That One Summer

Chapter 7

Sasuke wakes up to darkness and noise and the remnants of a tranquil dream just fluttering out of focus. It takes him a while to remember in whose bed he's lying. There's some light coming from the kitchen, the other room, and some from the window, where the streetlights are like fat fireflies, guiding lights to drunkards and the destitute. He folds back the sheets and exposes his naked limbs to the cool night air that drifts from the open window.

He dresses himself quickly and with no particular rush satisfaction. There's no afterglow. There is, however, a certain soreness, not unpleasant, that tugs at his lower body. He feels tired and drained and completely serene for once. That is, until he leans against the doorframe and sees Naruto in the kitchen, rumbling around with some pots and knives, dropping pieces of vegetable on the floor, and picking them up again, obviously not having as good a day as he is.

He allows his eyes to wander over that body and notices with painful clarity the tensed shoulders. His movements are jerky and agitated. There is barely any light in the room, just the pale yellow coming from over the counter and the tiny blue sparks underneath Naruto's evening meal.

'Hey?' Sasuke opts, unsure of himself and his place in this room, this apartment, this life?

Naruto drops the pot for a second and he twitches, but in the end doesn't turn to see him. He resumes what he was doing after a second and offers a dry, forced: 'Hey' in return. Sasuke feels unwanted, and that's exactly what he is. Not that Naruto hates his guts right now, just that he can't deal with him, with what he did, what he succumbed to.

Naruto's posture is rigid. It's not at all what Sasuke secretly dreamed of that short interval of sleep he got the tranquil dream of domestic bliss. He imagined light in the kitchen, or at least a warmer glow, and his hands around that boy's shoulders, mouth at the nape of his neck spelling letters with his tongue or something silly like that. He never had the chance to, but he'd really like to spell out words on that skin, three letter words like pot or fox or yes.

Naruto breaks the silence digging up a dry cough out of his throat. He puts down whatever he has in his hands and turns around, back against the counter, hands as well, trying to keep this as businesslike as possible. Because this was business, right? It was a deal. Money changed hands and everything. It may not have seemed like it at the time, when he was drunk on fifty-dollar kisses, but it sure as hell did when they were finished.

God he feels awful.

'I think you should go.' He says, his face stern, determined and damn it, he will not plead.

Sasuke stops his unconscious approach, mind still befuddled with the dim impressions of that forgotten dream. Someone's heat in his arms.

'What?'

'Yeah, I mean, I have to work tomorrow. I get up at seven.'

Sasuke dumbstruck and speechless is having the most intense inner monologue. He wonders whether Naruto knows that he didn't really mean it, the money, that is. He did mean the rest. He just didn't think the whole money thing was that big of deal. He was flirting, trying to get what he wants. He wasn't really paying. Oh, god, now he really feels horrible, and scared. He opens his mouth to try and talk it right again, but Naruto interrupts him.

'I still have stuff to do.'

Naruto knows that was cruel. But what was that guy thinking? All summer long he's been telling him that no, really, he doesn't need a fuckbuddy, certainly not one who offers to pays him. What he needs is to get working, he needs a way out, money, a life, a chance. Getting people involved, anybody, will only make things complicated. Like they are now. Naruto could shoot himself. How could have been so stupid? He always prised himself on the fact that even though he did not grow up in the most descent of environments he had always preserved his sense of dignity; and now because some prissy rich boy looks him deep in the eye he's willing to throw all that away!

He blushes with shame and bends his head, walks to the door and opens it. He just wants to be left alone now, alone with his misery and the fact that he can't take it back. Not the act, not the words. He stands back, silent and uncompromising like a sentinel. The raging of the storm is only a ripple on the surface. Oh, if you only knew.

Sasuke moves like ghost. Utterly defeated and very uncomfortable in the role of victim he wonders how it could have meant so little to Naruto; and then it hits him, that he was stony and indifferent like that too, once. He slept around because he felt like it. Because he needed release, because he needed something. He never touched another human being out of love. Lust though, lust he knew everything about. He still does, when he looks back over his shoulder one last time and sees that shape, that form, so tempting and warm. A promise of comfort and something soulful in what feels like an ocean solitude.

When he finally comes home there's no part of him that doesn't crave to be drunk and numb. He longs for that state between dream and sleep, in which everything is softer and bland. He unlocks the front door. It's after ten. His parents won't be home. They have their own, separate, lives.

He drifts through the rooms that he doesn't really know. The living room nobody ever uses. He knows the hallways better, and doors. Doors he used to put his ear against when he was little and his parents had company they didn't want him to meet. Or, a couple of years later, when he was growing taller and more awkward with every year, when he sat in the hallways waiting for him to pass by and lower himself to flick his finger against his head. Which he never does anymore. Fucker.

Then he sees that the living room is, for once, occupied and that the shadow is his brother. He stops and stares. Itachi, a black shirt open over his chest. The undulating landscape of his stomach bare for Sasuke to look at.

'Good evening. Out with some friends?'

Sasuke thinks that maybe he means that in a bad, mocking way, but Itachi's hard to read. He's practically forgotten all about Sai and the incident. It turned out to be completely meaningless anyway. Sai has nothing to do with him fucking up, he did that all on his own.

'What's wrong?'

Sasuke hesitates. In the shadows of the room he can't see everything, and Itachi never usually addresses him like this. Their relation is a one-way street. Sasuke waits and begs until he starts to feel sick about himself, and then maybe Itachi lets him in, toys with his mind some more, and gives him what he wants finally, which always turns out to taste more bitter than sweet. Which doesn't help him always craving it again in the mornings.

Sasuke's downcast eyes hide the turmoil and the grief that is plain on his face. He longs to tell someone, but to tell Itachi would be grotesque. He just shakes his head instead and then, tentatively, prepares to leave the room, afraid that Itachi might stop him. But he doesn't. So Sasuke reaches the cold comforts of his room alone and seemingly unharmed (except for his heart of course). He peels off his clothes, drops them on the ground and hides under the covers, praying for sleep, though doubtful of its proximity.

Not much later the door opens. Sasuke turns on his side so that he doesn't have to look him in the eye.

'Not tonight.' He whispers. 'I don't feel like it.'

Then he feels a body sit down on the bed next to his and he knows that Itachi is watching him, persistent. He feels him take his arm, turn him over on his back, he closes his eyes now, determined to keep feigning sleep as long as he possibly can, to keep that darkness behind his lids. Then he feels something cold and plastic being tied around his arm. For a second he thinks that Itachi might be tying him to the bed, and it surprises him that he doesn't really care. He wouldn't be able to fight him off. He's better at this: surrender, submission. It's all he's ever been good at.

No one's tying him down though and when something cold dabs at the skin inside his arm, the crook inside the elbow, he has to open his eyes to look. Itachi's not more than a shadow looming over him, but he meets his eyes with his own and smiles. He is the parody of a kind nurse, disinfecting the skin of his arm. Then something metallic flashes in the dark and Sasuke flinches. It's a syringe. He tries to sit up. Itachi holds him down.

'What are you doing?'

'It'll make you feel good.' Itachi answers calmly and resumes his business with Sasuke's arm.

'No wait…' Sasuke starts but his gaze is transfixed on the point where Itachi holds the needle to his skin.

He turns his head now and looks at him with those tombstone eyes.

'Do you want to make the pain stop?' He asks him, more serious it seems than he's ever been before.

Sasuke's voice fails. Yes, of course he wants to make the shit stop. The question is what does Itachi know, and why, for god's sake, this sudden burst of interest in what makes his little brother tick? Sasuke slows his breath. His eyes are still locked. Is this an answer? The nod he finally gives is almost invisible.

Then Itachi breaks his skin with the needle and injects whatever drug was in the syringe. He injects all of it and then slowly pulls the needle out. He stays on the bed, cleans up and looks at his little brother again. If this gardener boy was the source of his trouble, he is going to do something about that. Nobody gets to him like this. Nobody but him. He smiles as he leaves, pulls the door closed behind him while Sasuke's life bursts into vivid dream.

Naruto walks through the humid night pressing down on him like someone's hands. He feels heavy and warm and sticky all over, but more than that, he feels wronged. There's an anger in his belly, a fierce reaction to the injustice done to him. It threatens to grow and consume any reason, any doubt.

Right now it just drowns out the fear. He's walking in territories he knows all to well, but would rather not. Downtown where Boss O. waves the sceptre, sits on the thrown, carries the whip. The sky above is layered, there's the sick glow from the lanterns and city lights, and above that, an inky darkness. There are some brothels, strip joints and many seedy bars, but only one club, Club O, the one at the end of his path. If Naruto hadn't been feeling so very determined, he would have been looking around anxiously. It's not unusual getting robbed here, or worse. People are capable of anything it seems. They are their own worst enemies.

However, Naruto's crusading for a noble cause. He intends to confront O. and make a deal. He can't just lay there and let people walk all over him, no matter how much power they have, no matter how dangerous they can become. He has principles, and Dammit, he has pride. An image of pride which he's willing to uphold more than ever now, since that evening in bed with Sasuke. Naruto blushes at the memory. How can anybody have that much control over him? He is his own master right? No slave to his instinct.

Club O. looks dark and glamorous from the outside. It sticks out from all the red-illumined open doors, out which seep the sounds of drunks and sports programs. Club O. is all black and steel, and inside, behind the huge smartly dressed doorman, there's silver and black carpet.

Naruto hesitantly approaches the man whose been looking at him ever since he turned round the corner. He tentatively passes the man, and it's desperately obvious he doesn't belong. However, no calls him. There's no big, muscled arm blocking his path. Naruto feels like entering some kind of cave, one hiding a horrible dragon. Getting in is no worry, getting out again will be the trick.

Inside the music is slow but loud and thumping. The light flashes white, red and green. The dance floor is small, but long and oval-shaped. Not many people are dancing. Two girls are, barely his age, but it's obvious they're not dancing for the fun of it, as they keep on throwing sultry glances at the man sitting on a black sofa, smoking a long cigarette. Naruto avoids them and keeps to the sides. He's been here before when he was little, but that was in the day and he had his father's broad shoulders to hide behind. He doesn't ever go to clubs. He hasn't got the money, the appropriate friends, the time…

The men at the bar eye him strangely. One of them frowns and throws his drink back. Naruto increases his speed, scared that the man will get up and that it will be the beginning of an argument which will no doubt keep him from ever doing what he came for.

He walks towards the VIP-lounge, which is separated by a big, long rice-paper screen. Through it he can see lights and shadows and moving limbs. He takes a big breath and pokes his head around the screen. There's no bouncer here and the music is somewhat dulled. The song changed to something slower, more sensual. Through the smoke and darkness Naruto recognises the man.

Orochimaru: pale as a ghost, impossibly tall and lanky, dressed in the habitual black he looks like a mortician with a coke addiction than a landlord. His mouth is moving slowly. He's talking with some other people occupying his booth, but his eyes are on the stage. Naruto follows their glance and it takes him more than a few seconds to realise that it's Anko. The sweet girl who was fourteen when he was nine and who babysat him that last fatal summer his father was working so hard… Anko who is now, dressed in nothing but a white and silver thong, curving her body around pole, swaying her hips to the beat of the music. Naruto gets instantly very red, warm and angry.

She filled out since last he saw her. He remembers her as an especially awkward girl, a little square in the hips, with nothing to compensate for it in the front. She's really rather gorgeous now. Fine, well-shaped legs supporting an especially well proportioned torso. Her breasts are modest and round. She's very pale in the white light though, and sweat has dampened her black hair at the tips.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a hand secures itself around his arm and everyone is looking at him, including Orochimaru with those sickly colourless eyes of his and that dreaded smile around his lips. The arm roughly drags him out in front of the men, far too exposed and Orochimaru breaks the tension.

'How nice of you to drop by. Gentlemen this is Uzumaki Naruto, his father was a business associate of mine, but he was taken from us far too early. Nevertheless, we stayed good friends right Naruto.'

The other men inspect him rather indifferently and one of them turns around and huffs something resentful. Orochimaru, ever and always in control and never bothered by other people's expectations, keeps his eyes on him and if possible, his smile broadens.

'You grew up very nice. Exactly like your father.'

Naruto devises this as the good moment to speak so he opens his mouth to at least try and get it over with but Orochimaru interrupts and claps in his hands. He makes eye contacts and before he knows it Naruto is dragged away again, lifted up in stage, where he freezes under the hot, bright lights which blind him momentarily.

Horrified he looks at Anko, who's finally realised that the company she received on stage is no else but the little boy she used to baby-sit. She stops dancing and squints her eyes in the bright light. 'Naruto?' She mouths. Then realisation hits her and the shame lights her up like fire and she turns red up to her ears. She moves awkwardly, takes a step back, insecure on the high black lace heels she's wearing, and after a moment's hesitation, covers up her breasts with her arms. She hides her eyes behind her fringe.

Orochimaru claps again and stands up, having completely forgotten about his guests now he laughs a nauseating laugh and approaches the stage.

'Well this is no good. I'm so sorry Naruto, Anko isn't usually this shy.' He glances at her and makes what he says sound like an insult.

Anko takes it like a physical blow to the gut and she bites her lip. Naruto can't bear to see her like this.

'I haven't come here to play around.' he starts, sounding more confident than he is, but that's the point. He has to bluff his way through this now, not just for himself, for Anko too. 'I came to talk to you. To tell you to stop breaking into my house.'

Orochimaru's smile closes and his shark's teeth are hidden behind bloodless lips once more. He's still smiling viciously though and after a long moment he waves his hand as a gesture for him t o get down. He walks away, heading for a innocuous black door, leaving the men shocked and indignant to enjoy the rest of their drinks. It's clear he wants Naruto to follow, who does, who can't muster up the guts to cast a last reassuring glance at Anko. After all, this is him bluffing.

Naruto follows Orochimaru to an office like room with a black, heavy desk and an empty bookcase against the wall. There's another door but it's closed. He stays on his feet while Orochimaru sits down in the only chair in the room. He folds his hands under his chin and looks him up and down slowly. Naruto doesn't know where to leave his hands so he let's his arms hang by his sides, all tensed and awkward. He'd like to be the one to talk first because he desperately needs to be in charge of the conversation. He remembers Orochimaru's particular talent to talk before being spoken to. To make it seem as if there's a conversation when really it's a monologue, a cat playing with a mouse.

'You were in my house two days ago.' Naruto says, and he's too nervous and too anxious to keep this civilised so the words come out a little hostile.

'When is it ever wrong for a someone to check up on a friends son.'

Naruto tries not to scowl at the hypocrisy. Orochimaru continues before he can interject a word.

'I made a promise to Minato. One I'm willing to keep. Do you know what he said to be when he died?'

'No.' Naruto whispers through clenched teeth. No, he did not know because he wasn't there. Because Minato was working with Orochimaru and had warned him to stay behind and, for god's sake, not intervene. He recalls the look in his eyes, blue like his but so very different. Fearless, comforting, proud. The image Orochimaru is now conjuring does even compare.

'He had gotten himself into trouble again. Was fighting again, drinking and god knows what else, even though I warned him against it. I even proposed to get him treated, for your sake, Naruto. But he didn't even think of you that night. He just went out and got his hit.' Orochimaru pauses, leans over and really looks into his eyes, a sneer on his face, cleverly disguised as concern.

'You know I could count the scars on the inside of his arm when I found him.'

Naruto blinks the tears out of his eyes and tries to focus on the stained floor. Whatever Orochimaru thinks he knew of Minato Uzumaki is a lie. He knew him only as the yellow flash. The Yellow flash who was a notorious troublemaker, who drank and swore and dealt in illegal substances. The yellow flash who wasn't afraid to break bones to get what he wanted. The yellow flash who is not my father, Naruto thinks.

'Anyway, what he said to me, was 'take care of my kid'. I guess he figured I owed him. He had that attitude, he thought the entire world owed him, like he was some sort of fucking saviour.' Orochimaru's face momentarily loses all its calm and he sneers.

'I didn't owe him shit. But I promised anyway. And I'm not one to break a promise. So yeah, I check up on you, and when I do, I provide myself with some compensation. After all, Minato left me with a fuckload of debt and I could hold you responsible for that. But I don't, because I don't think you'd be man enough to handle it, with your father's genes and all. But one day, I may decide you are, and when that day comes you better be ready, because I have a whole lot of people on my side, and last time I checked, you were all alone. Now I want you out of my sight. Kimimaro!'

Naruto finds his breath shallow and his skin hot like coals. He can't see straight with anger, but holding that anger back is fear and an horrendous doubt gnawing at his insides. Everything described by Orochimaru he knows. Although he knew the other sides to his dad, there's no denying what kind of person he could be. He unclenches his fists which are white and shivering now.

Kimimaro enters immediately through the other door, faithful lapdog, no doubt he's heard everything. Naruto can't move though. He's petrified. Kimimaro has to grab him by the arm, which he squeezes until it hurts, and shoves him into the other room. It's occupied by a snooker table, some cheap looking chairs, a naked light bulb hanging off the ceiling and an electric fan. Its buzzing and Naruto's rapid breathing are the only sounds in the room.

Kimimaro starts forwards to grab his arm again but Naruto shrieks and moves out of the way.

'Don't touch me!' He growls, but his hands are in his hair and its pitiable really.

'Don't touch me you fucking traitor.' he continues but it would have sounded a great deal more convincing if his voice hadn't broken into a sob halfway through.

It's all coming back to him now. He should never have come. He needs to scream. His eyes find Kimimaro again, a statue of grey, cold, unfeeling menace.

'How could you have let him done that to Anko? She was our friend!' he rasps, pacing the room, sobbing.

'She's in pain, ok? How could you have let it come to that?'

Kimimaro doesn't say thing but, and maybe Naruto is imagining this, there is something accusatory in his eyes. Why weren't you there to help her? They seem to say. Naruto heaves for breath, ready for another burst of insults.

'You're his lapdog now. You gave in. You just succumbed. Fucking coward!'

Naruto takes a step forward and shakes his head. How come this kind of shit always seems to happen to the same people? Why does it always go around in vicious circles, why can he never, just be left alone? Then the shit continues and a hand shoots out steadily securing itself around his neck, choking him. Naruto, shocked and caught off guard, is dumped back into reality by the sudden pain in his neck and the throbbing in his temples.

He growls and claws at the hand, but with every passing second he grows more aware of the fact that those fingers won't budge. They're like stone and his fighting is futile. He makes a funny noise in the back of his throat and closes his eyes against the sudden burst of colour that the accompanies the pain. He's losing all awareness of surrounding and finds himself being thrown against the snooker-table. The wood hits him in the back and for a moment his throat is freed. He gasps with sudden impact, but has no chance to recover, because Kimimaro is right behind him. Turning him over on the table's surface, a black silhouette in the bleary light of the bulb. Naruto's cheek is grinding against the rough felt and tears erupt from behind his eyes.

Then, meticulously, pain shifts from neck and back to his shoulder, where Kimimaro has twisted his arm. And this is where the horrible realisation shoots in. For a moment, Naruto wants to laugh. Boys don't get raped, that's what he always thought, but they do, they can. Kimimaro, ex-childhood friend and rookie gangster is going to have his way with him in this forgotten little backroom where no one who cares will be able to hear him scream.

Naruto's growling turns to crying as he starts to beg for him to stop. The humiliation is worse than any pain that could be done to him. Kimimaro unbuckles his belt and uses it to fasten Naruto's elbow behind his back, so that he lies in complete, powerless agony. It's too painful to twitch, it's too painful to talk. Naruto closes his eyes tightly, listens to his breath racing and his heart breaking out of his chest onto the green felt of the table.

There are hands on the small of his back now, on his buttocks, fumbling with the edge of his trousers. One last sob breaks through until he shuts down, holds it in and prays to fall unconscious. Suddenly everything stops, not because the darkness claims him, but because of the door opening and Orochimaru's voice calling out:

'I'm not quite sure he's entirely your type, Kimimaro.'

Then it's quiet still for a long time and Kimimaro doesn't move.

'Let him go.' This is obviously an order now, venom from the lips of boss O.

Kimimaru reluctantly pulls back, unties the belt with a single flick of his hand and leaves sparing no glances. Naruto recovers, his head still bent over the table, one cheek red and raw where it was pressed to the felt, the other pallid. He'd rather die than face him now, boss O, no doubt still in the doorway, enjoying every bit of his victory. So he freezes, keeps his back on him, and waits until he hears him leave.

After that he steals away, as quietly and as carefully as he can, with no speck of hope left in his molested body. With black bruises on his soul and a shiver in his limbs. Cold to the bone. All to aware of where he failed. Where he lacked strength. With no thoughts in his head but those of defeat and how Kimimaro could have had him, easy like that, bent over the table like fucking prize.

Review pls.