- Fulfillment -
"You're my heroin. In this moment I'm lonely fulfilling my darkest dreams."
Forever, Papa Roach
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my writing.
Rating: M for themes and language.
The air tonight was harsh, a thick billow like pollution that filled his lungs each time he inhaled, every time deeper than the last.
The anticipation was creating unintentional anxiety within the young man, hands grasping the fabric of his pants tight in his bruised fits, bearing his knuckles as they turned white.
Shadows dripped down the wall he was sitting on, settling at the base. None were what he was waiting for.
The shadow he was looking for belonged to a human. A man. A man who blurred the lines of love and hate in him until they had blurred and become something that would make a mother ashamed of her son.
Closing his eyes, he let the memories slip in - various people, various times, various events.
"You're out of your mind," the blonde boy told him, wiping blood from his mouth hastily as he stood back up, ready to throw another punch. "Where the fuck did you go?"
"Where did I go?" he retorted, on the verge of laughing. "Who were you looking for all this time? Obviously you haven't found him."
"No, I haven't!" The younger man cried, eyes wide and darkening. "You left and took the good part of you with when you did. Now...now...
...you're just a screwed up son of a bitch!"
He had laughed at that statement before proceeding to shove a ball of writing, screeching lightning into the pit of the other man's stomach, watching him choke on blood as it rose from his core and spilled from his mouth.
It amazed so many, the fact that their future leader had been knocked on his ass by who was now the village's most revered missing nin. Death had created his motives, death had driven his departure, and death had earned him his title and the fear of all those people.
Death. It had become a sick fascination, one that he reveled in gleefully. Perhaps his former friend and ally was right.
Maybe he had lost his mind.
Throwing his head back, he laughed audibly, allowing his mad cackling to echo around him. He could care less who heard the sickening sounds of his laughter, pitch and repetition similar to the snickers of a hyena.
Then again, how could he be anything less? The hellish pattern that was his past, his present, and his future had begun at a fairly young age. Pressure. Neglect. Murder. Stalking. Molestation. Identity crisis. Power. Retribution. Rebirth.
Everything that had once broken him down led to who he built himself to be, the strength that now pulsated through him.
Tragedy. This life was a novel written by a disturbed man living in a broken home at the edge of a cliff.
His actions in this life were disturbing, but he'd done something much worse in a past life to be living this.
Kami...
The air had thinned and begun streamlining into his lungs with each inhalation. The sudden relief created the delusion of a high, and he let himself fall back into his memories.
Blood.
Crimson red blood on his hands, his face, streaming down the corners of his mouth.
Blood.
On his face, on his hands, dripping a cut in his head.
That smile - satisfactory, forced, full of regret.
He knew every time he lied - knew it because he knew him. As kids, he had analyzed him, idolized him - fuck, he had practically worshiped him.
The concept made him think; had the disturbances over time created this, or had the sickness always been there? Was he predisposed to it? Was something awry in his genetics? Something that made his concepts of right and wrong blur until he was no longer sure which was truly right and which was wrong?
This fascination...was it wrong?
The shadow appeared, a black figure stretching up the wall and moving horizontally along it.
The moment he had been waiting for was here.
It would be uncharacteristic of him to make a quick move; and why would he? He was the sort to play with his food before he ate it.
Obsidian eyes glinted crimson for a moment - the crimson of the blood he could still taste at the corners of his mouth, on his tongue.
Years. And yet the memory stayed fresh in his mind. The young male fell asleep to the comforting thoughts each night.
Some feet below the figure passed by where he was perched, failing to notice where he sat among the foliage that lie atop the decaying wall.
It was time.
Pushing himself off the wall, he landed effortlessly on both feet and one hand. Standing erect, he felt a familiar rush of anxiety; the anticipation was becoming unbearable. It had been months that he had been plotting this moment, following him every night just to live it, to revel in it.
Death couldn't keep them apart. The only way either of them would truly part from this world would be to do so together.
He was quickly losing his patience and increased his speed from a brisk walk to a light jog.
It had been so long, and finally, the time had come.
Finally.
It was at the edge of a small lake the figure had stopped, gazing at his own reflection in the ripples the breeze created. Cherry blossoms drifted down from the trees surrounding the water, a telltale sign of spring.
The season of rebirth.
He approached him slowly, knew fair well he was aware of the presence looming eerily behind him. The man whose posture was already picturesque stood straighter still and addressed the one following him.
"Sasuke."
The sound of his name, that voice, caused something within him to snap. Nerves overtook him, making him reconsider his intentions.
No.
Not after this long.
A disgruntled smile stretched across his lips, opening the cut atop his bottom, blood forming in a line against the raw skin.
"Itachi..." his voice came out in more of a whisper than he'd intended, hoarse.
Before the older man could make a move, he had swiftly moved to stand behind him and proceeded to hover there. In his mind, this had been planned out moment by moment. He had reevaluated this a multitude of times, contemplated his actions methodically. He had spent hours, days, months determining where this would go and now he was frozen, standing behind his prey like someone had just stabbed him in the back.
"How many nights, Sasuke?" The older man inquired, making no movement whatsoever. "All the nights you spent lingering, and yet you just stand there as if it was all you intended to do."
He had known. He had known, and he should have figured that.
"I intend to do what I came here for," he hissed, eyes flashing a malevolent red.
"Then do it."
Itachi had always challenged him, pushed his limits, and made him question every action and think it over while he had the time. Even now the younger of the two found himself thrown back into this predicament, contemplating his next move.
He sheathed the sword he held in his hand, and instead took a different route altogether - walking closer still, he slid his arms around the older mans torso and rested his head on his back.
The elder did not so much as blink.
It was an art he had perfected, his lack of emotion. It was an art he hated - Sasuke desired to see the pain in his eyes after the pain he had been put through, even after knowing the truth.
It mattered not.
"You never cease to surprise me," Itachi commented flatly, still as ever. "What is it you want?"
A sudden streak of sadism broke through his sincerity, and without two thoughts he pulled a kunai from his side and pressed it to the older man's jaw.
"Fulfillment," he answered, an unstable smile crawling on his lips like disease. As he said it, he ran the blade into the other male's skin, drawing a line of blood that bubbled up and began leaving a trail down to his neck.
Itachi didn't so much as move as he dragged the kunai next across his neck, drawing more blood, and then proceeding to do so to his shoulder. All the while the younger man had a firm grasp about his waist.
It was the perfect game, and Sasuke enjoyed every moment of it. As he dug the tip of the blade into his brother's cheek, he leaned forward and ran his tongue along the blood the cut produced.
Death. Blood lust. Hell, he was borderline incestual, which furthermore made him bisexual.
Something had gone wrong in his head long ago, and he had yet to find the cure.
Before him his brother stood still, his perfect porcelain doll.
"You're my favorite toy, you know?" He breathed, feeling the blood as it dried on his lips, inhaling in a way that produced a wheezing sound. "I love you."
He received silence as a reply, and nuzzled his face comfortably into the crook of his neck.
If he could never be as good as him, he might as well be him, and this is the closest it could get.
Sharing their blood - figuratively, and literally.
"I love you..."
My mind is especially screwed up tonight, just because it can be.
Most of you will over-think this; let me just say I'm not that twisted. If it's not included, blatantly or hinted, it's not implied.
The most fucked up thing in this story is the implications of Orochimaru.
That's self-explanatory...
Review? Please?
It drives me nuts if people favorite and don't review.