(no subject)

[gatty.livejournal.com]

For 64damn_prompts as ever.

Title: Untitled
Author: Gatty
Rating: R
Warnings: Dark, angst, possibly rape (though not what was in my mind when writing)
Parings: SasuNaru
Theme: #8 Passions Run

It was struggled and rushed and unsure and messy and violent and all the things they always were with each other. Sasuke didn’t know why he would have expected anything else.

What was he thinking – expected. He didn’t expect what happened, Christ, he didn’t even realise what happened till afterwards and he was stumbling away from the inn, pulling his shirt tighter around him against the night.

He thinks he was drinking. He hopes he was drinking. Or something. He doesn’t even remember Naruto turning up. He must have been drinking because he could recall Naruto sitting opposite him and not being surprised or angry in the least.

He threw up in a gutter later on. That would be the drink. Or something.

He remembers pushing against Naruto as if that would make things make sense. He remembers grabbing at his hair and clothes. Naruto’s tongue was hot and strangely hard and he couldn’t help but think how strange it was to feel it pressing against his teeth and slipping clumsily into his mouth.

He hopes he was drinking because that would excuse how bloody awful the kissing was.

Not that they kept that up for long. About as long as it took for Sasuke to find the key to his room, and shove Naruto inside.

As much as he remembers lust driving his insistent fumblings, there was something horribly psychological there, too, that he didn’t want to even begin to consider. Something that made him ignore Naruto’s yelps when he bit his neck, and ignore the fingers digging into his shoulders, trying to push him back.

He remembers Naruto didn’t come. He remembers he stayed very still with his hands clasped bruisingly hard around Sasuke’s upper arms. Later, Sasuke looked at the ten odd little oval marks tipped with red crescents. He tried to fit his fingers into them but couldn’t quite twist his hand enough. Naruto turned his head to the side and looked at the cheap chest of drawers against the near wall while Sasuke thrust inside him, muffling his moans into Naruto’s shoulder, the blond boy’s limp cock trapped between them.

He remembers Naruto lying curled on his side on the bed as Sasuke stumbled hurriedly back into his clothes. The other boy was shivering as the sweat cooled on his skin. Sasuke momentarily considered pulling the sheets over him, but instead he stood by the door trying to button his shirt properly with shaking fingers and considering how crass it would be too leave the money he owed for the room.

He sat on the edge of the pavement a few streets away, afterwards, feeling the ebb and flow of nausea drift across him and the harsh concrete biting into his skin through his trousers and the light rain dampening his hair. He can recall the texture of the dried blood flaking under his nails.

He can’t remember where he went next. He doesn’t remember when he went to sleep, or how he found himself in Sound the next day. He could still smell vomit in his nostrils and all the lights were too bright.

Looking at himself under their harsh glare, he could barely make out the evenly spaced bruises on his arms; they faded, going as insubstantially as they came.