There were so many places to hide in the desert. It was a fact that surprised most, not that he betrayed the secret of the sands that kept him a secret from others when he chose not be seen. The sparse sands were seldom thought of as a place where one could easily disappear. Even the smallest figures stuck out against the bright backdrop of gold offset by endlessly clear blue skies. Of course, for one that could manipulate those innumerable golden grains, it was almost too easy to disappear into the desert those times when he just needed to be alone. It happened more often than it should have, to his utmost shame. As Kazekage, he had responsibilities that couldn't be neglected or fulfilled by others. There were always papers, proposals awaiting his clear green gaze, silently demanding to be reviewed with voices as sharp and cold as the black ink they were scribed in.
On his hand and knees on the sand, knuckles beaten raw from senseless pounding of the sands that had been nothing but kind to him, that certainly didn't deserve to be hit, tears streaming from his eyes, he wondered if perhaps it was possible to stop listening to the demanding voices of the ink-and-paper monsters and start obeying the even uglier monster of bloodshed. In the back of his head he could hear the incessant suggestions that he first tear up those oh-so-important proposals and then do the same to those that had written the scrolls in the first place. For the thousandth time his fist crashed onto the ground. Newly formed scabs splitting, sending fresh droplets of blood coursing down his fingers, following the path of those that had streamed down before them.
At the scent of blood that voice got deeper, a scream of raw rage echoing painfully in his thoughts. Silent sobs wracked his frame, thin but strong all the same. He wasn't cut out for this, wasn't cut out to be the Kazekage. The only he wanted to cut was other people, cut their lives short. That's all he was cut out for. A useless killing machine, not useless at killing but at everything else. What the fuck was he doing, pretending to lead a nation?
There were footsteps drawing closer. For a moment, he thought it was only in his mind, the footsteps of demons, but when a shadow fell over him and the sound stopped, he knew it was real. Swallowing his tears, he kept his face angled downward, not that it would stop him from being identified. The Kazekage robes announced his identity loud and clear: no face was necessary to confirm it. Further proof that he wasn't meant to be a leader. Leaders didn't collapse in the sand, contemplating the benefits of killing themselves or killing everyone else. Leaders were sane.
"What do you think you're doing?"
The question came, but no answer was expected, or so he thought. It would be difficult to answer with his face pressed into the crook of another man's neck. How nicely he smelled. Like fire without smoke, all bright and beautiful. Dying for a taste, he licked the man's neck. As delicious as had been expected, and without the expected reaction of drawing back, or hitting. Instead the man merely shuddered, then shook his head, as if to rid himself of whatever emotion he'd felt when that warm, wet muscle had traced across his flesh. Now was the time for comfort, and besides, the Kazekage probably wasn't fully cognizant at the moment.
"I know it's difficult. But you can't just run off."
What did the man know? It was more than difficult. Acting as Kazekage, acting sane, so as not to disappoint those foolish, foolish people out there who actually believed he was a good leader, was fucking impossible. He couldn't even decide how to live his own life, how could he run a country. It was all too complicated, too confusion. Someone who couldn't decide their own sexuality shouldn't be forced to make decisions that affected the fate of an entire country.
"Are you alright now?"
As alright as could be expected, he supposed. The tears had stopped at any rate, though his red rimmed, watery eyes attested that more could follow at any moment. The bleeding had stopped too, it hadn't been bad to begin with. Gradually, he was coming back to himself. Which meant realizing that not only did the man holding him smell rather nice, but that the body he was pressed against was quite attractive as well. Feeling a familiar tingle in his nether regions, he clenched his teeth. Shit, now was not the time to be bombarded by those all-too-familiar yet still utterly crazy, but in a different way from the normal insanity, feelings.
"Because it's time to go back."
There was a note in the man's voice now, something arrogant, something smug, that made him blush. Drawing back, Gaara felt obliged to speak.
"I'm not, you know… Gay. It's not possible."
Glancing down at the badly disguised bulge in Gaara's pants, the man kept up his provocative stare until Gaara glared and rearranged his robes to hide it better. Reaching for Gaara's hand, the man chuckled when Gaara snatched it away, knowing that his friend was better now. From now on, Sasuke vowed, he wouldn't let Gaara get in such a bad way. They'd been enemies originally, but now Sasuke would do anything for Gaara. Love was a crazy thing. He'd help the man before it got this overwhelming in the future. Looking at the blood spattered sand, he swore it, utterly serious before the typical smirk returned to his lips.
"Lets go. The elders are waiting for you. And later... I'll show you just how possible that impossibility is."