A/N: Thanks to atiledaanen for reviving my love for Naruto (which is not mine, by the way). Re uploaded the chapters to exclude the author's notes - I think they distract from the story when the chapters are so short. I intended the parts to be like little jabs to the stomach, but as to how effective... that's for everyone else to decide. So... just this note. Thanks to all that reviewed, and everyone that reads as well! Hope you enjoy :)

Please R&R

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Ino fucks her mercilessly, every single time.

It's funny, kind of, to see Sakura pinned beneath her. There is something so deliciously ironic about the wrists pinned above her head, the ankles bound apart, the cliché grinding of her teeth together. The whole scene looks like an extremist's porno, a BDSM tryst gone horror movie. Here she is, this pink-haired powerhouse bound by nothing more than some plain rope and a few empty threats. Anywhere else, any other time, she could rap her knuckles against the headboard and send Ino's whole apartment crumbling.

But here, under the touch of Ino's cruel, unforgiving, torturous hands, Sakura lies still. Straight from a Halloween slasher film are the bloody sheets, the bloody skin, Ino's bloody kunai. Bruises like deep water. Gashes like liquid magma. On these occasions Sakura feels like an actress performing someone's gothic poetry, except the stage holds only one set, and the ending is always the same.

A kunai is half an inch into her skin, just above her naval. A practiced hand makes quick, familiar slashes. Sakura's skin has seen these scars before, and Ino watches as healing chakra traces the bloody lines. Like magic the chasm in Sakura's skin closes. Only a sizeable lake of warm blood is left behind, and Ino is glad she invested in dark bedding for these events.

There are tears too, but she pays no attention to these. They are constant with Sakura. An endless stream with temporal qualities, making her look just like she had when she was five and bullied, twelve and ignored, seventeen and on Ino's doorstep with a death wish. That was almost six months ago.

Ino takes a careful once over of Sakura's face. She can tell by her bloody companion's expression that kunai is not enough today. Not needing an answer, Ino doesn't bother to ask before cutting the ropes around Sakura's ankles and flipping her over, face down. Before Sakura can take a breath Ino is on top of her, around her, inside of her.

There is something so precious about these moments, Ino thinks, thrusting her hips forward brutally. Sakura makes a noise like an attempt at words, but Ino is quick to shut her up.

"Fuck you," the blond snarls with every scrap of hatred she can find. There are many. By a fistful of pink hair, green eyes and bloody lips are shoved unbearably into the mattress.

Ino knows she is screaming now, 'I hate yous' stealing the silence like they're recorded on a broken record. But like the rapid motion of her hips it is hopelessly beyond her control.

"Goddamn it," she says, softly now, feeling Sakura's body tense with the pressure of orgasm. Sweat and tears and blood that's not hers are sticky in her hair, on her face, between her breasts. Feeling Sakura go limp, Ino lifts the bloody face off her mattress.

Sakura is silent as she turns herself onto her back. She stares dazed and doe-eyed at the blond who is still leaning over her, examining her handiwork. Self-hatred coils inside of Ino like a spring.

"Can I kiss you?" She asks the limp body under her, not expecting an answer and not needing permission. But she asks because she knows this is not part of the brutal ritual they have concocted together. This is not for Sakura's sake, not to help ease her self-loathing, or stop the agonizing helplessness she feels at all hours of the day. No, this is for Ino's sake. For the tenderness she never gets, for the guilt of torturing a comrade.

Sakura may be on the receiving end of Ino's blows, but Ino suffers from something far more profound. Her mind is the ground zero between morality and pleasure. Desperately she tries to crush the first for the sake of Sakura's morbid coping mechanisms, but tender feelings pluck at her heartstrings. Hedonism and love are not coexisting, and Ino cynically finds this unfortunate.

"You know I don't really hate you," she says. I love you, she means. She hates the way her voice shakes.

Ino kisses her, and it is soft and tender and so agonizingly hopeless- Sakura, that fiery girl she loves from head to toe to hangnail, is unresponsive.

And Ino knows more than anyone how much more it hurts to be the one inflicting the pain.

But, she thinks as she slaps Sakura so hard her neck nearly cracks, at least she is beautiful this way. The sheen of sweat, the afterglow of orgasm, the flush of blood right beneath the skin. The shine of eyes slicked with tears. They are brought together by their desperateness, and Ino bruises under the knowledge that she'll never be big enough, never be good enough, never be man enough to replace what Sakura feels she has lost. As the left side of Sakura's face turns a brilliant red, Ino comforts her conscience with the thought that, at least, pain is beautiful.

But she knows the ending is always the same.