(no subject)

[sy_fanfiction]

Fandom: Naruto
Title: Honeysuckle Gamble
Author: qismat_qami
Warnings: AU, Slash/Yaoi, dark!fic, gambling, mind-f*ckery(?), prostitution
Pairings: Gaara/Naruto, very brief unexplored Sasuke/Naruto
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Owned by Kishimoto Masashi, et al.
Summary: "I saw a creature, naked, bestial/Who, squatting upon the ground/Held his heart in his hands/And ate of it."


::Honeysuckle Gamble::

I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter - bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."

--In the Desert, Steven Crane--

~One~

"Hey, mister, even or odd?" the boy asks brightly, head cocked to the side, riotous blond hair spilling over his tanned face. Blue-blue eyes spark with humor and defiance. Strong fingers curl about the black ceramic gambling cup as he holds it, mouth down, upon the red lacquered plank resting between his spread thighs, thighs that strain with the precarious tilt of his half-crouched, half-sprawled body upon the tatami mat.

The customer gulps audibly, dark eyes tracking to the shadowed hint of flesh barely concealed by the rucked up hem of the boy's short orange yukata. The man licks his lips and digs blunt fingers into his knees. Sweat from more than the desert heat slides down his brow. The boy's thighs spread a little more, his pelvis pushes up. The cloth slides.

"O-Odd!"

The cup pulls back, the dice revealed.

"Sorry, mister. It's even."

The breath Gaara doesn't even know he's been holding flees his mouth at the pronouncement. With a cold glare he watches the man slump in defeat, his purse a little lighter now. The blond grins and catches the loyal bone dice up between his middle and ring fingers to bestow a light kiss upon each, virtue once again safe.

Blue eyes alight with mischief the blond turns to give Gaara an easy grin.

"Want to place a bet, Kazekage-sama?"

~Two~

Beneath a bower of sweet honeysuckle, a blond child his own age plays a game of chance with adult men. He watches, mouth dry, as each bet is set, as small fingers dexterously toss bone dice into a dark red cup, as the men moan out their answers-and lose. Champagne laughter, effervescent and careless, fills the gloaming as another comes and another leaves.

Behind him his brother slurs something drunken and complementary to the dark-haired courtesan dotting upon him. Gaara tugs at his shaggy red hair and wonders how something-someone-so painfully bright can exist in this place.

~Three~

A five and three rest there, pale sides shouldered together, black circles undeniable.

"You've won again," the blond says, setting the gambling cup aside. A silent laugh curls in the corners of his mouth as he taps the dice affectionately upon their upraised faces.

Even.

Gaara knows his win and the other's loss have nothing to do with chance. Konoha's former number-one courtesan cannot be defeated in such a petty game-unless he wills it.

The boy shrugs, letting the yukata fall away from his shoulders. A light gloss of perspiration covers his smooth, honey-dark chest. The stud in his left nipple glints.

Gaara's fists clench at his sides.

~Four~

Four years have passed and still he cannot forget that child, nameless and smiling, as he plied his trade in the lush, twilight-shadowed courtyard of Konoha's famous brothel. Honeysuckle delicately perfuming the air, red lanterns dancing upon dipping lines, laughter like nothing he's ever heard before, that one night burns inside him. It's the first time he has wanted to dig his teeth into something and find sweetness beneath fragile flesh and muscle.

Four years and they meet for the first time. No longer children.

The blond wipes away the spatters of crimson upon his chakra-scarred cheek with the heel of his hand. The blue-blue lamps of his eyes catch fire under the gaze of the full moon as he lets his white paper parasol dip to the side.

"That surprised me," he says, smiling, unconcerned by the mangled, groaning lump of human meat and bone that has just fallen at his feet.

The sand hisses, rising and falling, hungry, hungry, hungry, about Gaara as he lands upon the pavement, the soon-to-be corpse between them.

He can feel the demon, can feel the moon, moving inside his head. But he can smell the boy, smell him through the bile of crushed organs and exposed marrow, taste him through the mist of blood and thicker things falling around them. Sweet and animal and right here before him.

He reaches out, the sand gathering, eager, so very, very eager. Are you bright on the inside as well? If I split you open, will daylight pour out upon the pavement?

"Here," the blond boy says, pulling out a small peach-colored cloth from the sleeve of his elaborate orange and blue kimono and offering it to him. A handkerchief. "You can return it to me later, ne?"

~Five~

The sand shifts restlessly about the room, moaning and murmuring to itself.

"Ah, it's too much," the blond boy whispers, dragging sharp nails down his spine and laughing. "It's too much."

Gaara presses his nose into the fragrant, sweat-sticky curve of the boy's neck and pants. Strong legs curl about his waist as the lean, hard body beneath his shudders delicately. Even spent, he can't stop moving. Can't stop the small thrusts of his pelvis against the other's, smearing tacky, pungent fluids between.

Warmth bleeds into him from the sated, supine form below. He wants to be closer.

The blond grunts inelegantly as Gaara sets his teeth into the yielding flesh of his shoulder.

All he tastes is bitter iron and salt.

~Six~

"My wager is this," the boy tells him, smile mischievous, eyes glowing, as he tugs at the twisted length of the white fundoshi pressing into his left hip. He slips the tips of his fingers beneath the strip of cloth, as if to slide it off, and then stops. "I haven't lost yet."

Gaara's green eyes remain locked upon the provocative hint of the other boy's undergarments. The demon chortles with incoherent rage, driving the blood-throb heartbeat in his ears to a greater fervor. His skin feels too tight, too hot. He needs to lash out, but he can't move, can't look away. His fist clenches tightly upon the soiled handkerchief in its grip.

The waning moon spills down upon them, turning the buttery light of the lanterns into silver ghosts.

"What will you bet, danna-sama?"

He doesn't understand. What is this? Is this pain? Is this…?

His temples throb; the scar upon his brow swells and aches. Sweat gathers in the creases of his palms. Saliva, thick and metallic, sticks his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

The other boy shifts, leaning closer, and too, too bright to even look at.

"What will you bet?" he repeats, gentle and friendly, as if Gaara's a small and precious thing that needs coaxing. A honeysuckle blossom drifts down between them, impossibly sweet and fragile.

"This," Gaara says, voice dead, and doesn't realize until the blond courtesan tosses the dice into the cup that he is gripping the cloth over his heart.

~Six~

It hurts.

It hurts watching them. Together. His blond and the Konoha representative.

He can feel their history in the way their bodies bend towards one another with familiarity as they walk through Suna's dusty streets, as the blond laughs and handles his dice with expert carelessness when they retire to his small house. Will he lose? Gaara wonders. His teeth grind together; the sand surges in the gourd strapped to his back.

His scar hurts. His heart hurts.

The blond boy slams the cup down upon the gaming plank and grins boldly at the dark-haired boy sitting opposite. "Even or odd, Sasuke?"

~Seven~

Salve-wet fingers tangle with his own and guide them down between sweat-glisten thighs and then back.

"Gently," the hot, breathless voice in his ear says. The tip of his middle finger finds a soft, puckered ridge. Instincts take over. Tight, he thinks blankly. Warm, too. "Gently."

The raw, animal smell of the other fills him, pushing the demon aside, and he drowns in the feel of another's slick skin moving against his. He doesn't understand, even as tight, tight heat clamps rhythmically upon his trapped finger. His hips rise jerkily, wanting, wanting something. He aches. He hungers.

"My first patron," the blond sighs, mouthing a wet line down his perspiring jaw. "That's it."

Two fingers now. Even.

He watches, green eyes shocked and wide, as the other shifts and moans above him, face sliding in and out of the shadows dripping down upon them. Then the blond rolls away, forcing Gaara's fingers out. A strange, pinching sensation explodes in his chest. Familiar, sweetly metallic rage churns in the pit of stomach.

Growling, incensed, he lashes out, fingers digging into soft skin. The other boy laughs with starburst-effulgence as he's pulled back through the night and into Gaara's arms.

"Gently," he chides.

And…

Everything goes white.

Tight, again, tight and hot and slick and deep. Inside. Deep inside.

His pelvis thrusts up against the weight straddling him. The blond gasps sharply, fingernails scoring across Gaara's naked chest. Oh, that's…

"Good. Inside. Yes," the blond says, laughing excitedly and moving, moving in a way that has Gaara gasping and pushing up, up into the heat and the tightness.

Something is…

Something is…

~Eight~

A wave of sand smashes into the cup, tossing it against the sandstone wall of the blond's modest dwelling. Black ceramic cracks, shatters. Bone dice roll out across the rough wood floor only to be swallowed up in a second cataract.

Red crawls across Gaara's sight. The demon cackles in his brain. Panting, swaying on his feet, the Kazekage faces down the two other boys. The dark-haired interloper rises, hand upon his chokutou. The blond casts Gaara a curious if reproachful look and thrusts his hand into the sand piled up by the wall.

Fist tightly closed upon that which he seeks, the blond turns and holds out his closed hand to the redhead. He smiles gently, eyes twin blue flames, "Odd or even?"

~Nine~

Two years gone, lost to dust and time, and now the boy stands before him in a plain orange yukata. The scent of honeysuckle and warm animal life drifts through Gaara's sparsely appointed office. His guards tense as the blond reaches into the simple sash wrapped around his waist.

He holds two dice between his middle and ring fingers and grins widely, all strong white teeth and flashing blue-blue eyes.

"Care to play a game, Kazekage-sama?"

~Ten~

Long tan fingers uncurl, unveiling the prize inside.

"You lose," the blond says softly, tenderly.

All air leaves his lungs. All strength abandons his legs. The demon plunges into deathly silence beneath the painful ringing in his ears. He chokes on nothing. Staggering back into the doorjamb, tearing at the dark scar above his eye.

This can't…

He can't…

Everything hurts. It hurts!

"That means I can have it, right?"

Warm fingers sweep over his blood-fled face, stopping to lovingly trace over his bottom lip. Then they plunge down, dragging over his convulsively swallowing throat, his clavicle and finally stopping over…

"Your heart, I can have it, can't I? Even though it's always been mine."

~End~

A/N: for eldestmiddle. Well, I sort of fulfilled the quickie request… Okay, not really, but I blame the poem for warping my mind and carrying it off into realms unknown.

Here's a question for you all: is the ending a happy one for Gaara or not?

For the Brave: List of My Fics

Note: I friend anyone back who friends me on my main journal, qismat_qami. So no need to ask :)