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Generic Title: Catch-22 (a)
Title: Rendezvous
Set: Uchiha Sasuke
Pair: SasuNaruSasu, minor action complementary.
Author: darkenedmoonlightflame
Summary: 13th theme: Address. (The fingers had traced his jaw-line with careful, soft precision, and Sasuke now wonders why he didn't slap them away.)
Rating: K+, for some sexuality.
Word Count: 678.
Disclaimer: I do not own either Naruto or the 1000 Themes, and do not claim to. However, everything else, AKA: the writing, (some if not all of) the (theme-guided) plot, any poetic interpretation, et cetera, IS MINE.
(A/N: (twitches, pokes drabble) Ah. I liked last time much better, but I figured I best put this one up. Sorry for the inactivity, I have relatives practicing their hostile takeover skills with my computer. Poor dear. The computer, that is. (frowns, shakes head) Never mind.
(Note: (twitches) God, I had to be sneaky about this. The server isn't working for uploading (at least, not at my house). So I had to cheat a little and do exports like crazy for this. I'm still not sure as to how well this will work... Please reward my efforts to post with feedback? (gasp) Posting! Updating?
(So, presenting, Catch-22, Part Thirteen.)
Catch-22 (a)
April 5th, 2007
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Thirteen, Address—Rendezvous—
In his mind, an old, classic song is playing. Everything he sees would be better in black and white, he thinks. It's ironic, really, how he stands so straight, so unmoving. His feet are rooted to the spot, the little strip of napkin fluttering in his hand. Something in his chest is speeding, faster, faster—Sasuke won't presume, he won't dare, to say it's his heart, because that would be admitting the hope, the unspoken craving.
Conceding is for cowards, or so he thinks.
As he remains here, shoulders squared and face slightly angled upwards, he can't help but reconsider. Perhaps this really is important to him. Perhaps not. Sasuke doesn't want to look any deeper: he's human, and so being superficial should be okay sometimes.
At last, he heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his hair.
It's like something out of his lone friend's romance movies. Ridiculous, but true. Now he kind of—Secretly, secretly!—wishes that he had paid for attention to Sakura's silly, seemingly-childish films. It might have helped him now, in his moment of indecision.
They had met at the bar. He'd love to be sarcastic and insert something witty about an ex-girlfriend or a failed job or even about how tragic life was—but he can't. He has no right to, and it's not even the slightest bit true. He kills for money, and is selfish to the extreme. So it was hardly appropriate—even his cold-hearted bastard-of-a-brother would have understood that. But it's hard to tell, and there's no one to ask, because Sasuke has killed him, too. This was his 'congratulations on that' drink.
"Hi, Mister."
This sonorous boy, grinning despite the salty wetness on his cheekbones, had caught his eye.
'He knows heartbreak,' Sasuke had thought objectively, quietly swirling the vodka in his glass. Downing it all in a single swig, he had inquired flatly, "What do you want." It had sounded more like a statement than a question to his own ears, and he had then bent his gaze towards the countertop and away from the blond-haired, flustered stranger. His purpose in being here was nonexistent, in the stoic brunette's opinion.
Unexpectedly, the boy had leaned over, a hand tenderly drawing Sasuke closer. The fingers had traced his jaw-line with careful, soft precision, and Sasuke now wonders why he didn't slap them away. Maybe he had been too preoccupied, what with the lithe form suddenly pressed close, the lips touching his cheek once, the heady breath drifting over his neck, the sudden hug he had found himself receiving.
Had he looked that unhappy? Distance was achieved and briefly Sasuke had shuddered in his uncomfortable garb, cold. He had recovered immediately, but for his pride, it was a bit overdue.
For a moment, nothing was said. Then, soullessly, "Go away."
Randomly, the drunken intruder had blurted, reaching out: "Visit me sometime. Have a chat with me, you know? You look like you've got something difficult to say." His tone had been crisp, his orbs friendly, his smile foxy. Sasuke had wondered if this person was really stoned at all, before rolling his eyes and getting to his feet. He had signaled to the bartender, paid, and left, collecting his ordinary briefcase and not realizing that his companion had already slipped the address into his suit pocket.
Here and now, Sasuke is knocking on the door. It's been painted recently, and trimmed neatly. It's unusual, he decides at last, reasoning to himself. He'd imagined the kid to be living in a ramshackle, dilapidated apartment, not some tidy little cottage on the border. But this is irrelevant. Scolding himself, he turns away.
Conceding is for cowards, he now knows.
Too late, the door opens, and Sasuke freezes, halfway down the steps.
"Hello? Is that you, Mister?" A tentative smile; yes, he's that sure without looking.
The song comes to a crescendo in Sasuke's brain, rendering the air completely silent and leaving him at a dead-set loss for words. He clears his throat, turns back, and answers slowly, briefcase in hand.
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