The Smell of Orange
By: Black DragonDiva
Publishing Date: 12/26/05
Spoilers: up to Valley of the End
Summery: Sasuke is rendered powerless by a fierce jutsu, one that confuses his mind and inhibits his rationale. When Naruto finds him at the mercy of the Akatsuki will the blonde have the strength to help him through his sorry state, or will he die alone, weeping in the name of mercy?
Chapter One: The Smell of Orange
It smelled of the color orange. It was sour and sweet, warm, round and smiling.
He had never smelled anything so... beautiful before.
He kept his eyes closed as he inhaled, blocking out the sights around him and focusing entirely on the smell that caressed him like warm water. He sighed in a brief moment of contentment, his breath fouling the sweetness of the air with a murky scent similar to smoke. He inhaled deeply through his nose and held his breath; every smell, including his own breath, which dared to suppress the orange-color smell, did not deserve to exist. Even as he did it, however, it seemed to shrink away, as though afraid it had offended him by being so unlike the darker scent of his body. He bit his lip, his brow furrowing as he swallowed a whimper of apology. He ignored the quiet request to his diaphragm that reminded him he needed to breathe at least once every 60 seconds. He leaned forward instead, struggling to bury his nose in the scent just once more before it left him forever. He failed pitifully. He wanted to cry, but his eyes were still closed and dry, his body unwilling to sacrifice liquid, of which he was in short supply. Besides, he hadn't cried in so many years, close to fifteen, and doing it now, in the face of death, was not honorable.
The man was rewarded for his efforts just deftly. A single, faint breath of the pleasant smell came back to him, slithering over his lips and cheek.
Disappointed that it had not stayed longer, but sated, he leaned back. The stone wall had quickly cooled in the absence of his body's heat and his bare back met with frigid cold. He flinched, but bore through it. Chains rattled, high and grating, a sound better suited to crying along side broken hearts. He rattled them slightly, feeling them chaff against the skin on his wrists.
Slowly, reluctantly, he opened his eyes once more, as he had millions of times. But never had they been so useless to him.
Everything was black, soft and velvety and mockingly comforting to him. He remembered when he used to like the darkness, how soothing it used to be. Now it was the instrument that slowly drew him to his own demise. Silver bit into thin, sharp-edged things, but defined nothing and was too faint to be of any use. From above the chains, the silvery light slipped chastely through a fist-sized hole, the glow from a low-burning candle coupled with it off to his right, but not helping his eyes.
He shifted, the sharp bits of gravel digging into his thighs and the heels of his feet as he drew them into a more comfortable, splay-legged position. His back itched against the warming stone and his wrists, arms, and shoulders ached from the chains strapped to the juncture of his hands and wrists to keep him in place and immobile. Not that he would have the energy to move if they were removed.
He struggled to flex his fingers, to try to get them to become less stiff and painful. The tough gloves that ensnared them did not permit this action and they remained splayed and cramped. He bit back a slight shiver at the stray, chill breeze that slithered in through the small hole in the wall. The candle flickered, threatened to go out, and then stilled, smaller and sicklier than before.
"So you thought you could run away, did you, Sasuke-kun?" The voice was deep, raspy, and oddly amused.
"You really think you could defeat your brother at your pathetic level of strength?" There was a smirk on that sharp, pale face, dark palomino eyes glinting.
Sasuke refused to tremble in his pain, refused to grimace at the agony that sapped at his strength and composure, that bit into his tattered body. He stood instead, albeit shakily, but stood, and cursed his own weakness, cursed the one who stood before him, cursed everything that had ever gotten in his way. He cursed Naruto, cursed Sakura and Kakashi. But most of all, he cursed his brother. Fucking Itachi.
Before his knees could stop their shaking, borne of strain, he found himself back on the ground, pushed there by a force he didn't bother to turn and look at. A hand pressed to his shoulder and throat. Then, everything went dark.
Fucking Orochimaru.
There was a voice, out there somewhere, one he vaguely thought he knew. Not that it mattered. He knew no friendly voice, only enemies. They'll leave him to die. Better yet, they would kill him. But his mind was drunken and hazed with starvation. He couldn't recognize it.
He was here though, and here he would stay. Here, where he was so close to his ultimate goal, but it still lie so far away, still unattainable and lit under a different light than the one he stood under. He was left to himself, the candle and sometimes a chill breeze his only company. The cool, damp room had left him cold and clammy, his skin hot with fever and his insides as cold as a rock at the bottom of an icy lake, the water sharp and painful.
A bead of sweat rolled down his bare torso, stopping only when it reached the hem of his ripped and thready shorts. He didn't have the strength, or maybe it was his pride that kept him from doing so, but there was a hiss deep in his throat that was never set to sound as another salty drop licked a wound, washing away the dust and grim in it, yet making it sting. Still another, final drop was creeping down his lithe chest, caressing hard-earned lines borne of many years of rough physical training. It settled comfortably on his stomach, nestled between two powerful abdominal muscles. His skin felt every slight of movement almost painfully well. The sensitivity was driving him mad.
He distantly heard something high pitched, like the breaking of glass over still more glass, then a guttural sound, and something not unlike air running swiftly over uncomfortable cloth. His mind tried to clear, to understand the sounds and trembling stone against his skin, but he was struggling well enough just to remain conscious.
The building shuddered, making a sharp bit of stone dig harshly into his back, and from the warm trickle, drawing blood. If he tried, he might be able to carve his name into the flesh that way. He didn't know why the thought crossed his mind, but somewhere it was both amusing and stupid.
He hung his head, black locks coming to frame his face, limp and oily from lack of proper cleaning for too long.
He relaxed against his prison, ignoring the pain in his body, the fire in his flesh, and sunk away from the world.
Faintly, he could smell orange.
When Sasuke woke, the first thing he noticed was that the candle had burned out, that smoke and something else, something thick and cement-like clung to the air that was swept into his lungs.
Next, as he opened his eyes, he noticed the sunlight was nearly gone from the hole above him, inferring that was nearly dusk. The red-pink-orange-grayish blue light did nothing in helping his eyes to comprehend the shapes around him.
He lifted his head slowly, lethargically, listening to the dim cracking of a dozen bones in his back that roared like thunder in his ears. He flexed his powerful shoulders weakly, earning still more splintering sounds. He blinked slowly as he slumped again, letting the chains pull on his weight. He couldn't feel the pain very much anymore.
It was only then, as his eyes took in the floorspace before him, that he noticed a bitter stain from fluorescent lights far in front of him, making the fuzzy bits in his eyes shift faster and sting. In that light were two feet poised inside the doorway, thankfully blocking out most of the light.
Slowly, painfully, he lifted his head again, further this time, dull, gray eyes struggling to focus on the bobbing, blurry shape before him. It was speaking, to him or to another, he didn't know, because he couldn't even read its lips and could hear very close to nothing, just a thrum of words. He heard something though, and after a few seconds his mind said it was something like '-sama' and 'prisoner'. He blinked slowly, then felt footsteps, which mingled with a larger hum of movement, accented only by its rhythm. The rest was a shudder, like a child shivering in the cold, and surrounded him entirely, snaking into and around his body, nibbling at his core, prodding at his aches and pains.
A tall column of gray fabric came into view. It froze the instant it saw him and said something, but he couldn't make it out. Worse, he didn't care. Yes, he was an S-class missing-nin. Yes, he was sitting in a dungeon, sitting against a filthy wall, chained with rusty metal, and totally, utterly subdued (fucking Jutsu). Yes, he was dying, so it'd be best to finish him off and get the bounty before his body completed its decomposition while he was still alive. If you hurry, it won't start to stink for another day, then you could just pour acid on the festering and probably maggot-infested wounds and kill the stench. Case closed. Now, where the fuck is your katana you shithead? Strangling is messy and disgusting, katana's are better.
His head lolled away slightly, weak from being held up for so long, and his impassive face hid the wince that it wanted to show from the painful crack at the base of his neck for the action. Even in death, he wouldn't let anyone see him in pain.
There was a murmur, then something louder, but unrecognizable, in the voice. There was a flurry of footsteps coming toward him and harsh growls bit on the side that he understood as orders. Hn, even if you tried, even if he tried, Sasuke wasn't moving anywhere, wasn't going to do anything. Where the fuck is your katana? Don't you know who I am! Uchiha Sasuke! One of the top ten wanted ninja known to shinobi in this day and age! Second only to my brother's terrorist organization and Orochimaru! Get your goddamn katana!
He felt cool hands against his skin, over his arms and shoulders, making him groan against the rawness of his throat as they skipped over wounds, kissing over bruised, ripped and chaffed skin. He dipped his head and shuddered at the cool fingers.
"Gods, Sasuke, what happened to you?"
The Uchiha fought a tightness in his throat, one his body refused to couple with tears to express his total anguish.
"Leave me to die. Gods, kill me." Was that his voice? He could speak? No, he couldn't even hear it, it was a thought tumbling through his turbulent and molasses-paced brain.
"Like hell, bastard."
He wanted those tears so badly. He wanted a wakasashi or kunai in his palm to thrust into his own panting chest.
No, not him…
Not Naruto.
AN: well, here's the first chapter to this story! its going to be VERY angsty, mostly Sasuke-centric, and CHOCK FULL OF SYMBOLISM. i'ma symbolism hoe, so sue me. :P if you can find all of them in this chapter i appaude your awesome symbolism-identification skills! put them in a review and i'll tell you if you got all of them!
anyway, i don't know how long this fic is going to be, probably shorter than the fics i normally write... maybe 15 chapters or so. beware of eeevilness later on because Sasuke's brain is soo screwed over.
comments, flames, complaints, suggestions? stick it in a review and I'll get back to you.
J+