Of course when the morning came I was all too happy, in all its literal meaning. I hadn't, in all the memories I could conjure up, felt as – free or relieved as I had since then. He had opened me up in a way I didn't even think would have been possible.
Of course it was, of course I had been weakened, though strengthened, by the touch of his hand. The his still unknown to me at the time of course. I felt skin against my back, a blazing heated skin, curved slightly. My eyes considered moving, but the thoughts that I had stopped them from looking onto the supple and soft skin I could feel against my own.
As my thoughts began to run rampant I realized that the skin wasn't touching me, that the touch I had was gone, leaving me alone – as I was all too familiar with. There was a small moment then that I thought about it, the entire 'being alone' situation I had been forced in.
I wasn't forced into this, was I? I can't say that I was, when it was me who decided to leave, me who decided to want love… It's just that damn craving to be needed that it fueling this stupid growing weakness.
"Oh stop it, you're not weak because of love, you're stupid." That deep voice radiated over me. The warm touch of his skin had returned against my back. Once more my eyes meditated moving, but I gave them not the victory or satisfaction of his body that they so desperately desired. That's when I noted the blindfold was gone, why, I didn't know. His arms engulfed me, and I cringed, pulling my shoulders in as any cliché uke would have done. I couldn't help it, almost wanted it, actually. No surprise in reality.
"Why so timid? You weren't like this last night, Sasuke." His voice curled around my skin, arm bending just enough to get my attention in a way I hated.
I went to open my mouth, but found myself choked – he was jumping into it again, so fast I hadn't even noticed – at all.
My back met the wall in a romantic ballet, corrupt with the never dying needs of my teenage body. His hands were against my skin in a mere second, pressing me into the cold wall. I wanted to die. I had finally gotten the attention I had so been craving, and I wanted to die. I couldn't even find out why. But the aching in my chest, those words, a broken heart, didn't come close in describing the pain I was going through from the torment I had given myself.
I stayed limp, warm hands, pressing into soft skin, curving muscles, holding me, working, taunting. I felt him in me, holding me, gasping for air his lungs did not claim – all the while, staying limp.
I, actually, don't know how I managed to do it. When he was through with me, his gentle natured side took control. Instead of throwing me down like I had been expecting, he placed my naked body on the bed, covering me with the black linins that tamed the furniture's.
His hands ran across the black locks that formed my hair, down my face, to my neck. I was waiting for the inevitable. He began, first loosely, fingers pressing with palm, cutting off blood, turning knuckles white. In poetry, he was taking my life with the implement of love. I grabbed, more or less clawed, at his hand. I felt the whites of my eyes glazing in red, suffocation, yet arousing and spontaneously consuming me in his strength.
As my lips moved, his grip loosened, allowing such a rush of air into me that the gasps turned into coughs, brining my chest heaving up and down. Moments passed, my eyes staring up at the ceiling, the red blood leaving little by little.
I turned my eyes onto the blackness of the room. My eyes fell onto his pale skin, staring to take him in. His shoulders were broad and strong, taunting in the lightest of terms. I stared unable to move my eyes from his skin, his creamy tone, muscular look, I was lost in his body, a horny school boy to (assuming this is straight) a young girl's wet …. Well I think we all know the word.
Slamming, and slamming, my mind was remembering what he'd done to me only an hour earlier. My heart was pounding like a bird flaps its wings. My eyes closed, abyss consumed me in its hands, leaving me to wonder.
My corrupt soul wanted the same affection he'd shown me earlier. I was masochistic, sadistic – even necrophilia.
My juvenile body was craving the things of my past, present, even the future I had created. I was addicted to the false loves people showed me. I took a deep breath, my body wouldn't calm, it only grew worse, taunting me with the idea of his member moving in and out. I couldn't control myself. I was lost in this corruption, I wanted to be saved, held in someone's arms - someone who wanted to be controlled, someone to force me from this world.
I had nowhere to run, all those I looked onto were stronger, larger, capable of controlling me when they deemed proper, damn me, losing myself. I looked over, his body was above me, staring, telling me that I could only see not touch. The bastard was killing me, with things that were supposed to make me live.
"Are you in need of something?" His words were warm in the cold air. I couldn't tell is he was offering or if he was torturing me more than he already had.
But that didn't stop me from nodding at his question. Allowing him access to me, and my innocence, whether anyone thought it was there, it was.
There was a moment of pause, delicate silence.
His hand plunged into the clothe that covered me from the rest of the world, he was moving faster than I had ever imagined possible from anyone. Pressing in and out, pulling me up into his arms, so his open hand could occupy something else.
By the time I noted what was going on, I was gasping for breath, between moans and whimpers. My body was filled with the justified vice of sex. Just sex, this time there was no question of love.
I gasped and gripped, whined and whimpered, caught his skin in my hands, grabbed his hair and pulled. My eyes had squinted and let drops of salty water fall down my cheeks onto his hands.
Silence fell onto us again. My mind was left with only mere thoughts.
I was falling, fading into the distance, I was changing, turning into someone I didn't want to be. But I had no savior… Naruto had forgotten me.