I do not own Naruto. This story is Uchihacestual. However, it was meant to me dark. This story is from Itachi's point of view.
Wounded
Blood poured menacingly from open skin – so pale in texture, but flowing freely and dripping wetly onto crescent white sheets below. Creases held both wrists together, which were pushed against the near-pearly wall above him. Unmarked, unscathed. Strands of raven black hung into his milky face, plush, velvet lips parted slightly. Slashes flawed his beautiful body – around thin legs, even across that flat belly of his. A trail of seepage caressed his right shoulder. Small toes wriggled, curled beneath the balls of each foot; in which heels dug into the mattress he was laying upon, unable to move. It was as if rain clouds could kiss those cheeks of his, breath coming and going through his chest. Rise, fall. Rise, fall, and he didn't care whether they returned. His eyes were just as lifeless. Coal black, marking no emotion whatsoever – nearly aloof, he stared above at the empty, unpromising ceiling.
"We will love you…"
Forgive me
Forever
Coils of white hot pleasure lay within his abdomen, twisting and turning until pressure caused his spine to arch – his expression flickered for just a moment, brows furrowing upward. Oh, but God, the best the best and every part every part just
Melts
Away
Wetness. Plagued his stomach, from that massive organ curving upward and swollen against his belly, its tip resting prettily and glistening against the tiny button where his umbilical cord had been cut at birth. Reduction. His head turned; the side of his face buried to the pillow underneath himself, nails clenching at fabric until he was sure that it might rip. He felt nothing. Tingling, perhaps, and pain as if a sword had cut through his bottom and slashed every part of him, that searing ache that left him writhing in its aftermath. He could deal.
"If you're perfect."
Why?
For a long time, he'd questioned it. He'd never bothered to ask out loud. Itachi could feel liquid pouring from flickering hues. His chest ripped. His mind shot a million times back and forth, shut off from the silent world outside and his father retying the cord of his robe, slipping out of his bedroom and leaving him there. Broken. There had been plenty of noise, he, unaware of his loud gasping he, unaware of his pleading and screams for the larger, heavier male to leave him alone, stop, promise that he would never forget.
Never forget a training day. Never again.
The door creaked open for a second time.
It wasn't Fugaku this time.
A tiny, afraid tone echoed and bounced to ears that almost flinched.
He bled.
"… 'niisan?"
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A/N: Depending on how many reviews I get, I'll post a second chapter. This one was short. But I do hope that you readers enjoyed it for the most part while it lasted. I will continue working over winter break and hopefully, the newest additions will be longer. Ta.