Erebus on the Cusp of Dawn
by Hic Iacet Mori
Between white and black stood a thin line of gray, a purgatory of right and wrong where neither truth nor lie stands. In the interstices of gray lay speckles of red—it is the lifeblood of emotions, the soul of decisions, and in its heart are two choices and one must choose well: do you forget what you want or remember what you should? Do you forget a lie and forgive, or remember a truth and move on? Do you forget a right and forge ahead, or remember a wrong and stay behind?
"You're distracted," she commented from behind him. His body shivered lightly at her voice.
Understatement.
It was fortunate that the cool autumn wind decided to blow that moment, from the window that remained open since the first night she came to his room. Dark blue drapes floated from his side, shafts of moonbeam crossing with dancing blue sprites on his embroidered navy blue carpet. It made quite a sight.
"Kaa-san made this with her hand," Itachi had said once. A labor of love, was the silent follow-up.
A love that Sasuke had never felt.
But now, it had spilt milk and blood. Should I have it cleaned? he wondered. He thought his carpet looked better, though.
"You never stop thinking, do you?" she asked, though her words sounded more of a final statement. A retort was at the tip of his tongue but he stopped himself—he couldn't get into a banter with her now. Maybe not ever.
He didn't deserve her company.
He refrained from looking at her, pausing only to acknowledge her presence before resuming his writing. He had a feasibility report for Physics due next week, and while he would have been done an hour or so ago—he kept strictly to his schedule of school works—it had been difficult to concentrate because his thoughts kept drifting.
He glanced behind him.
Drifting to her.
"Anything I can do to help or something?" she went on, persistent in gaining an answer from him. He didn't know if he should be ashamed—or happy, that her attention was focused on him. Damn, he's so disgusting. And sappy. An Uchiha was never sappy. "I'm not good with most of that science shit, just to warn you. But maybe I could be your soundboard or something?" she added.
He shook his head with a grunt and she huffed, clearly displeased with their interaction. Sasuke almost wanted to turn to her, confess that he had been watching her in her most intimate moment, a voyeur to her nocturnal desires, and that more than watching, Sasuke was feverishly touching himself thinking it was her, fervently dreaming he was touching her the way she touched herself. But he was a coward, and he couldn't, because he wasn't ready to be left alone again just yet.
Sasuke had lived alone for years but he had never felt so lonely before.
He stiffened when he felt her hovering by his shoulder, a silky river of gold teasing his cheek and his neck. He could feel her breath gliding on his skin, could feel her mindless hum vibrating all the way to his core.
He licked his lips. His mouth had gone dry.
"Hmmm..."
And damn, he could smell her. Those blasted jasmines, and something more that was hers alone that he hadn't noticed before. It embraced him, her scent, and it was making him heady and he couldn't bloody concentrate at what he was supposed to do.
"I can manage," he finally said, his voice icier than usual, hiding the tremor in his body at her maddening nearness. His nerves were going haywire and he was summoning all his willpower to stop his hand from shaking. Stop himself from raising his hands to grab her, to—
The lightning bolt is three times hotter than the sun like her hands on my—fuck.
"Che," she scoffed. She was breathing on his nape. Goosebumps rose on his skin. He swallowed at the liquid heat stirring in his belly. "You didn't have to be a bastard about it," she muttered.
Her breath was too hot. Or maybe it was his body that was burning up.
She moved away and his grip on his pen tightened. His other hand twitched from the strong urge to grab her wrist and force her to stay. The coldness behind him from where she retreated was acutely painful, slamming behind him like a physical punch. It was more painful than the heat she had brought with her.
How could one person affect him like this? Was this what attraction was supposed to be? Or—Or lust?
Sasuke glanced to his left, eyes uncertain. She was sitting on the most shadowy corner of his room once again, her eyes closed but watching. Waiting.
"Sleep," he ordered, his focus on his report. He was a bad liar.
She snorted. He refused to raise his head and watch her nose crinkle like he knew she was doing right now. It was adorable and dangerous and it would kill his remaining focus.
"I don't slee—"
He snorted back. "Liar."
We match.
He blinked at his thoughts in surprise, biting his bottom lip at the surge of that damning shyness making his way up his throat, intent on manifesting on his damned pale cheeks. He desperately looked down at his paper, struggling to make sense of his own words, waiting for his heart to calm down and stop fucking jumping behind his ribcage.
"Teme—" she growled.
Feeling normal enough, he simply said, "Dobe."
He could sense her struggling from hitting him. She huffed again instead, and he saw her cross her arms over her chest from his periphery. He quickly averted his eyes once more as her lips puckered into an immature pout.
A bloody pout he found sexy.
Damn her.
"I shouldn't even be sleeping, dick," she muttered.
"Everyone needs their rest," he countered, carefully casual. He didn't want her to think he was concerned. Because he wasn't, really. He just—wanted her off his case.
He could feel her stare boring into his temple. He could also feel the smile that tugged on the corner of her mouth.
He almost sighed. His heart was swelling in his chest. Why was he happy?
"You're still a dick."
Why did he want to smile?
He shouldn't be doing this.
A white hand gleamed porcelain against the sparse moonlight, steadily sliding down a honey-gold arm. The hand traveled to an arched back before hot, hungry lips descended on a dusky nipple.
He really shouldn't be doing this.
She gave a soft moan. His body shuddered at the sound.
Barely five minutes ago, Sasuke had been watching her like the obscene addict he was, her nose buried on a red pillow with her body arched up in the air. He could see her hands stroking herself through her jacket, her pants, and he was mindlessly stroking himself inside his boxers, his eyes helplessly glued on her tan hands. Her hips jerked up and down in a frantic motion, and he was echoing her movements until her hand, so content before to rub herself outside her pants, climbed up and slipped inside—
And then she was breathlessly crying out and his hands had left his boxers and Sasuke was tearing away her jacket and he thought her fishnet shirt was damned hot and white bandages slipped off and he finally understood why men wouldn't stop talking about breasts.
He was painfully aroused and her body arching to his touch only strengthened the desperate ache.
Sasuke gave her breasts a tentative squeeze, marveling at the soft firmness, the heat, and he rolled her nipple between his fingers, watching in dazed amazement as it stood dark and erect under his shaky white thumb. She groaned lowly when his hot tongue laved her right nipple, a faint whimper slipping out of her mouth when he released it with a pop and cool air rushed in. Her breasts were sensitive, a part of his mind concluded, as her head thrashed on the pillow when he did the same to her left. He kissed his way up her throat. She gave a soft cry when his hot hands cupped her breasts. He squeezed, curious in his lust, and she gasped.
He snapped.
Next he knew he was body-long against her, his sweaty shirt thrown off, his moist boxers discarded, holding her by her jerking hips as he grinded furiously against her. It was rough, it was harsh, it was erratic, it was frantic—her low sounds were driving him crazy and the scent of her arousal was fast pushing him to the edge and he was nearly mad for more contact between their bodies. Before he realized it, he had pulled down her pants and underwear and he was pushing her legs apart, exposing her moist and throbbing core to his lustful eyes delirious with desire.
He wanted to taste her. Some other time, perhaps, when he wasn't as desperate, but would there be a time when he wasn't desperate for her?
"Need—" a voice choked out.
Sasuke barely registered the word with the blood roaring in his ears, so loud he couldn't hear his rational side so heeded before yelling at him to stop this lunacy. Ignoring instincts that screamed at him to at least prepare her, Sasuke mindlessly thrust inside her and his eyes rolled to the back of his head at the unbelievable tightness and heat. He stopped, panting harshly, feeling her all around him, marveling at how they fit against each other, moaning at how wonderful it was, drowning in the incredible pleasure of being inside her, finally being inside her. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, wanting to convey his desperate pleasure.
His mouth landed on the edge of her lips.
He pulled out until only the tip of his red erection was left, groaning at the feel of her against him. Then, with a hoarse grunt, he slammed back inside her, his eyes dilated into pinpricks of red wildly searching her face for any hint of pleasure that he himself felt. A breathless gasp and he did it again, harder this time, leaning closer to her, his teeth pulling at a nipple, his pleasure spiking at her answering low groan. He took her breast into his mouth. She cried out.
Heat stung behind his frenzied dark eyes. It was him, his doing—him making her arch into his mouth, him urging cries out of her lips, him caressing the uneven texture of her skin, him slamming inside her again and again and again. Not her hands. Not her dreams. Not the ghost that stood between them.
It was him, Sasuke. Him and no one else.
He drew back and violently pushed back. A choked scream. He did it again. And again and again and again and again as heat swiftly built up inside him, coiled tighter and tighter in his belly, and exploded as a groan soaked with pleasure tore out of his lips.
Glassy blue eyes snapped open. She came with a soundless cry.
He collapsed over her, his skin flushed and glowing with sweat. A besotted smile was making its way on his lips. He was near giggling.
Then reason returned out of nowhere and everything crashed down.
Hazed eyes abruptly cleared. He took in the sight of their naked bodies still intimately pressed together and Sasuke choked on a shocked gasp, quickly rolling away. His wild dark eyes darted around. His breathing came shallow and painful.
What had he done?
She moved.
He froze. A wave of intense fear crashed into him.
I raped her. I fucking raped her.
He was drowning.
What the fuck have I done?
Sasuke tried to speak up but he couldn't past his throat that had closed up, against his lungs that kept exhaling and inhaling air at an alarming rate. He dimly realized he was hyperventilating and it was the urgency that he had to make things right that stopped him from having a full-blown panic attack. He reached out a shaky hand just as she turned.
Eyes, shattered blue crystals, calmly looked behind him. He bravely looked into her eyes, dark eyes showing his guilt, his sorrow, his revulsion at himself. Against the absence of censure in her glowing blue eyes, Sasuke couldn't breathe.
He remembered the pain of air rushing back into his lungs when she merely reached for the red pillow and buried her face in it. Feeling a sudden shyness, he lifted a hand and tentatively touched her arm—look at me, are you angry, I'm sorry, I'm not sorry—his fingers ghosting over her skin. She stiffened.
He swallowed and drew away. He moved to the other side.
Lying on the bed, beside her, the evidence of what had occurred tangible and real, she had never felt so far.
He was afraid. Afraid she'd never come back.
Sasuke paced by the window, glancing at his radio clock every lifetime of waiting. It was always the same time. 9:59 pm. Should he replace his batteries?
Where was she?
He had spent a restless hour in front of his TV, flipping through news of dead officials and famous celebrities, trying to summon enough interest in his body to gather the right amount of concentration to stick to a channel. But even the news of an awaited book already out on the bookshelves failed to interest him, and his mind, tired from thinking, from worrying, simply shut down and he drifted into a restless nap.
He woke up, ten minutes later, strangling a scream at a singing Barney on his high-definition TV. He beaned a throw pillow on the TV in frustration and turned it off. Damn, how he despised that monstrosity.
A dark blur shot through his window at the exact moment 10:00 pm flashed red in his clock. He felt his heart stutter to a stop before racing, as if to make up for that single pause in a lifetime of beating. His palms were sweaty when she stood up—slowly, oh so slowly—and turned to him.
What would she do? Would she punch him in fury? Sneer at him in hatred? Turn away in disgust?
He swallowed.
Hit me, hate me.
Would she say she was leaving because of a night he couldn't control himself?
Just don't go.
"Teme," she began, her head tilted to look up at his forehead. Sasuke kept his eyes slightly averted, knowing his control would break if he looked at her. Just the knowledge she was in his room made him want to throw her to his bed and have his way with her once again.
And again.
"Why aren't you in bed?" she asked.
His heart clenched, his mouth automatically saying that he went to bed in his own time. He felt a sting of disappointment that she chose to act like nothing had happened between them.
It's... It's better this way. She doesn't hate me and she's still here. And maybe—maybe she didn't mind what we did last night... Maybe... Maybe...
Despite the circumstances of how it happened, it had been special to him. It was more than a first time—it was a first time with her.
Sasuke wanted so much to see her spun-gold hair framing her tan face, fanned beneath her like an aureole. He wanted to thread his fingers through her hair, had wanted to since the first time he saw her in the throes of her nightmare—he imagined it was silky to the touch, soft. He wanted to bury his nose on her hair and inhale deeply, taking in as much of the sun as he could until fire burned in his lungs.
When his seeking hand moved to pull a red lace, she stiffened, a deep frown creasing on her brows. He drew his hand back. When he tried the second time, eyes snapped open with blue fire, traces of her previous nightmare gone.
He apologized with kisses on her jawline. She accepted with a soft hum, her eyes drifting shut.
He nuzzled her neck and took a deep breath. Jasmines and her unique scent tempted his resolve.
Sasuke was drowning in her.
"If you can forget, will you?"
Sasuke looked up, not a hint of surprise shown in his face. She was leaning on his open window, elbows on the ledge, a hand cupping her chin as she stared outside. He felt that warmth stirring in his heart once again, causing a smile to curl at the edge of his mouth before he hastily smothered it. She looked like a wistful blonde child waiting for miracles. Or maybe angels?
Angels.
He almost laughed. There was nothing angelic about her. She was loud. Rude. Peremptory. Sensual. She was dragging him to the abyss with her dark moans and demonic grins.
She was the temptress, the devil.
Fall with me.
He was a sinner.
"Ne, teme?"
Her question echoed in his mind and he processed his thoughts for an answer.
Forget?
He turned away, unable to look at her. He didn't really know now. Before his brother's death, he would have simply sneered at the question while managing to convey that even a moron would opt to remember everything. Now, he wasn't so sure... mainly because that was what he had been doing. Forgetting.
He closed his eyes.
"Oi?"
Forgetting his nii-san was murdered. Forgetting he didn't know her. Forgetting what they were supposed to be to each other. Forgetting in her arms.
"I think—"
I am...
Forgetting she didn't belong to him.
"—I'll choose to remember."
... a hypocrite.
Forgetting it hurt.
"You're braver than I give you credit for, bastard." A heavy sigh. "I think I just might."
Do you want to forget the nights you're in my arms? Or do you want to forget I'm not the one you're dreaming of?
Forgetting he was lying to her, to himself, that maybe he was falling deeper and deeper and he didn't want to stop.
I think you already do.
Sasuke was surer of himself this time, and it was partly because her hot hands were holding his as they glided down her body. He watched avidly, hungrily, as their hands squeezed her breasts, rubbed circles on the curve of her stomach, skimmed the soft swell of her hips, and reached her rounded thighs. His dark eyes dilated, his breath coming shorter and shallower, as he looked past her shoulder and took in the stunning sight of his ivory fingers and her own slipping inside her.
His member throbbed painfully. Their fingers moved and stroked.
Hot.
Pulsing.
Wet.
She threw her head back with a strangled gasp. He rained kisses on her shoulder to distract himself. Her head thrashed on the crook of his neck and he smelled a whiff of jasmine. He groaned, his erection aching so painfully pleasurably much.
It ached him so much, watching her pleasure herself. Watching her use his hands, watching the contrast of white and tan disappear inside her reddened hole begging for him to claim. Her faster breathing took his attention away from the erotic sight and his clammy hands span her hips, forcing her to still. She mewled in protest but his grip didn't relax. She leaned her head on his shoulder, sun spilling on his back, and then he lifted her and slammed her down his red cock. His vision whited out at the intense pleasure. A fierce tremor shook her body. His throat choked on a moan. Her mouth parted with a soundless cry.
Sasuke was drowning once more.
Repeat.
"Dobe—"
Repeat.
"Tell me—your n-n-name."
Repeatrepeatrepeatrepeat.
"P-P-Please—t-tell me—"
Fasterharderdeeperfaster.
"Your—name, I w-w-want t-to—know y-y-your name—"
—fuck.
They came together, the wisp of a ghost on her lips and the ghost of her name on his.
Drown in the static line between black and white—the gray does not judge you a fool for forgetting, but the red crowns you brave for the courage of remembering.