Inspired by Miley Ray Cyrus' 'Butterfly Fly Away'. I recommend listening to it over and over again while reading this. It's how I wrote it : )
This is for Naruto's birthday. Way early, I know, but for a procrastinator like me, I might as well get it out of my way. Then perhaps I'll get a new idea, ne?
Disclaimer: Naruto and his pals (and sleeping buddies) are Not Mine...wow, that's kinda painful to admit, huh?
.
.
.
...
-*Fly Away*-
...
The sun was shining today. There were those that thought it shouldn't, not on this day, not when war had ravaged the land once more and people were just starting to pick up the pieces. This day was sacred in the memories of those who were old enough to remember. It had been a day of sacrifice, destruction, death and also triumph, rebirth and renewal. Those who looked back at the times long gone felt pain in their hearts, no matter who they were or where they were. This day was sacred.
The sun shone on children running in the streets, too young to know anything about the past, their expressions elated and carefree. The sun shone on trees that danced in the wind, moving to a less frenzied ballet than that of long ago, when countless feet had drummed the earth and chakra lay thick as blood upon the air. The sun shone on roofs, on grass, on the Mountains that immortalized the great Hokages, their unseeing faces stern yet protective.
The sun shone on a great black stone, worn down by time and the weight of grief that was poured upon it daily. Its naturally smooth surface was chiseled, the older names almost worn away by devotion, but the hands that remembered honored them regardless. There have been many additions these past few months, and those that visited it now looked upon it with deadened eyes older than their years, dried up wishes stale on their lips, hearts crying out unheard. This is the real test of a shinobi, they say. It is not in the jutsu you learn, or the chakra you wield, or even the bloodlines that incite such jealousy. To be called a shinobi, one has to be able to choose death over life, to look upon fallen comrades and friends and pick up the broken pieces of your soul instead of wishing to lie beside them, peaceful at long last. Most cannot bear such a pain, and leave the exalted way of the ninja. It is a harsh world, and there is nothing but heartache for those who cannot cry.
The sun shone into the gardens of Hokage Tower. There was silence here and peace, however fleeting. The grass was soft and dewy in the early morning, a living carpet that moved in the kiss of the breeze. The sakura bloomed here, a curtain of beauty that shielded the secret burden of these gardens.
Gaara had walked all over the tower, green eyes on the lookout for a familiar mop of blond bedhead that could never be tamed. He knew that today was an important, nigh sacred, day, and had arrived to show his support. Naruto would do the same for him. The problem was that said blond was nowhere to be found. Today was a day of visitation, so he had checked the shinobi marker and the nearby gravesites. There had been no gold among the throng of people who bowed and said their prayers to their respective deceased. There had been no sign of him in his apartment, the restaurant district, or at the Academy or even in the houses of the friends so dear to his heart.
He walked along the wide hallways, peeking in at doors left ajar, and knocking on those which were closed. Those who were asked had no idea of the Rokudaime's whereabouts, and he would sigh in resignation before trying again. One more turn and he would meet a dead end, and he would have to start his search anew.
A sound, so faint as to be a new kind of silence. He turned his head instinctively towards it, concentrating on the elusive noise as he walked forward. The sound became louder, and then, much to his surprise... he came upon heaven.
The sun shone on defiant hair, highlighting all the shades of lemon and gold even as it brought out the emerald and jade from the grass he was sitting on. The breeze caressed the long, unruly strands like a mother, gentle and affectionate. The sakura bowed low over him, dusting his pale robes with pink salutations. There was a guitar cradled reverentially in his arms as he coaxed music from it that would not be out of place in a temple. He was singing so softly, like a devastated yet fervid lover, his heart in his voice as he plucked the strings. The notes hung in the air, almost tangible in their poignancy and sadness.
Gaara took a step closer, entranced by this siren that he had no idea existed until today. His gourd felt unusually heavy, as if the very earth he had seduced with blood felt the pulsing of a heart that was wide open, and didn't want him to disturb anything. He set it down without a sound and stepped into the garden itself, secure in the thought that no one was fool enough to mess with it.
There were four jars here, each as half as tall as a man, raised on stone plinths. They were made of brass, greenish now because of exposure to the elements, but still wonderfully detailed with chiseled scenes of cloud-filled skies, mountains, birds, the sea. There was a plaque before each of them, and in front of the plaques were large earthenware bowls filled with sand and ash. There were incense sticks, some new, some nearly burnt out. The smell of them tickled his nose before it was carried away by the wind.
The sun-kissed jinchuuriki was situated in front of the fourth urn, head bowed before it. The expression on his face was near cherubic, the slight smile as innocent as a child's. He played on with his eyes closed in deep concentration, as if he could taste the words that flowed from his lips, plaintive, pleading, adoring, forgiving.
Gaara felt his heart breaking but he held his composure until finally - finally- the song was over, the notes a mere whisper before dispersing into the sky. Now he couldn't help the arms he snaked around his lover's waist, the way his pulse quickened at the feel of the strong body before him and the scent of shower-dampened hair, peaches and faint incense that invaded his senses.
"That was beautiful," He said, his voice uncharacteristically husky before he cleared his throat. "I did not know you sang. Or played the guitar."
Naruto leaned again him, relishing the contact, his eyes still closed. "Did you like it?"
"Mmm." He kissed the top of the honey-colored hair, the smell of peaches intensifying. It was a smell he now associated with home, no matter that he lived in another country, or that he had his own hidden village to look after. This was where he lived, and loved.
They remained quiet for a while, each deep in their own thoughts. The guitar lay forgotten on the ground, the sakura showering it with chaste affection. The sun climbed in the sky, but here it remained cool. No one came to disturb them.
After a while, Gaara stirred, his arms minutely tightening around the blond's body. He brushed another kiss onto the creamy neck, and again until Naruto emerged from the past and made an inquisitive noise.
"The Hokage?" he asked softly, gesturing at the urns.
"Yeah, all four still here, watching over us." The blond opened eyes to look at the urn he was in front of. It was much newer than the first two, but the one next to it still had patches of shine. He gazed lovingly at the plaque before it, tracing the engraved name with his eyes. "My father." A coil of pleasure flickered in his stomach, and his grin grew. "My father is here. Tsunade told me a few months ago. I always knew somehow."
"Is that so?"Gaara thought back to the few pictures he'd seen of the great Yondaime. The resemblance was there indeed, blatantly obvious when brought to mind. A smile touched the corners of his lips. "You should introduce me then."
"Otou-san," The Rokudaime whispered obediently, savoring the word that felt foreign, but still oh so right. "Otou-san, this is Gaara of the Sand, the best Kazekage they ever had. He's my- He loves me."
"I do." The redhead whispered into the delicate shell of his ear. "More than ever."
"He loves me." Naruto repeated, snuggling deeper into the comfort of the familiar embrace. "And I love him too. You'd like him, Otou-san, I'm sure." Now that his song had finished, it was as if the words were stuck in his throat, unwilling and stubborn. "I…I wanted-I-"
"Naruto?" His lover kissed the junction between his shoulder and neck, trying to soothe the tension that rendered the muscles taut. "What is it?"
Naruto shook his head. The words wouldn't come out, but he had so much he wanted to say. Here in the place where his father's ashes were kept in a place of honor, he could almost feel the man standing over him, looking at him with a parent's eye. He wanted to say how much he missed him, how unfair it was that they had never gotten to spend time with each other. He wanted to say how angry he was that the Kyuubi had been sealed into him, and how thankful he was, because he had been able to turn a curse into a blessing- into a lot of blessings. He wanted to tell his father about his friends, his precious people that had taken him from the dark and embraced him fully. He wanted to say he was sorry, that he understood, that he loved him. He wanted to say something- anything- everything- so badly, and the more he tried, the more he couldn't and he felt an unbearable anguish building up in his gut. His eyes were burning.
"Shh." The consoling voice murmured into his ear. Knees rose up beside his, gathering his shivering body deeper into warmth and security. Kisses were showered up his neck, his cheeks, his hair, achingly tender. It didn't sooth the pain, but it kept it at bay just enough. Still, wet patches blossomed on his khaki pants, the tears streaming through his clenched hands as he pressed them against storm-tossed blue eyes. "Shh. I'm here."
Naruto forced out the words, tearing them from his throat in great hiccupping sobs, his sorrow mingled with confused bewilderment. "Why-why c-can't I- -I wa-wanna t-tell him- G-gaara-!"
"It's alright, shh." The long, muscled arms wrapped around his shaking frame rocked him gently. "He knows what you're trying to say. It's what fathers do, yes?"
There was nothing but the sound of someone trying to smother their tears.
He continued in a hushed tone. "You're the Rokudaime, the strongest person in your village- his village. You're protecting it with your own power. You deal with it, with the chuunin, the jounin, the ANBU, the civilians, the council, with everything. You've got them all in the palm of your hand. You're a great fighter, and I should know, because you made me look at you. You're patient and lively and thoughtful and so deliciously passionate at times, it frankly gives me a hard-on every time we have an official meeting."
He got a muffled chuckle and he gave in to the temptation to hug the now-quieting lump, uncharacteristic though it was.
"Anyone would be proud of you, Naruto, especially the Yondaime. You're continuing his work, watching over the place and people he cherished most. I'm sure he's smiling over you today."
Timid, chapped lips brushed against his, and he stopped talking. He could taste the saltiness of his lover's tears. Naruto turned around in his arms and embraced him tightly for a moment before kissing him forcibly. He was clumsy and rough, all teeth, trying to express his emotions some other way. Gaara let him ravage his mouth, providing a foil he knew the blond need. His hands caressed the small of his lover's back, glorying in addictive satin-soft skin, as desperate fists clutched at him like he was an anchor against the tide. He murmured assurances through every bite, every lick, the patience he felt surprising even him. Soon enough, the feverish rush drained away, leaving only an apologetic form with its legs tangled with his, pressing penitent kisses against his red, swollen lips.
"How is it you always know exactly what to say to make me feel better?" The words were warm against both their lips.
Green eyes gazed unblinkingly into the striking blue just a few centimeters away. "Because if I had a son, I'd want him to be exactly like you."
Naruto closed his eyes, a few tears making his eyelashes look like stars. "Thank you, Gaara." He said sincerely, his heart full of love for the man he was so lucky to have in his life. Above him, the wind whispered through the sakura, sweeping tenderly over his damp neck and cheek. Petals brushed against his upturned face as they fell.
"I love you, Naruto. Happy birthday."
.
.
…
-*End*-
…
.
.
I'm such a sap. Somehow, I can't write something less than a thousand words, much less a hundred. I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. But kyaaa, the image of GuitarPlaying!Naruto gives me happy-happy vibes!
Ah well, I'm sleepy now. I haven't slept in two days…Gaaah, it's nearly 2 am, and I have to wake up at 5.30! It's like I'm back in school…
Here's to hoping I have a dream about our two little demons!