Guilt and Sand (Naruto)
Title: Guilt and Sand
Author: Dreaming of Everything dreams_of_all
Series: Naruto
Characters/Pairings: Gaara/Lee or Lee/Gaara.
Rating/Warnings: T for sexual-type things. Slash.
Summary: Guilt is a hard thing to deal with, and ninja have more than their fair share. "When they kiss, Gaara's sand hovers around them..."
When they kiss, Gaara's sand hovers around as if it wants to touch Lee, wanting and resistant and waiting. Gaara never allows it to, even when his breathing grows heavy and desire hoods is eyes and the sand is nearly frantic around them, slithering over and around Gaara but always at least a foot away from Lee, a sharp-edged barrier matched to the contours of his body.
And one day Lee takes the time to ask, breaking from their kiss and asking why Gaara never lets it touch his skin, surrounds himself with it, constantly and forever, but never lets any touch him.
Because it is his guilt, says Gaara. It is what he kills with, and what he has used to kill in the past, when he had no reason to live at all, had no precious people, had nothing. The sand is what he nearly killed Lee with, what nearly destroyed Lee's soul with, when his body was so badly maimed, with only a scant percentage to pin his hopes to, in the surgery a chance he'd never move again, but without it no hope to ever fight. He nearly broke Lee, as effectively as his village had broken him. His sand is coated in chakra and blood, and only the chakra is his. He doesn't know how many people's remains have soaked into his sand, the only remaining reminder of who they once were.
And Lee knows that he has killed people as well, and he uses his hands-his feet, his arms, his torso, his legs, his head and wrists and eyes and bones and shoulders and knees and muscle, his body-to do it. He is as bloody as Gaara's sands, and has nothing else to touch Gaara with. He is a ninja, a professional killer.
Still he touches Gaara, still wraps his arms around him and presses against him and pulls him close so he can smell the dry-desert, too-human scent of him. He is happy and sometimes relieved on the rare times when Gaara embraces him instead, when he is the one who pulled close instead of the one pulling, but Gaara never touches him with his sand, because of guilt and because it's hard for Gaara to imagine that his sins are no worse than Lee's.
When Lee protests again and Gaara says that touching Lee with his sand would be like pressing a kunai to his skin, even gently, like wrapping his arms in explosive tags, even if they never go off, Lee silently disagrees. His body is as much a weapon as shuriken or senbon needles, but it is still just that-his body. He is more Lee than weapon, and sometimes he is human first and shinobi second, and he has learned to accept himself. He has never killed as Gaara has, with no reason other having no reason, but he has killed, and sometimes killed good people for no other reason than someone had paid to have them removed.
Lee knows Gaara's sand is an extension of his body, knows that it can touch, can feel. Not pain or pleasure, or cold-smooth-sticky-warm-soft-hot-oily-hard, as skin does, but an alien sense of something being there, a sense of other. He knows that it is as natural as breathing for Gaara, a constant presence, and that if he were to lose it he would be half-blind, continually off-balance. He knows that Gaara has always had his sand.
One night when he is nearly passing out from exhaustion, reeling as he stands and nearly to tired to fully open his eyes, his body beaten to hell and back and every inch cut and bruised and scraped and raw, he finds himself in Gaara's house, probably because it was closer than his own apartment, though he's not sure if he was taken there by Gaara, or walked there himself. He thinks that Gaara is startled to see him so torn up-his sand is not infallible, but it keeps most opponents from ever landing a blow. He is not used to seeing the wounds and abrasions fighting causes others on those he cares for.
He's already been bandaged up and checked for potentially harmful wounds, and some part of him is glad that Gaara didn't see him before, covered in his own blood and his opponents' blood and mud that had been dry dust until it was mixed with blood. That part of him still wants Gaara to think of him (and worries that he won't if he really begins to understand) as someone worth knowing, someone who isn't flawed as he is, as he thinks he is, and that part worries that Gaara would turn away in disgust at being touched by him, just as he hates the idea of touching Lee with his sand, and that shameful part of him roils his stomach, leaving a sour taste in the back of his throat and dampening his eternal fire.
A bigger part of him, though, wants Gaara to understand. Lee thinks he might love Gaara, knows he does, but love is a hard word, a hard thing to say, when it matters, and he's never wanted to be put on a pedestal, made somehow better than Gaara is, be viewed as someone, something, he isn't. Gaara is one of Lee's precious people, and he thinks he is one of Gaara's, and he wants Gaara to treat himself that way. Their respect is mutual, and some days it feels as if Gaara has forgotten that. Other days it feels as if he never knew.
So as Lee is sitting in Gaara's kitchen, clutching a mug of tea in shaky hands, he talks of his mission, and the ones that came before it. Assassinations, reconnaissance, recovery, guard duties, but mostly the assassinations-the people he has killed, the people he has been forced to kill. It all comes tumbling out in a guilt-ridden flood, his expression shock-blank and heavy with exhaustion.
Gaara understands, at least a little. Begins to see.
The next time they kiss, when Lee has rested and recovered and they have found a private enough place, Lee softly places a scarred and calloused and weathered hand against Gaara's cheek, a wordless reminder of what has been alluded to and what has never been said, and he thinks he almost feels a brush of sand against his arm, but he does not break the kiss, and does not say a word, and next time he's positive it happened.
When the two of them make love for the first time, Lee can feel shifting sand over his back and shoulders and arms, his lowers legs, carefully directed beyond even their norm semi-conscious control. It never approaches his face, never threatens to cut off his breathing, and stays away from where he and Gaara are touching, from where it might get in the way. It never presses on him, never covers him, never makes him feel as if he's being captured, controlled, forced, and he feels Gaara's nervous, loving, anxious, fierce worry in the gesture, and that is the most reassuring of all.
Lee kisses back and touches back, arms and legs and torsos pressed against each other and tangled up in each other, and rivers of sand slide over them both, and he feels safer and purer like this than he ever has, as if this has finally brought the Lotus of Konoha out of the battle-field mud he came from, (1) and he knows that he is a weapon, and Gaara is a weapon, but that is not all they are, and nearly anything, no matter how harmless, can kill someone if used wrong and both are learning to move beyond.
Gaara still worries about touching Lee with his sand, and Lee still worries about touching Gaara, and both have hurt the other before, one with his body and one with his sand. They are human, so it's unlikely they will ever stop worrying, but they still touch, body to body to sand, despite that. Gaara no longer fights to continuously deny one of his primary senses, and Lee no longer worries about Gaara controlling that part of himself, and maybe it's as close to a happy ending as ninja, as killers, as sinners, will ever get.
(1) Lotus (Lotuses? What exactly is the plural of 'lotus'?) are sacred in Buddhist mythology because they rise out of river mud and scum, blooming above it in a sign of purity. I would love to see a fic on this and how it relates to Lee, hint hint.
--End--
Author: Dreaming of Everything dreams_of_all
Series: Naruto
Characters/Pairings: Gaara/Lee or Lee/Gaara.
Rating/Warnings: T for sexual-type things. Slash.
Summary: Guilt is a hard thing to deal with, and ninja have more than their fair share. "When they kiss, Gaara's sand hovers around them..."
When they kiss, Gaara's sand hovers around as if it wants to touch Lee, wanting and resistant and waiting. Gaara never allows it to, even when his breathing grows heavy and desire hoods is eyes and the sand is nearly frantic around them, slithering over and around Gaara but always at least a foot away from Lee, a sharp-edged barrier matched to the contours of his body.
And one day Lee takes the time to ask, breaking from their kiss and asking why Gaara never lets it touch his skin, surrounds himself with it, constantly and forever, but never lets any touch him.
Because it is his guilt, says Gaara. It is what he kills with, and what he has used to kill in the past, when he had no reason to live at all, had no precious people, had nothing. The sand is what he nearly killed Lee with, what nearly destroyed Lee's soul with, when his body was so badly maimed, with only a scant percentage to pin his hopes to, in the surgery a chance he'd never move again, but without it no hope to ever fight. He nearly broke Lee, as effectively as his village had broken him. His sand is coated in chakra and blood, and only the chakra is his. He doesn't know how many people's remains have soaked into his sand, the only remaining reminder of who they once were.
And Lee knows that he has killed people as well, and he uses his hands-his feet, his arms, his torso, his legs, his head and wrists and eyes and bones and shoulders and knees and muscle, his body-to do it. He is as bloody as Gaara's sands, and has nothing else to touch Gaara with. He is a ninja, a professional killer.
Still he touches Gaara, still wraps his arms around him and presses against him and pulls him close so he can smell the dry-desert, too-human scent of him. He is happy and sometimes relieved on the rare times when Gaara embraces him instead, when he is the one who pulled close instead of the one pulling, but Gaara never touches him with his sand, because of guilt and because it's hard for Gaara to imagine that his sins are no worse than Lee's.
When Lee protests again and Gaara says that touching Lee with his sand would be like pressing a kunai to his skin, even gently, like wrapping his arms in explosive tags, even if they never go off, Lee silently disagrees. His body is as much a weapon as shuriken or senbon needles, but it is still just that-his body. He is more Lee than weapon, and sometimes he is human first and shinobi second, and he has learned to accept himself. He has never killed as Gaara has, with no reason other having no reason, but he has killed, and sometimes killed good people for no other reason than someone had paid to have them removed.
Lee knows Gaara's sand is an extension of his body, knows that it can touch, can feel. Not pain or pleasure, or cold-smooth-sticky-warm-soft-hot-oily-hard, as skin does, but an alien sense of something being there, a sense of other. He knows that it is as natural as breathing for Gaara, a constant presence, and that if he were to lose it he would be half-blind, continually off-balance. He knows that Gaara has always had his sand.
One night when he is nearly passing out from exhaustion, reeling as he stands and nearly to tired to fully open his eyes, his body beaten to hell and back and every inch cut and bruised and scraped and raw, he finds himself in Gaara's house, probably because it was closer than his own apartment, though he's not sure if he was taken there by Gaara, or walked there himself. He thinks that Gaara is startled to see him so torn up-his sand is not infallible, but it keeps most opponents from ever landing a blow. He is not used to seeing the wounds and abrasions fighting causes others on those he cares for.
He's already been bandaged up and checked for potentially harmful wounds, and some part of him is glad that Gaara didn't see him before, covered in his own blood and his opponents' blood and mud that had been dry dust until it was mixed with blood. That part of him still wants Gaara to think of him (and worries that he won't if he really begins to understand) as someone worth knowing, someone who isn't flawed as he is, as he thinks he is, and that part worries that Gaara would turn away in disgust at being touched by him, just as he hates the idea of touching Lee with his sand, and that shameful part of him roils his stomach, leaving a sour taste in the back of his throat and dampening his eternal fire.
A bigger part of him, though, wants Gaara to understand. Lee thinks he might love Gaara, knows he does, but love is a hard word, a hard thing to say, when it matters, and he's never wanted to be put on a pedestal, made somehow better than Gaara is, be viewed as someone, something, he isn't. Gaara is one of Lee's precious people, and he thinks he is one of Gaara's, and he wants Gaara to treat himself that way. Their respect is mutual, and some days it feels as if Gaara has forgotten that. Other days it feels as if he never knew.
So as Lee is sitting in Gaara's kitchen, clutching a mug of tea in shaky hands, he talks of his mission, and the ones that came before it. Assassinations, reconnaissance, recovery, guard duties, but mostly the assassinations-the people he has killed, the people he has been forced to kill. It all comes tumbling out in a guilt-ridden flood, his expression shock-blank and heavy with exhaustion.
Gaara understands, at least a little. Begins to see.
The next time they kiss, when Lee has rested and recovered and they have found a private enough place, Lee softly places a scarred and calloused and weathered hand against Gaara's cheek, a wordless reminder of what has been alluded to and what has never been said, and he thinks he almost feels a brush of sand against his arm, but he does not break the kiss, and does not say a word, and next time he's positive it happened.
When the two of them make love for the first time, Lee can feel shifting sand over his back and shoulders and arms, his lowers legs, carefully directed beyond even their norm semi-conscious control. It never approaches his face, never threatens to cut off his breathing, and stays away from where he and Gaara are touching, from where it might get in the way. It never presses on him, never covers him, never makes him feel as if he's being captured, controlled, forced, and he feels Gaara's nervous, loving, anxious, fierce worry in the gesture, and that is the most reassuring of all.
Lee kisses back and touches back, arms and legs and torsos pressed against each other and tangled up in each other, and rivers of sand slide over them both, and he feels safer and purer like this than he ever has, as if this has finally brought the Lotus of Konoha out of the battle-field mud he came from, (1) and he knows that he is a weapon, and Gaara is a weapon, but that is not all they are, and nearly anything, no matter how harmless, can kill someone if used wrong and both are learning to move beyond.
Gaara still worries about touching Lee with his sand, and Lee still worries about touching Gaara, and both have hurt the other before, one with his body and one with his sand. They are human, so it's unlikely they will ever stop worrying, but they still touch, body to body to sand, despite that. Gaara no longer fights to continuously deny one of his primary senses, and Lee no longer worries about Gaara controlling that part of himself, and maybe it's as close to a happy ending as ninja, as killers, as sinners, will ever get.
(1) Lotus (Lotuses? What exactly is the plural of 'lotus'?) are sacred in Buddhist mythology because they rise out of river mud and scum, blooming above it in a sign of purity. I would love to see a fic on this and how it relates to Lee, hint hint.
--End--