Summary: Sasuke Uchiha is a teenager who discovers he is sick of life. Money, social standing, success, all meaningless. He has nothing to live for. Naruto Uzumaki is a teenager who is desperately sick. A dream, a goal that propels him forward. He has everything to live for. Experience what comes to pass as their two worlds intertwine.
A/N: I've been toying with this sort of idea for a while now, and thanks to school holidays, i finally had the time to put this up. I hope you have a good read! :3
Some french phrases throughout, but my meaning should be clear without the need to look these up.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Naruto.
Warnings: Adult theme, probably rated T for this chapter, but will go up soon.
A n i m a l . T a m i n g
Chapter One: La Naissance Du Serpent
"I have lost my passion: why should I need to keep it
Since what is kept must be adulterated?"
- Gerontion by T.S. Eliot
"The broad-backed hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood."
- The Hippopotamus by T.S. Eliot
A bleak wind blew incessantly o'er a grey courtyard, whistling a funeral song that echoed throughout. It was a requiem, a parade signalling the retreat of the long hot summer days, and the bitter invasion of that which precedes the most merciless of them all other seasons.
The stoic rhythm of every updraft reverberated in the coursing veins of every falling parched leaf, accepting defeat and dropping silently downwards.
Only one was there to witness this so happening, a figure emanating a front as cold as the aforementioned breeze. Ebony strands permeating from an ivory scalp tossed and turned, but were ignored; the mind was elsewhere. Charcoal windows, a glimpse of the soul it is said, were fixed in position, locking on to a clock suspended on a lone tower.
The figure, he had been erect here for exactly half of an hour, and had never witnessed time to have passed so quickly. In precisely four beats of the heart this courtyard would be full to brimming with other figures – merely wax figurines. They would move, yes, but slowly, and they would speak, bien sur, but their words would be muffled. And our character would be carried away to join these statues as they went ahead to their next class.
He exhaled slowly, the heart hitting 'four' with a resounding thump, and sure enough, a wooden door was thumped open, pairs upon pairs of feet scurried out, and he was jostled by the crowd into entering a building.
"Yo! Sasuke," the head whips around, looking for the source of the beckon, "Where have you been dude? You totally missed me pawning Sai in Basketball."
The nostrils twitched, an action copied by the lips. The face was then forced into what could have passed as aimable. "Kiba. Yeah, sorry, I just had to get out for a while."
Kiba's ragged head, coiffed in the latest style – long and layered – shook slightly as a low bark was excreted from wide lips in a laugh. "You're still skipping? Man, I thought you got over that whole Emo shit last month."
The expression remained neutral, a shield barring the world from the thoughts of the mind. Sasuke's shoulders heaved forward in a non-committal shrug.
Without a moment passing thereafter, a large pale palm was clapped onto Sasuke's broad shoulder.
"Sasuke. I'd like to have a word with you in my office." Sasuke glimpsed a head of bleached blonde hair and a sizeable bust, confirming the voice to be one of his principal, Ms Tsunade.
"But, Ms Tsunade, I've got Extention English right now, shouldn't – "
"No Sasuke, I'd rather we have this talk immediately. You, however, may go, Kiba." The timbre was less melodious in the last, causing Kiba to bound away with perhaps more vigour than was usual.
The door was closed with that same thump behind Sasuke, who ambled forward slowly to place himself in a plush red armchair in front of his principal's desk. A nauseating aroma – comparable to that of over-ripe fruit – revealed itself to his senses. Ms Tsunade took a seat in an even bigger armchair opposite her pupil, surveying him over the fingers she had clasped firmly under her chin.
"I assume you know why I called you here Uchiha?" she spoke finally, the voice sugar coated and insincere.
"Enlighten me, madame, s'il vous plait." Sasuke returned smoothly, breaking into French just to enrage her.
She paused, before continuing on in that uncharacteristically pleasant tone. "Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke. " She simpered.
"Oui, oui, oui?" he replied, inwardly smirking.
"I am merely interested in how you've been doing. Class president for the sixth year running, captain of the lacrosse team, first chair pianist and violinist. And to top it off, the entrance exams in just a few months. The stress must be incredible, and I quite understand that you might be feeling a little overwhelmed." She finished, unnaturally long eyelashes fluttering at him in supposed understanding.
Sasuke sighed, resigning himself to the fact that if he did not put an end to this, his principal may have gone on in this vein for a time. Coming to this conclusion, the Uchiha leaned backwards in his seat, jaw turning in slowed motion to the left, now surveying her.
Twin rubber bands, coated in vibrant rouge, thinly stretching over yellowing teeth. A visible line of fond de teint at the point where the chin meets the neck. Black roots beginning to intrude upon the fountain of coarse hair. And, what sickened our character most of all, a greedy, manipulative expression shining through Tsunade's own windows.
"Si vous m'excusez madame, but can we cut the crap? This is the third time you've called to see me, because 'you were interested in how I've been doing', in the last month. I'm grateful that you're taking such time out of your schedule just to check up on a student, but even I'm sceptical."
Ms Tsunade seemed, initially, to be fazed by the sudden change, but was quick to adapt to the situation. "Straight to the point as always, Sasuke, I wouldn't have expected any less of you (and here he cringed, marvelling at the fact that she managed to turn everything he did into a glowing compliment) as an Uchiha. Well, to tell you the truth, I couldn't help noticing that you've been absent from quite a number of classes this last term, and after today, when you cut fourth period Physics, I've had to contact your parents."
At this Sasuke paled slightly. Every person has a unique relationship with their respective families. It just so happened that Sasuke's wasn't, to himself at least, the most enviable.
The Uchiha's were the owners of multinational corporation Uchicha Incorporated, and as such, indisputably wealthy. His much respected father, Fugaku, was a prominent figurehead in society, and constantly graced the headlines of the media that dealt with such affairs. His mother was a former beauty queen, half-French, who married Fugaku, twelve years her senior. She was now a socialite, and regularly threw the kinds of parties for her family that gossip columnists loved to write about. She was also the reason every Uchiha had been instructed in the French tongue; Fugaku insisted upon this homage to his wife's cultural roots. The last member of his family was also the one that Sasuke least associated with that word.
Itachi Uchiha, to put it acutely, was the wanted son. Sasuke was merely a back up plan. If Sasuke had achieved anything, it was always done second best to his beloved brother, who'd have accomplished it earlier, faster and probably with better results.
Needless to say, notre Sasuke quite resented his preordained last place in the race against his older brother.
Upon leaving Tsunade's quarters, Sasuke was greeted with yet another horde of muted adolescent flesh as they stampeded towards their next period, the previous apparently having been missed. An uncontrollable sigh found escape from his lips, and he reversed direction to head towards his next class, Mathematics.
A pale hand paused on its way to turn the door handle. For Sasuke knew, as soon as the act was done, the mask would need to be put back into place, and he wished to enjoy just a few more of the golden, stolen moments before this happened.
It seemed fate was in a disagreeable mood today.
"Sasuke. What a surprise," it was Mr Haruno, "I didn't know you'd be coming to my class today, it seems like weeks since I've seen you. Is everything alright?"
And the face slid back on. "Mr Haruno, sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. Everything's fine. I've just been a bit off colour recently."
He seemed to accept it, and motioned for Sasuke to follow him inside.
Sasuke took one step inside, then paused, waiting. And sure enough, the reaction was as expected. A cluster of girls perched upon their desks in the middle of the room all descended upon him as though he were the messiah and they the pilgrims. A regiment of boys (among these Kiba), seated lazily in the back row, various sporting equipment in hand, followed suit. A congregation of short, lanky students, most bespectacled, approached him, waving sheets of paper under his nose, all eager for his opinion.
And through it all Mr Haruno continued to unpack his briefcase and write notes on the board behind him; this scene was commonplace in any room classing Sasuke Uchiha.
Sasuke's eyes grazed over his peers, a strange emotion welling up inside his person. Once he'd managed to get everyone satisfied and back in their seats, and taken his own in the second to last row, he had a moment to reflect. His charcoal orbs raked over the girls first, their skirts hitched up as he'd entered the room. Even now some were crossing their legs provocatively in his direction, all hoping, he knew, that he would pick her, out of them all, to be his petite amie.
And here, I am sure, our character would like something about him to be explained to the reader. Whence reading, one may chance upon the idea that our Sasuke has grown up rather conceited, head swelled up no doubt by his possessing both good fortune and condition. He would point out here that, though he may indeed have a rather grand opinion of himself, he has always been very careful not to fall into that common trap the extremely good looking and rich always seem to, that mindset that compels them to believe that at any given time, every person in the vicinity would no doubt be thinking of them, and only them. Non, Sasuke was not blinded by this particular hamartia. He just understood himself to be one gifted with the ability to understand others. Given time for careful thought, he knows that he could, with a good deal of reliability, be able to discern many a person's motives, the psychology behind their actions, what makes them tick.
And so, relating this back to the matter at hand, we can see that Sasuke did not imagine himself to be the object of every girl's attention, he knew himself to be so. Il sait bien that each of them only showers such attention upon him for their own superficial gains. He was a means to an end, the end here being money & social standing. Little did they know that their flesh was about as appealing to him as the underside of a slimy rock. That is to say, not particularly.
Sasuke's mind then drifted to the assembly of jocks behind him. The end here was his recommendation for them to a particular sporting team or the such. He knew that one good word from his father to a team manager could garner them a trial for that team. The end was similar for the nerds, but that, where the jocks desired a sporting contract, they no doubt aimed for the likes of Harvard, Stanford or Oxford. His family name could do wonders, but he knew it could never guarantee them a place. It would just be a helping hand onto the ladder of success.
Sasuke snorted inwardly. What a way to describe the relationships you had with your closest friends.
At the front of the classroom, Mr Haruno was trying, with no avail, to capture the attention of his class, who were decidedly ignoring him. Sasuke contemplated helping him, but for some inexplicable reason, it brought him a queer sort of pleasure seeing the old man in this predicament. And so he turned his attention instead to the window overlooking a road bordering the school. The clouds, previously dusting the sky like small cotton buds, now engulfed the vast expanse, grey and ominous.
By the time of the bell, signalling the end of school, the clouds had unleashed their promised wrath, coating every exposed surface with a sheet of icy water.
He was standing hesitantly at the exit to his school, unwilling to step forth and be drenched in the shower. 'But why delay the unavoidable?' his mind feebly offered, as he propelled himself forward towards the waiting black limousine standing like a dangerous animal at the front gates. A manservant with an umbrella opened the door for him, and Sasuke quickly followed his bag into its leather interior.
The weather seemed to mimic his mood, he thought wryly, as the downpour did not abate even when he had arrived at his estate, some three kilometres away. His manservant once again exited the limo, and held an umbrella open for the Uchiha, walking with him up to the sodden doorstep. Sasuke rang the doorbell once, and a maid in a white uniform hurriedly let him inside, bidding the manservant away.
"Mr Uchiha," she began nervously. Sasuke looked up. "Your father and brother are awaiting your presence in the board room."
He nodded, watching, as she seemed relieved and walked briskly away. His father and brother awaited his presence? What the hell did that mean? Mostly, he was treated as some sort of pot plant, only to be taken notice of at meals, or at select social occasions.
Not bothering to dry himself off, Sasuke dumped his bag unceremoniously on a shelf and walked across a hall and down a flight of stairs to the estate's main boardroom. The door was ajar, and so he didn't bother knocking.
He inhaled deeply. Fugaku was seated at the head of the long mahogany table, Itachi next to him. Sasuke suddenly felt self-conscious as his father's eyes took in his dishevelled appearance, and the trail of water following him inside and puddling at his feet. Thankfully, he didn't comment on it.
Instead, Fugaku beckoned for Sasuke to sit on his other side, directly opposite Itachi. Sasuke swallowed a ball of saliva that seemed to have appeared in his mouth. He wondered what was going to come next.
"Well Sasuke, as you obviously know, you've got your entrance exams coming up next month." Fugaku finally spoke.
Sasuke nodded; he had a feeling he knew where this was headed.
"And Itachi and I were just wondering if you'd given any thought to where you'd like to attend."
Sasuke paused, and then shook his head. "Not particularly, no."
Itachi took over at this point, and Sasuke suspected they'd rehearsed the whole conversation beforehand. "You see, Sasuke, Akatsuki University, where I and father went, stops accepting candidates two months prior to most of the other universities. I figured that you mightn't have thought too much about sending out applications yet, and it looks like I was right. So I took it upon myself to fill out your application for you, and mailed it last week."
"You what?!" Sasuke interrupted, enraged. Akatsuki was renowned for being the best business school worldwide, and most of its students were the children of fabulously wealthy businessmen. Despite this, Sasuke wasn't entirely sure if he even wanted to follow in Fugaku's footsteps. Not to say that he knew exactly what he wanted to do; he just knew it wasn't this.
"Come now, Sasuke, you make it seem like I did something heinous, when I really helped you. Now, Akatsuki only takes the best and brightest students from around the world. I know how hard you work, Sasuke, and I just need to make sure you understand how important it is for you to, well, keep up your standards these next few months-"
"Does this have anything to do with what Tsunade told you?" Sasuke bit in scathingly.
"Sasuke." Fugaku grasped the reins from Itachi once more. "Don't blame your principal, of all people, for your recent behaviour, when she is clearly looking out for your best interests."
"Merde! You know perfectly well she's only spying on me so you'll donate another wing to her library at the end of the year!" Sasuke retorted.
Fugaku's sturdy fist slammed down on the tabletop, silencing his youngest son. "That's quite enough. You will clean up your act, Sasuke, and you will get into Akatsuki, I'll make sure of it."
"And what then, father?" Sasuke asked evenly.
"Then you will work under me when I inherit Uchiha Incorporated in a few short years." Itachi answered smoothly, eyes gazing almost amusedly at his petit frere.
Sasuke was sitting, sprawled out over the cold tiles of his en suite bathroom. Head throbbing, he looked up and around him, letting the blue of the walls and the cream of the ground wash over him. He felt a sudden wave of exhaustion, and extended his limbs out, rather, he thought ironically, like the shape Christ assumed on the stake. A chill met his body; goose- bumps erupting like a miniature Mexican wave along his skin. He was dressed only in his boxers, their black fabric contrasting darkly with the floor.
He would have been furious, but there was too much effort required to feel that particular emotion. Instead, he began to ponder, like many before him, on the motive propelling his existence. It seemed, to Sasuke at least, that his whole life had been planned out for him. Ever since he was born, he had no say in what path he chose. His schooling, his friends, his hobbies, all now seemed to be part of everybody's plot to employ him as conveniently as possible.
He played the violin and the piano. Yes, he might have occasionally enjoyed them, but his idea? No. Class president. He hadn't even wanted to run, but he had a suspicion Tsunade may have influenced the vote to a degree. He was captain of several sporting teams. He didn't care whether they lost or won!
A memory knocked upon the door to his consciousness, bubbling forth from the recessions of his mind. He inhaled, not having witnessed this particular one for many a year now.
It was the spring of his seventh year at school. His teacher introduced a new boy to their class. He didn't look anything like the rest of them; their shirts were white and crisp, their hair clean and styled, their characters bright and confident. This boy wore an unironed shirt and shorts. His dark circular glasses were snapped in the middle, and were held together by what looked like sticky tape. Nonetheless, he waved at everybody, and then walked down the aisles of chairs to come and sit next to Sasuke.
The pair got along right away. Shino was everything Sasuke wanted in a best friend. He got to trade his disgusting gourmet pastas for Shino's delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. When their teacher wasn't looking, they'd swap papers in the middle of exams so they could finish off the answers the other didn't know. And when Sasuke had fallen down that lunchtime on the concrete, Shino had run straight to the nurse to get him a bandaid.
All that changed when Fugaku had found out just whom his youngest boy had been spending so much time with after school.
Sasuke still remembered crying as he was told that he could never play with Shino again. He'd screamed and asked, "Pourquoi, papa? Il est mon meilleur copin!"
To which his father had shouted, "Sasuke, he is a scholarship student. You are too good for this sort of riff raff. Why don't you make friends with that other boy, Kiba? You know, his father is a CEO."
A shudder snaked its way up and down Sasuke's spine as he recalled that conversation.
His family's obsession over success strangulated him. How could success in life be defined by such shallow terms? If one did not earn millions of dollars a year, was their life completely unsuccessful? Was there nothing to be said for leading a decent, hard working life, for being happy, for being able to be who you were? In this world, it appeared not.
Sasuke sighed heavily, his thoughts coming to a subject that had brought him much personal happiness and simultaneously terrible grief the last few weeks.
For Sasuke had just come out to himself that he was, en faut, not straight.
And how it twisted his brain to imagine what a conversation in which he came out to his family might entail.
Sasuke took a deep breath, glancing around to each of his family in turn. First was his mother, startlingly beautiful, perched daintily on the edge of a sofa, no doubt wondering when she might leave to call one of her friends. Itachi stood in the corner, cool and intimidating, lips turned upwards in a smirk as he wondered what his hopeless little brother was doing. And lastly, his father was seated comfortably next to his wife, one arm around her, an eyebrow raised.
"You're probably wondering why I asked you all here." Sasuke began. "Well, this is difficult for me to say, so im just going to be quick about it. Maman, papa, Itachi…I'm gay."
There was a second's silence, and then Fugaku burst out laughing. "What nonsense are you talking about, Sasuke? Gay? C'est impossible!"
Soon, the laughter died down, as Fugaku came to realise his son was in fact serious. "You're sure?"
Sasuke nodded, breath held tightly.
Fugaku's cheeks were red and bulging. His arm was slowly taken off from around his wife's shoulders, and he stood to face Sasuke. "This is the end. I always knew you would never be able to be like your brother. Itachi has always been the perfect son, whereas you…I wont have a freak living under my roof. Pack your things tonight. We're sending you to boarding school."
And that, readers, was sadly not as farfetched an outcome as some may believe.
Numbly, Sasuke brought a trembling finger to his face, surprised to find that there were two wet streaks on it. It was strange, he had never felt any emotion, it seemed, for so long, and now he was crying. And he found that he couldn't stop.
No sound wormed its way out of his pink lips. His expression didn't even change. But still, he continued to cry; he could feel the tears on his earlobes, and then on his scalp.
He was hurting inside, he knew, it was now obvious, but somehow this felt so good at the same time. It seemed he was forced to isolate his feelings from the world for so long, he'd forgotten what being able to show anything felt like.
Unbidden, a thought occurred to him. Stunned, slightly ashamed, Sasuke shunned it aside. Relentlessly, it returned to him, teasing him, whispering seductive words that echoed in his mind.
As though in a trance, Sasuke gently pushed himself up from the ground. His body moved of its own accord, dancing to the hypnotic playing of the Pied Piper. A small cupboard suspended atop the sink was pushed open, a pale hand extended, and a shaver brought out. Unhurriedly, two silky fingers dislodged a blade, and set the shaver down on the sink.
A smooth thumb grazed over the blade. The majestic whispering returned to him, much louder than before. It beckoned him, tantalising, resonant. What was Sasuke to do but adhere to the bewitching requests?
In that same slow-moving state, Sasuke gracefully raised the gleaming metal with his thumb and forefinger, and exposed the underside of his unmarked left wrist. There was a symphony ringing in his ears, he could hear nothing but what the conductor desired. Then, like the master artist deftly adding brushstrokes to his creation, the hand brought the blade down to slice the skin, once, twice, three times-
And the alluring symphony had crescendo-ed into the piece's climax! The trumpets were blaring, the violins thrumming, the clarinets whistling at the top of their lungs. And Sasuke was smiling through his tears, watching as a glorious crimson river trickled down his forearm and down the drain, washing away every and all of his grimmest ponderings, replacing his sadness with a pain much more bearable.
He rode on the bittersweet euphoria of his actions for several moments, before noting the blacks specks in his line of vision. Adrenaline revving his body to life, Sasuke instantly opened the cupboard once more, and took out a long roll of bandages.
The blade was washed and deposited into the garbage can, and a jet of water from the sink eradicated all other proof of his work. The voice in his mind was now at peace, satisfied, at least pour le moment. But Sasuke could still feel its power stirring, coiled like a waiting serpent, ready to awaken at any time.
That night, it was a shaking, ivory-skinned teenager who buried his body under many layers of bed sheets, trying to focus on the pain offered to him by the gashes on his clammy wrist, as it was so much more endurable than the one in his soul.
A/N: Ah, mon pauvre Sasuke. This was the first mention of that sinister, alluring voice which will come to consume him. Naruto, not mentioned so far i know, will struggle with another such mental voice.
You will be able to soon see, i hope, why i have called this story Animal Taming.
Anyway, if you found this a worthy read (or not :o ), please leave a review!