Facets
-Sanity through Madness
I can't place any claims on Naruto. This venture will be a couple chapters long, though I am not entirely sure whether or not it will have a truly happy ending. It'll have KakaSaku. It'll have SasuSaku. This is also my first attempt at doing a Naruto fanfiction.
…and I do need a beta reader for some of the future chapters. Anyone interested? Leave a signed review or an e-mail address, and I'll get back to someone.
This chapter is KakaSaku. I believe it abides by the rating system – if I'm wrong, let me know.
Chapter One . Like Violence
She comes to him when she is angry.
She always knows that he understands, and for that alone, she could almost come to love him.
Except she had learned, quite some time ago, that 'love' did not apply to the renowned Copy-Nin of Konohagakure, Hatake Kakashi. He stated, quite clearly, that he had no use for love, and that it was a foolish notion that could easily get people killed.
She understands that, as well. She had seen others cut down in battle; people in their prime, dying because of preoccupation, because they had loved ones who wanted them to come home, and clouded their minds.
But still, she thinks, she wouldn't mind hearing it from him, for once. If only to have the memory of those words, spoken to her not out of obligation, but perhaps in respect and understanding and passion.
But she realizes that she wants it all. And she just cannot have everything that she desires.
That, too, is a cause for anger.
He always seems to know just where to touch her, to cause a cease in her seething fury. He always seems to know just how to diffuse her sometimes-volatile temper. He always seems to know just what to do.
He is, in her jaded and young eyes, perfect. A perfect man, a perfect ninja, and a perfect lover.
But he is far from it, and will always be the first to attest to that. He does not want to be placed on a pedestal. But he is also not comfortable being a man, having seen far too much violence, and with far too much blood on his hands.
That is why she goes to him.
They can be imperfect together.
He knows that when she is angry, she is impatient. That she does not feel like waiting. That she does not feel like taking things slow and easy.
He has always been fine with that.
Over time, he has learned the fastest way to get her out of her clothing; a fact that she rarely notices when incensed, and doesn't bother thinking about when she is levelheaded.
He has come to respect her in her anger, enjoying it at times, and always listening as she wore her ire out on him, first verbally, and then physically.
He has never once asked her whom she thinks about when they are together, nor does she ask it of him. They are content in their familiar unconcern. Neither of them are eager to hear that they might not be the focal point of the other's attentions.
He imagines that she thinks of Uchiha Sasuke. At times, he is right. Much of her anger is towards him, but so much of her passion. When he is alone, and thinking of her, he considers it, and believes that while the Uchiha might love her well, he does not love her wisely.
And that is why, he imagines, she comes to him, instead.
She doesn't know who he thinks of. There are times when she wants to imagine that he is focused solely on her. She is greedy, and she knows it, but she just can't seem to help herself. She doesn't want to. But she is forever fueled by doubts, cast by her other relationship, the weak one she tries to share with Sasuke.
She is no longer sure if she keeps Sasuke because it is what she wants, or if it is merely because it has been her habit for so long.
But when they are together, they think of each other, and neither one is willing to divulge that there is more to this relationship than they want to admit.
Perhaps that is why they never talk about 'them'. They were not meant to be grouped together. And that is why they only think of themselves as friends.
As friends, they have a rapport, albeit a rapport that he will steadfastly refuse to grant to his other two former students. He has no desire to know either of them in the intimate manner that he knows her. As friends, they do not have to worry about the future, or their 'forevers', or even their tomorrows. There is a veil of secrecy there. It is their only safety net.
As lovers, they are compatible. She has never said no, and he has never tried to make her do that which she is unwilling to do. He knows when she just needs to be held, and she, in turn, knows when to just pay attention to him, and to hell with her own wants. They both give of themselves until it hurts.
That is when she stays away.
That is when she knows she might say something she does not want to reveal. It is not as though it is a secret – but to speak it would break the taboo they have placed upon themselves, and might ruin the only good thing they can hold on to.
He knows how to redirect her anger. He knows just how to take her, and make her forget, if only for a little while, why she is so upset. He knows where to caress, and just how much pressure to apply, to make her pliant in his arms.
But he does not mind when she is angry. He does not try to make her calm down. He will take her when she is angry. He will allow her to take her pleasure of him, because it is simply what she wants.
There had been times, in the past, when she had simply taken what she had come for, and left in a flurry of pink hair and dark clothes. He knows that those are perhaps the most dangerous times to speak with her, for some things are best left unspoken.
He has enough regrets in his life. He does not want to add her to them.
He will allow her to go. As much as he says he does not want her to stay, there are times when he thinks that her might just ask her to. It is always brushed off as a question to be addressed 'next time'.
For that question, 'next time' never seems to come.
When her fury drops, there are times when she regrets what she does. She regrets simply leaving, without offering him anything further. She realizes that it is entirely unfair, but she does it simply because she does not want to face him. …and he has always let her.
She does not like the fact that she uses him, even as he uses her. She does not want to be used by anyone, even him. There is a part of her that thinks that maybe, just maybe, she will not head for the door when they are finished. That maybe, just maybe, she will stay for a little while longer, and simply take in the warmth of his body. That perhaps it might not be such a crime to stay for a little while longer, and feel safe, wrapped in his arms.
They would be renowned procrastinators, if anyone knew the sheer amount of things they put off, and words they left unspoken, when they are with each other.
Tonight is as many other nights. He takes her roughly, on the floor of the living room of his apartment. And she is, as always, a willing participant. She is almost eager to help him undress, to run her delicate hands over the hard ridges of scarring that litter his chest and back. But it is when he finally takes her that she finds completion, and the peace of mind.
She does not think of Sasuke. He is the furthest thing from her mind, though tonight's rage had been specially devoted to him. All she can think about is the silver-haired ex-sensei kneeling between her thighs, and then she no longer wants to think.
On nights like these, one would say that there is little joy in their coupling – they are rough and hard and deep. She is taking all of him, her fingernails leaving pinkish-red furrows along his back, with a generous portion of crescent-shaped indentations. And he is returning the roughness with something of similar ilk. He grips her thighs almost to the point of bruising – he had occasionally left marks there, to be honest – but she makes no attempt to stop him.
As his teeth rake over her collarbone, irritating the skin, only to soothe away the hurt with his warm tongue, she only voices her exultation. His tongue laves over the pulse-point, trailing along her jugular vein, and all she can think of is that this is a certain freedom allowed only to him – she trusts him with her life, and revels in the desires that he stirs within her, even as he seeks to fulfill her lust.
It is with little grace or beauty that she drags his head down to her own, to kiss him with a passion she has not known with anyone else. Tonight, it is with particularly harsh movements that she brings his head down. With the vaguest wince, she can feel their teeth click together – teeth were probably not meant to be abused in such a callous manner – but she has already forgotten the grate of enamel, and is focused on her less than chaste attempts to claim his mouth for her own, if only for tonight.
It is with equal amounts of awkwardness and tenderness that he rearranges his grip on her thighs, already realizing that she would be sporting some magnificent bruising along her hips, and that a change of location for his hands would probably be prudent. He thinks that he is lucky to have the chance to borrow her like this – he does not think he deserves to have her, in the way that she deserves to be kept.
He touches her in a way that no one else does. There is an almost tragic gentleness in the way that he loves her. Sometimes, on nights like this, the combination of his hard body and careful hands is so beautiful she thinks she might cry.
She thinks that she may be enjoying herself too much when she finds the fact that he persists wearing his hitai-ate, no matter what they are doing, almost endearing. She can feel the cool metal pressing against her brow, and realizes, as often happens, that there will be, for a short time, a portion of the Konoha leaf imprinted at the top of her cheek.
It is the fact that he still feels the need to hold things back from her that bothers her. It sings a bitter note in her heart, and it is this bitter tune that she always thinks of, when she thinks of the two of them joining like this.
Trust and mistrust. Passion and tranquility. Violence and tenderness. Comfort and awkwardness.
There are many facets to this non-relationship.
It is then that it sneaks up on her, catching her unaware. She is never able to finish piecing the two of them together. He is consistent, in giving her a release, and only taking his if she wants him to.
Tonight, in her recklessness, she wants him to.
Her long, slender legs shift, to wrap around his narrow hips, to bring them together in a renewed vigor. When he pauses for a moment, as though waiting for a further assent from her, she only tightens her legs around him, and pressing against him to the point of engorgement.
He knows when to accept her invitation. She is not always this bold, but he finds that it is not an entirely unwelcome development. He slides back into her, pushing relentlessly into her. His eye watched, as her head tilted back against the slightly threadbare carpeting, her eyes closed, her lips forming some wordless murmur.
He thinks he has never seen anything quite so…exquisite.
It is when he feels her tightening around him once more, that he finds he really cannot help himself. Nor is she giving him the chance to.
It is with her characteristic stubbornness that she holds her position. Her legs had been locked around his waist, and appeared to have been imitating a vise, that was all the use he could get out of movement. …it was something he could have gotten out of, if he had wanted to, but with her insistence, he found that he did not want to.
Her eyes are closed, and he can tell that she is peaking a second time. And for a moment, he felt that he could not deny her what she wanted. He spilled himself within her, and it was only after she came down from her high that her legs loosened, before finally relinquishing their hold. He allowed himself a moment to come back to himself, before he took painstaking care to roll to the side, dragging her onto her side.
As good as their physical relationship was, he still felt a little uncomfortable. She was not one for tenderness – at least, with him – and frankly, neither was he.
But he did take a moment to press his lips against her forehead, taking a leisurely smell of her shampoo.
And she let him.
Tonight, they stayed as they were for longer than they usually did. It was when the floor got a little too cool, in the cessation of their impassioned activities that they finally managed to rouse themselves from their relative comfort.
She was the first to rise, and as she stepped away from him, he could see, by the light of the window, the wetness still on her thighs reflecting what little light there was. It was rather fascinating to watch, and he could feel his body contemplating just one more time. But suppression was one of his talents, and he quietly rose, to gather her things while she tidied herself in the bathroom.
She gave a murmur of appreciation when she left the bathroom, and quickly began to dress herself. …though, after taking a long, deliberate glance at her partner in crime, and put on her panties last.
He savored this glance, of her naked beneath her skirt. It was a most intriguing sight, one that he rarely got of her.
But she was soon finished, and set her clothing to rights, smoothing her skirt down over her toned thighs. When she turned, for his perfunctory inspection, he noticed a stray print along one of her thighs, and with a gentle hand, tugged her skirt down, to cover the marking.
She offered him an almost shy smile. She was never entirely sure how she was supposed to act, right about now.
That was all right. He didn't expect much of her, by way of behavior. They were, after all, only in this sordid situation to be of use to each other.
"…good night, Kakashi…" And then she was gone.
He took a last look around his living room, and made a half-hearted note that he needed new carpeting, one of these years. It was getting entirely too cold on the floor, or perhaps it was just him getting older.
Regardless of the disarray, he simply went into the bathroom himself, and turned the tap in the shower, stepping inside, and welcoming the first blast of cold water.
Sakura dealt with her rages and sorrows with him.
After she left, all he could do was try to make his own penance in the shower.
It never worked.
Okay… I wrote this all in one go. And it's not as bad as I thought it would be. I think. I like it, personally. Which is a rare occurrence, when it comes to thinking about my own work. But it's the opinion of the readers that matters. Feedback is nice, but it isn't my be-all-end-all. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter of "Facets".
…hell, regardless of whether or not you like it, I'll continue it. I have a few chapters done already – I'm not letting that time have been in vain.
- StM