TEASER: -STILL NEEDS TITLE-

Ehhheh. I need a title for this. Recommend some to me, pleasseee. I'm making puppy dog eyes with my big shiny blue eyes right now. ITS CUTE AND IRRESISTIBLE. I'm thinking...I dunno, Infatuation, or something, which is lame. I'm boredd. GIVE ME ONE-SHOT/SERIES REQUESTS. I will write...whatever. 33 ANYWAY. This series features...angst (like maddd), silliness, gore, pretty punker boys, ItaSasu, SasuNaru, NaruSasu, clichés, disturbing things, kink (like...I dunno. S&M?) sparkless, and...stuff. Smut? Maybe, if you ask nicely.

This won't make sense...because...it's snippets...The little XxXxX signifies a change in time/place.

I don't own Naruto and it's characters, you dorkus. I'm not making any profit on this, either. So...NOBODY SUE ME.

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The delicate lines of his seemingly frail body, the way his creamy shoulders heaved and his eyes twisted in hatred and rage and lust. It was oh-so wrong, wasn't it? But he looked pretty with a bruise on his face and a glare twisting his features, hating Itachi for making him want this, making him do this, hating himself for giving into his nature every time.

All he wanted was approval, though, not the tracery of calloused fingertips across the curve of his ribs, not a bruising grasp and nail crescents from those black nails dug into his skin. His brother was his everything, a distant figure that oozed cool and anger and hatred, a cigarette (it really wasn't a cigarette, but Sasuke didn't like to think about that) between those perfect lips, dangerous crimson eyes that whispered promises.

This was wrong, and he couldn't see this time, with a scrap of black, black linen tied over his eyes. Itachi had wanted that, grinned, and had forced him to his knees, once he couldn't see. I like your pretty eyes, he'd whispered, but its more fun this way. Isn't this fun, Sasuke? He'd wanted to scream no and push his brother away, but he couldn't, hating himself for loving the roughness and the gentle touches, the thrill of all the things that they did that were so taboo.

XxXxX

He didn't have Courtney Love's paint-peeling voice, but something infinitely better, grinding and screaming out "Some day you will ache like I ache!" with his almost-deep voice, leaning close to crowd with the mike stand between his gorgeously skinny legs. He was a legend in the making, a punker-pretty-boy fronting a band that could play and did, hard and fast and loud. It wasn't music, really, but life and pain and sugar and sex and pills and agony pushed through some instruments and a sexy voice. It was what people waited for all their lives to hear, and listened to for hours, because each note made them raw and whole.

He stands there, head tipped back in mock and pure ecstasy, dripping with sweat, a Cheshire cat grin-smirk on his face, those unfocused bruise-black eyes burning a hole in the crowd. He's panting into the mike and thrusting his hips forward, perfect lips parted, and such a turn on, damn it, so Naruto was wishing he'd stop (Oh, please don't stop, his traitorous body whispered). He's swaying his hips and preaching to the crowd about rage and government and starvation in the Golden state, and they're all nodding and shoving against each other, pledging allegiance to this messiah who didn't want it.

He stands on the edge of the stage, precariously, above the anarchy of the pit, still grinning, sliding up his shirt with one had because he know that they all want it, straight or not. Quick-darting tongue against the curve of the mike's top, laughter amplified 100 times in the sweet-smoky club, black material falling to the ground. He's so fucking skinny he hurts to look at, so he's unbelievably gorgeous, black leather pants hugging sharp hipbones, contrasting so sharply against his snow-white tan. Naruto is weak in the knees and his stomach hurts because he's so fucking gorgeous, it's unbelievable. It's like a punch to the stomach, his beauty and talent and perfection. Every fiber of Naruto's being rebels against such beauty, and pure lust wanted him so fucking badly.

Black hair, black eyes, bruises, pouty lips, youth: his exquisite temptations. He glimmers with sparkles coating his eyes, with a sheen of sweat, with the glaring spotlight that flatters him so. BANG BANG, cymbal crash, show's over and everyone wants more. This man is some kinda fucking drug, Naruto thinks. Like I need another addiction, right? Naruto notices, as the band scampers off stage, that they're all so fucking pretty, like movie stars, only real and raw and better and pretty-in-punk. Lucky bastards, probably friends because they're pretty.

Naruto lingers, with some sad loser who spotted a girl he wanted to fuck in here last week. No alcohol finds it way down the blonde's throat, because he's seen people drunk and doesn't want to be that. He'd been 'that' a couple of times before too, grinning like an idiot and letting some guy shove his tongue down his throat. Waking up in a strange room wearing nothing but a too-big white shirt was not fun, especially when you didn't remember how you'd actually ended up there.

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I refered to Sasuke as HE every time...OH WELL. I'll fix it later(in the actual story). That's why no one else gets pronouns and it's awkward as helll. Sasuke will introduce himself and stuff during the actual story, at the beginning of the gig. I just didn't want to actually put 'Sasuke' because you wouldn't know why Naruto knows Sasuke. It'll be better when I really write it. Cause...THAT SUCKED SO BAD. The real thing will be better, I swear. Meanwhile: I want to write one shots...GIVE ME A THEME AND PAIRING YOU WANT AND I'LL GO WITH IT. I will do hetero and yuri (Girl Love) pairings as well. (Ex: ItaSasu, kitty ears. SakuIno, childhood memories, NaruHina, confession.)