We're both a couple of morons with absolutely no experience in the field of showing emotions in the form of words. All we know is the violent physical, and that's the only way we'll probably ever know it.
But emotions shouldn't be balled up with-with this. Nothing emotional about fucking each other just to let out some pent up frustrations, fears and tension. It’s like jacking off, or even paying for a slut on some street corner. It was just do it and go. Nothing. Nothing at all should be in this sort of thing. Nothing should have built up behind each orgasm, each penetration, every single feeling of skin-on-skin and gut-wrenching contact, but it did.
Does it mean something more since we're friends...? Rivals?
No, no it doesn’t. That just makes it more convenient for us. We understand each other-know what the other needed and what should be said or not said when doing this sort of thing. This. Is. Nothing.
And the word brings just what it promises. Emptiness.
"...I'm staying." Sasuke words the sentence differently, but it’s still the same, still has the same effect on me. Disbelief crowds my vision as I force out my words, bit by bit, just as I had forced myself into his life and his heart ages ago.
"And what makes you think...that I want you to stay...?" I can't help but whisper. The silence is too strong. Too heavy as it presses down on me and crushes my windpipe to nothing but a small pinpoint.
"I don't know...but I'm going to anyway."
He's trying to lighten the mood, but it's not working. I still feel like my world is going to end if Sasuke walks out of that door, turns his back on me again. But at the same time I'll be happy, glad that it's finally over. I can put it behind me when he's gone and my mind is free to think of other things. I don't think of Sasuke when he's not around me and I don't have to, I don't want to and I will probably do it anyway when I'm relieving the stress that up till a year ago, when he had been forced back, I had been taking care of myself.
"Fine." I turn and go back to plop down on the bed, leaving the covers below me so I don't have to lay in my own mess. I could care less that I'm half naked, what’s the use in humility and bashfulness at this point? "Do what you want."
And he does do what he wants. After he shuts off the light to the bathroom, he walks back to the bed quietly, takes off his shirt that he had tossed back on a little while ago and lays down right beside me, a little too close for my liking. Our skin is touching, and the electric sparks shooting from the contact point only serve to remind me that this is so. Fucking. Wrong.
I don't take any more time to think. All I do is take a last moment to think about Sasuke and his new mission. How I might lose my best friend if it goes wrong, or someone screws up and Sasuke is left to save their sorry ass, risking his own life for someone else. He'd die a hero, but I promise I'll spit on his grave for being so lame. For me being so lame. For letting myself be lame with him and after he’s gone, even though I just got him back.
Because I know I'd be crying too-as fucked up as that sounds. I'd be crying for all I lost in a brother, a friend, a soul just as lonely and empty as I am. I don't know what I'd be crying for, don't know how I'd ever stop the tears from falling from my eyes, how I could never let go of the memories we built in between bed sheets and inside our hearts that never quite reached our minds. Would I be sobbing for lost opportunities? Severed ties? A soul mate?
I don't know what I'd be weeping over, what I'd spend my days thinking about in the darkest recesses of my mind, but the only thing I know for sure is that, the thing that I've been meaning to say is...
I don't know what we are anymore.
My hand weaves its way across the space between us. Maybe not as nonchalant as we would have liked, a hand finds my own.
…but I think I’m willing to find out.