Chapter Twenty-Six: A Lover and the Fool
Warning: Erotica and Morbid Humour. I don't give out warnings, but I believe a first and last one is warranted on this front. It's up to you to figure out as to which instances fall under the category of 'morbid sexual humour (which is fairly tame for now)' and which ones don't. This chapter has one such example.
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Rain droplets quivered on his face, his cheeks blushing from the cold nipping at his skin. He palmed his face and kept his eyes downcast and avoided his older brother's persistent gaze. A sigh came out as a thick fog from Itachi's mouth, and finally, he spoke, unwilling to prolong the silence between them any longer: "are you still angry with me?"
"Why does it matter what I think? You do as you please," Sasuke retorted and flexed his neck. He was staring down at his sandals; and his cheeks tightened in disdain. The scroll was lost, burnt by his own brother. Everything he had worked for . . . was lost.
Itachi took one step and moved the branches, dotted with raindrops, out of his way. His eyes suggested brief glimpses of disquiet, his face composed, which defiantly kept the emotions from crossing over the unshakeable boundary of his control.
"Were you content with chasing after a Missing-Nin without authorisation? You know that the sword of inquiry still hangs above our heads. The matter is still not in the past. Must you be so obdurate with a Team under your command?" Itachi asked, his voice calm, but it was failing to mollify his brother's passions this time.
Sasuke raised his gaze, meeting Itachi's, steeped in an emotion that surprised his older brother—was it disgust? "Did you bring me here to mock me?" Sasuke asked and a sudden bitterness came into his face, but it left just as quickly.
"Of course not. I am simply exhorting you to be vigilant. Chasing after Missing-Nins without thinking, taking that Mizukage's tasks on a whim . . . people in Root are starting to whisper. They can start an inquiry into this matter if they desire, and I will not be able to stop them. The only one I can stop, is you," Itachi reasoned and watched anger, a re-sprouting vigour, like flickers spreading across his brother's eyes.
"I wasn't doing it on a whim. Don't insult me," he said, his voice thick and heavy.
Itachi slightly tilted his head to the left, face inquisitive, left hand twisting the hilt of the long kunai in his hand. "Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked, and his eyes roved on his brother's face, which gave the impression of a boy-like insouciance.
"Why?" Sasuke said between a soft laughter, his tone mocking, resounding in the oppressive Autumn air. "You've won. Isn't that what you always wanted—to humiliate me and prove yourself right? Congratulations! This wouldn't be the last time you've put so much effort into cutting my paths. I'm sure you're proud of yourself. I'm sure Otō-Sama would've been proud, too." He wore a contemptuous smile on his face. His tone, his expression, his whole demeanour troubled Itachi. Sasuke had never spoken to him this way before . . .
Itachi's eyes showed momentary surprise, but quickly, he regained his composure. "Is that what you think—that I cut your paths and put so much effort in disgracing you? You seem to soak yourself in your own world, unable to see reason from my eyes that I do everything for you. How can you be so . . . oblivious to everything?" he asked, his voice not able to hide the tiniest undercurrent of impatience this time, but it was not enough to beat down the fires blazing just beneath Sasuke's skin.
"Oblivious?" Sasuke asked, voice rising, face contorting. "How dare you! You treat me like one of the things in your games. You cut my paths whenever it pleases you—never caring for a second how I feel about it. Then you have the nerve to accuse me?" Sasuke raised his hand to his face and brought his thumb and forefinger close. "I was this close—this close, but you went ahead and ruined everything. You had no right. You never had any right to do what you did. You just did it to please yourself."
"Sasuke, what is—"
"I'm not going to listen to you anymore," Sasuke cut him off, his face marked red by fury, "if I don't find any lead soon, I swear, I'll never forgive you." He looked into his brother's eyes resolutely, letting him feel the anger in them. Then he turned around and walked at a quick pace out of the glade. He passed by Naruto who had just dragged out a ninja from the forest.
"Sasuke, I caught him! Where are you going?" Naruto asked and tried to still the ninja struggling in his grasp. He turned his puzzled face to Itachi whose eyes were looking at the empty space before him. Despite Sasuke's behaviour, Itachi's visage that displayed an artic indifference was still in place.
"Hey, Sasuke—" Naruto called out from behind, but Sasuke disappeared behind the trees.
"Let him go. He needs to cool off a bit," Itachi sighed out and closed his eyes. He put the long kunai back into the sheath and looked at Naruto. "You have completed the task. You can resume your Chūnin duties from tomorrow."
"Thanks," Naruto said in confusion, his eyes unable to fathom the intensity in Itachi's face. He looked very cold all of a sudden. "What about my Jōnin application?"
"Speak to your Captain. He will have to arrange the dates. Loosen your grip," he spoke in a heavy, commanding voice.
Naruto obliged. The prisoner slipped from his hand. Naruto blinked and saw the prisoner's head fly up into the air; in the stillness, his blood floating in front of Naruto's blue eyes, he was enveloped by the most robust wave of shock. He stared through the spotty, rosy veil at the drawn sword in Itachi's hand—passions un-obscured in his eyes.
"What the . . . fuc—?" a breathy voice tumbled up to Naruto's throat, face in the grip of disbelief and fear as he looked down at the head rolling, like a child's toy-ball, close to his sandals. It stopped, touching his left toe. With a twitchy movement, Naruto pulled his foot back when he felt the gob of mucus, hanging from the prisoner's lips, on tip of his toe, looking repulsed. He jerked his head up and watched Itachi whilst he wiped the blood from the sword on his pants, appearing as remorseless and heartless as ever. Itachi's lips twitched very slightly at the corners, with a suggestion of disgust, as though the man who had defied Leaf to be free affected his sensibilities even in death.
Itachi paid Naruto no mind, his face hard, chiselled out of the finest marbles. He bent his head a little and let out the fire, concealed in his breath. It engulfed the dead man and turned him into a charred lump of flesh in two seconds. He did not stick around and flashed out of the forest the next moment, leaving Naruto alone in the clearing.
Still under the black of terror, his blue eyes looked down at the ashes flying up from the body. This breeze was carrying them far away. He kept looking at it, and without knowing why, he felt tears squeeze out of his eyes. His heart was too soft; his lips trembled with grief and the realisation that Itachi had taken out his anger on the prisoner . . .
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"You have to leave your post, Hinata. Do you realise what is at stake here?" Hiashi pleaded before his daughter, standing in the lights, tempered by the paper-screen window.
Hinata raised her gaze—defiance burnt slowly in her eyes and gained strength. She pressed her hand to her breast and her heart tripped, nervous of her new-found resolve. "I-I can't quit my post, Otō-Sama. I won't quit my post. You ask so much of me," she said, her voice made smaller by emotion.
"You are dead-set on disobeying me. When did you turn so insolent?" Hiashi asked, voice heavy, fingers clenched as though he meant to hit her.
"I've never disobeyed you. I've done whatever you've ever asked of me. Can't I have this bit of freedom? I didn't say I won't give you an heir," she lied, her face trembling. It did not matter. Now, all she needed was a bit of strength, and then she would leave here . . . go away from this place—forever. "Y-You can't lock me up like this. I'm your daughter. Have you ever . . . cared about me? This is the first time you've come here since my marriage." She closed her eyes; her lips would not stop shuddering. She hated this weakness, but she steeled herself and looked him in the eye and saw remorse.
Her words had broken him. He stood erect, breathing heavily as if something was burdening his back, trying to bend it against his will. "You do not know how much I have sacrificed for this clan—my dignity, my honour, my—" he stopped, chewed up the word he wanted to say, and swallowed it down, "—you have to understand that, without an heir, Namikaze are lost. And if they are lost, we are lost. You do not even realise this—you foolish girl." He turned his head away, feeling ashamed of his daughter's heedless nature.
"You didn't have to stop. You've sacrificed me, too, haven't you? You don't have to hide. I was always the weak one. I don't blame you. I wish I was stronger, but I can't do the things you want me to. You want an heir, and you'll get it—a-after I recover," she lied again, and this time, she held her gaze. Her fingers clenched into fists. She was not going to let him bully her again.
Hiashi opened his mouth to speak, but a knock came upon the door. "Come in," Hinata said and touched her lips with her fingers to catch her gasp when the door opened: Sasuke stepped into the house, moving his eyes from Hiashi to Hinata.
"If I'm interrupting something, I can come back later," he said and looked at Hiashi.
Hiashi shook his head. "No, it is all right. I was leaving," he spoke and turned his eyes to Hinata. "We will discuss this matter some other time." Then he left the house, closing the door behind him.
Sasuke kept looking at the door, his eyes narrowing down to little black slits, as though he was lost in thought. Finally, he turned and placed the scroll on the rack and his eyes met hers with a sudden wild intensity. "I've approved your request. You'll have to enter the trials next week. Train with Yuu and see how it goes."
"T-Thank you," she said and lowered her eyes. The desire she felt for him came running back with full force: little girls always returned to pick up the toys they left behind in haste. She raised her gaze slightly to look at the smile about his lips, and her heart jumped convulsed with joy. She had not seen him for a week. Her body could feel the heat from him—a palpable aura sliding against her. It felt delicious to stand so close to him and let that needy part of her scrape at her walls, mad with lust.
"That's not the only thing I came here for," he paused and took out another scroll from his pocket. "There's an inconsistency between the dates your father gave me."
"What?" she asked through the haze of her thoughts.
"The date your father gave me? It doesn't match the date when the eyes were relinquished. When the eyes are taken out like that, it leaves a trace of chakra behind. You know that, don't you?" he asked and drew close.
She nodded, her gaze bent on his face. He looked calm, fresh, and lusty. "Nii-Sama's asked for an investigation into the matter. You understand, right?" he asked again, drawing closer still. "I want you to look into this. Your father doesn't even have to know." He smiled and his eyes glinted with a new playfulness she had never seen there before.
"But—" Hinata fell silent and took the scroll from his hand. She unrolled it a little and looked at the Anbu Commander Seal at the corner, with another strange symbol she had never seen before. She rolled it back up again and clutched it tightly.
"Your father might not want the investigation, and Neji could get involved. He's troubled. I don't want this matter to get out of hand. It's better if you looked into this yourself and searched for scrolls that might carry the symbol I showed you. Let's bury this matter. I don't want this to become an issue. I'm sure you'll agree," he said and created a child-like smile on his face. Today, he looked so boy-like!
"I—I agree!" Hinata said and innocent desire came up to her face and flushed her cheeks with vivid pink. She put the scroll on the rack by the entrance door, her eyes not leaving his, enchanted by this new side of him. He was so different from the time he attacked her. Itachi was right: he did not have to know!
Breathing out a burdened sigh, she approached him and reached up her hand and placed it against his cheek. He bit into his lower lip in a manner naughty children often do, and her warmer expression made a playful smile fully appear on his face, his eyes feral. "Naruto will come here to get his things any minute now. I don't think it's the right time to play," he teased and lowered his eyes to her shaky fingers as she pulled down the zip of his jacket. She was still not used to this intimacy.
Sasuke gave a soft laugh and grabbed hold of her trembling wrist. Then he bent down his head and clamped his mouth over hers and felt her tongue push into his mouth. If that's what she wants . . . he thought in amusement. Then he grasped her thighs, lifted her up with ease, and settled her down on the rack—her legs squeezed his hips.
Sasuke reached down and pulled at his zipper. Pushing her underwear aside, he created a little room for himself to enter her. He pressed the slick tip against her wet entrance and slipped inside in one smooth stroke. She made a little sound and reflexively arched her back. Clasping her legs tightly around his hips, she clung to his shoulders and kissed his jaw and neck, his skin hot under her lips. He moved in and out of her at a hard pace, and the rack banged against the wall; and a cup, half-filled with tea, fell onto the floor with a loud crash; its shards scattered outwards, with little points, as they hit the floor.
His warm breaths were harsh and ragged against her ear. Hinata did not want him to stop. She did not want him to pull away. Her walls contracted against his flesh, and he dug his fingers into her inner thighs, wedging her legs further apart as he drove into her harder and faster and at a more frenzied pace. She panted against him, lips pressed to his throat slick with sweat. His hair, stuck to the side of his jaw, smelt of the scent she loved.
She twisted her neck and sucked on his lower lip that shuddered with arousal between her teeth; and, eagerly, he responded, his tongue twisting against hers, relishing the warmth of her sheath. It did not matter to him: she provided a good distraction. He broke the kiss suddenly, his eyes red. Then he pulled out with a jerky movement and zipped up his pants.
Hinata ached between her legs, but she smoothed down her kimono. Her excited eyes watched him smooth down his shirt and pull the Jacket's zip up to his throat, to hide the red marks she had given him on the throat. Calmly, he stood against the wall, and the next moment, the door opened and Naruto stepped in. His eyes widened in surprise. "Sasuke, you left so suddenly—I," he broke off, and his face split into a wide grin, "I cleared the mission!"
A warm smile formed on Sasuke's face. He extended his arm and placed his hand on Naruto's shoulder. "I told you that you'd make it. You always doubt yourself," he said with warmth in his voice.
Hinata's mouth twisted down. Sasuke . . . he cared for Naruto. She could not say she liked this side of him. She sat silently on the rack, felt the delightful moist wash of their arousal drying out between her thighs in the dry heat of the room.
"You promised you'd treat me to sake and ramen for a whole week," Naruto said with a broad smile and threw his arm around Sasuke's shoulders.
"A promise is a promise. Come on, let's go. We'll talk about your Jōnin application, too," Sasuke said and walked through the door, without sparing Hinata another glance. Naruto followed him out, all smiles and laughs!
Then, after a moment, Naruto stuck his head back inside and twisted his neck to look at her. "I'll come by in the evening to collect my things. Put them outside the door. I don't want to disturb you," he said, grinning from ear to ear . . . and then he left.
Their voices floated to her for some moments, and then she could hear nothing other than the sounds from the tall grass outside. Her gaze wandered to the right. The scroll . . . it had fallen off the rack. She leant back against the wall and took a long intake of breath. She would get the scroll. If that was what it took to pull away from her family, then so be it . . .
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Itachi sat down and turned the stamp between his fingers. He closed his eyes and emitted a deep and long breath. Sasuke's chakra still lingered on the stamp in powerful bits. He had put his own upon it to make sure that he would know if someone used his Anbu Seal without his approval. Like sentinels, darkness stood in this room, guarding his face. His whole body felt the first shudder of disbelief this time. If Sasuke slipped, he would be caught for treason against Leaf, and killed . . .
He felt great worry in his heart, and it spoke out against the going stillness as though waking from a long forgotten rest. It sought ways, insidious ways, to return back to that stillness—that state—it had known since forever. His cool facade was gone, replaced by a winter white without a hint of hue. Sasuke was lashing out; he was testing him the way he always did when he was anguished. He opened his eyes, and his heart gentled, his mind racing on to catch up to the younger one's games. Still a darling child—how far could he have run?
Could he beat his brother at his game—with swiftness? Who had he used the seal for? He placed his hand over his eyes, his fingertips delicately feeling his temples. He never knew the whole affair, even in the past. How much did Sasuke hide from him about the Tulip Squad? The questions abraded the finely crafted landscape of his mind and powered through his calm; it trembled, hard raking waves hurtling themselves upon it without a heart, without a pity.
He pressed his thumb to his hue-less lips. Someone was leaking out the information from Sasuke's team. He turned his red eyes to the door. Beyond the garden stood Sakura, her chakra a meagre entity—miserable and fragile—which he could snuff out entirely with a trickle of his own, with an ease which almost amused him; but the seal on her forehead held much more. His mind kept coming back to her. He had cast his net many nights ago. Now, all he had to do was wait for this proverbial pink moth to scorch itself upon the flame.
Itachi stood up, picked up his sword from the table, pushed it into the sheath on his back; his mind came back to a web and a spider that sat waiting upon its core . . . waiting. It had to be her—who else could it be? The thought pierced the wall of another season, and passion gushed out and coloured his spirit in reds and blacks and whites. He stepped out and walked through the garden and stopped close to her; then his eyes appraised her life and what little worth she had.
Her cheeks bloomed bright red under his gaze before she spoke: "I brought along the supplies you asked of me, Itachi-Sama. Are we ready to leave?" Her eyes looked about, avoiding his gaze.
He measured her life-force, and his mind formed a perfect reason: his darling fed his obsessions, and trouble always needed to be weeded out . . .
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