A/N: I can't believe it; I'm actually posting yaoi. But it's my friend's birthday today, and since this is the friend who introduced me to fanfiction, I really can't complain. Happy birthday, SweatDrop, and as always, I owe you my life.

By the way, this is not supposed to be a realistic depiction of war in any way. Also, I don't know how this one-shot got so long (6,250 words) when all I really needed to make my friend happy was mindless NaruSasu smut. I guess I just have a tendency to ramble on when I have angst to work with. Enjoy.

Sleeping With The Enemy

"Damn it," Sasuke curses as a stray bullet grazes his uniform. He's lucky it leaves no more than a scratch, though he is far past the point of being grateful for anything in this wretched world—good or bad.

The bombs rain down and the machineguns are fired. Sasuke is currently on standby but being idle has never agreed with him, so he takes a cautious walk along the barren outskirts, noting the degradation of the land. It's been years of seemingly meaningless hardship and bloodshed and still the war rages on. "What a pitiful world this is," he mutters coldly to himself.

"Watch out!"

Sasuke barely has time to turn around before a barrage of grenades and bullets enters his line of sight and on pure instinct, he runs—because one thing he has been taught is how to recognise a lost cause when he sees one.

Soon, the screams die out behind him, though that doesn't put an end to his unrest. There will be other chances, and any one of those could swallow him whole. Little does he realise, he's running straight towards enemy territory. There, all bets are off.

But he keeps running—and it's at times like these when he reflects and ponders the reason why he's here again.

"Where are you going, Itachi?" Sasuke asked curiously as he watched his elder brother pack his belongings into one light, khaki bag.

"I'm going to fight for our country," answered the stoic male. He sealed his baggage and walked over to look Sasuke in the eye. "There's a chance I may not come back," he warned. "In that case, remember this: don't ever lose faith in this country. I'm not asking you to risk your life for it—frankly, I don't want you to, because I'm sure you have a much brighter future ahead of you. But, please, don't turn your back on it; it's the best we've got."

Sasuke didn't like the sound of that. He didn't like to think that his one and only brother wouldn't be returning home. But he nodded and tried to smile nonetheless. "Okay, Itachi. I'll keep that in mind."

The morning after, Sasuke stood in front of his parents to see his brother off. He hadn't planned on making fuss, but somewhere into the farewell, he lost control of his emotions and was soon clinging to his brother's leg, refusing to let go. "Don't leave, Itachi! I don't want you to go!"

Itachi reached down to pat Sasuke's head, and the boy's grip loosened as he looked up into his brother's eyes. "It'll all work out," Itachi assured. "Don't worry."

Sasuke nodded and sniffed back his tears, slowly and reluctantly freeing Itachi from his hold. "Mm, okay," he mumbled.

Itachi leant down to kiss the boy's forehead. "Don't worry about me," he said again, before turning his back and walking away, further and further out of his family's reach.

And that was to be the last time Sasuke saw him alive.

Sasuke has never forgotten that conversation he had with Itachi—almost their last—and it's what replays in his head every time he begins to wonder, Why the fuck am I doing this again? He knows Itachi told him not to put his life on the line like he did, but there's an undeniable part of him that craves to defy the command—the part of him that hates Itachi for dying and leaving him behind.

It's that very same part that drives him to the border between no man's land and the other side. He's not suicidal—or, at least, he's not too passionate about it or else he could've spat the dummy and ended up six-feet under in the blink of an eye by now—but sometimes it sure looks like it. Truth be told, he simply doesn't care.

That's why it's mere self-preservation instinct kicking in when he dodges yet another onslaught of flares and ammo. He's not stupid or suicidal enough not to run. But, between flashbacks and flashguns, he slips. Next thing he knows, he's on the ground, teeth gritted together in pain. He's hit his head—by what, he doesn't know and frankly doesn't care—and he's losing his grip on reality as his senses become a mess and it takes all he has to recognise a vague figure of a soldier heading his way. Had he been in better condition, he would have been cautious and apprehensive, but right now, he has not the capacity to feel even mildly curious.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" The voice is unfamiliar and far-off to Sasuke, who barely even hears the words.

And then it all blurs away, and all Sasuke can do is curse as he unknowingly falls into unconsciousness. Shit, shit, shit…

After Itachi left home, Sasuke was constantly in a state of worry. He worried all through the following days, then weeks, then months, anxiously anticipating each and every letter his brother sent. After a while, they stopped coming, and Sasuke worried all the more.

"Why hasn't he written?" he asked his mother one day, pulling on her sleeve and pleading for an answer. It was a silly thing to do, as she was just as uneasy as he was.

He never got a reply, just the sounds of his mother's sobs muffled behind the palm of her hand.

One day, a few months later, his worrying ceased. Or rather, it took on a different form: grief.

His brother had been killed.

At first, he was devastated. He spent days locked in his room, shaking and crying. But then, he found that to be too much to bear, so he turned his sorrow to anger and blamed his brother for what had happened.

"Why, Itachi? Why?" he'd murmur to himself. "How could you let them get to you so easily? Why didn't you fight back? Why didn't you survive?"

And yet, that still hurt. He didn't know what to do anymore. So he took his resentment and his grief and buried them deep into the recesses of his mind, determined to carry on, even if he was all alone.

The next day, he walked out of his room with no emotion coating his features. His parents were alarmed but said nothing.

"We're making preparations for your brother's funeral," his mother informed him, expecting a tearful reaction from her son—one that never came.

"Good," he said instead, curt and cold. "Now, what's for breakfast?"

The transition from distant nothingness into sharp awareness is disorienting. Sasuke feels an acute pang in his head as he attempts to lift it from the depths of oblivion. Moreover, he has lost his sense of time and location completely, unable to pinpoint where he might be.

"Ugh… Where am I?" His voice is sore in his throat as he rubs his eyes, his cramped surroundings a bewildering blur of dull colour and dim lighting.

"So you're awake."

And suddenly, he's on his guard again. His vision clears and the fuzzy details of his surrounds hone into what they really are: a military tent. It's much smaller than the ones he's used to—he later discovers this is because the occupant doesn't like company and company doesn't like him—and in the corner sits a young male, around his age, sporting a mess of bright blond hair and the uniform of the enemy. Sasuke's hand instinctively goes to his side for a weapon but comes up empty.

"Here." An object is tossed at him and he catches the offending rifle with poise and precision. He raises a brow.

"Should I be saying thanks?"

The other man—or rather, boy, by the way he carries himself with such inattention—gives a shrug. "You should be. I just saved your butt."

Sasuke looks off to the side and grudgingly mutters, "Thanks." Then it hits him. "Wait, why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you save me?"

"Well, I had two choices," the boy explains. "Either I could've killed you or I could've brought you back. And since I consider it a coward's job to shoot a man when he's down, I went with the latter."

"You could've just left me and walked away."

"I don't walk away," the boy says, unwavering.

Sasuke glares at the young man in distaste. "Who the hell are you?"

The boy almost smiles. "Just call me Naruto. It's a pleasure to meet you, too…"—he trails off, waiting for a reciprocal introduction.

"Sasuke," is the snickered response.

"Great. Sasuke," says Naruto. "So, what do you say we play a game?"

"Why don't you just kill me now?" Sasuke all but whines, albeit sardonically.

"Is that what you really want?"

"Yes."

"Then forget it," Naruto dismisses. "I'm not going to give you what you want."

"Bastard," Sasuke mutters.

"I heard that."

"Good."

"Oh, come on; be a good sport and let's have some fun." Naruto approaches slyly from his position in the corner. Sasuke raises a brow, not quite sure what to make of it.

"Fun?" he questions.

"It gets boring around here sometimes, don't cha think? So why don't we spend some time doing something a little more enjoyable?" Naruto suggests, a wry smile on his face. "Forget teams and forget sides. Forget losing and forget winning. Forget all about death and war and everything else you've come to know in the past however many years it's been. Let's just do this while we can—no strings attached."

But there are always strings attached—to everything we do, every decision we make. Sasuke doesn't realise this at the time. "No strings attached, huh?"

He has admittedly grown quite jaded with this same old scenery. He never dared sully his pride and dignity with any of the other men on his side—though he has had quite the few offers to choose from, not to mention the disturbing advances from his commander—but this… this is different.

"No strings attached," the boy assures, hands held up in a carefree manner.

Sasuke believes him—and that's where it all starts.

Sasuke's parents did everything to try and get him to open up after Itachi's death. They were afraid to push it too far but they were more afraid that Sasuke would come to lose faith in humanity altogether.

They tried talking to him, they tried sending him to talk to other people—professionals—and they tried telling him it was okay to cry.

Nothing worked. And by the time Itachi's funeral rolled around, Sasuke had shut himself out from everyone and everything around him. There was nothing else they could do.

It's been a while since he's done this. His breath catches and exhales in ragged puffs as he battles the urge to turn back and call this all a huge mistake—which it probably is. But Naruto's eyes are on him, hungry and eager, and he can't seem to bring himself to let them down.

The uniforms they are forced to wear on the battlefield are hefty and coarse, so it is in ways a relief when he feels the clothing being removed, piece by piece, from his person. He just tries not to think too hard about who's doing it.

He shivers as the air hits his skin. It doesn't go unnoticed, and the issue is quickly remedied as he feels another body of flesh press up against his own. He doesn't know when Naruto found the chance to rid himself of his own apparel but that's hardly the primary thought in his head at this time, as a blissful heat begins to gather itself beneath the surface of his skin, pooling in a certain area that hasn't gotten any attention in months—no, years.

That prickly warmth suddenly becomes like a fire inside him as he feels a hand on said region, gentle at first and then building up to a more forward velocity. Naruto's fingers work him pleasingly and willingly, hyping them both up for what they know is to come. He succumbs to the sensation, his back arching against the brittle groundsheet of the tent.

"Seems like you're ready," Naruto notes. He looks down at himself. "And so am I."

With that, Naruto draws their bodies closer together, his bulging member lingering at Sasuke's entrance, where he can distinguish the juices of Sasuke's arousal already seeping out and making his treasures appear all the more enticing.

"Just do it already," Sasuke commands impatiently.

And so he does.

Sasuke lets out a scream. There's no need to suppress it—anyone who hears will just pass it off as another casualty on the battlefield they don't have to worry about. Naruto knows the pain will subside, so he doesn't bother to ease the pressure. He moves in, then out, then in—deeper—and then out again. It's tight and taut, as if protesting the hasty intrusion, but Naruto carries on, increasing his intensity with each and every push and pull. Turns out, that's still not enough for Sasuke.

"Naruto," he moans, long and breathless.

"Yes?"

"Harder, damn it."

"Who are you to tell me what to do?"

"I have a gun," he points out, remembering the rifle still by his side.

"Ooh, scary—but you seem to be a little occupied at the moment to use it," Naruto counters. Both men's sentences are punctuated with grunts and moans, which make it quite the interesting little tiff.

Sasuke is about to argue back but the words escape him as his lips decide to produce another moan instead, set off by Naruto's movements that—despite their little mid-sex quarrel—have grown considerably harder and more forceful. He doesn't attempt to speak anymore; he is, as Naruto said, a little occupied at the moment.

His moans grow louder and deliberate, becoming like desperate pleas of lust. His hands yearn for something to do, so he weaves them both into Naruto's unkempt blond hair and pulls him closer.

Naruto doesn't like being controlled—especially at times like this—so he begins to thrust out more potently and it quickly becomes like a battle between the two soldiers, each one trying to get his own way.

Damn you… Sasuke internally curses. But, deep down, there's a part of him thinking, Huh, this isn't so bad…

He doesn't listen to that voice, of course, as he begins to meet Naruto halfway and they both unknowingly send each other over the edge. The heat and pressure and tension coiling inside them are converted into sheer, utter pleasure, and they ride it out for all it's worth, Naruto not even complaining about how tightly and close Sasuke has him by the head.

Soon after, Naruto finishes and pulls out, leaving Sasuke to wipe away the mess and pull his uniform back on. Once that's done as thoroughly as he can under the circumstances, Sasuke eases open the door of the tent, looks both ways to ensure the coast is clear, and then cautiously sinks one foot out into the grubby soil.

His departure is held off a few seconds more by an unexpected question from behind him—inside the tent. "Will you be back?"

"Sure," he answers without thought. He leaves, and believes it is for the last time.

And yet, somehow, he finds himself back at the same shabby lodgings the next day. He ducks inside as quickly as he can, for fear that he may be spotted if he dawdles in open range amidst his enemies. In a way, he's grateful for the burden—as it gives him no chance to turn back.

He steps into the confined space and the first thing he sees is Naruto. The boy is lying on his back with his arms behind his head, his eyes inconspicuously watching the door of the tent. When he hears Sasuke enter, he sits up. There's a smug grin on his face; he seems to have had no trouble sleeping the night before. Sasuke briefly wonders how anyone could be so relaxed considering the state of affairs outside, but then Naruto speaks, and his words are an utter contradiction of his face and tone: "I didn't think you'd come."

And Sasuke can't help but snicker. "Liar."

"You know, I could turn you in to my commanding officer right now. Kakashi's been on my back for months about doing something useful for our team." Ironically, this statement is quickly followed by Naruto brushing his lips along Sasuke's jaw in a lustful caress.

"You could," Sasuke allows, "but you won't."

"Don't get too ahead of yourself there." And yet, he's running his fingers down Sasuke's front, his lips following close behind.

It's been going on like this for a while now. At first, Sasuke was genuinely worried by Naruto's threats, but he quickly realised they were no more substantial than empty promises. Sasuke figures this is Naruto's way of maintaining the control he seems to believe he has: by toying with the only one who's willing to go along with his silly, childish games. In any case, Sasuke plays along, giving Naruto the reassurance he craves whilst still reminding him they both stand on the same ground.

The pattern is always the same: Naruto giving Sasuke another reason to leave; Sasuke giving Naruto another reason he won't.

"You're the enemy…"

"…as well as your lover."

"You don't belong here…"

"…except I belong with you."

"I could kill you…"

"…but you'd rather kiss me."

Sasuke never thought death threats could ever serve as any kind of turn-on, but—surprisingly—they could. He never thought it possible to make love to the background noise of bombshells and machineguns, either, but—evidently—he was wrong. Who knew? Certainly no one has ever tried, though it eases Sasuke's guilt just slightly if he makes himself believe otherwise.

Why do you keep coming back? Naruto has never actually said the words out loud, but Sasuke can read it in his eyes.

Sasuke's glad he's never had to give an answer—because, in all honesty, he doesn't have one.

Sasuke still remembers his brother's funeral as if it was just yesterday.

"I want to be like him when I grow up," he told his parents. "I want to fight for what he believed in."

"But is it what you believe in?" his mother asked gently, saddened by the prospect her second son may meet the same fate as the first.

"All I ever believed in is gone," he muttered softly, coldly, as he looked over to where his brother's grave now lay.

As promised, the day he came of age, Sasuke brought home the forms, and his parents looked on helplessly as they watched their son sign away his soul.

"Do you ever leave this damn tent?"

Naruto shrugs, though it's a moot action considering his position behind—and inside—Sasuke. "Sometimes. I left and found you that one time, remember? But, yeah, it does take a pretty grim day for Kakashi to call me out onto the field. He knows I don't care about my post and I'm not very good at it anyway." At the same time, he continues to casually thrust in and out as Sasuke rests his weight on his hands and legs. Incidentally, Sasuke is unable to give a response as he is washed up by the unshakable wave of pleasure. All he can do is let his voice take over as it releases sounds that are unrecognisable even to him.

Frankly, it's a wonder to Sasuke how they haven't yet been caught, though he doesn't bring it up with Naruto and he doesn't especially plan to—why rock the boat when it's already constantly on the verge of capsizing? His screams and moans would be understated as wild and a little feral. But then he remembers—there's a war going on outside. And even if someone does hear them over the noise of bombs and guns, it's unlikely they'd care. People have better things to worry about in the current state of affairs.

Secretly, a part of him yearns to be caught, just so he has a reason to end this. He knows that choosing to do something and being forced into doing something are two very different things. If he chooses to end this himself, there's the possibility he'll end up regretting the decision and then being unable to blame anyone but himself. On the other hand, if he is forced to leave, to keep them both alive, he'll know that he had no other choice; he'll know it was all he could do.

But no, Sasuke still has a choice. And it's a choice he's not ready to make—for reasons he still hasn't figured out for himself.

He doesn't believe it's the way Naruto can make his body feel like it's on fire. He doesn't believe it's the way Naruto can make him scream out his name over and over until he's out of breath. He doesn't believe it's the way Naruto always makes him want to come back for more.

No, he doesn't believe it's any of those. If it really were that simple, he wouldn't feel so conflicted between the enemy's bed and his own.

"Where have you been, Uchiha?"

"Nowhere, Orochimaru, sir," Sasuke replies, short and swift.

His commander, in turn, gives him the evil eye. "Don't lie to me, boy; I know you haven't been where you say you've been. So the question is," he says, "what have you been getting up to lately?"

Sasuke realises at this very moment he can just make up some cock-and-bull story about infiltrating the enemy and gaining their trust. But then, he realises, he'd have to show proof—results. And that's something he's not willing to do.

Now he understands—the reason why Naruto hasn't turned him in. He can't bear to sacrifice what they have, either.

He can't help it—though he wishes he could. The visits have become like a drug. He's too far gone and remission becomes an ever distant possibility.

"Naruto…" he says one day, lying beside his enemy after one of those blissful fixes.

Said enemy keeps his eyes closed and his lips arched up in content as he mumbles, "Hmm?"

"You do realise… this can't go on forever."

"Why not?"

"One of us will die," Sasuke stresses, "or one of us will win. With our current arrangement, neither is an appealing prospect."

"I know, I know," Naruto sighs. "But, Sasuke, you worry too much. We both came into this war knowing full well that there'd be sacrifices we'd have to make. This will just be another one of those casualties."

A casualty, eh? Sasuke muses. Is that all this means to you? Guess I shouldn't have expected anything less…

"Hey?"

Sasuke snaps himself out of his abstraction to reply, "What?"

"Why are you here?"

"Here, as in…"

"As in, why did you join the army?"

"For my brother," he answers instantly, reflexively.

"Did he ask you to?"

"No," he answers, just as fast, just as certain, "he didn't."

"Eh? I don't get it."

"Don't try." Because I don't even get it myself.

His mother cried the day he left home. "Please, come back alive," she sobbed.

Sasuke spared her a glance, but it was devoid of the emotion she longed for. "I'll try."

It was the simplest of promises—and somehow, even it turns out to be a lie.

Sasuke can't recall a single two minutes he's spent with Naruto when either of them have been fully clothed. It's not a rule or regulation of any kind; it's just… habit. The motivation for their meetings requires no clothes, after all. And the only thing they do apart from that is talk—sometimes—and even then it's usually done with their uniforms tossed carelessly to the side.

"Hey, Naruto?"

"Hmm?" He sounds distracted, which is perfectly understandable considering where his fingers currently are, pleasuring Sasuke from a hundred different angles.

Sasuke holds back the sensation in between his legs as he attempts to continue. "Do you—do you think it's right, this war?"

Naruto shrugs, more focused on the job at hand—literally. "Who knows? Who cares? We're here, aren't we? Does it really matter if it's right or not?"

"I guess." Sasuke opens his mouth again. Do you think this is right? You, me, us—whatever this is? he wants to ask, but stops himself before a sound leaves his mouth. He can already imagine Naruto's answer.

Well, you're here, aren't you? Does it really matter if this is right or not?

And he supposes his response to that would be about the same, too: I suppose not.

That first day, after his fateful encounter on the other side, Sasuke told himself that he'd been lying when he told Naruto he'd be back. He told himself he would never see that arrogant, self-possessed boy again. He told himself that he'd never again lie in the same bed as the enemy.

He realises now—as his 'encounters' with Naruto become a more frequent occurrence by the day—that he was lying to himself. He never planned to leave this—whatever this is—behind, but he made himself believe he would—for his brother's sake, if nothing else.

What should I do, Itachi? Sasuke ponders the roof of his division's tent, the shoddy, thin bed strangely foreign beneath his back, as his hands gravely interlace over his stomach.

"What's up, Sasuke? Something bothering you?"

He shakes his head without turning to face the speaker in question. "It's nothing, Suigetsu," he replies to the young man. "Don't worry about me."

"Who said I was worried?" comes the muttered response.

Sasuke ignores it; it's not important. Instead, he wonders if his brother would be disgraced and ashamed if he were to see him now.

Then he wonders if he should even care.

After a long mental pause, he sighs. I guess I do.

Despite that revelation, however, the visits continue. Sasuke feels the shame and guilt crash down on him every time he steps back into his own territory again, but drives it away with the false promise that it will be the last time—that he'd never go back.

He makes that promise more times than he can count—a hundred, a thousand, a million? He wouldn't know—but it can only be fulfilled once. For a while, he believes that day may never come, but even the guiltiest—and thus sweetest—pleasures must come to an end. And, oh, what sweet pleasures they are.

Once, he manages to sneak out from his tent in the dead of night. Earlier that day, he saw his closest comrade die before his eyes. He's always found Suigetsu a little annoying at times but he valued him more than anyone else in their division. And as a result, he needs comfort, though he figures a distraction would do just as well.

He steps silently into the undersized tent he's come to know so well, waking a loudly snoring Naruto as he approaches.

Sasuke…? Naruto sits up and opens his mouth to ask about the late hour, only to be silenced by Sasuke's lips on his. He feels the grief and sorrow that's not his own dance their way onto his tongue—and that's all the explanation he needs.

Neither of them speaks a word or makes a sound during that encounter. There's nothing to say; the actions account for it all.

Naruto takes charge and positions Sasuke on top of him, aligning his shaft with Sasuke's opening. He waits a moment to give Sasuke a chance to back out—which he doesn't—then he guides the lean body above him down onto himself.

Sasuke closes his eyes and grits his teeth, but never does his voice give anything away. He gradually descends further to accommodate for more of Naruto's tumescent organ, gladly embracing the warmness clouding his mind.

Naruto doesn't force it; doesn't pressure the encroaching impulses. He understands this is something Sasuke needs to do in the wake of hard times, so he lets him. The only way he lets himself help is by his hands on Sasuke's hips, his fingers brushing occasionally against his ass. He steadies their movements—up, down, up, down—because Sasuke's too occupied with controlling his anguish to do so himself.

The smooth, set rhythm puts Sasuke's mind at ease, if only for the moment. He focuses only on the repetitive act of ascent and descent as the ever-alluring pleasure draws nearer and offers him a wonderful escape from the burden of grief and conflict.

Strangely enough, there's no fuss over either of their climaxes this time around. They let it pass and continue the pattern until Sasuke feels ready to return to his own tent again.

When he does leave, he gives Naruto a look before he walks out, as if to say, Thank you.

Naruto returns it with one of his own. Anytime.

It's so different from their regular encounters, but it forever holds a special place in Sasuke's heart. Neither of them will forget that night.

Sometimes, no words are needed to say, I need you.

Sasuke's heard the stories—who hasn't?—of cases where, after someone has passed away, their loved ones still feel them around—as if they've returned to watch over them. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case with Sasuke. Once Itachi was gone, he was gone. There was no feeling, no hallucination and no voice in his head. There was nothing to signify to him that Itachi may have left a piece of himself behind with him. There was simply nothing.

Sasuke figures it's because Itachi was so far from home when he died—and he didn't consider his family important enough to go through the trouble of searching for in death. Sasuke figures he mustn't have meant very much to him. Basically, he figures Itachi never really cared much for him in the first place.

And yet, he can't deny the part of him that longs to breathe his last, just to join his brother in the land of the beyond and put his curiosity to rest.

But that is something that can only be done in death. And, until now, it hasn't been his time.

He believes he's ready now. The timing's just right, too, as the perfect opportunity presents itself—in a package that he could so easily have overlooked had he not been waiting for it all along.

But there's something he needs to sort out first; a liability he didn't have when all this began. A casualty.

He makes sure he's the one to deliver the grim news. "We're staging an attack," he tells Naruto. "It's planned for daybreak tomorrow. I won't go into detail but it's a sure-fire recipe for destruction—on both sides. The general's an idiot. I doubt even half of us will make it out alive. So I'm telling you now: run."

"Are you asking me to back out?" Naruto scoffs. "No way in Hell."

"Naruto." Sasuke's serious; Naruto snaps to attention. "I'm not asking; I'm begging you. Don't die in a meaningly fight like this. Live."

Naruto looks about ready to sulk. "And what about you?"

"The commander will notice if I'm not there at the time of attack. I'll duck out when everyone's in a frenzy and catch up with you later. We'll run; we'll live; we'll survive—together. Can you swallow your stupid pride for one second to think about what that might mean?"

Naruto grits his teeth. He really doesn't want to, but… "Okay, Sasuke. I'll do it. For you."

Sasuke pulls out one of his rare smiles. "Thank you."

One more kiss and one more touch and they part ways once more—Naruto with hope in his heart; Sasuke with dread in his.

That time, Sasuke's hands were all over Naruto with want. He clung and clawed at the body above him, as if afraid to let go. Naruto was a little puzzled by the intensity of passion he felt from his partner but he brushed it off and continued moving inside him.

"Naruto…" Sasuke moaned and squirmed and pushed and pulled. He'd never wanted Naruto more than in that very moment, and it kind of scared him. It was like a literal craving—a hunger—to take in as much of the boy as possible before it was too late.

In response, Naruto began pounding in harder and harder. He could feel Sasuke's hunger, as well as the need to satiate it. And, sure enough, Sasuke's craving was being fulfilled, little by little, until he felt about ready to burst.

"Naruto… Naruto… Naruto!" Sasuke's climax came and rippled through them both. He held onto Naruto for dear life and screamed out his name like a prayer to the gods. He clawed and grunted and pulled Naruto closer. And for once, Naruto didn't even try to pull away.

"Again," Sasuke commanded, just moments after he felt Naruto fill him with his essence.

Naruto, albeit perplexed, had no intent to deny Sasuke the request. He slowly began moving again, and soon, they were right back where they had been two minutes ago.

They kept going until Sasuke finally wore himself out. And yet, it still wasn't enough. Not even close. By the end, he was shuddering and gasping and panting for breath. And still, he wanted more. He always would.

He wishes it never had to end, and he never lets himself wish it had never begun.

Sasuke keeps that memory—the memory of his last time with Naruto—clear in his mind as he proceeds towards the line of trenches where the rest of his team has already begun to gather. He knows it was the last. He's not letting himself go back on that.

He told Naruto he'd catch up with him. He told Naruto they'd run away together. He told Naruto they'd both survive—live.

He lied.

"Uchiha! Get in line!" the commander bellows.

"Yes, sir." Sasuke follows the order with indifference, treating it just like any other assignment he's taken up till now.

"Alright, men—it's time."

Yes, it's time, Sasuke ponders. It's time to grow up.

The gunshots start up and he takes it as his cue. He carries out his duty—for his brother—and he carries out his duty for the last time—for that boy-turned-man he met who taught him it is possible to find light in darkness, love in war.

He knows if he were to keep his connections with both sides, sooner or later the ties binding him to one of them would break. So instead, he's severing them himself, refusing to let anyone else decide his fate.

Naruto has a bad feeling about this. With great reluctance, he has left the main camp, following Sasuke's instructions. Sasuke told him it would be alright—and he wants so badly to believe that—but the man's actions that previous day tell a different story.

Naruto hears the unmistakable frenzy of attack and defence off in the distance and he falters between relief and apprehension.

Sasuke… Please be okay.

The bonds are cut.

With nothing to keep him grounded, Sasuke is afloat, lost in a sea of nostalgia, grief and regret. He imagines he'll be seeing his brother soon. And he smiles.

As for that over-confident boy he called both a lover and an enemy… well, he can only hope he won't be seeing him around for a lot longer, though his face will forever be imprinted in his memory, so he doesn't worry. He will wait, knowing that the next time he sees him—in the next life—they will be on the same side, fighting for the same thing: each other.

The passage of time is inevitable. Whether we wish for it or not, it matters not. What happens in that time, though, is entirely up in the air. Scars will fade—some heal, some don't. Bonds will form—some strong, some weak. And inevitably, memories will tangle and unravel, gather and scatter, until the truth is but a hazy rendition of fact and fantasy.

Sasuke…

Naruto doesn't know how long it's been; how long he's been waiting. He knows it's a fruitless hope by now but he can't bring himself to give up. Frankly, he doesn't know how. He's still a stubborn little boy at heart, though the effects of war have in every other way made him a man.

"Naruto."

He turns.

"Time to go," Kakashi declares. Naruto straightens his back and salutes.

"Yes, sir."

The grey-haired man sighs. "You can cut it with the formalities. The war is over. You have served our country well, my boy, but it's time for you to live your life; do what you really want to do."

"Yeah… what I really want to do…"

Naruto knows he never showed much passion for this line of work—he'd cursed his luck the day his name was drawn in the conscription process. But, to his surprise, that attitude slowly changed in the weeks after meeting him. And now, his post is all he has to remember that cold yet ambitious boy he met in the line of duty.

"I want to continue serving you," he states finally, resolute. Kakashi blinks a moment, then softens again. Naruto imagines him to be smiling.

"Looks like you've finally grown up, kiddo."