Disclaimer: This fiction is completely fan-made.
The moonlight spilled softly over the sheets; the cotton almost shone with the intensity, diffusing the brightness through the suffocating darkness of the room. Sasuke dragged his fingers through the sea of light, twisting in his place and wincing at the pain that tore through his abdomen. He faded in and out of consciousness with the alternating currents of comfort and pain; the stitches pulled sharply, a light trickle of blood leaking from the edge of the wound and staining his bandages a light pink.
The sting and burn was nothing compared to the day it was fresh with pouring blood. The rivulets had washed over his skin, flicking off of the surface as he twisted to avoid another vicious stab to his gut. Naruto had rushed at him once more, sinking the knife swiftly into his arm and sending pain rocketing to Sasuke's shoulder. Despite his speed, his legs were swept from underneath him and he toppled to the ground in a mass of bleeding, heaving flesh.
Naruto had stared at him, panting raggedly and tracing cold blue eyes over the stinging cuts. He nudged Sasuke's side with a foot, ordering him shortly. "Undress,"
Sasuke's unscathed arm still lay by his side, motionless but for the twitching of his fingers. His eyes glared defiance even as red rippled across his white t-shirt, daring, hoping –
He heard an impact thud into his side, the force of the hit rolling him over. His ribs were cracked – broken, probably – and they ached as if he were piercing his lungs anew with every fresh breath. With a grunt, he moved his injured arm out from under his stomach and attempted to rise, the same blunt impact to his back thwarting him cruelly. The knife, stained with blood, ripped at his shirt and his jeans, breaking open the dark blue fabric as if it were tissue. Cold rippled across his skin, goosebumps trailing wherever the breeze dared to venture, and he felt warmth along the backs of his thighs –
flick
And there was warmth so hot it felt frigid inside of him, gravel digging into his elbows harshly, the choked sound of a restrained scream and shuffling clothes filling the air. Sweat poured over him, drenching his shirt, anticipation and fear building inside of him until his perspiration stained the white to translucence. His pupils devoured his dark irises, breath coming past his lips in sharp pants as he felt cold air, always so cold, billowing over the back of his neck as warmth pushed past his limits–
Sharp pain crippled him, doubling him over as the sheets churned about him.
The same cold breeze rippled, wafting from the drafty window. He kicked the sheets off, ignoring the tugs of pain from his arm and abdomen, opting to stand quickly and slide the window shut. The hardwood floors were cold, frigid against the soles of his feet. His grey sweatpants hung off of his hips, brushing lightly over the tops of his feet as he paced nervously. A rustle sounded from the bed, drawing a twitch and panicked glance to the furniture. A head of blond hair peeked from the covers. Sasuke's feet took him, unwillingly, to the kitchen.
The low hum of the refrigerator filled his ears as it poured him glass after glass of water, liquid pouring down his chin that was brushed away hurriedly with the back of his arm. A sound, once more, and a draft of cool air hitting the back of his neck like an omen. He paused, hands shaking in apprehension. The silver surface of the refrigerator met him defiantly, his black eyes staring at him as wide as dinner plates. Spikes, jagged edges of yellow met a flick of his eyes and he barely moved to the right in time to –
thwack
A knife, this one serrated and reflecting bars of silver light at him, buried itself inside of metal. The screech that accompanied the puncture was deafening in the midnight silence; he turned slowly, hesitantly, to face the one standing behind him. A Cheshire grin stared him in the face, blue eyes like chips of sapphire.
The knife felt cool in his hands as he tugged on it, actions growing more panicked as he could feel Naruto moving closer to him. Plastic grew warm as he gripped it harshly, knuckles going white with the intensity. Fear built itself a fortress inside of his stomach and twisted his intestines around the stone blockades, adrenaline pumping through his vessels like arrows.
screech
The metal was free, tipped with an interesting mixture of sauces from the refrigerator door. The hum and drone of the machine grew deafening to Sasuke's ears, seeming to vibrate against the bloody tissue in his bicep. Naruto's right foot twitched – a tell, Sasuke knew, from years of experience – and he felt a blur slam into the refrigerator as he stepped to the side.
Quick footwork avoided reaching tan hands clutching a sharp object – he didn't know what it was, but the reflecting metallic light was enough to make Sasuke wary – and he had the blond trapped against the counter, knees knocking against the wood of the cupboards as he bent the man backwards onto the granite countertop. Sasuke's hands shook as his knife bit into soft skin pulsing with blood; apprehension and fear drizzled from his stomach into his abdomen as a knife bit into his cheek. Blood slipped where it cut, and it was suddenly biting into the edges of his lips and cheeks; agony ripped through and in his entire face, wet and warm blood slipping down the surface easily as he turned to the side, spitting blood onto the linoleum.
His hands harshly pushed Naruto onto his shoulders, a sharp crack of vertebra slipping a brief but satisfied smirk onto his face. Adrenaline was pumping through his system and he was still running on fear, a part of him reaching for oxygen but never quite gaining it fast enough to return to normalcy. A sort of calm twitching settled deep inside of him with the knowledge that he could die at this very moment with the knife moving swiftly to cut his neck, sinking into the juncture of neck and shoulder before he flips Naruto over and slams him on his chest. He traps both of Naruto's hands – amazingly – in one of his own, the previously injured arm fumbling with his sweatpants and underwear and exposing himself to the small draft that flits through the room like some ephemeral spirit. He tugs down the bright orange sleeping pants that hang loosely around Naruto's hips, anticipation and friction building inside of his gut as the body beneath him struggles wildly. He suffers multiple kicks to his legs, knees buckling and leaving only the strength of his arms to keep Naruto pinned. He can feel his arms giving way quickly, strength seeping from them like raindrops pouring in torrents from clouds; his mind is foggy with a sort of determined fear and all of his intent, frustration and apprehension building into a sort of volcanic eruption that lets loose upon the man struggling beneath him.
The light glints evilly off of the utensil clutched in his grasp; the grip seems to melt under his hand, conforming with a strange sort of fluidity as he brings it down. There is a grunt, a sickening crunch of bone and muscle and the fine sound of metal scrabbling for purchase against the granite countertop. The squirming body against him merely intensifies its struggling, knuckles ripping apart from each other with every jerk of Naruto's bare arms. The movements expose flesh and sinew underneath the skin, spilling blood that the knife slips on and scrabbles some more, the sound of a rat scratching against the walls of a prison desperate for freedom. Through none of the tearing, scratching, pain nor suffering did Naruto utter a noise louder than a grunt; soft sounds emanate from deep inside of his throat, and only when Sasuke slams inside of him – hard, fast, frenzied and desperate – does panic seep from prey to predator. He merely screams once, incoherently, but the thought behind it might have been drawn in his own blood -
I hate you
Could be felt emanating from every inch of the grey undershirt sticking and unsticking with sweat; golden locks merely slip over the words molded into the fabric, shadows writhing in the twisted and knotted surface to spell out the words. At first, Sasuke merely stares as the letters mold into and separate from one another, opting then to trace the shadows with shaking fingers. As his thrusts speed to a frenzy, movement and thought spiraling into a frantic cadenza, he traces the letters with cold steel and looses a torrent of hot blood. He can imagine that it aches with its sharpness, the serrations tearing the skin into small curls and triangles; the cuts are irregular, some shallow and some exposing the whites of bone. They hit ribs with a sort of
rat tat tat
Staccato that sounds foreign and gruesome to his own ears. The cold wind that is forever engulfing him now burns, heavier and stinging, hands shaking and slipping with blood. A grunt from one of them, bordering on a panicked half-scream, ties itself to his climax, the sound and feeling of shuddering flesh tightening around him rippling through him until he spirals into black.
Shadows clear from his vision slowly; it's almost painful to see the blanket of warmth and safety slip away from him, and panic sets in as he finds himself unable to move. His uninjured arm refuses to reach out and grip onto the sea of white and light surrounding him, now out of inability rather than a sense of misguided defiance. A dead weight twitches on top of his arm, muttering nonsensicalities in its sleep that slowly separate from the silence in the background.
"…suke….Sasu..ke…?" Comes the voice, rasping as if without water for weeks.
The form shifts, a grunt escaping his dry mouth. His vocal cords don't seem to want to respond at all, barely cooperative enough to manage a noise of displeasure.
Strong arms envelop him in a bear hug, crushing his sore muscles. He can feel a grin against the tight white fabric of his sleeping shirt and he realizes
oh
That it had been a fabrication of his twisted, psychotic mind, that there were no knives or glinting flecks of cold sapphire nor bloodied countertops and biting gravel. His body arches into the familiar touch and for a moment he can feel warmth enveloping him as if a cloud; lips brush against Sasuke's for the briefest of moments, the mere touch sending fire across his skin.
The mouth pulls away and pushes against him once more, separating and melding in a slow tango. A warm tongue traces the seam of his lips, begging entrance that is readily given; the tongue explores every crevice of the wet cavern with hungry, practiced ease.
A twinge of pain flicks lightly across his lips; he ignores this studiously, too enraptured by the slick organ on his lips and warm hands flicking across his body, until the twinges come in waves. He reaches for Naruto's hands, finding with growing horror that each finger is bandaged tightly, red tissue peeking through.
The jolts and twinges build and crash against the seam of his lips and he cries out as blood enters the wet cavern of his mouth. The metallic taste coats his tongue like a dreadful soup, and the hands that had flicked across his body so gently now leave bruises in their wake. He pushes against the chest brushing his with panicked force, scrabbling and tearing at the fabric of the undershirt with blunt nails until he is sure that he feels blood against his fingers. Strong hands close about his neck until he can no longer choke in air, the feeling of suffocation building tightly in his chest; Naruto pulls away slowly, carefully, sure to lap a few times at the edges of his mouth. His eyes are a soft, oceanic 's mouth hangs open in a mixture of shock and fear.
Blood spills from his lips, dotting the pristine sheets.
An algid wind blows lightly from the window.
The world goes black.