Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Naruto - you should be thankful for that. Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.

Pairing: SasuSaku

Rating: M/NC-17

Genre: Angst

Warning: This chapter contains mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

Summary: Every time he pleasured himself while lying back on the old, rickety beds of those reptilian dungeons, he hated himself. A little bit more each time. Until that self-resentment became as indelible as ink in an artist's life.

AN: In the previous chapter, I asked which to post - lust or loss. *sigh* Predictably, lust is the victor, and so here it is.

2. Lust -

'Nobody has to know...'

Soft, and tempting, the thought thundered in his mind like the tempest howling outside his window. Tiny projectiles of rainwater hammered the misted glass, and the windowpanes rattled like creaking bones chilled by the onslaught of the deluge. Sasuke stared at the ceiling, those four seductively persuasive words numbing his ears, and without conscious thought, a pale, unsure hand slid tentatively, under the hem of his loose shirt and touched the flat planes of his stomach. And Sasuke shuddered at the prospect of pleasure coiling in the pit of his stomach, biting down hard his lower lip in an attempt to stifle a surprised gasp.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and concentrated where his fingers lay on his belly. He really shouldn't be doing this, it was so wrong, but... One pale finger slid down his stomach, tracing the slight line of down from his navel and Sasuke imagined it was a slimmer yet coarser finger - her hands had never been smooth, at least, not since she had mastered her strength - that were travelling down his stomach. He shouldn't be thinking like this. To think of Sakura like this, it was just so wrong and vulgar on so many levels yet... this would be the last time, he lied obligingly to himself. He had always been good at that. Just for tonight, and never again; besides, that sly little voice whispered again, nobody has to know...

And when he had justified his actions, deceived himself enough, he slid his calloused palm under the waistband of his pants and against his cock. The low shuddering gasp, the tortured hiss that escaped his lips took him by surprise - again, even after all these years, all those restless nights. A finger traced the sensitive vein on the underside of the bulging animal in his hand, from base to tip; sharp, hissed curses tore themselves through clenched teeth with each jerk of his arm. His eyes were unseeing now, despite the glint of sinful red in them, the ceiling merely a blob of dappled gray mass across his vision as he gripped that straining piece of muscle, throbbing and alive, and stroked himself to painful hardness. He could already feel a smear of salty fluid in the middle of his palm, and it felt so--

'Fuck.'

His other hand worked on the zipper of his pants, fumbling in haste, and pulled down the front, exposing his slick, straining cock. He grunted, moaned and panted, hips jerking wildly to a savage rhythm, and for a moment, he hated himself for losing control like this. For needing this - needing her - when he had promised himself that he would need nothing else after achieving his one single goal. But he couldn't stop dammit; he couldn't put an end to this sordid secret or stop the sick, sick fantasies . Fantasies which took root from sleepless nights in Sound. In an attempt to block out the screams - like the howls of a chimera writhing in agony - that bounced off the walls of the hideouts and echoed and swirled and demented his head - no matter how hard he pressed his pillows against his ears and pretended they didn't exist.

He dreamed of her often in Sound - of doing unspeakable things to her. Of her doing unspeakable things to him. Especially when thoughts of revenge, which he conjured up as the blood-curling screams continued, seemed nothing more than a fleeting fancy.

Every time he pleasured himself while lying back on the old, rickety beds of those reptilian dungeons, he hated himself. A little bit more each time. Until that self-resentment became as indelible as ink in an artist's life. He channelled that hate into his frantic fingers and almost immediately, a yell of carnal bliss emitted from his throat and he rubbed, and jerked, feeling the tension tightening up in his balls. Encased his fist, his shaft felt hard, and alive, and warm and yes... but never enough.

He squeezed his eyes shut and panted hungrily for air - nobody has to know, nobody has to know!, his mind chanted - as he imagined his shaft buried in another kind of warmth, more intense and searing, as he thrust in between her lean, parted legs, dominated her, possessed her and fucked her rough and deep and--

And everything exploded in array of green and pink and white as thick fluid stained his hand. There was a moment of lucidity in which his senses heightened - he could feel the colours flashing before his vision, could hear the lonely cricket chirping outside, feel the relief that pervaded his body - and he focused on nothing but that swirling pinwheel of pleasure. He could feel every cell in his body scream out for her... or maybe, it was he who was screaming. He didn't know, and neither did he care because in the next moment, his hips buckled and the corded muscles in his legs quivered from exhaustion, as the last shudders of pleasure rippled through him.

This was the last time. No one would ever know, he convinced - consoled - himself with the thought. Yet...

He knew he would rot in hell for this but if this was a sin, he was willing to be a sinner.

Concluding Notes: Well, I really, really did attempt to keep it short, but I see I failed miserably in that aspect. I wanted to capture the visual aspect here. I hope this was sexy... - or was it too explicit? Believe me when I say that I didn't want to torture Sasuke with this. Seriously. If you spot any mistakes, then tell me!

Also, the references I made to Sasuke fantasizing about Sakura in Sound? About him masturbating? It was actually the premise for a idea I had. I wasn't planning on incorporating it at first, but then I thought, why not? Here's a teaser for the prequel:

The pained howls bounced off the walls of the dungeon, rang in his ears. He traced the expanse of his pale collarbones wth equally pale fingers. Fingers which were slim and rough and curious. They lingered hesitantly at the base of his throat before parting white cloth and slipping inside with a rustle of starched fabric.

So, do you think it's worth it? Should I continue with the oneshot? Before voicing your opinion, keep in mind that it will contain explicit content.

Also, I was searching for this Romance genre fic on that I read a long time ago. I think the secondary genre was humor. Basically Sakura meets up with Sasuke in a bar, by a stroke of luck, and they talk over sake - eventually it leads to sex. But, it's not cliche. At all. The English is amazing, characterization perfect and it was around 5-7 chapters that I last read it. The way it's written has crack stamped over it - the author did an amazing job with taking a cliche concept and turning it into something original. Oh, and Sakura, uh, 'deflowers' Sasuke. XD Crack, remember? So, does that ring a bell? I'm desperate!

To answer a few inquiries:

C.A.M.E.O.1 and Only : Thank you! I fail at writing fluff, but it's still nice to hear you like it. And I tried to keep it short since it's supposed to be a drabble, but it got long... well, longer than 'Love' at least.

Roguefan212000: I cannot, for the life of me, imagine why you'd like FAF - it's bad SasuSaku fic come true, in my opinion. And your review made me really nervous - I've never thought of my writing as above the cliches, but hopefully, this drabble will live up to your expectaions. *nervous*

Kichi Penn: Thanks! and it's angst because the future chapters, with a few exceptions, will not be particularly funny and focus more on the negative emotions of the characters.

And big thank you's to vampgirl09, savyleec and .Nimashi . Ukkimoto for their kind words.

Which one should I write next?

A. Depression B. Loss C. Content D. Confident