A/N: I edited the first chapter, but nothing too big. Mostly grammar and stuff. Big thanks to Paradox en Vogue for taking the time to go through most of the first chapter!
Warnings: A bit of nudity and groping. Nothing too explicit.
Credits to Kishimoto Masashi for the characters. The story is mine.
Chapter 2: The Offer of Friendship
Hands slide up my sides, sending a shiver of uncomfortable awareness through my spine. Warm palms stop at my shoulder blades and apply firm pressure. I try not to tense as my torso bends forward.
"Spread your legs a little more," you murmur hotly in my ear from behind, still with that firm pressure on my shoulders.
I grit my teeth, trying to ignore how my face heats up at your proximity, but grudgingly part my legs.
"Relax," you add, warm breath brushing against the shell of my ear. "You're too tense."
Rather than relaxing, I tense even more. There is no way I can relax in this position I have been coerced in to, especially with you touching me so freely.
"Gaara," this time you sound partly amused and partly exasperated. "Relax. I'm only touching you."
I send a glare over my shoulder, glimpsing your laughing blue eyes. You briefly squeeze my shoulders and attempt to push my torso nearly towards the ground.
"Stop pushing so hard," I finally snap. "I'm not a damn acrobat!"
From the slight shaking of your hands, I can tell you're trying not to laugh, but it fails and you start to loudly guffaw. Fed up with your antics, I roughly jerk away and stand.
"W-wait," you chortle, reaching towards me. "We're not done, yet!"
"I'm done with you," I shoot over my shoulder venomously as I stomp away.
Physical education. My most hated class of the day. I ignore the curious stares from students, intent on getting as far away from the blond who won't leave me alone as I can.
"Sabaku-san, where are you going?"
Glancing back in irritation, I am slightly alarmed to see my monstrosity of a gym teacher advance towards me in all of his green glory. It is not the offending green jersey which causes students to unconsciously back away when he approaches nor is it the awful bowl-cut or even preposterously massive eyebrows – no, it is simply his eccentric personality. Actually, there is nothing simple about him; he is as strange as they come, and even I am a bit wary when he stops in front of me, towering over me by a few heads.
"We have not completed our stretches, yet!" the green creature exclaims far too loudly even though I am right in front of him. "You cannot maintain your springtime of youth if you fail to stretch!"
As always, his words make no sense. I just gaze up at him blankly.
"Come, Uzumaki-kun!" he whips towards you where you stand watching with an amused expression. "Show Sabaku-san the power of youth!"
Grinning, you jog over. "Sure thing, Guy-sensei."
"That's the spirit, boy!" the green oddity cries proudly before jubilantly bounding away to torment some other poor soul.
Sensing a movement at my side, I send you an icy glare, blaming you for this vile situation. You merely smile blithely and shrug.
"C'mon, let's finish those stretches, Gaara," you say, in all appearances innocent, yet the gleam in your eyes makes you look far too eager to torment me.
I stand there for a minute, fists clenched, frustrated because I know I cannot bring trouble to my siblings by punching your arrogant face. They already have enough on their hands, and I cannot be as childish as I was before coming to Konoha. Even so, the urge remains.
Without speaking to you, I turn and sit back down in the position I was in before, spreading my legs in a wide V-shape and stretching my arms straight forward so my palms are face-down on the grass. You come up behind me, pressing against my back once again, and I find my forehead nearly touching the blades of tickling grass. The stretch only lasts for half a minute, but the rarely stretched muscles and ligaments protests the hold. I remain stubbornly silent, though, not wishing to show how uncomfortable I am with both the stretch and having your hands on me.
The green thing calls out loudly for us to switch positions with our partners. I get up, muscles burning slightly, and impatiently wait for you to sit down. Once you are in the same position I had been in, I gingerly place my hands against your shoulder blades and push slightly.
"You can push harder, Gaara," you suggest, sending an impish smile over your shoulder.
My eyes narrow marginally, and I push hard, forcing you to nearly face-plant into the grass.
"Hey!" you cry indignantly, but there is still the slight edge of laughter in your voice.
I wonder if it is possible to break someone in half in this position if I push hard enough. Before I can test it out, the green abomination calls for a halt, much to my disappointment, beckoning to one of the students to help him show the rest of the class the next set of stretches. The student who hops up is like a miniature green abomination with the exact same hideous green jersey, shiny bowl-cut, and enormous eyebrows. His eyes are like round disks, shining with enthusiastic fervor as he demonstrates stretches with his larger counterpart, spewing the same nonsense about 'youthfulness'.
After the demonstration, the students begin the next set of stretches. I grimace inwardly, wondering why we must do partner stretches of all things, and out of all of the students, how I ended up being partnered with you. Well, I didn't really wonder about that because I had watched the scene like watching a car wreck about to happen in slow motion.
After the green aberration had announced, to my horror, we would be stretching for twenty minutes with partners, you had refused all offers of partnership directed towards you and determinedly strode over to where I had been trying to unsuccessfully blend in with the background, loudly proclaiming, "I'm going to be Gaara's partner!"
The students were in awe of your declaration, especially after I had outright refused your 'friendship' to your face. They had glared at me, daring me to refuse you. I don't know how I managed not to sock you right then and there.
And now, here I am, sitting on the grass, my back pressing against yours with our elbows interlocked. I am bent forwards again with you leaning back. My hamstrings grow tauter the further you lean, and it doesn't help that I am tense and have been since we started.
The next few stretches are just as agonizingly painful. Not in the physical sense – but for someone like me who generally avoids any or all physical contact – well, I think these past twenty minutes I have touched someone more than I ever have in my seventeen years of life. After the stretches, I feel stiffer than ever, dreading the rest of the gym period of vigorous exercise as the class trudges over to the track. It's not that I am unfit – I actually have a lot of endurance despite my appearance – but I simply despise moving more than necessary and becoming sweaty and hot, especially in this humid climate.
"Ready, Gaara?" you ask, appearing on the outside friendly.
I don't bother to reply. I have had enough of you for one day, and having been forced to touch and be touched is an unpleasant experience I never want to go through again. Another student draws you into conversation, thankfully giving me some reprieve from your undesired company.
Conversation is limited soon afterwards, as the majority of students are too out of breath to even try speaking. Ten laps around the track, twenty-five sit-ups and push-ups, and three more laps later, I plop down on the tartan tiredly and drag in steady gulps of air, surveying the half-dying students sprawled out on the track. The only ones who appear to be fine are the two green-wearing bowl-cut doubles prancing merrily about in a disgustingly energetic manner. How can they still have energy after this? My legs feel like jelly, and the sticky feel of sweat causing my shirt to cling to my back makes me grimace. After this, I decide, I think I'll start skipping gym class. It serves no purpose for academic advancement – it is pure cruelty inflicted upon students by faculty to control them while they're too exhausted to protest.
"Sasuke," I hear a familiar groan to the right. "My legs no longer exist. I think I see a light in a dark, scary tunnel. Go on without me!"
Had I been anyone else, I might have rolled my eyes at your dramatic words as you lay splayed out face-down on the tartan track. I glance discreetly over to you, noticing the other student who you regularly hang out with seated next to you. Another well-known student, perhaps just as popular as or more popular than you – at least, with the general female population of the school. His hair and eyes are pure black, and his skin a pale alabaster, the exact opposite of your bright colors.
"Suck it up, idiot," he replies shortly, pushing his sweaty bangs out of his face.
"You're so mean, Sasuke!" you whine, batting half-heartedly at the disgruntled student.
The female students giggle at your antics, and you grin in reply. I turn my attention away, noticing most of the students have recovered by now and are starting to sit up and chat amongst themselves.
"You have all proven your youthfulness!" the green beast cries with far too much enthusiasm, giving a thumbs up at the students on the ground. "The power of youth prevails!"
"Yosh, Guy-sensei!" His smaller counterpart pumps a fist in the air, and the two high-five.
Everyone rolls their eyes at the display and begin rising to their feet. Thankfully, gym class is over. We trudge off the track back towards the school building.
The humidity causes me to sweat heavily; much more than the other students who are used to this climate. I miss Suna – the dryness, the sereneness, and the constant shifting feel of golden sand beneath my feet. I think I miss the sand the most. I have always liked the feel of the fine grains, like liquid silk, against my skin. The sand here is gritty and dark, filled with twigs and rocks. I long for the small gourd of desert sand I had taken before leaving Suna, hidden underneath my pillow at home. It is strangely comforting to sift my fingers through it. I kind of wish I had it with me now, but I had decided against bringing it to school in case some blunder causes me to lose it. The sand is precious – one of my only decent memories of my previous home.
"Uh, Gaara? You okay?"
I blink when my name is called. Glancing to the side, I see curious blue eyes looking at me, along with the other student's. My eyes narrow slightly, but I don't reply.
"You had a weird look on your face," you say as if I hadn't blatantly ignored you. "Is Guy-sensei's class too much for you? You don't look like the athletic type at all. If you're not feeling well, you should go to the nurse's office."
Curbing the scowl which threatens to appear, I speed up my stride in attempt to resist the urge to hurt someone. Namely a blond-haired blue-eye fake.
"Just leave him, Naruto," a girl says from behind me. "He obviously doesn't want to associate with us."
"Yeah," another pipes up. "What a stuck-up jerk. He should just be glad you're willing to talk to him after what he did!"
I don't hear your reply as I file inside the school building with the rest of the students, nor do I care to. Those girls – as well as every other student here – are mindless beasts, only brave when they're in groups. They wouldn't dare to speak up had they been alone. Their words mean nothing to me, nor will they ever, and the fact that they blindly follow a certain fake just makes me detest them even more.
The group splits as we all head to the locker rooms. The females blatantly ignore me or openly glare as they pass, but I barely even notice it. The males are more subtle about it, and this makes me slightly suspicious. From what I've observed so far, this group is always loud and rowdy. This can only mean they are planning something, and I figure it has to do with me. There is the slightest upsurge of curiosity, but I easily squish it down. Pranks are rather new to me; back in Suna, the students were too afraid to do anything to rile my notoriously vicious temper. Sure, I have tempered it down a bit in the last three and a half months since the main cause of my negativity remains in Suna, but that doesn't mean I won't retaliate if I see fit.
While they are trying to be subtle, the glances sent my way are far too obvious. I pretend to not notice as I turn the dial of the lock. The stares are almost anticipatory when I open the dull green locker door. Without warning – though I kind of expected it – something large and dark flies out and smacks me in the chest before falling to the ground with a wet thud. More wet thuds follow as the things fall from the locker. I stare down at the things squirming on the ground next to my feet.
Toads.
My first thought is: where did they get the toads? before I turn my head to look at the pranking teens staring at me to the toads and back. Then, they burst into uproarious laughter, giving each other high-fives and smacking each other on the back. I simply stare at them, unsure why they think toads in my locker is such a huge success. Other than the slight surprise of the first toad hitting my chest, I am otherwise unperturbed. Well, I glance down at the wet spot on my shirt in mild disgust, rather than just sweat, now I have toad slime on me. Judging from the wet flops from the toads and the water dripping out of the locker, these have been recently caught.
I reach into the locker, ignoring the raucous teen boys and the toads hopping about, pulling out my clothes and shoes. They are wet. Annoyance flashes through me. I have no other clothes except for the sweaty gym clothes I am currently wearing. At least I can shower to get rid of the stickiness.
Turning, I calmly walk towards the group. They stop laughing, watching silently as I pass by without even glancing at them. To acknowledge their prank would be acknowledging them. Their scowls of disappointment at my lack of reaction would be satisfying if I cared.
It isn't until I pass the last teen when I realize a certain blond isn't among them. The surprise is enough to make me pause and glance back. No blond. What did that mean? Did he not want to witness his own prank?
Suddenly, the door to the locker room swings open, and you come stomping in.
"I can't believe Guy-sensei made me—" you stop mid-sentence when you see the group of boys staring back at you. Your surprised gaze goes to them, down to the toads still hopping about, and then to me holding my wet clothes and shoes. "What's going on?"
The teens shuffle about, looking anywhere but at you. Now it's my turn to be confused, although my facial expression remains impassive. What is going on?
"Why are there toads in the locker room? And why are Gaara's clothes all wet—" you stop again and stare hard at the guilty-looking teens. "Kiba, what did you do?"
The scruffy-looking teen scowls defiantly. I recall him. He's the one with the big white dog. I notice for the first time red upside-down triangle marks on both cheeks. I wonder if it's paint.
"We were just playing around. No harm done," Kiba explains, trying to appear blameless in this situation. The other teens murmur their consent.
"That's not playing around. It's bullying!" you insist, glaring at them.
The chastised teens fall silent, all looking shamefaced. I can only stare at you in confusion, wondering what I missed. Is this not your prank? Why are you acting as if you have nothing to do with it? I don't know what to believe, but I know I cannot trust you.
"Sheesh, Naruto. It's not a big deal," Kiba finally says and turns towards me. "No hard feelings, right, Sabaku? We didn't mean any harm."
I just stare coolly at him, neither making a move to accept or deny his claims. After scarcely a minute, his eyes fall to the side uncomfortably. It's not the first time someone has looked away from my steady gaze, nor will it be the last. Kankuro told me once that my eyes are unnerving, scary even, though he'd said it in a joking manner so as not to rile my temper.
"Whatever," Kiba mutters, still avoiding my gaze. "We're gonna go to class before we're late."
The others quickly begin changing out of their P.E. clothes. Disinterested in the whole affair, I turn away back towards the showers, picking up a towel in the clean towels tub on the way. It seems I have no choice but to wear my P.E. clothes afterwards. I'm not looking forward to it, but at least I only have three more class periods today.
Stepping into the one of the bathroom stalls, I quickly strip, securing the small white towel around my waist. I leave my dirty clothes balled up on one of the benches near the sinks and make my way towards the shower room.
I despise public showers, but since I don't want to spend the rest of the day smelling like sweat and feeling sticky, I grudgingly step into the room, avoiding the open public shower space and finding a shower cubicle. It's small and cramped and looks like it needs to be scrubbed down at least three times, but it is much more preferable than standing out there naked and vulnerable.
Since I have no soap or shampoo, I have to make do with plain water. Slinging the towel over the door, I turn the knobs and wait for the water to trickle out. After a few minutes, I realize I can't even have a decent shower either; the water is lukewarm and doesn't appear to want to get any warmer. Humid or not, I prefer not to have cold showers. Konoha's appeal withers even more in my eyes – not that it had any appeal in the first place.
It must have been the sound of running water blocking out the sound of approaching footsteps, but when I hear a knock on the cubicle door about ten minutes later, I nearly jump in surprise.
"Gaara?"
I stare at the locked door.
"Gaara? I know you're in there!" you call, knocking louder.
I stare harder, hoping you give up and leave. No such luck.
"Hey, answer me! Are you dying in there or something? Should I come in and check?"
"What?" I finally growl, unwilling to take the chance of you actually trying to barge in here.
You chuckle. "Sheesh, that wasn't hard was it? I just wanted to check if you're okay."
I stay silent, wondering why you haven't left yet. The bell had already rung. I will be late to class, and I'm guessing you will, too, but I don't really care. I'll just make it up later anyway.
"Sorry about Kiba and the others. They're not bad guys if you get to know them," you continue as if I'm not trying to ignore you. I wonder why you defend them? It's not as if you're fond of them, either. "They probably won't bother you anymore, but you should try to be friendlier at least. Everyone thinks you're a weird, antisocial, creepy-looking guy. You probably shouldn't glare so much, and maybe you should lay off the eyeliner, you know? Makes you look kinda emo, but I'm not judging. By the way, your tattoo is pretty cool, though, but why on your forehead?"
My scowl deepens the more you blather. I do not wear eyeliner! These black rings around my eyes are birthmarks, except they have grown thicker over the years because of my lack of sleep. It's offensive when people mistake them for make-up because they're too cowardly to take a closer look at my face – though the glare is here for a reason: to keep idiots like you away. And the tattoo is no business of yours, nor will it ever be.
I turn off the shower, causing you to pause in your random chatter. Pulling the towel hanging on the door, I wrap it around my hips and open the door, slightly surprised to see you are standing right in the entryway with a crooked grin. I notice you already changed out of your gym clothes, wearing a blinding orange and blue zipped-up jacket and olive-colored cargo shorts with the blue sandals.
"Hey," you say, eyes roving slowly over me before going back to my face. "Your hair looks like blood when it's wet."
Blood? The statement startles me before I quickly regain my composure. My hair is a rather deep auburn, more of a rusty reddish color than brown like my brother's. I've heard 'red' more often, but 'blood' is new. Instead of responding, I glare at you, my eyes clearly telling you to move out of the way or face the consequences, but you remain standing there like an idiot.
"Your skin is really pale, too," you frown. "I thought you were from Suna? Wouldn't you be tan or something? Even I'm darker than you!"
Somehow I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Why do you insist on talking about useless things? Obviously, I wouldn't expose my skin to the harsh glare of the sun in a desert, but it seems you're less intelligent than I initially gave you credit for. Maybe I was just seeing things before. Staring at you full in the face for the first time, I notice odd markings on your cheeks. Three thin streaks, like whiskers, on each cheek. I quickly dismiss the peculiar appearance. There are more important matters at hand.
"Move," I say when it looks as if you don't plan to for the next century.
You grin, a sly look appearing in your eyes, immediately alerting me of an upcoming remark or action likely to piss me off. My glare hardens. Usually by now, people would be scurrying off in fear of my anger, but you seem oblivious to it. I never thought I'd want my renowned brutal reputation in Suna back. You'd be shaking in your boots – sandals, whatever – if you knew what I am capable of.
"I don't want to," you drawl out, hooking your thumbs in your pockets in a relaxed pose. "I want to talk to you more."
I shoot you an irritated glare. What are you going on about now?
"Move," I repeat. Standing here dripping wet is starting to get on my nerves, and not to mention it's a bit chilly now. I hate the cold as much as I hate the humidity.
"You're different than them," you say, your voice suddenly soft.
"What?" The change in your tone makes me accidentally reply.
"Let's be friends," you smile brightly as if you hadn't been off character a moment ago. "I mean actual friends this time."
This time I stare at you like you just offered a severed head to me. You take in my expression and laugh.
"You don't have to look so disgusted – I'm not that bad, am I? Wait, don't answer that. C'mon, Gaara," you cajole, still smiling impishly. "I promise you won't regret it."
"Move or you'll regret it," I tell him rather than replying to his idiotic proposal.
"Please?" you pout, trying to look cute and failing miserably. It just makes you look even more stupid.
Giving you a hard glare, I step forward. Fine. If you won't move, I'll just move you myself. Putting my palm on your shoulder, I push you like I'm pushing open an extra door. You're startled enough that you actually step aside. I brush past you, intent on getting my clothes and finding a quiet place until this period ends and the next begins.
At least, that's what I have planned before a firm grip snags my wrist and swings me around. The sudden movement along with the slippery tiles makes me fall into you. Feeling the towel slip as well, I hastily grab a hold of it while bracing my forearm against your chest. Your grip shifts to my upper arms, but somehow you end up unbalancing yourself when I crash into you and we're tumbling towards the ground.
"Shit!"
The fall isn't as painful as I expected – probably because I landed on you. You're muttering expletives and holding the back of your head where you had slammed it into the cubicle wall.
"Fuck, that hurts!" you complain, squeezing your eyes shut in an effort to abide the pain.
I don't bother holding back the smirk as I attempt to sit up. Ha, serves you right! My triumph is short-lived when a sharp pain jolts through my ear.
"Ow!" I hiss, wincing, immediately setting my head back down on your chest.
Recovering from your fall rather quickly, you attempt to sit up as well.
"Don't move," I order, pushing you back down.
You stop. "What?"
"It's…caught," I say, wincing again when you shift.
"What's caught?" you ask.
"My stud," I tell you irritably, reaching up and inserting a hand between your chest and my head in attempt to dislodge the small piece of metal. Damn threads.
"Stud?" I feel you move slightly to get a better look. "You have earrings?"
"They're studs," I correct, growling when your movement pulls it again. Two tiny silver studs in each ear, almost unnoticeable unless you looked. I had gotten them several years ago sometime during my middle school years. I tense when you suddenly brush my damp hair back and trace the studs on the other side. "Don't touch me!"
"Calm down. We're already touching way more than that. In fact, I think we're on the intimate level already! Oh, and you lost your towel," you say, sounding amused. "Nice view from here, actually."
I freeze, suddenly noticing the excessive air flow brushing my lower parts. Glancing down, I glimpse the towel lying forlornly a little to the left. I am abruptly aware of the position we are in as well – almost like lovers as I straddle you lying on the tiles, my head forced to your chest with my stud caught on your damned orange hoodie. For the first time since I can remember, a deep blush finds its way from my chest to my face. Absolute mortification cannot describe how I feel right now.
As if sensing the tension in my muscles, you place a hand on my head and firmly hold it down before I can tear it away. "Don't jerk up; you'll rip out the earring and bleed all over the place."
"Don't touch me!" I repeat, not caring if I do bleed all over the place. The hell I'm staying in this position!
"Relax, Gaara. We're both guys – even if you do have an ass like a girl." You laugh when I blindly swipe at you. "What? It's true!"
"Fuck you!" I snarl, finally reaching the last of my patience. That bastard! I do not have an ass like a girl's!
"Maybe another time," you say conversationally, causing my face to heat up even more – this time in anger. "First we should untangle your earring—"
"Stud," I snap, scowling darkly. I can almost see you roll your eyes.
"Right. Stud, earring, same thing. Anyway, I can't see it from here 'cause your head's in the way. I'll try not to move while you get it out. And don't pull the threads out of my jacket – I've had it for a long time, and I really like this one!"
If I was standing and had good leverage, I think I would have punched you through the wall. You think I can see it any better than you? My head's twisted to the side! And the only reason I'm stuck is because your damned jacket is old and threadbare!
I don't say any of this, though, because I rarely shout in anger – well, except for just a minute ago. I had a perfectly legit reason, too! How dare he insult my ass! Not that I was vain or anything about it, but still!
Grumbling inwardly, I reach between us and fiddle with my stud, feeling a few threads hooked on it. To my dismay, it had somehow looped back and caught onto the tiny metal stopper holding it together, and from the feel of the tangled threads, it had even looped around onto the second stud. Must have been when some blond ass-insulting bastard kept moving around when I kept telling him not to. What kind of material was this jacket made out of anyway? The threads were sort of thick yet they were strong and silky-feeling. I'm not too sure about clothing materials, so I just work on untangling the stubborn threads, uncaring if I destroy the jacket or not. It's tricky, because I have to shuffle a bit so the thread doesn't pull so tightly. Fully concentrated on the slow process, I almost forget about the blond beneath me.
"Did you get it, yet?" you ask after a few minutes, sounding oddly strained.
Bastard. I'm the one doing all of the work! I am a little surprised you had stayed quiet this long, though.
"Stop moving."
I hear you huff but you settle down obediently. It takes a few more minutes, but I manage to untangle the first stud and move onto the next one. If I can get the stopper extricated, then I can just take off the stud, find a way to stealthily kill you, and dump your body in the ditch I discovered not too far off the school grounds before the next period begins. Satisfied with my foolproof plan, I nimbly unhook the last thread in the stopper and pull out the stud from my earlobe, sitting up triumphantly. Now for the kill.
At least, that was supposed to happen, but you suddenly sit upright, making me slide down and unintentionally straddle your lap. I'm about to strangle you when I feel something odd poking between my lower cheeks, and then my eyes widen into saucers when I realize what it is. Before I can react, two callused, warm hands grope my bare buttocks.
"It is like a girl's ass," you say, eyes wide in wonder.
"Fucking pervert!"
My fist makes contact with your cheek with a satisfying smack. Your head knocks into the cubicle again, and you curl on the ground, cussing like a sailor and holding what is no doubt the largest goose egg of your life. I jump up, snatching the towel off the ground and hurry to grab my clothes.
Uzumaki Naruto, you are not only a fake, but a damn pervert as well!
A/N: Ehehe, I didn't plan for the shower scene; it just sort of happened and I went with the flow. It's the golden rule when you have a shower scene: something perverted must occur! *flies away on rainbows and bunnies*