After three versions and five re-writes, I got this done! Sorry it took so long, but, luckily for me, the manga has not advanced the Uchiha situation so this is still canon approved~

I do not own Itachi, Sasuke, or Madara

Warnings: Yaoi, incest, Uchihacest

Please enjoy and review

Resurrection

There was light on his face; his eyes were itching. He moved a hand to rub them and his surroundings came into sharp focus. The mattress was giving and he was sinking. A liquid was pooling in the indentation and caressing open wounds. It was hard, soft, cold, warm (everything, nothing) and he couldn't seem to place it. He sat up and it went with him- thick and clinging to his skin, it was clothing him in a viscous slime (I'm naked- he noted). He felt it run into his fingers and through his skin, all the way to his core deep, deep, deeper (but it wasn't, it wasn't even moving). He stood from the bed and the liquid fell away in heavy drops. It formed little explosions on the floor- a white mixed with red; the colors of unity; the colors of the Uchiha.

He walked forward and he collapsed on his knees. Itachi thought he screamed out, but the blood that flooded his mouth distracted him. He reached, dumbly, forward- the room was flitting between darkness and extreme relief. He crumpled forward and began coughing spasmodically. Pure red was pouring out of his mouth. It moved like a serpent, but it was stationary. All the blood did was diffuse and place barriers for itself as it coagulated; hardened; solidified. He licked his lips, clenched his fist, and muttered into the fast approaching, breathing darkness:

"Stop."

The floor gave a final heave, the ceiling a final dip. Then, his body tore apart, the liquid penetrating like a thousands razors and shattering his bones, flaying his muscles, and drawing forth his blood. The pain was insane and intense. The pleasure, though, was an admixture of cool surrender and burning indignation.

He woke up. He woke up alone. His mouth was crusted with blood and his wounds were as he dreamt them and the liquid was just as thick. Yet, he was more lucid. The ceiling remained in its place; the floor did not rise up and fall with his breaths. He pressed his lower abdomen and felt a familiar squelch and liquid slowly leave his body. There was so much all over him. It was clinging and suffocating and sensual- a nameless, faceless, sexless lover. He squirmed, writhed, and finally righted himself when the pleasure mixed pain became too biased,

Itachi stood and walked out the door. He made it down the hall, the darkness thick because of the late hour, and ducked into the bathroom. He showered and scrubbed himself until his wounds were pink and raw. He cleaned every part of himself two times, three times, maybe even five. But, no matter how much he tried to erase the touches, he couldn't resist touching himself. And when he glanced through the spray, between his lowered eye lids, past the haze of his euphoria, he swore he could see Madara, looking right at him. Then, he realized, it was only his reflection.

Turning off the water he retreated to his room and looked at his bed. It was painted in blood. Not all my own, he reassured himself. However, looking at the white he felt disgusted when he reached the same conclusion. He was older now, past this sort of thing- wasn't he? Then again, this was far beyond teenage hormonal driven lust. This was something else entirely. He stripped his bed of its sheets. The liquid was soaked into the thin mattress, the impression of his sleeping form outlined by ribbons of red. He started to laugh, but it was only inwardly, and he threw the mattress from its seat so it crashed into the wall. He sat on the floor, legs crossed, and stared at the door. He remained that way for the next three hours- abandoned to thoughts he hadn't, until now, ever entertained.

Madara found him. He walked through the doorway, a lantern in his hand to diffuse the omnipresent darkness of the underground chamber and a plate of food in the other. The ancestor wasn't caught off guard by the sight of Itachi and the unkempt bed. Rather, he had expected far worse. He maneuvered around the mattress and placed the plate before Itachi. The younger continued to stare forward, shivering slightly from the cold on his bare skin. Madara placed a warm hand on his shoulder and pressed it a bit. Itachi turned slowly.

"Is it morning?" He asked robotically. His mouth was bruised and a new rivulet of blood was curling from its corners. A bruise was blossoming on his cheekbone, which accented the red flecks in his eyes. He looked tired, haggard, and as if he was merely sleepwalking.

"Early morning." He clarified. Madara seated himself in front of Itachi and gathered some food and held it out in offering. Itachi leaned forward and took the proffered food into his mouth. His tongue lingered on the chopstick as he drew away, but then his mouth was set to the mundane task of chewing and any innuendo was lost and torn asunder. Madara looked about, a bit, and then focused on Itachi again: "You'll be starting your training with Sasuke today."

"You won't punish me for it?" Itachi said with a hint of malice. It was too quick, too unregulated. Madara's mouth twisted a bit, his eyes narrowing. The felinity of his face became pronounced as he pulled his mouth into a shadowed smirk. A canine flashed from behind the taught lips, adding a danger to the face that looked like sin itself at present. However, Itachi just saw Madara playing a game and was not amused.

"Only if you want me to, Ita-kun." The pet name was purred, reverberating within the graceful column of throat. Itachi glanced at the food- why am I so damned hungry? Madara pushed forward and captured Itachi's lips with his own. He brought the boy to the floor, the coagulated blood and dry semen cracking from the pressure and movement. Madara deepened the kiss and slowed it to such a pace that he was forced to breathe through his nose before he completed a desired movement. He made sure to pulse chakra through and, suddenly, Itachi was reacting. He pulled away though, and Itachi was left alone on the floor, the food unattended at his feet, a halo of blood and semen around his head. He stared at the ceiling as it was cast into darkness by Madara's receding lantern: Well that could have been worse.

Itachi met with Sasuke after lunch. Sasuke was in his normal attire and Itachi couldn't help but realize how much he did look like a gay pirate as Deidara had jibed. Itachi eyed him up and down. He was trying to take him seriously, but there was no way he could. "Change." He ordered and Sasuke returned a few minutes later with a black tank top, the Uchiha symbol emblazoned indiscreetly on the collar. He followed Itachi down the route specified by Madara and the two emerged outside in a small (almost miniscule) canyon entirely confined on all sides by high, jutting cliffs. Vines tangled down the steep slopes with purple flowers bursting forth.

Sasuke wandered ahead of him and began to idly twirl his katana; Itachi looked around a bit more and then nodded towards Sasuke. They fell into their fighting stances, Sasuke lurching forward first and disappearing in a puff of air. Itachi tried to activate his sharingan, to catch where the original Sasuke was hiding, but instead his head was galvanized by an unknown, terrible pain. He steadied himself and moved, just in time, to miss the first wave of shuriken.

No sharingan. Itachi noted, fending off Sasuke's quick taijutsu. Suddenly, lightning hit his arm, which he hadn't even seen Sasuke perform the seals for, and he was thrown back into the cliff. Quickly, en flight, he performed some seals of his own and replaced himself with a shadow clone- his self landed in a tangle of vines higher up cliff. He sat among the corded greenery as Sasuke surveyed the lowest area first. I could attack, Itachi thought, but it's much more fun to observe.

He sent down a few shadow clones and Sasuke easily beat them off. He couldn't tell the difference between the shadow clones and an actual person- the biggest advantage of sharingan. Itachi gave a little laugh, which gave away his position, when he realized Sasuke couldn't use his eyes at all. Sure, he had activated the sharingan, but he was unable to use it. He just saw the world in a few less shades and maybe a bit slower pace, but nothing was aligned. A bit of chakra therapy could clear that up, Itachi concluded, but why hadn't Madara done that already?

Oh well, no matter, and he jumped from his perch (narrowly missing a barrage of kunai) and raised his hand. The sign of surrender was noticed and Sasuke stilled, wincing a bit at the pain in his eyes, blood diluted but still falling from the orbs. "Sasuke," Itachi said, pressing two fingers to either temple of his younger brother, "Hold still."

He found his store of his chakra, which was dangerously low, and slowly fed it to the area behind Sasuke's eyes. He directed Sasuke to try to gather some of his chakra as well, so the two could mix, and the two powers began to meld slowly. He channeled the mixture through the eyes until they became tolerant of Sasuke's more electric power as compared to Itachi's fire-based one. He was hit by an epiphany, though, as he was at the final stage and pulsing through only Sasuke's chakra- his little brother and his ancestor had nearly identical chakra. Perhaps that could explain the inexplicable pull he felt from his gut- the chakra was similar so, since he was tired, his body wanted this energy.

In reality, the conclusion was only drawn because it was better to this reason than that he was lusting and wanting Sasuke.

He pulled away and Sasuke laid a hand on his own forehead, swooning a bit from the new swell of control. Itachi was about to ask if Sasuke was okay, but knew the answer would always be 'yes'. He walked towards the far side, Sasuke following behind at a slower pace, and sat atop an outcrops of rocks- freed from the canyon wall by natural erosion. Sasuke took a seat at a lower tier and massaged his eyes a bit. Itachi got comfortable and closed his eyes, attempting to wait out the notion.

"You want to destroy Konoha?" Itachi asked after a few moments. Sasuke grunted, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye. It itched, a lot, and he could feel the memories from it, the power, the techniques, all flooding into his system- unlocking their secrets. It was frustrating, though, since he could not understand what these were. He had them, yes, but he had no idea what they were. In his frustration, he barely heard Itachi's follow up: "Mind telling me why?"

It wasn't an immediate response; simply a measured silence, lineated solitude. Neither moved, they scarcely breathed, but not from fear. No, neither was really in that conversation, it was just a formality. Both could feel the burning of the gaze of some omniscient and they chose not to tempt it. It was so familiar, like so many times before when they were at home, with their family, and their mother wanted to try a traditional family dinner again with a traditional familial conversation. Sasuke removed his hand from his eye and replied: "To avenge you." It sounded stupid in retrospect, but he continued on: "they never should have done that to you." His throat was constricting and his mouth becoming arid: "I killed you for a crime that wasn't your choice."

Sasuke drifted off, but, in his head, the argument continued. Itachi should never have died. He should never have been given such a burden (he had been sixteen, Sasuke was seventeen now and this was all too much). It never should have happened.

"The people who wronged me are dead," Itachi soothed. The truth was harsh, grating, and Sasuke felt all his pride being upbraided in one swift pull. Suddenly his power wasn't enough, his will was too weak, and he felt so small. The man he wanted to avenge, the wrong he had wanted to right- everything, everything was finite. And it had ended. Revenge isn't indefinite; it is the most definite of all things. And if you wait a day past the assigned time of Karma's restitution, you never play your hand in the game of revenge.

I'm not an avenger; Sasuke thought bitterly, I'm a coward. He gripped his hands into fists, his fingernails digging into his flesh. No blood was drawing and silently he willed it to just spill- spill from every part and every piece of him. He closed his eyes, shutting them tight, the sharingan a second heartbeat. I'm a coward because I was too afraid to know. I'm a coward because I'm too afraid to kill the one who did you the most wrong. I'm afraid…too afraid…weak.

"You're right." Sasuke said, refusing to add on (for the sake of his pride): "as always". Because Itachi was always right. Sasuke lacked hatred just as much as he lacked courage (not like he'd tell you that). Because if he had hate. If he could despise something (someone) to the full extent they deserved he would not have missed the timeline, the dead line. No. He would have been brave enough to end it. To end himself because, ultimately, he was the main reason for Itachi's death wasn't he? He killed him, so by the rules he should kill himself. He should take his life, with his final hope in sight, his only possibility of love (and hate and salvation) right before his eyes, at his fingertips, when his life would be ripped out of him. That's all he deserved:

An eye for an eye;

Oh! The irony!

Sasuke roused himself from his stupor, Itachi was already standing with his hand extended, and Sasuke took the cold digits among his own and let the elder pull him up. The stars were reaching across the sky (how long had they sat in silence?) and the red hues were a mere flicker above the edge of the cliffs. They retreated inside to be welcomed by the subdued sounds of an exhausted evening. They parted way, Itachi at the top of the stone steps when he tossed behind him, barely above a whisper:

"Sasuke, you're not the one who deserves to die."

Was it comforting? Perhaps, on some dimension, on some Uchihan plane of understanding it had made perfect sense; but Sasuke had been removed too young from the life to know its intricacies although he was proving to fall into the clan's old rhythms. Did he feel relieved? No, he was frightened. Suddenly he didn't know if he had voiced his thoughts or if Itachi could now read his thoughts. Or, the worst thought of all (Sasuke touched his face, his lips, his eyes)- could it be read from his expression? Was Sasuke intentionally (or subconsciously and thus intentionally) giving himself away?

Now, if he was an Uchiha he would dismiss the thoughts and focus on strength or honor or just his breathing. But that little distance, the year or two that divided his total assimilation created a fork in his course of action and he took the normal action. He lay in bed that night, thinking incessantly about his brother (his brother who was alive and breathing and forgiving). He thought about him to the point he could feel him beside him- like those nights when he was small and pretended to fear the thunder and would sneak into his brother's room for comfort. The warmth from the body always broke the barrier between wakefulness and sleep and he'd plummet into a land of pleasant dreams. The same thing happened, when his mind focused on all the pleasurable things his brother had ever done and now could do. And he dreamt and he dreamt and he dreamt. And, above all, he dreamt of Itachi.

Itachi found his room remade. There was a new mattress and the floor was meticulously scrubbed. An oil lamp was set in the corner of the room so he'd have light, but he didn't bother to turn it on. He sat on his bed and curled under the warm blankets. A piece of paper crumpled under his weight (a note, no doubt) and he brushed it from the sheet to the floor. He dropped into a desperate oblivion. He didn't dream that night because his subconscious was still unsure of what it wished to portray. Instead it worked through the past week, month, and even years to piece together what exactly Itachi's relation was with Sasuke. And, when he woke up tired, it had only one conclusion, which it murmured in the suspension and seemed lost with the rush of wakefulness, but he caught it. He caught it and kicked it under his bed with the note.

They were most definitely more than brothers.


Sasuke missed that crucial point in his life when an older sibling stops being your hero and becomes your enemy. Granted, sibling rivalry drove him towards it, but his childish admiration steered him clear. Therefore, Itachi was never more than an ideal to Sasuke. He never was experienced as a brother or sibling should be experienced- he was perfection. And when he became imperfect, he disappeared, and that just added to the disillusion.

Sasuke had seen Itachi in another light, the cold hard light of blame. He blamed him for all the wrongs that happened after the massacre. He saw him, again, as an ideal, but this time it was an idyllic shame. He went from everything Sasuke wanted to be to everything he never wanted to be. The transition, there was none, so for the impressionable kid, when the switch was made, there was no bridging. There was Itachi the loved and Itachi the hated. And when Sasuke learned that Itachi was forced to commit the wrong that had created Itachi the hated- well there was no more Itachi the hated. And Itachi the loved was deteriorating too when Sasuke learned, yes, he could be short with his brother, especially if he had to try the damned jutsu one more time because obviously he wasn't getting it.

He made the seals, pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, and focused as hard as he could. He did another quick series of seals with one hand and focused harder, but nothing was drawn forth. Itachi watched mildly from the outcropping, attempting to understand why Sasuke couldn't seem to activate the highest level of sharingan- he had gotten to all the others in a matter of minutes, but this one was eluding him. Noticing the darkening sky and his own chakra depletion, Itachi decided it'd be hazardous to continue on because if Sasuke messed up, Itachi was in no state to help him. He stood up and stretched, extending his arms over his head and arching his back slightly. He felt the crackle of his spine settling and the twang of his muscles loosening, but he failed to feel the two eyes enraptured by the sight of him.

Itachi walked forward and placed a hand on Sasuke's sagging shoulder (he's tired too), and began guiding him to the opening. However, Sasuke looked slightly dumb, the frustration ebbing into an apathy that was slowly melding with something else. His mouth drooped and his eyes closed ever so slightly, ever so slowly, and Itachi found out what that something else was as Sasuke pitched forward- fatigue. He grabbed the breathing bundle and brought it to a patch of grass, only able to carry it that extent. He then arranged his brother so Sasuke's head was in his lap and he was softly stroking the hair, awaiting consciousness to return.

The warm glow of the ebbing sun painted Sasuke's skin a dusty gold. His black hair was immutable it seemed and his face statuesque. He seemed like some monument, some effigy, the features delicately carved with loving detail. Itachi tenderly traced the high arch of a brow, the sharp cheek bone, and finally ran his thumb under the lower lip. His fingers spread on the shadowed throat, the pulse a strong, steady drumbeat beneath his fingers. He grazed the Adam's apple, ran down the jugular and then the carotid. He was trying to memorize every feature of him, the angle of his collar bone, the slope of his shoulder, and the strength of his tendons. His hand stopped its journey and he put it behind himself with the other for support. He stared up at the edge of cliff, which was blazing with hot reds, like some forge of the gods. He felt Sasuke stir beneath him, but the boy wasn't pulling out of it yet. The only sign he was still functional was the soft murmur on his inner thigh:

"…Itachi…"

It was a mix of a sigh and a whisper and, regardless of its form, sent shivers coursing through Itachi. He closed his eyes. He tried to gather his wits about him- I'm only tired. I just crave his chakra, his power, because it's so much like Madara's. That's all there is. It's all it is. Another calling, a little louder, accompanied with an obscene gesture- Sasuke's hand clenching and scratching at his own shirt. A sweat broke out on the golden skin that was now giving way to a more pallid complexion. The eyebrows drew together as Sasuke's hand touched his self, the fingers massaging his abdomen and running along his inner hip. He stilled, but Itachi's name was still fresh on his lips.

Why was he dreaming of that? Or was he dreaming of something else? Perhaps some technique or a past event and it were pain Sasuke was feeling and trying to push away. Perhaps, perhaps, but a perhaps means there is an equally likely other option. An option, needless to say, Itachi was not favoring at the moment. So he opted for shaking Sasuke's form until the eyes snapped open and Sasuke sat up. He looked around a bit and then at Itachi: "We should go inside."

His voice was husky and deep and Itachi never understood until now, just now, (only now), how old Sasuke had become. The younger stood up and began to make his progress towards the door. Itachi took in the sight and groaned so loud on the inside he wasn't sure if it was a body or mind's response. He stood too and followed Sasuke inside, careful to keep an acceptable distance. And, when he was safely behind his door- tired and aching and yearning- he felt himself moved to such a point, to such a place, he had never thought he could be moved: he had never wanted something so much; he had never spurned something so much. And, in the heights of these conflicting passions, he lost all reason and sent himself into a depraved oblivion.

One such oblivion, he'll always remind himself, he wasn't at all unfamiliar with.

Itachi woke up in a stupor, his back pressed against his bed and his pants discarded somewhere near the door. His shirt was itchy from dried sweat and he was going to take it off, but felt it was the only scrap of chastity he had left. When he stood up, his foot went right into the mess he had created last night- cracking and fracturing under his weight. He threw on his pants and looked at the perfectly made bed above the white stained floor. He decided he had to clean it soon because Madara would see it and know that it was not made for him, by him, or with anything to do with him.

Itachi finished the task he had set for himself and, as he stood up, realized just how tired he was. His chakras were at dangerous lows and the exertion from last night was not aiding in his recuperation. He set out to find Madara, but only found some boy with white hair and teeth like razors who told him Madara was not to be disturbed. Itachi harrumphed (actually he was silent, but he most certainly felt like harrumphing) and made his way to the kitchen. He sat at the table across from Sasuke, who had fallen asleep next to his breakfast, having gotten up early to perhaps train a bit beforehand. Itachi poked the forehead and Sasuke roused slowly.

"Good morning, Otouto." Itachi said softly. He smiled, and was happy to find his features could still be pinched into such an expression. Meanwhile, Sasuke didn't attempt a smile in return, but gave Itachi a show of his bared teeth and returned to his cold breakfast. After a few moments of silence, Sasuke said:

"Are you alright?"

It was concern and Itachi was caught off guard. He thought, momentarily, that his brother cared about his welfare. Yet, that hope was soon dashed when he saw the eyes roving his body- looking for wounds. The onyx orbs returned to his own, having found no indication of the exhaustion, and echoed the question in their depths. Itachi glanced away, catching sight of the time, and then looked at Sasuke. "I'm fine." Itachi said mechanically, but Sasuke was unrelenting. His eyes narrowed and Itachi saw, in that shift of expression, the little brother he remembered who'd always be angry whenever he didn't hear the answer he wanted. "I can't generate my chakra like I used to. Normally Madara helps me, well, gives me some. But he won't be disturbed, so I have to wait."

Sasuke didn't even think for a moment: "You need chakra to help me train, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, mine's close enough."

Sasuke made sure Itachi ate a good breakfast, his culinary skills impressing the older brother. He wasn't doing it out of compassion, or at least he wouldn't admit, and constantly made clear that this was for the sake of his training. Itachi chewed thoughtfully, slowly, trying to provoke the impatient teenager. But Sasuke just looked on mildly, inwardly pleased that Itachi liked his cooking (but, once again, he'd never admit that). Finally, Itachi gave up his game and finished off the meal in a few bites. "Are you ready?" He asked, wiping his mouth clean.

Sasuke nodded. Itachi thought about where to do this, the best way to do this, and all the other details on their way towards the training ground. If he had to lie down, he'd rather be on a bed, but Sasuke may feel discomfited in such a position. He also, normally, lay in a very intimate position with Madara and there was no way he'd do that with Sasuke- especially with such strong, new, and haphazard feelings that he was ruled by. So he simply sat himself on a rock and told Sasuke to place either hand on his shoulders. Then, they formed a chakra bridge, and the transfer began.

It was slow. It was painfully slow. It was so slow and to such a point of slowness that Sasuke started a conversation. He never started a conversation because silence was his only companion (a commandment he had made for himself and generally broke). He did begin to talk to Itachi, and it was on no light matter, because for an Uchiha light matters were useless. So he asked, his voice slightly hard and not dreamy as most people would sound when voicing such an inquest: "Do you believe in…" A word, what word? Love? Hate? Redemption? Salvation? Damnation? Perdition? Tradition? Hope? Faith? Fate? Fear? Yourself? Anyone else? …Us…? Everything? Anything? Or nothing at all?

"Itachi, do you believe in absolution?"

He felt the question ricochet him into himself: No. Yes. I don't know. How am I supposed to know? It sounds perfect, but unattainable. It sounds flawless, but it's inconceivable. It sounds like perfect death and finite silence. It sounds like pain masquerading as hope or hope masked as pain. It sounds, it sounds, it sounds…By gods, it sounds like my last chance .But above all the turbulence of thought, contradiction, and ultimately paradox, he thought of one thing and one thing only:

By gods, it sounds like you.

Perhaps Sasuke could see the distress, or at least feel it in the shoulders. The thoughts were so broad they roamed the entire body, so general that they were pulled from every part. His muscles remained relaxed, but a mental tense settled on all his corded tissue. His bones seem to echo and shake with the realization. The chakra bridge remained open, but both could feel it fluctuate due to an interference of it between them- some emotion by either the sender or receiver that was attempting to bridge the gap instead. Itachi held still, the silence was painful because it meant his indecision and it meant his denial; his denial of absolution and ultimately saving himself.

"I believe it exists." Itachi finally said, the chakra was a mere trickle now and his body was still craving more. Sasuke made push to give more, but Itachi severed the connection entirely. "I just don't believe it's meant for me."

Sasuke's hands flexed, useless against the unyielding flesh. He pressed his forehead into his shoulder, trying to keep his thoughts inside, but all they were were mere flashes of brilliance, extinguished by the darkness of uncertainty. A staggered breath, a small, insignificant realization: "But you were revived, don't you think that means you get a chance to absolve yourself? Aniki?"

The pet name on the end wasn't a formality, but a form of pleading. Itachi heard it and felt a rush and never, ever felt further from absolution. Since he was resurrected he was never more than a weapon, a tool, and a sick lover to the man bent on destroying to world. And his brother, whom he now had the chance to save, would remain out of his reach because Itachi couldn't bear to move forward. He liked the darkness that clouded his mind because it kept his judgments and indiscretions moral. The moment he stepped out, he knew he'd lose all his hope. "If you're me." He was choking on his own words, Sasuke even felt the spasm. Itachi realized the sentimentality and continued: "If you're me absolution is secondary." Stupid, stupid, STUPID "I want to last as long as I can, stay alive as long as I can. Dying isn't pleasant Sasuke, though, I'll admit, living isn't the best state of being either."

"Liar." And Itachi heard the trembling in the voice. The pain, the hurt, the anguish: "Liar, liar, liar…" It locked onto that word like some prayer, lifting up his depressed faiths to some god. A god of what? A god of patience? A god of virtue? Or was it not even a god at all? "Liar…"

Sasuke backed away, disappointed. He had only muttered the word once- Itachi realized, but it had echoed with his every heart beat. The pain was hot and white and blazing. He watched Sasuke pass inside, no sign of emotion whatsoever, but Itachi could still feel it. Liar. I don't want to hurt you. Liar. I'm doing this to help you. Liar. I'm trying to save you from me. Liar.

Itachi wept openly, but no one was there to see. The birds didn't even take notice of the action. The wind didn't sigh with his silent sobs and the skies didn't mimic the actions. No, the sun continued to shine brilliantly and, if anything, the sky became a brighter blue. The grass was cast into such a green that it seemed to glow in the early afternoon Sun. But Itachi continued crying- broken, hurt, and failing. His face did not flush because he had no spare blood to give. The reason being, all his blood was being used for another purpose, for it was already collecting in his eyes and falling from his eyes in tears.

Liar.


Sasuke was waiting for Itachi. He realized the dankness of the room, grey and boring and plain. There was only a bed, a rudimentary oil lamp, and a pile of clothing bifurcated into dirty and clean. Sasuke's room was similar, but he put his clothes in a trunk. The bed was comfortable, at least, and he sank in a bit. He saw the floor worn away near the edge of the bed- the finish having been scrubbed off. He watched the door, back pressed against the wall, the portal right before him.

Itachi finally came through, walking surely through the dark. He was a bit confused as to why a light was on in his room and, with a flutter of fear or anticipation or both; he thought perhaps it was Madara. However, when he saw Sasuke, he felt both emotions strongly and he really wished he had never come down the stairs. His chakra stores were still dangerously low- the weeping having torn most of it from his body in spasms. Sasuke looked at him, his legs were crossed in a way that was haughty and reminded Itachi of how he had sat during the fight. It was meant to evoke such an image and Itachi suddenly felt very exposed.

Itachi looked away and began pulling off his clothing. His skin was still speckled in fading love bites and the new lacerations weren't healing quickly along his back. Sasuke watched in admiration, though his expression never shifted, and as Itachi was reaching for a new shirt, Sasuke spoke up: "Come here."

Itachi obeyed and stood before Sasuke. He towered over him, his height greater, but his muscles were definitely not as strong and defined as Sasuke's. Sasuke stood up and, by pressing a hand on Itachi's shoulder, guided his older brother onto the bed. Itachi lay on his back, Sasuke briefly inspecting him. He then straddled Itachi's hips and placed his two hands on the stomach- right above the chakra center. "Hold still." He murmured and a strong bridge was formed. Itachi felt the inexplicable pull and arched off the bed at first. He settled back down, Sasuke a bit disconcerted, but never deviating from the task at hand.

Itachi felt the chakra surging through him like an electric shock, a lightning bolt. It was ripping apart all his cells into a rapture of unknown lengths and heights and weights. He closed his eyes in satisfaction as his body hummed in accordance with the pulsations. He could feel Sasuke quickly tiring above him, the weight getting heavier on his hips. He steadied the hands, but the sweat was gathering on the palms and he couldn't support them well enough. Itachi finally pressed the torso, running his fingers along the side and guiding him, gently, further up. After a bit of coaxing, Sasuke was lying beside him, tucked between his arms, and passing chakra through a connection at their stomachs. As they lay still, both not daring to move, Itachi began to open new bridges.

They shifted into comfortable positions, the pull of each other's bodies crashing them together when ever one moved. Finally, Itachi had settled on to his back, his arm thrown out and one leg bent into the air. Sasuke had his head on Itachi's outstretched arm, his one arm tucked between them and the other across his older brother's abdomen. His one leg lay beside the supine one, the other threaded through the gap formed by the bent one- careful to keep his leg low enough. He was feeling tired, the flow finally beginning to ebb. And, by the thickness of the darkness and the safety they were beginning to feel, they knew it was night. Itachi made a few seals and the hanging lamp went out. The chakra bridges closed and the two fell asleep, tangled amongst themselves.

They found themselves in each other's company when they awoke. They roused at exactly the same time, one's movement probably causing the other to stir. Sasuke retreated to his room, promising to meet him outside soon to begin some training, and Itachi took a shower. He paused, though, before stepping under the spray. He touched his arm, his chest, and his inner thigh. He rubbed every part where Sasuke had touched or even breathed upon. He tried to brush away the tingling sensation, but every time he touched a spot, a shock was sent tenfold to all his nerves. And when he tenderly pressed his hip, where Sasuke had sat atop him, slipping and rocking in weariness before Itachi had brought him to lie down, the sensation hit its epitome and he was snapped back to reality. He looked at himself and he was engorged and hard and dripping. He made sure to turn the water on to cold, but it took his own ministrations, with one person in mind, to make it go away.


Itachi was on his back, the grass cool against his bare arms. His shirt was hung delicately on a netting of vines and his pants were holding to him by sweat. The pulsating throb of his wounds- wounds inflicted by a wrathful, frustrated Madara- was irregular compared to the beat of his heart. The stars were cool needles among the blue blanket of space. Some were strong, some were weak, and altogether they created an amorphous picture of the world and all that it was. He clenched his hands and groaned loudly- Madara wasn't the only one who was frustrated.

His brother and he had been training constantly lately. Twice a week, at least, Sasuke would transfer chakra with Itachi. In those intimate moments they seemed to forget all tithes and ties. They surrendered to emotion and, many times, Sasuke would cry- gasping against the chest that was stealing the life from him. Itachi would hold him and console him and kiss him softly. When it was over and Sasuke walked away, he'd never look back. Three nights ago Sasuke had stood in the doorway, eyes staring into the static darkness set into motion by his very breath. Itachi could see the tenseness in the bare shoulder. He could see the roiling emotions in the coiling muscle. And he could see the pain in the claw marks on his upper arms- inflicted by himself for gods know what reason. And he continued to stand there, looking out and not looking back. He ended up passing through after a few seconds, minutes, hours, and, right as the darkness swallowed him and his breath pulled it into a stilled harmony, Sasuke had said: "I love you."

And the haunting effects of those words drove Itachi to the point of madness. That night he dreamed and dreamed and dreamed. His subconscious was sending blaring messages of love. He dreamt of holding Sasuke and never letting go. He dreamt of losing him in the most horrible ways. He also dreamt of recovering his brother from some nebulous fiend. He was lost on the rise and fall of these emotions, these tides of sentimentality. He was sick with love when he had woken up, vomiting violently due to the unfamiliar depth of such an emotion. It had also been that morning Madara had found him and Itachi had learned of his terrible wrath. He learned of it, but he knew not why, and he bears the marks of his ignorance now- his privates aching from rough touches and his stomach hatched with the tear of strong chakra.

He felt one wound open as he stretched, the blood trickling down his chilled torso and pooling in his navel. His mind was far from Madara, though, and instead was focused on Sasuke. His thoughts were not on his lover but on his love. The stars were not so fearsome and the night not so eluding. The dew wasn't cold as it collected around him, but a familiar and welcoming touch. The warmth the blood traced was his love's tongue, laving all the pain away in one swift motion. He felt himself swell to the epitome of passion and fall right out of it with the exhale of a single breath: Someone's approaching,

Itachi didn't move, but by the chakra signature he knew it was Sasuke. The boy's chakra was strong and overpowering. He stood beside Itachi, his shadow blocking out the moon, and his arms were crossed. His face was set expressionless, but Itachi could sense to murmur of sheer relief the boy was feeling. Itachi fancied, and was correct in his assumption, that Sasuke had looked for him to do the transfer and, when failing to find him, looked for him furiously and had feared the worst. His lips were still quivering from his whispering of 'no, no, no' as if the mantra could change reality. "You're going to catch a cold, Aniki." Sasuke warned. He voice also trembled and Itachi caught the pinch of the eyes to stop tears from falling. Sasuke must have been very worried.

Itachi stood up and poked Sasuke's forehead: "I'm fine, Otouto." But that wasn't the truth and Sasuke saw the truth on Itachi's body. As if realizing his own injuries just now, Itachi ran his fingers along the crusted blood of his abdomen. Sasuke's hand went tentatively beside his and the thumb rubbed along a particularly deep laceration. Sasuke, to get a better look, dropped to his knees and inspected the wounds closely. Itachi felt his breath attempt to stick, but he fought it through his larynx. Sasuke could feel the heat of the chakra- the chakra that was not his- and knew it had been Madara's doing.

"Why do you let him hurt you?" Sasuke asked, tracing one cut that swept far below the others. It went right beyond the hem line and Sasuke's hand stilled there. Itachi placed a hand in Sasuke's hair, stroking the midnight hair in consolation. Honestly, Itachi had no answer. He had just habituated to such treatment and thus didn't care. Besides, he admitted in spite of his own morals, it felt amazing during the act. Sasuke felt the muscles clench below his fingers as he pressed the angry red line. He also heard the echo of a moan arise from his brother's throat- the younger couldn't help himself from shivering. "I'd never hurt you." Sasuke said and tenderly laid a kiss on the nethermost wound. He dragged his mouth the short distance, past the hem-line, to the bottom of the wound. The blood was still fresh here and he took a few drops into his mouth. When he upturned his face, mouth tainted red and fierce by his own need and wants, Itachi felt his grip grow tight in Sasuke's hair.

"I know, I know," Itachi felt himself chanting. I know, I know, I know… because he did know. He knew his brother wanted to protect him as much as Itachi wished to shelter his Otouto. He knew that Sasuke was incapable of hurting him even if Itachi was threatening his life. And, beyond all this, he knew Sasuke would happily bear his wounds and his pain and his punishment. And, when Itachi's control quivered, he grabbed Sasuke's face and brought it close to his, the bright red mouth as tantalizing as any dream he had ever dreamt. "I love you." Itachi relinquished and the two shared a passionate kiss that threw them beyond all boundaries and all morals. They were brothers and, yes, they loved each other as brothers should, but their fraternity was far beyond what people considered couth.

But who cared? The stars didn't fail to shine. The moon didn't wane as they met each other hungrily. The world continued to turn, the wind continued to blow, and the lives of everyone didn't stop its progress. No, the only change this culmination offered was a better world, a better life for these two brothers. They were no longer alone and, after almost ten years of self-denial and untested feelings; they knew what it meant to love and, above all, to be loved.

And when they finished, breathless and limitless, they parted at the top of the stone steps. Everything had come to this. Everything had brought them to this point. Itachi thought of embracing Sasuke who was sweating, aroused, and exhausted, but decided against it. The clothes had not been removed, but the barriers had fallen. Itachi still ached as he walked down the stairs. He was about to disappear into the certain darkness when he was thrown against the wall. For a moment he thought it was Madara, but it was Sasuke with a renewed vitality. He pressed his lips on the tender skin below Itachi's ear, his breath fanning over to sensitive skin. "Take me." He whispered heatedly.

So he did, in the hallway, against the wall. Both were terribly silent, but could hear each other screaming in ecstasy. They felt complete; Itachi reaching new heights he thought had never existed. They parted with a strong kiss and push from one another- their discipline showing in their ability to leave one another. Itachi returned to his room and fell into a sated sleep, relishing the feel of his brother's seminal fluid on his hand. His brother, who had more endurance, stayed up longer into the dark hours, thinking of one only and throwing himself time and time again into an absolute abyss. Moreover, the third surviving Uchiha was not left out among these events. He sat in his study, an orb, similar to that of the Kage's, showed the proceedings occurring nearby. He watched the events unfold and that frustration built inside him. He saw Sasuke steal what was his. He saw Itachi deviate from his passions. And he saw the very end of his mastery.

Unless, of course, he had a plan, and, being Uchiha Madara, he most definitely had a plan.