Chapter Fifty: A Warm Winter's Night
AN: Tayūs, Japanese courtesans that were more common in the Edo Period.
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Rain had stopped and sun was warm in a distant, aloof way. Winter was starting to whisper. They felt it in their bones. The air filled up with chills. It was softer today—sun, merciful. It would soon lose that mercy and grow distant still. He knew it. It was life.
Sasuke gazed up, sunlight glowing on his skin. It was balmy, pleasant. He felt a slight tingle there as if it touched his cheek with tenderness. He breathed in a mouthful of that sweet air. It was cool, bearable, but it would change soon. The Sensors told him that winter was announcing its slow arrival, and this time, the peaks up north would be covered in snow.
Itachi came into his mind suddenly, and his face hardened; but then, as if a flood of memories delighted him, the look slowly went from his face and he appeared grim and sober again. It was his mask, which he wore regularly. It would snow where his brother had gone. The cold and what he had done would only make him suffer . . .
He leant back against the tree, head down, hair fallen across his eyes. He looked troubled. A deep sigh came from his heart and lips. It was wrong, but anger ate at him—fiery, hateful anger. His brother was cruel. He was cold. He cared for no one but himself. All Itachi desired was for him to break and bend before his commands.
Sasuke had grown resentful of his games. They wore him down, humiliated him, left him a broken toy he discarded and then decided to put back together on a whim. He was a leaf floating upon the unsteady waters of his older sibling's violent heart, not knowing when a cruel wave would drown him, consume him, leave him for dead.
He inhaled sharply, cold assaulting his lungs, and glanced over to Suigetsu who stood confused and dazzled by the dreadful bird's presence. He looked up at the crow staring down at him, its Sharingan eye sharp. He strained his face, and shadows of leaves threw themselves across his wan features as the sun moved a little higher. He screwed his eyes up, blinked thrice, and opened them so wide that Sasuke thought they would fall out of his sockets. Then he made a wary, fearful face and gave a shake of his head, glancing towards him with a questioning look for the hundredth time. Sasuke knew what Suigetsu would ask him: why was it still here?
Sasuke sighed and looked away. He wanted to feel something . . . something like guilt to rattle him out of this quest, but he did not. The wounds Itachi had left upon him in the forest would never heal—stains on his pride—something he would carry upon himself for as long as he lived; and he would . . . never forgive him for that. His heart fluttered with a kind of unsettling sensation, protesting against his wild decisions. He let it beat with an unsteady rhythm.
Whatever happened to his brother was no longer his concern. Itachi hurt him terribly and he had to pay, too. It was only fair. It was only sweet and innocent revenge. Sasuke was used to it. Often, Itachi broke his promises, and Sasuke, a boy child of four, would blunt his kunais and hide them in the garden when Itachi did not listen to him. It caused the boy much distress, but it delighted Sasuke when Itachi would pace around, worry on his face. He had ignored him. He had to pay.
Mischievous boy—yet Itachi always caught Sasuke. He would smile at him, telling him that he was a mischievous little boy who caused him distress, and leave him at home for days, with his mother; and he waited and waited in the garden, looking out at the sky, counting the hours till his brother, his only brother, would come back and play with him in the forest. Days would pass by, and he would grow angry, almost resentful, with Itachi. Fugaku was always silent about matters of his anguish, innocent pleas to tell him that when his older brother would be back.
"He is on an important mission, Sasuke," his Otō-Sama would say, eyes hard, a bit of stern look would cross his white face that was always moulded into the mask of a formal, rigid expression. Then his eyes would slide over that soft face, filled with a child's grief, and darken with an emotion that he never understood; and he would speak again, a forgettable quietness to his heavy voice: "your brother is a brilliant Shinobi. He has to be away on many missions. You will understand one day. You are too young for this now."
And Sasuke never did; he never understood why his father loved the older one and never so much as smiled at him. He tried hard to please him, learn things on his own. Itachi promised many things, but he hardly ever stayed true to his promises. He was a liar. He always had been. Blinded by love . . . that he never noticed Itachi's little lies.
Sasuke bunched his hand into a tight fist, and a shiver ran through his body and rigid spine that delightfully tingled, a newer anger which rose. Anger simmered his blood, and he fought for control for a moment before his emotions betrayed him. The feeling was gone. It was a subtle ache of a boy's ire now. He could manage that.
A mocking smile came across his lips, and he seemed more at ease. Voices floated to him from behind the bare trees and Kai, Sakura, Hinata, and Yuu came into view a moment later. They had a mission today and were asked to sweep the forest and get rid of any bandits hiding in the caves by the river. Kill the pesky bandits! It was an easy task. He wondered whether they would find any as they were holed up close to the outpost several kilometres from here. Another hopeless task—another fool's errand.
The higher lobby loved this display of showy arrogance. It did not matter to him. Their politics were none of his concern. As long as he dragged the swine through the sty and let the world know of his sins, he was content.
Kai looked over to him and created such a whimsical expression that it surprised him. Behind him, Hinata stood with her eyes upon the sun. Her face often worked with dreamy expressions these days. Next to her, Sakura's green eyes chewed him up. It felt as though he relived the same moment over and over again whenever he looked at her—it was almost tedious.
Kai said something to Yuu when Jūgo came into the clearing with three Chūnins and walked to him, his steps a little urgent and clumsy. He looked tired. Keeping an eye on Sasuke was proving to be quite the ordeal for him. His face was pallid with an almost sickly yellow tinge about the cheeks. He cleared his throat and coughed once before he looked into Sasuke's eyes—a deep frown in his brow, beaded with a bit of sweat.
"Sasuke, sweep the area to the east," Kai said and pointed his hand at a tree a couple of yards away. "Take Yuu and Sakura with you and no one else. Jūgo and Suigetsu are needed for another task."
"Sakura? Nii-Sama took Karin with him, my best Sensor, and now he wants me to sweep the area with a Sensor in training?" Sasuke asked, a look of irritation just beginning to develop on his countenance. "You don't have to be so obedient. There's nothing to gain from him—" He smiled, which was more along the lines of a ghostly sneer, and his eyebrows rose in a show of meaningful irritation.
Kai let out a heavy sigh that moved his breast, and then he looked back at Sasuke, appearing unconcerned. "Sasuke, I don't know—I'm only following Itachi-Sama's orders. It's not as if you have a choice. You should obey. It's for the best," he said and Sasuke could almost taste the arrogance in his voice, and he loathed how Kai was looking down upon him because of the little power he enjoyed under Itachi's wide wing: his damned brother!
Sasuke stepped closer and stood stiff and erect, a cold smile reaching his eyes, and they began to glint with an emotion so intense that Kai's eyes trembled once and squinted against the malice he radiated. "I wonder for how long you'd enjoy this little power. Don't get happy," he rasped softly, watched as more sweat oozed out from the pores and quivered down Kai's skin that shivered ever so slightly with an anxiety his heart could not understand.
Sasuke made to walk when Kai spoke again: "you're responsible for this mess—no one else. Don't take your anger out on me. No one deserves your wrath. You had a choice to stay put, but you ran away. You only think of yourself, not of your brother. He's human, too. He loves you, but he was angered by your stubbornness, and you suffered for it. You're to blame for your mistakes, not him. The world doesn't revolve around only you. He has more on his mind than just you. I really wish you could understand that." Then he said no more and turned his eyes away.
"Nii-Sama loves poetry. You've come to like it, too? Working under him has turned you into a poet. Aren't you a lucky man? You should read it out to him. He might like you now—" he stopped and smiled, "—this won't last. Enjoy it while you can." Then, taking a step backwards, Sasuke turned around and walked away from him. He commanded Sakura and Yuu to follow him and left the clearing without looking back at Kai . . .
It did not take them long to reach the river to the east. He decided to split up here and leave Yuu to scan the area on the river's edge, a ground covered in pebbles and sand. The water gathered in there in summers and lush grass grew in abundance. It was dry and grey now. His eyes traced the silent shore, and he turned away abruptly and started running towards the caves up in the cliffs.
Sasuke kept his running speed slow to allow her to catch up. She was slow. He did not look back at her, but he could hear her struggling to breathe, to catch up to his speed. It took them so long to cover a small distance. He could have done without this distraction . . .
At last, they arrived at the foot of the hills. The boulders were big and round here and the grass grew tall. He turned around and saw Sakura slowing down her run. She stopped and bent forward, hands on her knees, panting. He raised his gaze slightly, and his Sharingan could tell that the crow was sitting about a hundred metres away. Persistent . . . like his brother: birds of a feather; and he almost had an urge to laugh at the thought.
Sakura's small shoulders lifted on a quick inhale, and she raised her deeply flushed face to him, savouring the look on his visage that was without the usual touches of arrogance and aloofness. Her neck and face were sweaty. Her hammering heart finally stilled, and her breath slowed from harsh spurts to shaky ones with an occasional shuddering one that shook her body.
For a few moments, Sasuke kept looking at her, appraising her. She was odd, always had been, but something changed in her eyes in the past year or two; and he could tell that it stirred an emotion in their depths, and her heart would beat with a dangerous and wild yearning that a sensation of ache would streak through her—angry chakra bolting in her thin veins. It was an exquisite thing that aroused nothing but curiosity from him. It was her: she had to be the rat in his Team! He just needed to check something to be sure.
The crow's caw disturbed the long spell of silence, and he finally turned around and started walking to the boulders, and then his walk progressed to a jog and she ran behind him, too, clambering onto the rocks, jumping as high as she could to stick her feet to the stones. The chakra there was smooth and even—an easy task for her.
They reached the top of the cliffs in a few minutes. The wind blew strong here, and the caves' mouths, covered in mists. His Sharingan was enough to tell him that it was a trick of nature. He glanced at her for a moment and commanded: "scan the caves."
Sakura nodded in silence and clasped her fingers together and pointed just two upwards to Sense. She kneaded enough chakra to sense some caves. They were large enough for a child to crawl through, but she knew that a simple Doton Jutsu could always fix that. Shadows slid down like black tar on both sides, and she could barely see anything inside the cave. It was dark in there, but nothing noticeable hit her senses. She gazed at Sasuke out of the corner of her eyes and saw him looking at her as if he was sizing her up.
Sasuke's face was completely expressionless. His Sharingan was out, and it was raking over her body, piercing skin and bone to gaze upon the web of her chakra veins, and she felt . . . denuded before him—naked and willing to allow herself this silly pleasure that, at least, his eyes were gentle today.
Sakura started panting. Her breaths came out a little faster as warm air, and she started to make a few hand-seals to pour out the chakra from the seal (on her forehead) when he stopped her. "No need," Sasuke said lazily and ran his eyes about the cave. His Sharingan gave colour to every little thing. The chakra glowed yellow in one snake and pink in the other. They were poisonous. The flowers growing out of the cracks cradled their own chakra. The whole network was a disjointed mass of colours. It was empty. If bandits ever took refuge there, they were long gone.
He gazed at her and his eyes were soft, soft and beautiful, and he was looking at her fondly that her heart could not bear it anymore. It leapt up with a girl's joy. Her face got hot, and she stiffened when he stretched his arm and brushed his fingers on her nape. She clearly felt the whorls on the fingers there. Heat coiled in her stomach, and a haze came over her that the skin trembled and heated at the sensuous glide of his fingers. Something stranger tingled there and disappeared. It was a sudden stab, a different kind of sensation, but it disappeared quickly.
She caught her breath in a disappointed sigh when he pulled his hand away. The skin still ached and quivered like a needy maiden in heat. Blood roared in her ears, and the feeling did not recede. "I thought it was a yellow spider. It's poisonous," he said and looked away again.
Sakura turned her head away, and tears threatened to track her cheeks. She hastily wiped them away from her eyes and glanced at him. He had not looked her way. She reached up to touch where he had touched, her fingers ice-cold against the flesh there. The skin burnt and throbbed, an open wound, but she smiled that he was not cold to her today.
Sasuke blinked, and the Sharingan spun with less haste in his eyes. She was still sensing weakly, feeling the palpable aura of his dense, sinister chakra roiling wildly in his veins. It was monstrous, powerful, beautiful that the more she focused on it, the more she could feel it crash out of his body like storms that sought to ruin her, crush her to bits, touch her in an intimate way that gooseflesh broke out all over, and her thighs quaked, a warmth which was primal in nature.
This feeling was raw—real. How would it really feel to touch him, draw that hot chakra out of his stubborn body, make it grow, watch it harden, and slip into her waiting form and hit the very core of her soul and mould it in a savage way only he could? She parted her mouth, feeling as though she could almost taste him upon her tongue, and she lost the voice to speak.
Sasuke was looking to the right, still seeing it all through his Sharingan, and she was left behind like an afterthought in that moment again. Sakura inhaled and moved her eyes over his sweaty neck, and the skin that had turned pink there with the running, his veins beating hotly under the skin there.
"Should I . . . ?" Sakura asked lowly in a voice so timid. He was kind today: there was no need to displease him.
"No," he said and cast her a guarded look and turned around to jump down. "There's nothing to see here."
Sakura did not say anything. She followed him down the cliff, jumping on the slippery boulders. Moss had grown thickly over them, but her chakra control was enough to cut a safe path for her feet. She followed him quietly, not saying a word, though she wanted to say much.
When they arrived at the shore, Yuu had still not come back. A pleasant smile spread across Sakura's lips, and she felt her cheeks become warm. It was a silly feeling. She was like a child. They were all alone . . . Sasuke bent down and picked up a smooth stone. He snapped his wrist and threw it at the still water—it skipped over the surface many times till it disappeared behind the fog's wall. He sighed and looked at the crow as it cawed with a tilt of his head.
"I heard you—be quiet," Sasuke said, sounding almost amused, and then he bent his arm. "Come here." He indicated with a flick of his head. The crow twisted its head around a little and stretched its neck out as though it was deliberating; then it flew down and landed on his arm, with a powerful movement of its black wings.
Sasuke stroked its head, and Sharingan pulsed and whirled with its red eyes. "You're a mean little thing. Mean and nosy," he whispered and ran his fingers across that coarse beak, and the crow cawed loudly again—it understood what he said; and he playfully tilted his head left and then tilted his head right with the crow's movements; and it, too, tilted its head to the left and to the right and then back again, playing with him.
It bent its head forward and back and then to the right to copy Sasuke's movements. It let out the loudest caw and flapped its wings again, joyously. Sasuke laughed in response. Sakura looked on, staring at him and the crow. It was strange. She did not understand him and what made him happy. He was a child now, drawing amusement out of something so . . . strange, she thought. At that moment, Suigetsu came running towards him, waving his arms frantically.
"Lad, get 'way frem that nasty bag a' feathers. It almost poked me eyes out. Save yor purdy mug!" he yelled and drew near. The crow glared at him, its Sharingan-eye glowing amidst fog, and flew up to obediently land on the same branch from where it had come down.
"What are you doing here?" Sasuke asked as the crow cawed over and over again in a disapproving manner. It was beginning to give him a headache. He looked up, locking his big red eyes with its tiny ones that bore the spinning shurikens, and spoke: "quiet." And it fell silent immediately, hopping to the right and left in an impatient manner as though it wanted to release piercing screams again.
"I need a wee moment," Suigetsu said, huffing and puffing, hand pressed to his heaving breast. Then he reached to his back and pulled out a bottle to take a few gulps of water. A satisfied sigh came from his mouth, adorned with sharp and strong teeth. They were well-set and sparkled with a pearly lustre in the light. Sasuke always found them odd.
Suigetsu turned his eyes and gazed at Sakura's pink and confused face. "Pinky-Chan, haven't seen ya in days!" he almost shouted, a wide smile on his face. "Yor knickers all good? Last I saw ya, ya was pink in the face, stars in yor eyes, as ya saw Itachi-Sama all the way through like ya had a Byakugan. The thirst was real!" He breathed out a heavy sigh and shook his head and stared up at the sky with a sober expression as though he was praying before the Kami for his dear life.
Sakura's cheeks were loaded with a hot red colour. She looked surprised, and then a deathly pallor spread over her features—blood drained from her face and body. Her face transformed again and grew rigid, and the usually pleasant curl of her mouth vanished into a hard and thin line. She looked murderous.
"It's a'right—me can understand a wee bit," Suigetsu spoke, with an air of adult seriousness and a slight wave of his free hand, "he's less pretty compared ta me lad here, but he's just a lil' sharper, a lil' harder, and a bit longer—puns could be there. But, maybe, thinner—"
"Knock it off. She isn't used to your sense of humour. And don't talk about Nii-Sama like that ever again. Shame on you," Sasuke reproached him, a little irritated, and the toothy smile returned to Suigetsu's face.
"But I ain't fuckin' 'round! The romantic, deep, and much feelin' poet in me saw it all—saw it with me own two beady eyes. A gift frem me mother. She wasn't pretty like ya!" he said and closed his eyes to breathe in deeply. "Kami—Pinky-Chan thirsts! She's got a bunch a' complicated feelin' fer 'im. There's no other shit there. 'Am just tellin' ya!"
"Sasuke!" Sakura shouted in anger and indignation, her fists shaking.
"Suigetsu, behave yourself," he said a little tersely and Suigetsu raised his hands in the air, muttered out an indistinct 'a'right' twice, and broke into mischievous chuckles.
Sakura turned away from them in a huff and sat down near the shore. She grabbed the stones and began throwing them into the water and watched the ripples grow and disappear. Suigetsu put his hands behind his neck and looked back to Sasuke who was gazing up at the crow again.
"I gave Kai a slip," he whispered and a deep, rough laughter rippled in his throat. "Son a' bitch's probably runnin' around in circles ta find that shrine and his own buggered arsehole. Ya looked at me weird when ya left. What is it?"
Sasuke lowered his head to look down towards the shiny pebbles by his sandals. "It's her," he said in a chilly voice.
"Her—Pinky-Chan? What doya mean?" he asked and sweat suddenly collected at the back of his neck. That did not sound good . . .
"She's the one leaking the information about me," he said, and a stunned expression crossed Suigetsu's white face that grew whiter by the moment. "It can't be anyone but her." He turned around and looked off into the distance, his Sharingan sawing through the fog to see on the other side: it was just more dry grass and more pebbles there.
"Are ya sure?" he asked, keeping his voice as calm as he could, and took one step to stand beside Sasuke. Itachi was gone, and if Sasuke found out that she was working for Danzō, her days were numbered; and Sasuke would be in grave trouble if he killed her.
"I investigated the shrines before Nii-Sama left," he said and stole a glance at her, "if I draw straight lines, two of them meet exactly at the Root Headquarters. It's right in the middle. I found one more in the forest. It was a little farther than those two, but I can carve a straight path from it all the way to those bloody gates."
"Did ya find more?" he asked and looked fearfully from Sakura's back to Sasuke's white and unkind face. It was trembling; the smile on his lips was changing a bit.
"No," Sasuke hissed, almost resentfully, "Nii-Sama never gave me the time. He kept all of you busy. His games aren't fair—" His face was contorted in such fury that Suigetsu looked away to watch Sakura throw another stone into the river. She was too far away to hear them, but the air suddenly felt colder and sinister; it had ears that would hear their words and a cunning mouth to convey them to his friend's enemies, his enemies, murderers of his beloved father and brother. He felt a chill right there in his heart and felt a little anger, too, but he had to be the wise one for now.
"What does it 'ave ta do anythin' with—"
"Her home is close to where Danzō sits like every damned Root dog," he spoke again and the cutting coldness in his voice was still there. "I'd asked Karin weeks ago to confirm the official Anbu and Root seals in Nii-Sama's office about our missions—and few other things. There's no record of her missions when she was temporarily discharged from my service to prepare for the tests. Not even a D-Rank one. It's not possible for a Chūnin to laze about the house like that. They always have something to do—always."
A wave of air floated towards them, and the combers rose to the surface and ran to the lonely shore. Suigetsu did not know what to say, but he had to say something. "She's Hokage's special lil' cunt. Yor jumpin' ta conclusions. Don't be hasty!"
Sasuke squinted his eyes against the breeze and filled his lungs with its sweetness. Then he let out a heavy breath that appeared like fog before his face. "I thought about that," he paused and his voice was even colder now—it slid over his bluish skin and felt like trembling fingers of the dead, "and, perhaps, it's like you say, but—why did she become a Sensor? Her range doesn't go beyond a hundred feet, and Hinata was fooled by someone that night from a similar distance.
"It had to be a Sensor. Who else would know where to hide and find that seal-riddled tunnel in the dark? Karin could barely detect them. They were made with some kind of artificial chakra. She knows about it—sense it. No wonder it was easy for her to fool someone with a Dōjutsu. There are too many coincidences. I can't let this slide." And his eyes were hard as dead pebbles on the ground, and it was chilling Suigetsu, making him shudder and shiver.
"What do ya 'ave in mind? Ya can't just kill her," Suigetsu whispered and stole a fearful glance at her. "Ya just got out on suspensions a' murder, and not just any murder—Fū's! The guy who was droppin' the soaps too aften in front af that frisky old faggit. Danzō's out fer yor bollocks! If ya try ta read her 'ead, and she's suckin' his wee pisser like ya say, I 'ave me doubts they 'ave left this bitch ruttin' on their payroll without any seal—or protection. Danzō ain't that stupid, lad!"
Sasuke glared at him, eyes unmoving. "You think I'm a fool?" he hissed again, and his voice came out as a deadly threat, face taut with ire and purpose, and a vein bulged in his jaw. "Of course she would have a Fuin-Jutsu seal on her. Leaf's Uzumaki have always been dogs. If I touch her and try to break her mind now, they would know. If she dies suddenly, the blame falls on me. Don't think I haven't thought of that."
Suigetsu breathed out a sigh of relief, and his heart calmed down. "Ya gave me a scare. Yor a good lad, Sasuke. 'Am proud af ya. I thought ya had done somethin' rash outta anger. It ain't like ya ta be so hasty," Suigetsu said, a touch of faint laughter in his voice. He slowly brought his arms up, stretched, opened his mouth wide to emit a yawn.
Silence. It was broken by nothing but splashing sounds of stones hitting the calm waves. Sakura was trying to make the pebbles skip over the water. She got to her feet and picked up one and jerked her arm back to throw the stone. It only skipped twice before it sank to the bottom. A sound of frustration came from her, but she picked up another one to try again.
"I've done something to make it easier," Sasuke said, eyeing her with a roguish glint in his hawk-eyes, and Suigetsu's mouth was still gaping open but nothing was coming out. "I asked Karin to make one for me as soon as I got suspicious. Now, I'll have to wait for it to grow and eat any seal on her. It shouldn't take more than a day. A new seal will be useless with Karin's seal in place. It won't protect her. The Root seal doesn't release chakra—probably artificial—like the tunnel ones.
"This bandit business—Root wouldn't even notice it in the chaos. All you have to do is bring her to me in the forest on that day, and I'll dig one more grave under a tree—the one she wanted for me." And he smiled just like a wild child and eyed her one last time before he turned away towards the crunching sounds of dry leaves: it was Kai and he had found him.
Suigetsu's arms came down slowly, and he could not help but look at the pink-haired girl as she touched her nape softly. This was bad . . .
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Like feathers, snow was floating down and piling up on the garden. One of the stone lanterns was still burning. The flame flickered and guttered, but it stood tall again. It was not going to go out tonight. He had left the door open. A light, frosty draft moved in, and the fire burning in the fireplace by his futon barely made a difference.
Itachi was feverish again. He did not understand why his fever did not abate. His limbs ached and the clothes were a burden on his body. He stripped off his shirt and cast it aside. The breeze felt cool and soothing on the skin that ached and shivered as if he suffered from a terrible ague. It was only a mild fever . . .
Itachi turned on his Sharingan and looked at the chakra-veins pulsing just beneath his skin. His chakra was disturbed—only slightly. The illness was mild—nothing his powerful chakra could not remedy after a good night's sleep; but it had been persistent. The fever never truly went away, and the more he drew on his chakra, the more difficult it became to control his crows.
He guessed that he had been drawing out his Mangekyō consistently for the past week now. The crow did not take much of his chakra, but it drew a bit of it daily to maintain that perfect black form. It could be Kikyo's trick. He frowned and sat up to look at the garden as frost rose into the air sluggishly like a transparent veil.
His head dropped into his hands, and he breathed in and out heavily a few times. The fever receded, and his mind began to focus more clearly on things around him. The draft felt colder, and his limbs quaked no more. He pulled his hands away and looked down at the chakra again: it was more even now.
Itachi's thoughts turned back to Kikyo: she could have given him a drug to halt his progress. He would not put it past her. She did not want him to venture too far off into the caves that littered the uneven cliffs like gaping mouths. He did not find anything close to Valleys—a useless foray.
He did not understand why she offered him the scroll herself. Why would she want to break off a pact, formed with an Elder by her grandfather? This was a terrible game, and she was too young to play it right. She was still so clumsy. He may not have found anything in the mountains, but her slips were numerous and silly. She butchered many of her own men at the hands of the bandits in the last battle . . . to show that she was being honest and forthcoming, that she was deserving of her position, and that the killed Shitchi Elder was a pest and a bitter old man.
Such a trick may have deceived a fool, but he saw right through her mistakes. The powder she supplied to the men to make paper-tag explosives was flammable. It was promised that the powder would not catch fire if it got touched by chakra, but it did. As soon as the bandits attacked the outpost, they could smell her treachery in the air.
All they had to do was send their chakra flying at the barrels; arrows carried death on their tips to end them all. The barrels exploded, and the whole area was changed into a scene of human shambles. Blood and bone splattered everywhere, and the stench was enough to make the stomach heave and churn. Limbs and arms and heads lay about, but even the stink of fresh blood could not hide her lies: storm had stopped miles to the north, and rain did not come to wash away the last traces of that pungent smell. She never anticipated it and ended up looking like a fool before her council.
Whilst quite girl-like, Itachi thought that she was clever than most. She steered the argument in her favour skilfully. She had men as her guard—good, loyal men. They came to her defence and laid all the blame down on the suppliers that they had locked away the stench of the powder with a common seal and that their novice ninjas were not used to such an advanced kind of flammable powder. It was something only a few powerful villages knew of.
She was truthful there. It was a fancy new invention. Only Konoha, Cloud, and one more village, with a truly bizarre name, were using it against their foes. All of them used something different to make that powder catch fire, but they could never quite hide that smell. They let her off. The suppliers were attacked and killed and no one that connected her to this treacherous act was left breathing. He did not intervene. Their matters were not his concern. He focused on his own task, though she amused him to no end.
Itachi had tried to read her thoughts with a regular Sharingan Genjutsu a few times, but it proved to be a futile attempt to breach the barrier upon her mind. The layer of chakra there was thick and strong. It would be impossible to make a hole in it with the seal in place. All it did was repair the damage to the barrier caused by needless intrusions. It was simple but so effective that he was left with no choice but to resort to Tsukuyomi.
Yet it was too soon to haunt her—she would die miserably and easily. He had to wait for this children's game to end. If everything fell apart, he could still leave with a scroll in hand and use a Genjutsu upon someone else and end her life in a simple manner, making it look like poetic justice. It would be easy to become a part of this pretend-play with her, but if she was looking for an alliance, she was no more than a silly little girl.
His ears wriggled like a fox's when he heard dainty steps approach his room, and then a knock came upon the door. He did not have to look with his Sharingan to know who it was—the smell of her was enough to announce her arrival. "Come in," Itachi spoke and looked at her as she opened the door and steadied a tray in her hand to step into the room. She closed the door as softly as she had opened it.
Turning around fully, Kikyo moved her free hand to grab the tray from the other end. She wore expensive kimonos: it was a red one tonight; the flowers upon it, redder in the shadows. She was not wearing any makeup on her cheeks and round her clever eyes—just the lips, painted red with the juice from forest berries.
She breathed in once, and the shadows danced on the exposed skin of her bosom. "I thought you needed a little medicine, Itachi-Sama. You're so cold that you didn't tell me you were ill," she said, and her face was lit up by the fires softly.
Itachi did not say anything. She walked around the futon and sat down next to it, not daring to climb onto it and sit next to him lest he might stop her. She bent forward and placed the tray on the futon. He looked at it once and then steered his gaze to the open garden-door again.
"There was no need for this," Itachi spoke and looked at the cup once more. "I have taken the herbs. The fever came down. You should retire to your chamber. We have a long journey to the next village tomorrow."
Kikyo bent her head down a little. Her long, beautiful hair scattered about her shoulders and her sharp, girl-ish features were cast in shadows and she gazed at him from under the black of her lashes. "You shouldn't worry about me, Itachi-Sama. It would be terrible if you fell ill. Who'd look for those awful bandits? I'm but a delicate woman who needs you. They killed so many when the moon was waxing only two days ago. It'd be unfortunate if your Hokage felt that she placed her trust in the wrong man. Even I would feel . . . distraught," she said and pulled her red lips in a lecherous and twinkling smile.
Itachi cast her one last appraising glance and picked up the cup from the tray. Little leaves floated on the surface of a green liquid, and a pleasant smell crept up his nostrils. He brought the cup to his lips and stopped for a moment to take in the smell again, and then he took one sip. It was a little bitter, but when he took another one, it felt warm in his belly.
Kikyo emitted a little laugh that rippled through her, cheeks reddening in amusement. "Itachi-Sama," she spoke as if she was taken aback, "I would never poison you! Your Hokage's sent you here. Killing you would mean the end of my whole Clan—but even you know this, don't you?" Her eyebrows scrunched, and she wet her lips as though she was thirsty and took in a single deep breath before she climbed onto the futon to sit a safe distance from him.
Itachi gulped down the whole thing and placed the cup on the set of drawers by the futon. His eyes returned to her face and a sudden mischievous look came over her young features. She truly was in a mood to play. "You should leave," he spoke and pulled his up legs to sit cross-legged, "if someone from your clan saw you emerging from my chamber, it would shame you. I am pleased that you brought this to me, but there is no reason for you to be here any longer. It is cold in here, and I would prefer if it stayed that way."
"Then should I close the door to the garden?" she asked, her manner unabashedly lustful. A chuckle broke from her lips and it became a rich, seductive laugh and the sound of it was decadent.
He was silent. It was futile to argue now. She came here with a purpose. It was best to play with her and end this game—quickly. Kikyo pushed the tray off the futon, and the cup there clattered to the floor, spilling whatever was in it on the polished wood. She drew closer and closer, as though she wanted to snuggle up to his breast, till she sat close enough that, when she breathed, he felt her breath slide hotly against the skin of his shoulder. It was warm, and it roused just a bit of his male lust.
She touched the scar, and he chose not to tear his eyes from the snow that fell. The chill of it was real—raw upon his body. He did not want to shuffle off the sensation too soon. "I want your agreement, your strength, and you, as well. It isn't a sin. I shall prove myself worthy for you," Kikyo whispered and her breaths were feathers burning sweetly on his unyielding skin. "Let me motivate you . . . " She hesitated for a moment and leant into him.
Then she stretched her neck, and he felt her red lips on the smooth slope of his throat, and she marked that unmarked skin with the colour of berries. Her lips throbbed softly and an irritating current of unwanted yearning painfully and tortuously moved down his spine to rouse his genitals, yet still his eyes did not leave the snow. It was cold and its breeze was cooling down the blood.
Haze came over Itachi's eyes, and they fluttered in protest. A feeling of calm engulfed him, and he wanted to lie back down and fall asleep. He straightened his spine in a stubborn attempt to sit upright, but his head bent down, and he placed his hand down on the futon to keep his balance and control.
"It's a mild sleeping draught. I didn't drug you. I wouldn't dare do such a rude thing," Kikyo whispered close to his neck, and her voice slid over him the way an evil wind did in a graveyard. It did not matter anymore. It was wise to let her do as she pleased. If he let her indulge herself, and if it meant that it would become easier for him to draw out that secret from her, then so be it.
Her hand slid against his back, and she lowered her head, her lips eager, warm, vulgar on his breast. He never liked this much intimacy. Lust was an irritation he did not want. He was young, and it came to him often, and he confronted it with ease, with all the will his young body could manage: every ounce of it, every last drop of it; and he would let it ache dully till it would become impossible to control his need any longer.
It was easy to hire a Tayū to pacify his primal urges. They were skilled. There were no kisses and timid touches of lovers in their quarters. It was raw . . . free from the social ideas of passions and foolishness of dazed paramours. He would stay there for one night, spend himself, and liberate his body from the natural urge and leave. It was uncomplicated. It was easy. It never bothered him. In the end, all he had to do was wait—wait for that feeling (a familiar itch) to return, and he repeated it all over again.
Sex for him was always the same. It was hot, primal, urgent. It lightened his spirits, his burdens just a little. If the woman was beautiful, he was, perhaps, slightly motivated to explore her more; but it was never anything sensual and soft. He was so used to warm pants and free displays of eagerly spread white thighs, damp in anticipation, that any other tale was foreign to his senses.
Itachi did not understand why she was so desperate to please him. It was odd and absurd, but he stayed quiet and let her play. Kikyo was like this excited child who had discovered a doll hidden in a gift. Her feeble-minded pursuit of him was pitiful. It did not matter—none of it mattered. Her fate was in his hands. What good would come out of rejecting a free flavour of need and lust? Nothing good; and the man in him did not reject the flowers that fell willingly into his lap, not often.
He felt her hand brush his thigh and the front of his pants, and her desire to touch him there almost made him smile. This girl was a fool. Kikyo lowered her head and bit his skin hard. The marks of her teeth showed pink against the white. She was . . . strange. She lowered herself still more, and he sensed her breath against the navel and the puff of male hair above his genitals.
She freed him and turned her head to look up into his eyes; the light from the fire shone on her skin that she almost looked lovely. She parted her pink-smeared lips on a pant and spoke: "it's still distant like you. Shall I arouse it for I want to enjoy you, too?" Then she sat up straight for a moment and pulled at her kimono collar, and it slipped down her shoulders. Her breasts were round and full, and her nipples, pale pink and hard; his Sharingan watched the leaps of Kikyo's wild, lusty heart and the shallow and tiny hitch of her breath that made the sweat roll down from between her breasts.
Moving forward, Kikyo bowed her face into his lap. Then, quite readily, she took him into her mouth and hot, searing pleasure streaked through him against his will. Her lovely spine arched and moved like a slick fish below the smooth surface of water; that was the only thing he could compare her beaded back with; and he felt himself growing and hardening to full length, squeezing into her throat.
Itachi was not surprised when she did not jerk away or pull back. She had done this before and killed many of her unwary and foolish lovers in the past. She dangled herself before them, took their lands in return for her Clan's services, poisoned them. It was strange to see her like this . . . drawing him into her mouth over and over again with a slow and soft rhythm.
Pleased and pleasured—he had an urge to sink his fingers into the twisting strands, hold her there, relieve himself of this unwanted burden; but that would have been so unsavoury and rude. Heat gathered into his stomach, and his thighs slightly trembled, and he felt himself inch closer to a release he so craved now—but she did not allow him that. She slipped her mouth off him and undid the obi around her waist and threw it aside. Then she pulled at her kimono and revealed her tsubaki-white thighs to him, moistened with arousal.
It was unwise to go this far with her. If she stopped, he would not coax her into this now; it was too soon to claim her in this manner, but it did not seem that she cared. The desire for his favour was strong in her that she grabbed his arms and pulled him down to lay on top of her. He did not resist, but he noticed that she was a lot stronger than she looked. There was chakra on her delicate hands, and it added much strength to her gestures. He did not think he would have been able to fight her if he was even faintly more lightheaded.
In the fullness of fire's lights, he gazed upon the unadorned flesh of the woman beneath him: blood had darkened in her face, and her lips were like the colour of rich sake, red and soft. She brushed her fingers against his lips and reached down between them and took a firm grip on his arousal. She was unabashed, bold, and obscene in the way she behaved with a complete stranger. What was so peculiar about that scroll?
Itachi lowered his eyes a bit and then looked back at her again. "You are not patient, and you have not gone near any man in this manner before. The act will only give you pain," he rasped, his expression blank.
"You shouldn't worry about my pain," she said, narrowing her dark eyes into tiny threatening slits. "It's my blood you'll spill. I lie beneath you out of my own freewill. Consider it . . . a gift for this cold night, and my desire for pleasure I wish to feel with you inside myself. Do this with me. I want to throw away the lust for you that clings on. It makes me ache and it makes me weak and I hate being weak." Her face was warped, and she looked somewhere between angry and lustful. Her pliant body was tense, shivering.
Itachi considered her for a moment and watched the heat rising in torrents under her skin and touched the inside of her thigh. She was damp there. It was her decision, and with that thought, he pushed inside her tight core; and she bled, losing that long-held innocence to him in moments of nothing but wanton, human need. Her expression changed a little as pain came to her face, but she did not look away. Her face trembled and tears rose to her eyes, and she gritted her teeth together, muscles locked.
Then Kikyo suddenly lost that battle to stay calm as she pressed a hand over her lips to hold in the coming sob. She screwed her eyes shut, and her neck arched, exposing her skin where the veins throbbed with new sensations; and she sobbed still more like a punished babe, breaths unsteady and fast. It burnt and it hurt . . . he was not gentle in his movement—bastard!
He pulled back and plunged in again, and this time, her eyes flew open. A surprised, wordless cry came from her throat. Her channel was so incredible—tight. Hot. Slick. Soft. He bowed his head, braced himself on his elbows, and set a rhythm, deep and deliberate and slow; and she squeezed him tighter and drew him closer to plant kisses to his throat.
Oh, it was strange the way she whimpered. Her eyes closed, and her mouth opened wide to let out hot, heavy breaths that hit his neck, becoming a new sensation that spun and whirled his blood like a tempest. He did not want to erupt inside her, so he reached between them and lightly brushed his fingers against the swollen bud just throbbing above where they connected; and she grew tighter, impossibly tighter, and the musky female scent of her skin and arousal filled the air.
Kikyo just lay there, breathing heavily, skin trembling. The coil was unfurled. Her eyes fluttered open, and they were steeped in the kind of hunger he thought he had sated. In these moments, he controlled himself. The breeze from the garden was ice on his sweaty back, and he was softening inside her. She got what she wanted: there was no need to indulge in this any longer.
Itachi moved back to pull out, but he suddenly found himself flat on his back. He was still joined deeply with her, and Kikyo pulled her lips in a pretty smile. She removed the kimono and threw it aside. Then she moved her hand up, pulling a pin out from the bun on her head, and long wavy hair tumbled down her fair back and upon her shoulders. He caught a glimpse of perspiration on the wispy hairs under her lovely arms and the pretty black curls between her legs.
"I want to look down at your beautiful face this way. You were hiding it before!" Kikyo said and licked at the pin shining in the fire's light. Then she bent down after letting out a bell-like laugh to whisper in his ear: "how would you like for me to squeeze you till it flows?"
He wanted to stop her, but he was drowsy and he was weary. Kikyo hissed in a soft breath, head tipping back, thighs trembling with primal want . . . and she moved. She rode him with a wild urgency that an unsteady breath slipped from his lips. The flesh around her waist was red like in a glare of strong light—that fire playing beautiful, sinister shadows across the planes of her body.
She moved her hands up and twisted the beaded tight crests of her nipples, squeezing the breasts playfully—the pin clamped tightly between her lips, her thrusts hard and deliberate. There was wild, unbridled strength in the way she squeezed him when she bent down, the pin falling from her lips, teeth scraping along the hollow of his throat.
"I'm so well-pleased," she hissed, backing away and shuddering, "I'm so—w-well-pleased—" And her fine back curved like a cat's flexible spine, and she planted both her hands on his breast. Her head dropped forward, and the pin in that other bun fell out. It unfurled, and the hair fell down in a cascade upon her shoulder; and her thrusts were shallow, and then they were frantic that he touched her knees with his fingertips as though he was urging her to be gentle. His body moved with her thrusts, muscles straining, and a hot sensation of complete abandonment and a deep pleasure that rattled him in a way that he would never have wanted otherwise in moments of self-satisfying control.
Kikyo felt the fierceness of his rapid heartbeats through her palms, and she peered at the Sharingan that faded out, defeated before his wants, through thick lust and lush hair in curiosity. His flesh shivered in a way he could not control, and spring pink flooded his neck and cheeks. He closed his eyes and took slow and deep breaths that could not calm his heart.
She bowed deeply as if in prayer and her lovely body formed an arc. Then she nipped at the skin on his collarbone so painfully that he hissed—skin broke and red invaded white. He did not understand what came over her when she pushed the pin into the deep hollow between his collarbones, and it deepened still more when he sucked in the air deeply and felt warm trickles trail down the side of his neck. Fearsome vibrations blent and went running in his nerve-endings, racing down his spine to his genitals that he pulsed inside her channel. He suddenly felt so heady and so dizzy . . .
She kissed him some more and sobbed and panted against his breast, stabbing his torso and the skin under his navel with the pin over and over again that the skin there was left so red. Blood oozed from the tiny wounds and shivered down his body in thin lines. His skin was too white, and the colours did not blend. The red was harsh and raw against the white, obscene in this warm winter's night, and the dying fire's radiance. It was still snowing, and the garden looked beautiful behind her.
And Kikyo just . . . laughed, sitting erect now, grounding her hips sensuously into him. Her arms reached to her back, and she clasped her fingers together, thrusting her bosom out, spreading her thighs as wide as she could that he saw a trail of mucus clinging to her flushed skin. She thrust harder and harder and something in his stomach finally uncoiled, and he erupted in her in long spurts. The gush of his arousal messily spread over his skin and her inner thighs, and she stopped the grinding motion of her hips after she rode through her climax, still pulsing around him.
When the pleasure passed, Itachi's breaths finally calmed, and then he looked at her and the mess she had made, and he found it so vulgar . . .
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