Eden

Disclaimer: Naruto is not mine. No one in their right mind would want it to be.

Rating: NC-17 (for sexual abuse and violence)

Summary: Itachi is a god among Uchiha and Sasuke makes him that way.

Warnings: This contains incest of the Itachi/Sasuke variety.

Eden

By: Hana J.

Part 1:

Sasuke tiptoes past his Father and Mother’s bedroom, remnants of the nightmare making his hands shake. He hears the low murmur of his Mother’s voice talking to his Father, and hears her voice catch momentarily as walks past their door. Pausing, he presses up against the shadows and then keeps moving toward Itachi’s room.

The door opens with a muted swish and Itachi rolls over at the sound to face him. Wordlessly, Itachi raises the covers and Sasuke slips beneath them, curling up against his brother’s form. Itachi says nothing, instead wrapping one arm around Sasuke and pulling him close. Sasuke grasps Itachi’s hand until it warms against his chest and he can feel the shadows that had reached for him with spindly arms, twisting out from the corners, retreat. He stares at the corner, closing his eyes until all he sees is the blood-red black of his eyelids.

Two hours later he wakes, throat-working to suppress a sob, and clenches his hands tightly into the sheets, terrified of waking Itachi up. Sasuke feels Itachi shift against him and he clamps his mouth shut, staring at the blackblack corner of the room and feeling a shake creep up his spine like a snake twining around his backbone.

“Another nightmare, Sasuke?” Itachi asks, his voice hoarse with sleep.

Sasuke nods, ashamed, but glad that Itachi is near. “Yes,” he mumbles, his own voice indistinct and barely audible. He tries to turn toward Itachi, so he can see his brother’s face and be reassured at the way Itachi’s eyebrows draw together when he is thinking but Itachi’s arms tighten around him and he is unable to move. For a second his mind screams monster but the voice fades into the silence of the room, the stillness of Itachi’s breath against his head, ruffling his hair ever-so-slightly, and the quickening heartbeat against his back.

Itachi finally speaks. “I know something that might help you relax, Sasuke, if you would want to try that.”

Sasuke gives his consent in the form of a “yes,” because he is so tired and his shoulders and neck are so tight with tension that it hurts to strain his neck to see even the pale, sharp angle of Itachi’s chin.

“Be quiet,” Itachi says, pressing his thumb to Sasuke’s mouth.

Sasuke thinks this will hurt but he doesn’t bite Itachi’s thumb, only lets it press up against his mouth, nudging against his lips like a warm, reassuring pressure. Itachi says nothing, but Sasuke can feel his chin bump against the back of his head, and then Itachi moves his hand down, away from his chest.

It doesn’t hurt is Sasuke’s first thought. It just feels weird.

Itachi’s hand smoothes over his stomach, the way Mother’s did when he had the stomach flu, and brushes against his pajama bottoms. Sasuke is aware, quiet suddenly, of the worn fringe of his button-up shirt and the way the elastic around his pants is too loose. Mother had bought his pajamas a size too big, thinking that he would hit a growth spurt around the same time Itachi had hit his, but he hadn’t grown and they were still too big.

It is easy for Itachi to move Sasuke’s shirt up his chest and slip his hands into his pants. Sasuke flushes brightly because he doesn’t wear underwear to bed, no one had ever told him to and he can never remember doing so, but now he wishes he did. Itachi lowers his head enough to whisper ‘relax’ into his ear because Sasuke can feel his shoulder’s bunching up with more tension and he begins to think that whatever method Itachi wanted to try wasn’t working. But he does his best to listen to his brother, and he breathes evenly through his nose, trying to stop his limbs from shaking.

After a few minutes, Itachi’s hand moving in a slow slide against his skin, no longer cool and forcing goosepimples to form, Sasuke begins to relax. It isn’t pleasant but it isn’t a bad feeling either. Sasuke thinks that it could be good, because his skin is warming under Itachi’s touch and his thighs tickle when Itachi reaches between them, thumb running along the inner curve of his leg where thigh and hip connect. But he doesn’t think anything else and isn’t especially surprised when Itachi’s hand, now warm, reaches between his legs to cradle his penis. The sensation is almost pleasant, and Sasuke finds that his hips are automatically following the stroke of Itachi’s hand, even as he drifts into sleep, his brother’s breath warm and heavy against his ear.

Three days pass without nightmares. His family: Inabi, Tekka, and Yashiro come to visit. He hides behind the door, watching as they accuse his brother of things he knows Itachi would never do. He cannot erase the words, however, of ‘pathetic clan’ from his brother’s lips.

Brother, enough! Stop!

That night, sitting in the kitchen, dinner set before them, Sasuke watches as his Father sits across from Itachi, brows drawn together and mouth in a tight, thin line.

“The Investigation has been dropped.”

Itachi’s cup of tea pauses just before the rim touches his mouth. For a moment, Itachi watches his Father and then his eyes shift to him. Sasuke blinks and hurriedly looks down at his bowl of rice.

“There is no longer a threat to your position in ANBU. You must regain the reputation you lost today, Itachi.” Nothing else is said during dinner. For once, even Mother keeps her quiet.

As Sasuke gathers the dishes, Itachi helps him carry a stack of bowls over to the sink. Mother and Father have both left the room when Itachi finally leans down to talk to him.

“Remember the other night?” Itachi says.

Sasuke nods in response, wiping off several chopsticks with a soapy rag. Itachi’s voice is hushed, like they are keeping a secret, and Sasuke keeps his own voice low in response. “Yes,” he says.

“I need your help.”

Immediately perking up, Sasuke pauses in his washing, hand hovering over a bowl as he turns to look at Itachi’s eyes.

“To relax,” Itachi reiterates.

Sasuke looks down at his hands, wet and foamy with soap, and remembers Itachi’s hands, large and calloused-worn. “Okay,” he says finally, because there is no other answer.

Training takes longer than he thought and Sasuke rushes back home, panting from exhaustion and toeing his shoes off as he enters the house. It is already dark but there is a small lamp on in the study. Their Father is still up. Sasuke skids to a stop, making sure to walk past the study before breaking into a fast-paced walk-skip to his own room. He changes, washes his face and the back of his neck, and drapes the covers over him as he gets into bed before he remembers Itachi’s earlier request at dinner. Flushing, he detangles himself from his sheets, pressing against the shadows of the hallway and opens Itachi’s door.

Itachi is sitting in his bed, fully dressed and a frown on his face. In his lap is a sword, lacking its sheath and dusted with uchiko, a fine powder used to clean blades, which Itachi is wiping off with a soft, felt rag. Sasuke stops, momentarily lacking breath at the beautiful weapon, a weapon he dreams of wielding, before walking toward Itachi’s bed.

Holding his breath and not knowing why Sasuke waits for Itachi to acknowledge him. It feels like it takes a long time for his brother to look up, and when he does Sasuke fights down the strange urge to run away.

Itachi stands and sets the sword in his closet, far away, Sasuke notices, from his grasp. “Brother?” he asks.

But Itachi ignores him and changes for bed, slipping under the sheets with a sigh. “Come here, Sasuke,” Itachi says, voice low and tired and tinged with something that Sasuke cannot identify.

Shuffling under the covers Sasuke spoons himself against Itachi, almost forgetting the original reason he came, sleep clinging to his eyes like morning tears as he yawns, not bothering with the formality of covering his mouth in front of his brother. It is only when Itachi takes his hand in his that Sasuke remembers.

“Brother…”

Itachi shushes him. “Father is still in the study, and Mother is still awake. I’ll let you know if they come.”

With those words Sasuke understands that this is not something he should share with anyone, especially Father or Mother. He feels a little bit of pride in Itachi’s trust in him, and something else that lingers uneasily in the back of his mind.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He remembers what Itachi did, of course, but his hands are too small, too inexperienced, to wrap with ease around Itachi. But Itachi surprises him, bringing both of his hands into one grip and pressing them against his chest. He can feel the rise and fall of Itachi’s chest against his fingers, and he pushes closer to hear his heartbeat. He thinks that Itachi, by just existing, is very strong. Every breath sounds so much deeper, so much steadier than his ever did. Sasuke wants to be that strong. He lets Itachi guide his hands.

Sasuke has never realized just how short he is compared to Itachi until now. He has always felt Itachi’s towering strength, his impossible stride that he could never keep up with but never before had he noticed that he barely reached Itachi’s chest, if that. Itachi has to help him scoot down, until his forehead is against the slim, muscled plane of his brother’s stomach. He can feel each inhale and exhale Itachi releases, each catch of breath, and Itachi’s hands are on his forehead, two fingers occasionally separating from his hair to poke his forehead in a manner that is at once both playful and affectionate. Eventually though, those two fingers become agitated, and they slide down his cheek, over his ear, touch the back of his neck but never once move back to his forehead.

Itachi’s skin is rougher than his own; even Itachi’s stomach bears the difference of time and training. Sasuke lets Itachi’s hand nudge his fingers farther until they are reaching beneath Itachi’s pants, beneath his underwear, and touching skin that is at once softer, and wiry with prickles of hair. Hair that he doesn’t have, and Sasuke let’s his own hands explore curiously before Itachi directs him once more.

His brother’s breathing has changed, shallower and he is shifting in a way that makes Sasuke think Itachi is uncomfortable, and Sasuke doesn’t understand how this is relaxing but he remembers falling asleep in Itachi’s arms and thinks that perhaps it is and he just doesn’t understand how it works. Yet.

The bed creaks as Itachi shifts and Sasuke wraps his hands around Itachi’s penis. It is thick and heavy in his grasp. He cannot, like Itachi, wrap one hand around it. He has to use both hands and he feels laughter bubble up in his throat but quells it because Itachi is so quiet and so uneasy that he knows he shouldn’t laugh at the thought of touching his brother.

Leaning his forehead against Itachi’s chest, Sasuke feels every warm, unsteady breath that ruffles his hair. Itachi is pushing into him and pulling him impossibly closer, one hand braced on the nape of his neck and the other guiding his hands. His wrist begins to ache and his arm feels tired but he doesn’t try to pull away as Itachi urges his hands faster and tighter.

Above him, Itachi makes a strange, choked sound in his throat and Sasuke jerks back, drawing his hands out of Itachi’s pants with the accompanying snap of elastic, a look of disgust marring his features. He makes to wipe his hands on the covers but Itachi grabs both of his wrists and motions for him to stop. He stills and waits. Itachi gets up, adjusting his pajama bottoms, and leaves, the covers pooling around Sasuke’s waist in his absence.

The water in the next room is running and Sasuke can hear the quiet shuffle of Itachi’s feet on tile. Itachi comes back from the bathroom, toilet paper in hand. He carefully wipes off each of Sasuke’s hands, and Sasuke inspects them, clenching his fingers together until they are no longer damp and sticky.

“Brother…”

With a quick hand movement Itachi motions for silence and Sasuke shuts his mouth with a snap. The world dims as Itachi shuts his bedroom door and lies out beside Sasuke.

“Go to sleep, Sasuke,” Itachi says.

“What was…”

“Tomorrow, little brother,” Itachi says, two fingers coming up to press at Sasuke’s forehead.

Sasuke falls silent, curls into his brother’s embrace and knows that there will be no tomorrow.