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Pathos Lykomancer It had been exhilarating, hadn’t it? The way that Itachi had suddenly took a second, longer look at him, really seeing him for once instead of looking through him, dark eyes flicking back and forth as through reading his expression and taking it all in. The way that his brother had finally, finally, finally smiled at him, the corners of his lips turning up as he'd gestured for him to step closer and then wound an arm around him, pulling him in against his strong, sinewy body; the way the smoky black hair had tickled his thin shoulders when Itachi leaned in— slowly, thoughtfully— to breath against the delicate shell of his ear. “Little brother…Sasuke…” Sasuke hated himself for the cowardice he’d shown his murderous brother, trembling in fear like prey before the hypnotic eyes of a predator and bolting in instinctive terror, bawling for his own miserable life that night of the full moon; he hated himself for his own terror and weakness, his selfishness in wanting to live despite his entire world having been destroyed, and he hated that he’d begged not to be killed so shamelessly, groveling to Itachi pathetically. He’d known that it wasn’t right, even, then, he’d known that this wasn’t how brothers were supposed to be, that it was forbidden, but the thought was slippery and hard to hold onto when he finally had what he’d always wanted, wanted and wanted and never really had before— his brother’s absolute attention…and more than just his attention, his affection, Itachi’s nose brushing against his lightly and god, he could feel the warmth of him against his lips, and his brother was k-kissing him and it should be wrong, wrong of Itachi to do that and wrong of him to want him to do it, yielding with a shiver and a low, terrified, thrilled groan, his lips parting easily to the light probing of his brother’s tongue, and his small hands, calloused from weeks of shuriken practice, had trembled as he traced down Itachi’s cheeks with the pads of his fingers… But more than that, he hated himself for caring. He hated himself for having loved his brother, for still loving his brother, for still caring, even after he’d seen, and-- thanks to the Tsukuyomi genjutsu-- what he’d experienced, that which Itachi was capable of. “Does it hurt…Sasuke?” He’d shaken his head stubbornly even though it had hurt and though his stomach was churning violently; he’d never let Itachi know, though he had to bite his lip hard enough to bring blood to keep from whimpering in protest and his eyes watered involuntarily…but then strong, sure hands slid between them and rubbed the small of his back, trying to untangle the aching knots of his muscles, and Sasuke had exhaled shakily and though he still was uncomfortable, he wasn’t in pain anymore, not when Itachi did that, soothing his heart and erasing any remaining doubts still trembling butterfly-fine on the edges of Sasuke’s conscious. He hated his brother and he loved his brother, and he could not seem to stop either. Itachi had taken him ruthlessly in every way— body and heart and mind— and Sasuke hated himself because he was afraid that he’d forgive his brother everything if there was any way that he could make him hold him again and whisper in his ear. He’d throw it all away again— all of it, everything— for Itachi’s love. Sasuke hated himself far more than he could ever hate his brother. “Brother…” Tears had overflowed when he’d closed his eyes, and he’d wriggled under Itachi, trying to find some way to ease the stretching, burning pain of his penetration, and then warm lips nuzzled against the top of his head, kissing the unruly strands, and fingers caressed his small chest, tracing the lithe lines of his developing muscles, and he stilled again. “Sasuke…” He’d flushed deeper at the sound of his own name, his breath stuttering in broken little whines as Itachi murmured it again silkily and began to thrust harder into him. It hurt, it hurt, and his body screamed against this violation and his heart felt like it would burst, it pounded so hard, shame and need mingling and his head was spinning. He felt giddy, lost in the fog, and he clutched at his brother’s hand hard, like he had when he was younger, before Itachi had become so cool and distant from him… “Brother, please…!” …and suddenly he’d remembered, remembered running down the street— he couldn’t have been very old; he’d still had a toddler’s unsteady, reckless forward momentum— toward his beloved brother and he remembered the warmth of him when, laughing, he’d scooped him up and spun him above his head, eyes sparkling with some inner pleasure… Brother, when did you stop loving us? When did you stop loving me? He’d wanted Itachi to stay, and though Sasuke’d been unsurprised when he’d pulled away, looking out the uncurtained windows at the waxing silver moon for a long moment before gathering his feet under him and standing up, the dimple on the bed next to Sasuke already cooling; expected it, but it still cut deep, hurting him more than anything else Itachi’d done to him that evening. Sasuke’d shivered and sat up, crossing his arms over his bare chest, feeling so exposed, so ashamed, and still so hungry, still so goddamn needy, empty now that his brother had withdrawn and folded into himself, and he ached, cold and empty, whole body throbbing with the beating of his heart. “Sasuke.” He’d startled as his brother’s voice broke through his inner agonizing, and as he glanced up, eyes moving over Itachi’s body, a perfect sculpture of lapis lazuli and silver in the low lighting, another searing bolt of adoration and idolization tore through his breast, and he rubbed at it childishly, unable to reach beyond skin and muscle and bone to relieve his heartsickness. Five years later, and all Sasuke could wonder was if Itachi had done that, too, simply to see if he could, and used him and his seduction as some kind of a test or marker… “…to see what I was capable of.” He didn’t dare to hope that maybe it had been Itachi’s last gesture of genuine affection toward him. That was a hope that would destroy him. “Sasuke, never mention this. It never happened. Do you understand?” All of Konoha knew of the Uchiha massacre, but Sasuke held his own secrets close to his heart and no one was the wiser. ___ Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death and jealousy as terrible as Hell; it burns like a blazing fire, like a mighty flame. If, for the sake of love, one were to give away the greatness of one’s house, he should be utterly condemned. --Song of Solomon 8:6-7 |