Whenever I've loved someone, there's been this same combination of feelings: their breath near me, the touch of their hands, that illogical idea that being close to someone's body could somehow lead me to understand their mind. Perhaps I'm too cold; I often measure my trust in the years I've known someone and my ability to predict what choices they'll make. How much of their history do I know, and how much do they know of mine? I rarely have the patience required to learn about someone else's sorrow over the socially proper length of time. It could be said that I'm not very romantic, at least not by classical standards. Still, it's not that I don't want love. I haven't forgotten how enjoyable it was, my childish courtship with him all those years ago... It's unfortunate, but there's no way, now, that I could come to depend on someone else. To guard Sasuke, and to do what I can about the threat my chosen comrades, led by my blood, present to my old home... that is something I have to do alone. For security, and perhaps it's a sort of penance. No man deserves love after slaughtering his kin.
I get lonely sometimes...
A hand down my trousers and it's never enough, I have that scratchy feeling of wanting in my chest and in my throat, even while my penis strains against my hand (how like an animal, not understanding my human needs, begging for attention like an ignorant pet cat...) I want lips, tongue, that warm wet saliva in my mouth and the way he'd shudder as I caressed his palate. I want to be touched, and I want to feel the heat of another body up the length of me. My cloak can't keep out this November cold and I can't pinch both my nipples with one hand occupied keeping myself interested in the task at hand. I can't suck my own cock... I want both sides of it, someone else to swallow my saltwater, to make me shiver and pant, and that fullness in my throat, the head quivering under the ministrations of my tongue, a hand on top of my hair. I'd tremble... I want to be fucked. Hard and deep, biting the pillow to keep from crying out, fingers clenched, his weight behind me, hurting me and ramming against that spot so I gasp with pleasure, loins swelling and maybe he'd indulge me with a hand there...
And it's so easy. Ninjutsu, which makes us the genies who grant our own wishes. What need have we now of gods?
I think I may be enjoying this too much, or rather, I'm addicted. I'm often exhausted, eyes glazed, and I can't concentrate. I'm running out of ideas and the repetition is tiresome, but no matter how unenthusiastic my fingers are as they form the signs, my cock is excited, almost painfully, and a tiny thing inside my heart jumps a little. I love him so much... This is what I needed, someone to hold me and touch me tenderly. We lay together in our rumpled nest of blankets for a long time afterwards, talking idly and reaching out to one another. He leans in and kisses me, and when I tell him, haltingly, burning with play-acted shame, of my feelings for him, he confesses that he feels the same, saying, "Itachi, oh, Itachi," very close to my face, free strands of his black hair tickling my nose as he tugs lightly at my ponytail. His scent is so familiar... We have sex again. He isn't quite the masculine man I used to fantasize about, but I find the feminine mannerisms he displays from time to time endearing. He always agrees with me.
The first time I brought him out beyond the boundaries of Tsukiyomi it was almost a show of solidarity as when one brings a lover home to one's parents. Here, in the physical reality, sitting side by side on rocks under the clouds, it's clear that what we have isn't an illusion. Far away, the stars shine brightly. My two hearts are lonely.