A/N: Set after "Mark of the Leaf", this fic was something that has been gestating in my mind for a very long while. As planning for it took place years ago, when planning this fic, the naruto-verse was still at a stage well before Orochimaru was overwhelmed by Sasuke, and of course, the events that follow that. I have also paid little attention to the anime. All the same, this story means a lot to me, as does the Mark-verse. I hope, should you decide to read it, that you will enjoy it. Please be reminded this is AU, Yaoi, and M-rated. If this disturbs you, please save yourself the undesired experience.
Shadows in Moonlight
Naked beads of perspiration that beaded across Konohamaru's forehead glistened freely in the streaming morning light, while his usual wild fringe shook briefly under the taming hold of a dozen hairpins. Bistre brown hair, like silken ribbons fountaining awkwardly away from his temples, were kept well away from hazel eyes intent upon the fist-sized wooden sphere held firmly in the grip of Konohamaru's left hand. The fluted blade of a carving gouge bit into the spherical pine orb along its grain, worked by the surprising dexterity of rigid, shavings-peppered fingers. As the fluid silver light of the blade danced above the roughly hewn ball, the delicate beginnings of coral polyps surfaced from the pale wood. Reflected in his eyes, they bobbed and beckoned with the life and sentience that blossomed in the bosom of the sea, caressed by pure cold currents, folded within a shadowed blue.
Unable to catch his lover's gaze, Udon could not share in the artistic vision of ancient mystery that pulsed in the gleam of Konohamaru's eyes. The priest settled instead for the carelessly polished piece that sat across him at the low worktable- the young man completely absorbed in his craft. The past couple of years had scored deeper lines into Konohamaru's boyish face, bringing out a chiselled masculinity. The quality was becoming against the patient strength that glowed deep within those eyes these days. His cheekbones were more prominent, and the tan of his skin shone with a radiance that had more to do with an inner joy than the sun-rich days he spent selecting the lumber with the rest of the artisan-priests. His sleeves were rolled up against gracefully muscled shoulders, and the loosely hanging front of his robes revealed the elegant slopes of his collarbones. Bronzed and hardened from pure hard work, Konohamaru was the subject of much wistful talk in the temple. Udon was jealously aware of the fact, though he was careful to keep his ire to himself. Even though it had been four months since he earned his black mark of the priesthood, the tale of his rampage two years back was still discussed in a lively recount verging on fantasy.
Two years ago, with the Orochimaru poison in his blood, he had allowed himself to assault his ailing mentor, Shadow Master Shikamaru, and nearly caused the death of Konohamaru. Konohamaru's willing sacrifice, drawing the poison out into his own body, had probably saved both their lives. The part where Shikamaru and Neji arrived to save the dying Konohamaru was always glossed over as a footnote. Always, the story plunged into the moving embrace between the childhood friends, against the sweet grass in twilight, beneath the brightly burning stars above that bore sacred witness to their heated pledges of love.
Truthfully, Udon hadn't remembered pledging anything, but he had woken up blinking at the golden-orange glow of sunrise, wincing at the telltale soreness and the slow breaths coasting against his neck. He had shifted his gaze to the image of the innocent slumber of his friend, and smiled through the initial grimace. From that point, everything had raced forward. A very pale and weakened Shikamaru had testified how Udon, while having assaulted him, had shown no malice, merely uncontrollable rage induced by the poison, and that the unique circumstances of the acolyte's past warranted him a full pardon. Konohamaru had also been summoned to the trial, and he had inadvertently delivered an impassioned account that made the incident that had nearly robbed the youth of his life, seem nothing more than a dramatic reunion in the rock garden. With the two main victims pleading for his case, Grand Deva Iruka smoothly concluded the trial with the decision that any punishment would be more punitive than just, and that the best course of action would be to allow the main parties involved some time to rest.
Soon after, Shikamaru had dragged Konohamaru into his chambers, and when the young man finally emerged hours later, he beamed conspiratorially for days after- most of which were spent in the Shadow Master's quarters. It had driven Udon nuts.
When a Temple Assembly was suddenly convened and Iruka began with the announcement that Shikamaru was leaving in the company of Neji to seek treatment for his ailment, Udon discarded his annoyance in a burst of surprise and joy. The jubilation had hardly faded when the Grand Deva informed them next that the temple had been granted the honour of housing a young, talented artisan from Ichiraku Street, who would serve the temple with his skills while he embarked on a spiritual retreat. It had been the cue for Konohamaru, dressed in the dark blue robes that marked his newly awarded hermitage, to step out from behind the veiling screen before the gathered clerics.
All thought had been ripped from Udon's mind- he simply hadn't known what to feel, let alone what to think. In time, he had learned to appreciate what Shikamaru, and most of all what Konohamaru, had done for him. His master, Neji, had given rare praise to his partner for the delicate manner in which Shikamaru had resolved the conundrum. Clerics of the Hidden Leaf were prohibited from involving themselves romantically with commoners, and violators risked expulsion and excommunication. Konohamaru had received too much exposure in the recent scandal to obtain the unanimous approval of the Deva Council to join as an acolyte, and Shikamaru was unwilling to rely on Iruka's influence, feeling that his one-time teacher had done more than enough. Instead, the Shadow Master had capitalized on Konohamaru's skill in woodcarving and employed him in the service to the temple, thereby granting him admittance into its community.
Konohamaru had blushed to admit it to an insistent Udon, but he was an artist in woodcarving of some fame back in his hometown. Konohamaru had initially been apprenticed to a pipe-maker who had quickly recognised his talent and encouraged him to learn from local carpenters and wood sculptors. His teachers back home were ecstatic that he'd been permitted to study with the renowned artisan priests of the Hidden Leaf, and the effort he'd put into his training clearly showed that his stay was more than a ruse to Konohamaru. Even so, the entire temple was well aware of the main reason the young man was contented to spend the next few years away from his family and friends as a hermit in a secluded temple.
That reason sat across Konohamaru now. Across the table, captivated in his admiration of the controlled passion in the young hermit's movements, Udon watched with the faintest of sighs. Secretly, he worried that he would have to go on another rampage soon to keep Konohamaru safe from the tempted, furtive glances of wistful acolytes. Konohamaru had laughed off Udon's concerns, but the reality was-
"Udon, what's wrong?" Konohamaru had set his woodwork down and was studying his lover with soft concern deep within his eyes. "You're not grading the essays, and you're rubbing the bridge of your nose again."
"Ah-" Udon started, realising that Konohamaru was right, and hastily pulled his hand away. It had also been that fated day of his insanity that Udon had decided to give up the glasses that he had worn in memory of his brother, Kabuto. Kabuto… a renegade novice priest whose own fate had been to find final peace in his arms. Even without the glasses, Udon tended to seek their comfort by subconsciously adjusting the memory of them along the bridge of his nose whenever he was troubled. Konohamaru had been the first to point it out to him.
Konohamaru carefully wiped his hands on a damp towel before reaching out to fold Udon's in their clasp. "If something's troubling you, you should share it with me," he coaxed in a mildly reproachful whisper, squeezing the delicate fingers. Udon smiled and lifted their hands closer to lay his cheek on them, the cradled warmth comforting the guilt he felt.
He didn't deserve it, but his life was fulfilled beyond his ability to comprehend it in its entirety.
"You have good hands," he spoke at last in a quiet murmur, fighting to control the flaming blush that burned so clearly against his pale skin. The tender voice that replied devastated all the self-control he had struggled to muster.
"I need them to hold the most precious person in the world."
"It's a pity your mouth is so glib," Udon grumbled in an oddly rough tone, leaning his face closer against their joined hands, so that the lengths of his dark brown hair flowed across tightly lidded eyes. They didn't hide the rose tint of his ears as a soft chuckle tugged at his heart.
"No, that's- hah! E-enough! That's about enough right?" A gasp echoed in the suffocating steam that rose from the hissing shower. Against the dripping white tiles of a bathroom wall, a reflection of matching bodies shifted restlessly.
"Tch, we've done this... so many times, aren't you used to it yet?" the other man demanded impatiently, a slight strain weighing on his words. Thick, sliding sounds churned rapidly between them, ripping a groan from the first man who clenched his teeth to contain as much of the agony as he could bear.
"Ngh! Neji- seriously, I can't- hn! It's too hot… hah… hah… it really- hngh! At… at least let me r-rest a moment; it's going to rip!" The first man begged desperately, voice husky and breathless.
"Oi, Shika? Are you ok?" Neji relented, concern creeping over his earlier harsh indifference. "Lean your head back a bit, it'll hurt less."
"It still hurts too much," Shikamaru insisted in a low growl, obeying nevertheless. He was grateful for the stream of near-scalding water that disguised the tear tracks on his face. "You're always so rough," he complained.
"Hmph! Don't be such a baby," Neji dismissed condescendingly, "I shampoo myself like this all the time. If you don't massage your scalp properly, you'll be bald again in six months." His fingers returned to their earlier pace, working noisily through the white foam and mussed loops of matted dark hair.
"No one uses chakra to massage the scalp- hah! Neji! You're burning every follicle!" Shikamaru's back twisted agitatedly as he fought to wrench himself free. "I just got it to the right length-"
"My family- geh! Has been use- uh-ing… this method for years! Tch!" Neji's fine brows furrowed exasperatedly at his partner who had finally managed to escape. Shikamaru promptly backed himself against the wall, behind the spray of jetting water.
"Baby," the Hyuuga accused meeting the reproachful glare beneath a sullen frown with disdain.
"You're almost not worth the trouble for this," Shikamaru retorted as he rubbed his head plaintively then froze as Neji stepped forward, right into the cascading water sparkling beneath the harsh fluorescent light.
In the tumbling crystalline veil, flowing curves seemed to waver like a sylvan illusion of a nymph oblivious to the helpless gaze held captive by its serene ablutions. Startling moon-bright eyes were veiled behind demurely lowered lids, long lashes guarding the base of the twin, soft swells. The high bridge of his slender nose split the rolling rivulets that ran in the shadows of its gilded edge. Their clear tacks traced the corners of faded lips that were like a lost rose in a hot spring. Shikamaru longed to return to those pale tender lines, to set them ablaze with his selfish desires. The most recent rekindling had been nine whole days ago, and even the mere breath's distance between them was unbearable. He forced his eyes to gaze no further past the trickling water sluicing off his partner's chin, fearing that his body might take it upon itself to redress the cruel state of affairs.
Briefly shutting his eyes as he slumped forward with a defeated sigh, he raised himself again and propped his back against the cool tiles. "Neji," he called a little gruffly, dark gaze sheepishly averted.
The returning question was cool and derisive. "Finished sulking already?"
"Tch, don't get mad over small things like these," he muttered in a much more mollified tone, "I have a low pain threshold."
"I know," Neji agreed as he released a relaxed breath, and Shikamaru met the smile in his eyes. "It's easy to tell from the way you touch."
"How do I touch?" Shikamaru asked, emboldened enough to brush a damp strip of dark hair from its perch across the Hyuuga's cheek.
"A sense bordering between fear and affection," Neji answered seriously, before ducking a suppressed chuckle behind a closed hand as a confused frown rumpled the Shadow Master's brows.
"It's respect, not fear," Shikamaru corrected as he recovered with a sly leer, "you've just forgotten that's all, and I know just the solution to that-"
Neji laughed as he slipped out of the shower stream, evading Shikamaru's advance and leaving his chagrined partner to sulk once more as the weight of the water pulled his straggled fringe over his eyes. Biting his lower lip as he struggled to look repentant, Neji reached forward and smoothed the offending curtain back to unveil an entranced gaze. Unable to help himself, Neji dipped back into the crystalline jets to rest a quick peck between those beckoning eyes before hastily drawing away.
"Any more and I won't be able to hold myself back," Neji confessed with a wistful grin.
"So don't," Shikamaru countered eagerly moving to close the gap between them. He halted against the pressure of the Divination Master's restraining fingertips.
"Your parents are expecting us, remember? They haven't seen their son in a while. We shouldn't keep them waiting," Neji finished with a rueful smile. Shikamaru merely shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
"They've seen enough of me at the hospital. They can wait a stick of incense's worth of time," he argued, lifting those fingertips from his chest to his lips.
"You couldn't even speak then," Neji patiently reminded him, though his breaths grew heavy as the Shadow Master drew his tongue over the sensitive tips. The fresh sensations dulled the ache of painful memories from those first few months after Shikamaru's brain surgery.
That heavy melancholy that pervaded what should have been a joyous moment.
After Neji's nightlong vigil over his partner, when Shikamaru finally peeled back tired lids to focus on him, the Hyuuga's initial flooding relief was soon drained from a torn rent in his heart. Moments after waking from his surgery, Shikamaru was clutching his throat and gagging in an effort to speak.
Later, they understood. A side effect of the operation that they had been cautioned to prepare for.
Mercifully, it had been a surmountable one, though the dark days of painstaking therapy had taken every ounce of courage and patience they could manage between them. Shikamaru later remarked to his fellow Devas with exaggerated sullenness, that his main concern had always been the restitution of his high ponytail that he'd been forced to shave off for the operation. Neji merely added to their friends that if that was what Shikamaru was planning, the Hyuuga was going to see to it that the exalted heir to the Nara Clan remained bald. Their offhanded mirth had been promptly rewarded with indulgent laughter. Those paper-thin pretences that could make any intrusive curiosity falter before its fragility… they only served as a screen for the Divination Master's fears.
"I'll meet them first then," Shikamaru finally submitted planting a final kiss on those fair fingers before reluctantly relinquishing his hold.
"First? And what is the 'second', Holy Deva?" Neji teased with an elegantly arched brow.
"A little commemoration of your first night in the city, Sacred Master," Shikamaru returned impishly, before reaching back to turn the shower off.
TBC