Hehe. I'll try to make this a bit longer, though I've actually got no idea what I'm gonna write yet.

And yup, I'm stilling sipping away at the shit. It tastes bad enough to keep me awake.

Here we go, chappie 35!

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Whore Street

Naruto crouched down, his back against the cold rough concrete of the wall.

-- he could only moan and gasp and pant and try to choke out the redhead's name as heat built in his lower back, unbearable and yet so sweet --

A soft sob escaped into the snow-misted air.

The space between the buildings was deserted, shadows shifting fluidly behind the scattered white flocks that drifted silently and beautifully to the pebble-strewn ground.

--"Well, then you must not be normal..." --

No, dammit! He wasn't normal! Not anymore!

Not since Gaara...

Not since Gaara had pinned him against the Force car and --

-- claimed him --

-- with those bottomless eyes.

Not since...

... the knife slit a hot, wild trail up his inner thigh... .

...Ai.

-- a gift?

His breathing deteriorated into short, desperate gasps as he reached into his jacket pocket for the only thing that could take the edge off his pain, even though it didn't have the power to vanquish it completely.

Naruto slid the blade up his forearm, testing it on his skin as had become his ritual. Gaara's gift... only it and the kanji on his thigh remained.

He whimpered in pleasure, slicing open an old scar, a scar that dated back to the cutting he'd done on Slum. The evenly placed lines covered his forearms, but on Slum it had been an outlet for pain, a way to fight pain with pain. Now he repeated the motions with a gift, and the action became a way to combat agony with pleasure. He cut again, another scar opening slowly beneath the wickedly sharp knife.

His blood gleamed in the darkness, the snowflakes around him melting on his bared arm as the crimson liquid pooled in the hollow formed by his tensed muscles. He continued, moaning in earnest... his body trembled, not able to support the crouch anymore, and he fell to a kneel, his bloody arm supporting him and the knife-wielding hand slipping under his sweatshirt --

-- oh yes, Gaara... he could see him, feel him inside him... own me--

Naruto groaned breathlessly, his eyes fixed on the red stain spreading on the snow-sprinkled ground beneath him, his blood twining around his arm like ivy as it flowed towards the pristine layer of white--

-- the knife under his sweatshirt carved a swift, burning arc around his bellybutton --

"..G-gaara..."

-- the belt tore into him, Gaara pounding him into the bed --

...YOURS!...

A strangled shriek broke from Naruto's lips as he came, his body collapsing on the cold ground. He felt the snow seeping through his jeans as it melted, but he didn't care. He panted heavily, his hand wiping the knife on his jeans before slipping it back into his coat.

He broke into tears, tasting salt and sweet as the snow mingled with them. The bleeding on his arm had slowed slightly, though not enough, and Naruto knew he would have to eat something if he wanted to survive this with no one finding out, because he had been doing this for a week with one bowl of ramen as his only meal throughout it. He wasn't sure whether he cared.

What was he without Gaara, after all?

Was he something that had a reason to live?

You own me.

Please...come back.

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wow. More angsting. And bloody self-pleasuring.

You like?

Just gathering my courage to drink the last sip of gin. 5:40 here.