Hello everyone! I'm back with another chapter that I hope you will enjoy!!!

There is just one thing that I want to make clear about this chapter: IT IS RATED M!!! As of now, this story has been T-rated, but this one is for sure an M...so, if you're not supposed to be reading M-rated stuff, you probably shouldn't read it.

Okay, other than the usual R&R, I think that's it...so enjoy!!!

-Keita

Music: Title Track: "Lost" by Avenged Sevenfold; End Credits: "Cold (But I'm Still Here)" by Evans Blue; Others: "Dance With the Devil" by Breaking Benjamin, "Unintended" by Muse, "Searchlights" by Falling Up, "Nymphetamine" by Cradle of Filth

Lost

We've all been lost for most of this life

Everywhere we turn more hatred surrounds us

And I know that most of us just ain't right

Following the wrong steps, being led by pride

--"Lost"

The silver-eyed girl sat at the table, her feet resting on the chair opposite of her, her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand. It was early; she hadn't been able to sleep and when she had, it had been in nightmarish fits from which she had awoken panting and in a cold sweat, so she had just gotten up. She had made coffee and taken a couple of sips from her mug, but she really just wanted something warm to hold while she sat in the cold, gray darkness of the hideout before sunrise.

She didn't know what she should do about facing her fear of Hidan. Should she confront him, or should she wait for him to make another move like he had the night before? Would he do something like that again? Should she create a scenario in which that sort of interaction would be unavoidable? Would he react in the same manner?

She groaned and held her head in frustration. She wanted so badly to be free of this man…this crazy, silver-haired, violet-eyed immortal religious fanatic who had haunted her, both waking and sleeping, for the past four years. Every single time she had woken in the night crying, screaming or fighting, it had been his face she had been seeing, and he was always chasing her through an endless forest with that lethal scythe held up, catching the rays of the sun. Only in her dreams, he didn't stop once her vision had gone red. Instead, he walked over to where she was frozen on the ground and with one swing, sliced her head clean off her shoulders.

However, her nightmares last night had been of a different sort.

They were both in the forest, and he began chasing her, but he didn't have his scythe in his hand. She was still afraid of him though. She looked over her shoulder as she ran, only to trip over a tree root protruding from the ground, and fall down to the earth. He had been there in an instant, that wolfish smile spreading across his face as he slowly made his way towards her. She crawled backwards on her hands and heels until her back was against a tree trunk. When he was standing directly in front of her, he bent down so that their faces were on the same level. She couldn't take her eyes from his face, but he let his roam all over her shaking form.

Then, quicker than the blink of an eye, he had her by the throat and hoisted her to her feet, slamming her back into the tree trunk again. His grip on her neck was firm, but not choking, like he simply wanted to keep her in place. He brought his face so close to hers, she could feel his breath on her neck and it sent shivers down her spine; she closed her eyes, unable to look at him any longer. Suddenly, she felt something warm and wet draw a line from her collarbone to her ear and her eyes snapped open in time to see him withdraw his tongue into his mouth again.

She stared at him in confusion for a moment, fear still ruling her features. He grinned at her again and the hand on her neck tightened slightly, keeping her still, while he slowly put his mouth on hers. She had wanted to cry out, but his hand on her throat was tight enough to prevent her from making any sound, so she just shut her eyes tightly, praying that he would release her soon.

But he didn't. Instead, he used his free hand to slide up under her tank top and run up and down her torso. She gasped a little when he did this, and he used this opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth. She tried to lift her arms, seemingly paralyzed until then, to push him off of her, but he had retaliated by removing his hand from her throat and taking both of her small wrists in his big hand and pinning them above her head.

She gave a little whimper as he moved his hand further up her body, until he was kneading one of her breasts. She tried to pull her hands out of his grip, but he only tightened his hold; she tried to lift one of her legs to kick out at him, but before she could, he had crushed her body against the tree with his own, grinding his hips into hers; she tried to twist her head away, breaking the kiss, but somehow, he managed to keep her right where she was.

He relinquished his hold on her breast, only to let his hand begin traveling over her body again…only this time, he seemed to be intent on moving downward. He toyed with the band of her sweats as she writhed helplessly against him, now in panic, just trying to get any part of her free. He pulled away from her just enough so that he could watch her face as he let his fingers travel further down, under her panties until…

She had woken up at that point, choking and sweating and shaking, and that's when she had gone to the kitchen. This dream disturbed her as much as, if not more than, the others that she had grown accustomed to. She wondered why the dream had changed. Probably because of how close he had been to her last night, how close their faces had been and how she thought that he might kiss her.

She wondered what she would have done. Would she have frozen up like she had in her dream, too panicked too react? Or would she have kneed him and smacked him across the face like she would have undoubtedly wanted to? She dug the heels of her hands into her closed eyes in aggravation. She hated not knowing how she would react to any situation, let alone one where the man she hated forced himself on her; she hoped that she would never have to find out.

Her coffee was getting cold; she stretched her arms across the table and put her head down on them, the long black pieces of hair that usually framed her face spilled onto the table. She sighed heavily, letting her eyelids droop a little. She glanced up at the clock on the wall; it was 4:15. She sighed again. She wanted to sleep, but she didn't want to be plagued by erotic nightmares again, so she shook her head and sipped her freezing coffee. It tasted disgusting and she made an awful face, but she managed to choke down a few swallows. However, she didn't have the energy or willpower to get up and make more coffee when she ran out at 5.

He had gotten up at 5:30 to say his morning prayers and it was 6:30 by the time he was finished with both his prayers and his ritual. He wiped most of the blood away in his bathroom sink, cursing under his breath when a particular cut on his shoulder wouldn't stop bleeding. He grabbed an old tattered towel and tore a strip of it off. Holding one end of it in place with his teeth, he wrapped the other end around his arm, above the cut, and pulled it tight, creating a temporary tourniquet.

He walked out of his room and down the hallway, passing the living room and shuffling into the kitchen. He walked straight to the refrigerator and took out a carton of orange juice, popped it open and drank right out of it. He also grabbed an apple and turned, about to head back to his room and attempt to clean up the worst of the bloody mess on his floor while it was still fresh, when he saw the Uchiha girl, asleep, on the table.

He tiptoed over to her, looking down at her sleeping face. He cruelly thought about slamming the orange juice carton down on the table surface and scaring the daylights out of her…but he had already done that, hadn't he? He still didn't understand why she was so afraid of him. Sure he had frightened her by pretending he was going to kill her…but 1.) he hadn't, 2.) her father had explained to her why he had done it, and 3.) it happened four fucking years ago! She still acted like he did it yesterday!

He sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the table that wasn't holding her feet up. He took another swig of the orange juice as he watched her sleep. He noticed that she was dangerously close to inhaling one of the pieces of hair that fell down next to her face. He carefully reached out and used one finger to lift it away from her mouth and lay it across her cheek instead. She didn't stir, and he released a breath he hadn't realized that he'd been holding.

He bit a chunk out of his apple and chewed on it as he thought back to the events of the previous night in the kitchen. The sink in his bathroom, where he usually cleaned himself up a bit after doing his rituals had been slightly backed up, so he had come into the kitchen to use that sink, only to find her stretching herself out like a great cat. He had been stopped in his tracks. She had her chest thrust forward, making her breasts appear even fuller; and that little tank top she'd been wearing…

But then she had opened her eyes and seen him, and although she tried to play it cool – even going so far as to give him a little attitude – he could see the fear in her eyes. He had decided to play with her a little, see just how far he could push her before she either gave him what he deserved or went insane with fear.

He had thought about kissing her on the mouth when they were close, just to freak her out. However, he'd decided that that would have been playing really dirty and he didn't want to screw her up too much more than she already was, so he had refrained from the kiss.

She gave a small groan as she dreamed and clenched her right hand into a fist; it was then that he noticed the fresh marks on her knuckles. Obviously, she had hit something…hard. Her knuckles, broken open from the strain of being clenched too tightly, began to drip fresh blood.

He saw this and got up to get a damp cloth, claiming to himself that it was because he didn't want to be blamed for a bloodstain on the table when the rest of the Akatsuki saw it.

He wasn't sure whether or not to wake her up. He didn't want to scare her again by waking her up to clean her knuckles, but he also didn't think that she would react favorably if he tried to do it while she was still asleep and then she woke up to find him touching her. Either way, he was screwed. Damn that stupid girl! He should just let her bleed out. But, as he saw the blood flowing more heavily out, he decided that to let her wake up in a pool of her own blood would be the worst of all. He decided to go with option two: try to treat the wound without waking up the girl.

Stealthily, he kneeled down at the edge of the table, near her injured hand and tentatively laid the damp cloth over the bleeding sites on her knuckles. The cloth immediately began soaking up the dark red liquid. He smiled satisfactorily, convinced that all was going well, until he glanced at her face and saw that her silver eyes were staring at him in shock and fear. Shit…

She had been stirred out of her dreamless sleep by something wet on her hand. Opening one eye slightly, she had caught a glimpse of silver near her, which was more than enough to cause her to open both eyes fully. Sure enough, he was there, but he was tending to her injured knuckles, which had somehow split open again. She didn't dare breath; she wanted to close her eyes again, but she couldn't. It was like she was caught in some trance he was creating and she couldn't break the spell.

She thought her heart would stop when he turned his violet eyes to her silver ones and saw her looking at him. But in all honesty, he seemed more surprised than she was; apparently, he'd been trying to work in secret.

She did her best to beat back the fear that was threatening to overtake her and she was able to keep the impending scream from escaping her throat by biting her trembling bottom lip.

His surprised look was quickly replaced with a look of aggravation. "Listen, I'm not gonna fucking hurt you, alright? Your fucking knuckles split open again and I'm just trying to help, okay? But if you're gonna gawk at me like I've just grown a second fucking head, then I'm not gonna do it!" he whispered fiercely.

She nodded slowly.

"Alright, now can I please fucking sit down while I do this?"

She removed her feet from the chair directly across from her, watching wide-eyed as he stood up and relocated himself to the now vacant chair. He took her bleeding hand in his and dabbed gently at each of the open wounds. He seemed intent on his work, but she was keeping a close eye on him, just in case.

When he finished, he got up and rinsed the cloth with which he had been wiping her blood away. It was then that she noticed the makeshift tourniquet around his arm and the large gash in his shoulder.

"You're bleeding, too," she whispered.

He looked down at his shoulder. "Aw, shit. I'm gonna have to get this stitched. Fuck! I hate stitches."

She stood slowly, making sure that her legs were going to support her before releasing her hold on the table. He thought she was getting ready to make a break for her room, but she didn't. Instead, she walked directly over to his side and began inspecting his wound.

She carefully looked it over for a few moments, then turned her eyes up to his, searching them for something; he wasn't sure what. But she grabbed his wrist and gave it a soft tug before releasing him and saying, "Come with me."

He didn't know where the hell they were going, but she had spoken to him with a small degree of authority in her voice, and he found that his feet just followed her.

She took him down the hallway to her room. "Sit down," she instructed as she went rifting through her desk drawers, looking for something.

He took a seat on the edge of her bed, looking around the room as he sat. She finished in the desk and ran into the bathroom for a second. When she came back to him, she was holding a lighter, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a wad of gauze pads and a travel-sized sewing kit.

She jumped onto the bed, using one hand to pull him farther onto it so that she had better access to his cut. She sat Indian-style next to him, her supplies around her. She unscrewed the lid of the rubbing alcohol and dampened a gauze pad with it. She then used it to clean out the cut.

The hot sting caused him to suck in his breath through his teeth and tense up, but he relaxed when he felt the site cooling down and he realized that she was blowing on it to ease the sting.

Once this was done, she removed the needle from her sewing kit and flicked the lighter into life. She held the needle in the flame for a minute before allowing it to die and cleaning the needle with another alcohol-soaked gauze pad. She threaded the needle with black thread and held his shoulder, closing the ends of the wound in preparation for stitching.

She took a breath and looked up at him; his eyes were on her, and he gave her an affirmative nod, telling her to continue. She pushed the needle through his skin; he winced and tensed when she did. She allowed him a second to breathe before continuing on.

She was almost halfway through when she told him to lie down and turn on his good side – which put him facing away from her - so that she could better see what she was doing; and he did, secretly glad because he was tired of sitting up in that position for so long.

She got down really close to him to put in the final few stitches. She actually had her elbow over his arm and her leg was coming dangerously close to pulling her onto him in an awkward side-straddling position. He was surprised that she didn't mind being so close to him; he was surprised that she had done this of her own free will at all.

"There," she said quietly but with triumph in her voice, when the last stitch was in place. She took another gauze pad, wetted it with alcohol and dabbed it over the neat row of stitches.

He craned his neck up, trying to see them, but he couldn't because they were too far up his shoulder.

She reached and put her hand softly on the side of his face, pushing it back down onto the bed. "Don't strain them; they'll break open." She said.

"Okay, sorry, doctor," he said sarcastically, noticing how soft her black and pink comforter was and how good it smelled – like fresh mint - as his face was forced back onto it.

She hadn't expected him to be so agreeable during the procedure; but she was more surprised at herself. She felt proud that she had been able to go through with it and was glad that her hands hadn't shaken so badly that his stitches were all over the place.

In fact, she didn't feel afraid of him at all right now; she watched him as he just lay there on his side, placid and seemingly content. She noticed that his silver hair wasn't slicked back now, as it usually was, and fell around his face and on the bed under him.

She very, very cautiously reached out and fingered a lock of it; it was soft, like down. She twisted it loosely around her finger, watched as the coil sprang off when she released it, then picked up another strand and did the same thing.

He felt her movements at the back of his head and he rolled onto his back so that he could look up at her, his violet eyes glowing in the grayness.

"Are you playing with my hair?" he asked her, a devilish grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

She got a nervous, but not fearful, flutter in her stomach; she wouldn't let it turn into fear. She replied, "It's really soft."

"You gonna ask me what shampoo I use next?" he smirked.

She didn't smile at his jest though, just continued to stare. This bothered him a little. For some reason, he felt a bit uncomfortable under her pale gaze.

"Don't you ever do anything besides stare?"

She turned her eyes away for a second, looking thoughtful, before shifting them back to him. "Why did you do it?" she asked. But it wasn't asked timidly; she was demanding the answer.

"Do…? Oh, that," he replied. He shrugged. "I don't know; your dad asked me to do it, said it would help you with your eyes."

"And you were so eager to help me?" she pressed.

He grinned a little sheepishly. "Well…no, not really. I, um, I figured that it would freak you out a bit," He didn't understand why he felt bad for admitting this. "And I…didn't wanna pass up the opportunity."

"Oh," she breathed. He couldn't read what she was feeling; it wasn't in her face, her voice or her eyes.

"But," he added, "I really didn't think it would scare you as badly as it did."

"If you had known that it was going to, would you still have done it?"

He pondered over this. He hadn't meant to hurt her so badly, but he also hadn't exactly beaten himself up in remorse over it either. "I…I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Not now; what's done is done," she replied.

He nodded, glad that she didn't continue to question him. He looked away guiltily, letting his eyes roam around her room, taking in the little disco ball light on her desk, the picture of the red and black rose that she had painted directly onto the wall, the various books scattered around the room. When he had nowhere else to look, he allowed his eyes to return to her.

She looked distant, and sort of sad; he couldn't blame her, not only had she been frightened near death, but also betrayed by those who she should have been able to trust. That was what hurt her the most.

He didn't know what made him do it; perhaps it was her forlorn face and the lost look in her eyes. He didn't know. But he reached out and gently took hold of her hand and wrist.

She looked at him with startled, but still not fearful, eyes. She was surprised at the warmth of his hand. She was even more surprised when he pulled her downwards.

"Come here," he whispered.

She wasn't sure, she still didn't trust him. But, she reasoned, he didn't have anything to harm her with; he didn't even have a shirt. She supposed he could choke her if he wanted to, but, remembering her resolve not to be frightened of him, she slowly slid forward, now on her stomach, until her face was mere inches from his. Their breaths mingled together; she began to shiver, but she bit her lip and tensed her muscles to keep from making it obvious.

"I…I'm sorry. For scaring you. And for hurting you." He said it in pieces; she knew he wasn't used to apologizing. Still though, she appreciated the gesture.

"Thanks," she breathed softly.

Unable to stop himself, he reached his other hand up to stroke her cheek. It was like his body was on autopilot; his mind was screaming at him, telling him to stop, that he didn't know what he was doing and that he didn't really want to do it, but the rest of his body said otherwise as he gently pulled her face all the way to his, his lips meeting hers.

She automatically closed her eyes when she felt the soft touch of his mouth on hers, but after about a second, she came to her senses and pulled away, gasping slightly and covering her mouth with her hand in disbelief.

"Sorry," he said, "I don't know why I did that." His arms flopped back down on the bed and he stared up at the ceiling.

A moment passed with the both of them remaining that way: her in stunned silence, him in pure confusion. Finally, when he turned his head to one side, she lowered her hand and reached out for his silken hair again.

He smiled a little to himself when she did this, but didn't move. At least not until she reached one hand over to turn his face so that he was forced to look at her again.

"I refuse to be afraid of you for the rest of my life," she whispered determinedly, before doing the only thing that she could think of to prove it, and pressing her mouth firmly to his.

She climbed on top of him so that she was straddling his hips and both of her hands were flat against his chest. If she felt him try to sit up even the slightest bit, she would firmly push him back down.

If I can't get rid of these stupid dreams, she thought, I'm at least going to change them so that I'm not a victim.

He seemed to have no objections to the direction they were heading in. His hands moved to her waist, which made her vaguely aware that he might try to take control of the situation…and that was the one thing she was determined to not let him do. So she opened her mouth and ran her tongue along his lips, instantly gaining access to his mouth as he opened it without hesitation.

She thrust her tongue into his mouth, exploring it in depth, meeting his tongue with hers and alternating strokes as their kiss became increasingly passionate.

He ran his hands up her waist, along her sides to her shoulders and along her arms, stopping right above her elbows. Then, gripping her tightly, he sat up and flipped her onto her back so quickly and forcefully that she didn't even have time to fight back. He moved his mouth from hers to her neck, nipping and sucking at the soft skin there.

She was panicked for a moment; having him on top of her for real, really feeling the crush of his body on hers, was frightening. But she quickly forced herself to relax, twisting her fingers up in his pale hair.

He moved quickly and stealthily, and she didn't even realize that his hand had snaked its way down the front of her pajama pants until she felt his fingers sliding against her, causing involuntary moans to escape her mouth.

She felt herself getting wetter with each stroke of his hand; he probed into her a couple times, allowing her to lubricate his fingers enough before plunging two of them deeply into her without warning.

She nearly screamed at the pain and the shock, but he covered her mouth with his, stifling any sounds that she might have uttered. Her hands gripped fiercely at his back, her nails dug at his skin.

For a moment, the only movement that he made was with his tongue in her mouth. But then, he began slowly pumping his fingers in and out of her, causing her to squirm in discomfort at first, but then begin to moan with pleasure.

Her mind was racing; she was so caught between blind fear and pure lust. On one hand, she wanted him to stop, because she had clearly lost control of the situation and it was turning out to be more like the unfinished parts of her dream than a feeble attempt to clear her mind of him. She wasn't even sure why the hell she thought that by kissing him she would somehow be freeing herself from him.

However, on the other hand, the way he was touching her and kissing her made her want him to maintain control; he obviously knew what he was doing, and she couldn't deny the enjoyment that she was getting out of it. She was terribly confused.

But his mind was made up; he wanted her right then and there. With one hand still active below her waistband, he used his free hand to slide her shirt up until he was able to take one of her erect nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it teasingly before using his teeth on it, causing more moaning to escape her throat.

She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent deeply; she caught the smoky, spicy, crisp scent of autumn on him. This new sensation caused her mind to explode with the vivid colors of the season, and it seemed to act as a sort of aphrodisiac, for the next thing she knew, she was using her hands and feet to slide his pants down and off of him, freeing his arousal.

Using her actions to fuel on his own, he withdrew his hand from her opening and used it to yank down her pajamas and panties, tossing them aside and then returning to her, parting her knees as he did.

He was ready to take her, but he knew that it would hurt her and she would probably cry out during the first few thrusts. So he moved the hand that had been toying with her shirt to her throat, his thumb rubbing her carotid, while he softly nipped at her flesh and licked along her jawline to distract her. Then, without any forewarning, he pushed into her, causing her to bite down hard on her lip to keep from screaming and to dig her nails so deeply into his back that beads of blood began forming.

Once more, he allowed her some time to adjust before slowly pulling almost completely out of her and then thrusting back in. She squeezed her eyes shut as a few tears leaked out while she endured the brief pain.

His thrusts became stronger. She was now panting and moaning. He guided one of her legs up, so that her knee was up against his ribs, and she immediately felt him in her more fully. She continued to hold his shoulders tightly and she pressed her face into the space between his shoulder and his neck as they rocked back and forth with the force of his thrusts.

She didn't notice how hard he bit her on the lower side of her neck when he came; he didn't notice how the gouges she had created in the flesh on his back turned into long, deep scratches that extended down to his sides when she came. He didn't notice that nearly all of the cuts and injuries he had inflicted on himself prior to this encounter had broken open and begun bleeding again, save for the cut she had stitched. All they knew was that they both felt overwhelming rushes of bliss and gratification after which they lay there in a sweating, bloodied heap.

She was trembling uncontrollably, but it still wasn't from fear. He panted against her neck, noticing the site where he had marked her with his teeth starting to bruise and ever so slightly swell. Shit, he thought, I hurt her again. He softly began to lick at it in a therapeutic manner.

She let him tend to her for a few seconds before using her shaking hands to grasp his face and bring it to hers, where she bore into his violet eyes with her silvery gaze searchingly before kissing him deeply, and wondering what the hell she had just gotten herself into.

Can you feel my trigger hand moving further down your back?

When you hide, hide inside that body.

But just remember that when I touch you,

The more you shake the more you give away

--"Cold (But I'm Still Here)"

P.S. mac2, I apologize; I know you didn't want this to happen, but please don't let it deter you from further reading :)