Warnings: Melodrama, porn with very scanty plot, cliché, post-midnight coherency… my fingers wrote this while I wasn't paying attention. I apologize for them, they have very small brains.

A/N: This is dedicated to the wonderful, beautiful, stupendous, and talented Yanni, because she's all of those adjectives and wanted some SasuNaru. And a huge thanks to abnegation218 for beta-ing and suggesting the title.

The Best Man

I was the best man at his wedding. I stood beside him, stiff and uncomfortable, as he said his vows and pledged himself to her. I watched when he kissed his bride, slow and tender, like he loved her; his hand caught in her hair and her chin tilted up.

My Sharingan had activated, capturing the nightmare so I could torture myself with it later. Because they were so perfect together,so picturesque. His dark hands moved over her pink face, her black hair, the white hip of her traditional dress.

Something shut down in me then. I felt numb, empty as he kissed her, loved her as though they were the only two people in the world. I walked away from that wedding with tremors in my legs.

He found me. Of course he did. Rushing in all flushed and ruffled, beautiful and breathing hard. They missed me, he said as though he hoped that would bring me back to the party. I shook my head and flicked my fingers at him, telling him to leave. And after a while, he did, looking uncertain and reluctant, having lost our battle of wills.

So I sat, slouched alone on a loveseat, replaying the kiss in my mind. I could have prevented it, and the thought alone made me shudder in self-loathing. He had approached me before the ceremony, looking nauseous and unsure. He had babbled on with cold feet, wringing his hands and grimacing. Should he go through with it? He asked me repeatedly.

So I asked a question of my own, one that had been burning my stomach lining since they'd first started dating.

"Do you love her?"

And he just stared, his blue eyes impossibly wide and bewildered. A tiny curl of hope began to unwind inside me as the implications sunk in. No, he doesn't. He…

He smiled, and I thought then that I'd never seen him quite like that, so shy and happy, so glowing. And I almost smiled too; I could feel my eyes softening because he'd realized that he –

"Yes."

What?

"Oh god, Sasuke, yes," and his voice broke, as though he'd never believed anything quite that much. As though he'd never felt something so strongly. The tentative curl smashed as my hands closed into fists.

He threw glad arms around me, holding me close in a way I'd only dreamed of, his chin on my shoulder and his arms crushing my chest. But it meant nothing now. Nothing meant anything now.

He stepped back, holding me at arms' length, and beamed at me, eyes wet with relief that he'd made the right choice. His mouth moved, but it was as though he was on mute. That was when the numbness sunk in, slinking under my skin and soaking into my bones.

I saw him leave, saw him walk away, and I saw the scenery change as I moved; everything was a surreal blur until I found myself beside the altar while they said their vows.

I signed onto an A-rank mission shortly after, while their party was still young. I walked out through the front door, unnoticed, and didn't come back.

The mission was an undercover infiltration of Wind Country and I was forced to stay on my toes, shifting henge regularly. It was good, a grueling challenge that occupied my mind for the months it took to complete it.

I didn't tell anyone when I returned to Konoha, save checking in at the Hokage tower. I signed onto the next long mission that was available, and before anyone could fully realize I'd returned, I was gone again.

It was almost a year before I was forced to stay in the Leaf Village for longer than two days. I opened my apartment door for the first time in months and discovered it had been broken into.

Empty beer bottles and trash littered the floor. Things of mine – clothes, kunai, my old genin shirt – were strewn about. My futon was out of its closet and lay twisted under a snarl of blankets. The table had been turned over and a lamp lay smashed in a corner. One of the windows had been forced for entry.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, fighting fury, before stripping off my filthy flak jacket and making my way painfully to the bathroom. The intruder was long gone – not even a whiff of chakra remained.

I took a hot shower, hoping to scrub the gore and death from my skin. I noticed the shampoo was almost depleted and that my toothbrush looked suspiciously frayed. I made a mental note not to brush my teeth until I'd made a trip to the store.

I turned off the water with a thunk and quickly dressed my wounds. Mercifully, there were still a few untouched towels, folded nicely where I'd left them and I dug around for some clean clothes. I was pulling them on when I felt him. He was near, approaching fast, and god I knew that chakra.

My pulse quickened. I shrugged into my shirt and feigned nonchalance as I finished buttoning my pants. I heard the forced window creak with added weight and the thump as he dropped ungainly to the floor.

My back was to him and I stood in the shadows, nearly thrumming with adrenaline. I could practically feel him breathing from across the room. I turned slowly.

He was silhouetted against the window, his golden hair haloed in the orange glower of a streetlamp. I couldn't see his face, but his shoulders were tense.

He moved, stalking toward me with a deadly deliberation. I stood still, ice in my eyes, challenging him without word or motion. He didn't stop until he was so close we could have been touching, then his hands shot out and he shoved me. Hard.

I allowed myself a half-step back, eyes narrowed, my Sharingan blazing. His hands had caught in my shirt and I closed a hand on one of his wrists, tightening it 'til I felt his tendons jump. I could see part of his face in the dull light, his features dark with rage.

"The hell, Sasuke?" he hissed, stepping closer and yanking me toward him. I stared coldly down into his face. He had changed since I last saw him, leaner-looking, maybe. Hungrier. His hands tightened on my shirt, not caring that my nails were drawing blood, and he gave another jerk on the fabric. "Where did you go? Where the fuck were you for eleven months?"

I didn't answer. I could feel the rage, dormant for almost a year, beginning to stir under my skin. His face was near mine, indignant and self-justified. As though he hadn't had her beside him, kissing his lips and making their world-of-two perfect and picturesque. As though he was the one alone on long missions, killing strangers alongside strangers, and pretending to be someone else every day. He looked at me like I'd abandoned him, not the other way around. And that chilling, white-hot rage churned beneath my skin.

He was trembling with some thick emotion, fists tight on the collar of my shirt. His eyes were burning into mine, his eyebrows mangled together and his teeth bared.

I tore his fingers from my shirt and flew at him, pulling him closer to my advantage by the wrist still captured in my fist. I was speechless with fury, overwhelmed with a melee of unspeakable emotions.

He blocked my attack, fighting back one-handed, his other twisting in my grasp. Furniture jostled, and Instant Noodle wrappers crunched beneath our feet. I was going blind with rage; I was wild with it.

He attacked with his captured arm and I went with the momentum, spinning around to slam him into the wall. He kicked out and locked our legs. We slid down, struggling. I caught my free hand in his hair and smashed his head against the wall. A thin stream of blood slid down his temple, and I saw the dull gleam of his eyes before he lurched forward and tackled me. I went down twisting and kicking, sinking my teeth into his shoulder like an animal. He grunted in surprise and I pinned him.

He was breathing hard as I extracted my teeth from the wound. Red rose slowly from the dents in his shoulder, collecting in thick beads. I felt him flinch under me when I licked it.

Mine.

I moved my lips up, across his collarbone to his neck, where I pressed my tongue against his throat, feeling the frantic palpitations of his pulse. I kissed it feverishly, inhaling his earthy scent. Then I moved higher, brushing my nose against the side of his face, tracing the smooth curve of his cheekbones. I brought my lips to the corner of his mouth, his chin, his cheeks.

He was tense beneath me, flexing his restrained muscles in stiff response. I could feel the thunder of his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt. His breathing was harsh, and I was surprised when he twisted up and threw me off, knocking me back against the overturned table. He shoved me down, holding me by my hair, and leaned in, rage boiling in his blue eyes.

"You think I'll forgive you," he breathed, "just like that?" He tightened his fist, pulling the hair taut from my scalp. I frowned, anger stirring.

He bit my lips hard enough to hurt. Then his teeth parted and his tongue met mine. The kiss was angry and vengeful, punishing, almost unpleasant in its ferocity. His free hand dragged down my side and closed on my hip, fingers digging into my skin.

I growled and kicked out of his grasp. "You stayed," I hissed. You could have come. He'd brought me back from Orochimaru; he'd refused to give up for years. But now he had her. I was on him again, body moving before mind, and I dug my fingers into the clasp of his pants, unzipping them over the rise in the front and dragging them down enough to bare him. I bent down, hands holding his hips, and kissed him there in a simple, almost chaste gesture.

All movement stopped; he held very still, barely breathing as I kissed him again, slicking my tongue over his head. I eased his pants lower and shifted forward so I leaned over him, lifting his shirt and pressing a kiss on his stomach. His hand touched my hair and I looked up. His eyes were heavy, lost, and suddenly he wasn't fierce or angry but tired and sad.

You didn't even say goodbye.

My words stuck in my throat, so I kissed him. I kissed his lips, his mouth, but softly this time. An apology, almost. I began to stroke him, carefully, teasingly, until his heart was beating that much faster. He was moving, involuntarily pressing toward me, and his skin shone, the film of sweat glistening in the soft orange light.

He spread his hands across my chest, rubbing my pecs and moving down to undo my pants. I groaned when he took me out and used his fingers to see in the dark. I pushed his shirt up so it bunched around his neck, and I drew my tongue across his chest, leaving gleaming trails on his skin.

I moved his hands off me and shifted, aligning myself with him. I began to press into him and he jumped, hissing and twisting away from me. I caught his arms, my hands like claws.

"Hold still," I hissed and pressed in farther.

He swore viciously, writhing in my grasp. "Stop," he snapped. "You – wait."

I tightened my jaw for control and stopped. I could feel him adjusting around me, muscles spasming and relaxing as he came to terms with the pain.

He was breathing through his teeth, muscles taut and twitching. The pain was terrible, but he didn't move. He lay rigid, like a board, as though any movement on his part would increase the friction.

I began shifting when I thought I'd waited long enough. I pulled back slightly and felt his convulsive shudder as I pushed farther in. There was a moment where I touched something that made him tremble and almost relax, his breath stuttering. It was brief, only a moment, before he tensed again. I aimed carefully and gave a savage thrust that sent him jerking. A choked noise fell from my throat and his eye caught the hazy orange light as it met mine.

"Naruto…" I murmured,

His hand rose from my inattentive grip to cover my mouth. Don't speak, it pleaded, don't say it.

I cupped my own hand around his and kissed his palm, his fingertips. I was moving faster now, too quick to count, and he was relaxing – almost – in feverish flashes.

He reached for my head and was pulling me down for a kiss when I came, jerking hard and smashing my face into his chest. He stopped breathing and I felt him constrict around me. I groaned into his chest and felt my eyes water with the intensity of it. Then he let out a long shuddering breath and the world slowly spiraled back into place.

I was slumped against his chest, my eye level with a nipple. His ragged breathing eased down and I felt the dread slowly seeping in as I came down from my high.

I flinched when he touched my back, fingers brushing lazily down my spine. Only then did I dare to peek up at him. There was something warm about his eyes despite their icy blue. His lips tilted slightly, and in that moment we needed no words.

I would learn later that I'd soured his wedding night, eleven months ago. I'd hear about his impossible rages and corresponding sullen stupors. I'd learn that he was provoked by everything and nothing, and would vanish, thundering off to ravage my apartment and drink himself into a façade of peace.

I'd learn later that the marriage never severed, that Hinata always looked after her tormented husband. That she watched over his drunken fury and tucked him in once he'd raged himself to slumber.

I would learn later that, as I lay with my head on her husband's chest, she stood in another room, staring through the walls with her white eyes.

A/N: Well damn, Sasuke somehow managed to... bottom from the top. XD Sorry, Yanni… Iloveyoudon'tkillme?

I apologize for the citrus. I have never had gay mansex, so I'm certain my account of it was pitifully flawed. It's my first attempt at writing porn, and I'm both disturbed by the sappiness and laughing at the melodrama. Advice and criticism welcome.