[fic] The Difference Between Then and Now, Ch5
Chapter 5: This, Too, Would Pass
*
"Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood..."
(T.S. Eliot, "The Hippopotamus")
~~
In the days that followed, Naruto kept expecting to be ambushed by half the Akatsuki. He was sure Itachi would have immediately requested that he be locked up for good this time, preferably with his powers sealed away in the most painful way possible. Barring that, the least the Uchiha could have done was request for backup.
A week went by, and when he still found his freedom unchallenged, Naruto concluded that the damned proud bastard didn’t know what was good for him. It figured that, having surpassed his younger brother in every other aspect, Itachi would also possess a pigheadedness to put Sasuke to shame as well. Clearly, for all his genius, the Uchiha prodigy was bound to get himself into very a sticky situation.
Then again, perhaps he, like Naruto, derived satisfaction from flirting with danger.
- - - - -
The first time Itachi used Tsukuyomi on Naruto, the Nine-Tails sent such a massive wave of chakra surging back into his mind that the Uchiha ended up sprawled ungraciously on all fours, clutching his head as though it were aflame.
Naruto could have laughed. Instead, he strode up to the older man, grabbed the loose ponytail that always hung like a dead thing within the collar of Itachi’s Akatsuki cloak, and jerked back the dark head to get a look at its ashen face.
To his credit, Itachi didn’t even grimace. He could not, however, mask the raw emotions in his fever bright eyes. Naruto leered, showcasing an impressive display of teeth. The eyes before him went mute and glassy, and he didn’t reach out to steady the dark haired man when the Uchiha’s form crumpled and slumped forward onto the ground.
- - - - -
For three straight days, Itachi slept like the dead, barely waking at periodic intervals to partake of the food and water Naruto disgruntledly shoved at him. His symptoms reminded the blond of the brief coma Sasuke had gone into following his brother’s mental assault a few years ago. Well, served the bastard right.
On the third evening, Naruto came back to their room to find Itachi awake and sitting up in bed. The rural inn he had dragged his partner’s unconscious body to was small, dingy, and lacking in electricity. The candle he carried in his hand lit upon a worn and tired face, half shrouded by unbound hair. Upon seeing the demon host, the calm black eyes flashed to a wary crimson.
“You might not want to do that,” Naruto said, placing the candle holder on a little table between the beds. “That’s what got you into this mess in the first place.”
The Uchiha relaxed fractionally, but didn’t deactivate his Sharingan.
Naruto stood over his partner and regarded him for a moment. “Damn, you look like shit,” he gloated.
‘Shit’ might have been a bit strong, but it wasn’t far from the truth. The Uchiha’s skin was pale and clammy, giving him the appearance not unlike that of a patient recovering from a lingering illness. He had lost weight in his convalescence, and the jutting sharpness of his shoulders and cheekbones seemed more conspicuous than ever.
“Well don’t expect an apology. You brought this on yourself, and I’ve already had to deal with your useless carcass for the last three days,” Naruto informed him smugly.
“Why didn’t you run?” Itachi asked suddenly, his face unreadable.
The question caught Naruto by surprise. He had to stop for a moment to consider his answer. Why hadn’t he taken the opportunity to escape?
“Uh, well, you were kinda unconscious and I’d have felt bad just leaving you there.” That sounded lame even in his head. “Besides, it’s not like I can’t leave anytime I want. I’m stronger than you now,” he added a bit defensively.
“You have such a strange perception of strength, Naruto-kun,” Itachi said. Naruto was annoyed to find that the vaguely complacent silkiness had crept back into the Uchiha’s voice.
“What do you mean by that? I can so kick your ass,” he snapped. “You should be scared of me.”
Inside, he was furious, silently berating himself for still letting Itachi get to him like this. Things were supposed to be different between them now.
The Uchiha actually had the gall to smirk at him. “It is true that I miscalculated the force of mind it would take to overpower a demon, but I assure you, Naruto-kun, I am not afraid of you,” the infuriating man spoke. “Merely fascinated.”
What the hell was the bastard talking about? “Stop speaking in riddles,” Naruto snarled.
“Your confusion is understandable,” Itachi said. “After all, there is but a fine line between fear and fascination. Most humans can never distinguish the difference.”
“How do you know I am human?” Naruto asked just to be difficult.
“You didn’t run,” Itachi replied, like that was any kind of answer at all.
Naruto huffed, flopping down onto the second bed without removing his clothes. “Well, sorry for not leaving you to die in the wilderness.” For some reason he was angry, felt like he’d been cheated in some way. How dared Itachi act like nothing had happened, like nothing between them had changed?
“Since you no longer seem to require supervision, I think I’ll just go catch my long-denied winks,” he announced to the room at large.
Burrowing into the pillow, Naruto left the candle burning on the table.
- - - - -
The sweltering heat woke him. He opened his eyes groggily to see that it was still dark, and that, at some point during the night, he had fitfully kicked away the sweaty sheets so that they now lay tangled around his feet.
The candle was almost spent. Half an inch of wax supported the dying flame. On the other bed, Itachi lay on his side, facing Naruto, damp hair falling into his face.
Naruto squinted in the weak light. Through the dark curtain of hair, the two Sharingan glittered at him.
His anger came raging back tenfold at the sight, banishing the warm fuzziness of sleep. In an instant, he had kicked off the covers, crossed the distance between the beds, and pulled Itachi up roughly by the collar of his nightshirt.
Itachi didn’t push him off, didn’t even flinch as his face was shoved up to a vulpine thing with sharp fangs and blood in its eyes. His body was lax, held up only by the grasp of his captor; his face seemed bored and impassive, like he’d somehow removed himself from his body and was somewhere else, anywhere but here, staring down a demon.
Naruto was ready to punch that haughty face in. Instead, he pulled Itachi closer and crushed his lips against the older man’s.
For a moment, nothing happened. Itachi didn’t return the kiss, but didn’t shove him off either. The Uchiha remained slack, the remote expression on his aristocratic face not wavering an iota. Naruto thought time had stopped moving, until he saw Itachi’s eyes narrow and feared that he had made a horrible mistake, that he might release the other to find that he had been disemboweled or something equally unpleasant.
Then Itachi laced one hand into the shaggy hair at the back of Naruto’s neck and kissed him back-slowly, almost disinterestedly-and Naruto found that he had trouble formulating thoughts. He himself was experiencing the sensation of subtracting one’s self from one’s body. At that moment, he felt as if he might be in another room looking in through a window, voyeuristically watching himself making out with Uchiha Itachi, of all people. This didn’t stop him from leaning deeper into the kiss, hooking clawed fingers into long soft hair, feeling fire spreading through his body in an exquisitely agonizing fashion.
Naruto was easily half a foot shorter than Itachi, and felt the difference. Without breaking their contact, he pushed the other back onto the bed, and tumbled atop.
“Do you know what you’re doing, Naruto-kun?” Itachi asked serenely, in a voice he might use to talk about the weather or ask you to please pass the salt or rip out a piece of your heart.
“Something I’m going to regret.” A half-truth, that half the times might be true, and half the times not at all.
Up close, the lines on Itachi’s face were even more pronounced, full of weariness. Naruto, who had expected the dream, predictably found the real thing disappointing.
Years and countries and the blood of kinsmen, and Uchiha Itachi still hadn’t changed, was still the golden trophy produced from a long line of trophies, something to be looked at but not touched. Only this close, Naruto could see the scratches and scars that marred the flawless surface, like the parallel lines of white tissue running down Itachi's arms, memento of Naruto's own inhumanity.
The dark hair that splayed across the pillow was limp and dull from sleep. The skin under Naruto’s roving tongue, tinted jaundice yellow in the flickering light, tasted of recovering sickness. The smell of the room clung to Itachi, reeking of old sheets, burnt wax, and a putrefying disease. With the tips of his claws, Naruto traced the long tired hollows beneath Itachi’s eyes. Then his gaze fell on the Sharingan.
Something like a doubt was scratching at the back of his mind, begging to be let in. But then Itachi pressed his mouth unhurriedly to the hollow of Naruto’s throat, in what might have been a kiss, but was mostly just touch, and he had to growl at himself, Easy, easy. He felt gauche and grossly inexperienced, but barreled onward with the same bravado with which he lived his life, pretending to read encouragement into the idle dragging of nails down his spine. Letting the secret language of lips and skin take charge, he seized all that was offered, as though it might be snatched away at any moment.
- - - - -
Most human beings went through life never knowing exactly what they wanted. Naruto was not-quite-human, and had wanted many things in his life. He was just sick and tired of never getting them.
When it really came down to it, he was just a needy, greedy boy, putting his grubby little paws on anything he could reach, even things he didn’t deserve. He didn’t know what he wanted either, only that he wanted, wanted so much. His want was an ugly, hidden thing. He now showed it, all brittle and sharp-edged, to the one man who just might find a crack to fit it in.
So he kissed and sucked and touched and bit too hard at everything and anything he could get at, shamelessly tearing cloth to get at more. Every inch of Itachi’s skin was an uncharted territory; Naruto branded them with teeth and claws, taking revenge for everything that had been taken from him. His movements were curt and angry, Itachi’s lazy and lax; they clashed more often than meshed, wrapped around each other like an ill-fitting second skin. He took and let himself be taken, burying deep into the man who was once Konoha’s golden wonder, now slightly tarnished, but colder and brighter all the same for it.
All this he did without meeting the other’s eyes, so he did not see that the Sharingan never faded until the very last moment. When he did look up, Naruto only saw Itachi’s long lashes fluttering in climax, and allowed himself to be mesmerized by the sight.
- - - - -
The candle on the bedside table sputtered and gave up the ghost.
- - - - -
Later, while Naruto lay in darkness watching moonlight filter in through sheer curtains to dance on the curve of Itachi’s shoulder blade, pale and almost vulnerable in sleep, he would remind himself that this, too, would pass.
He would will himself to not reach out and toy with the long black strands of hair that spread across the sheet, and even tolerate the way they tickled the tip of his left elbow.
For if he were to allow himself such whimsical flights of fancy, then it would be tantamount to admitting that this state of affairs-and really, it was nothing more than a less than professional partnership-might mean something in the end, when all had been said and done. But for all that Naruto was a creature who lived for the moment, his was a practical heart.
So he lay in darkness, and looked but didn’t touch, and allowed the moment to pass.
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