Untitled
folder
Naruto › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
867
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Naruto › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
867
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
ItaSasu
[Written several months ago and originally only posted to my LJ, which explains the author's notes.]
Okay... this is what happens when I've been off my medicine for weeks and am up at ungodly hours of the morning. I write REALLY weird fic. I don't know where this came from. To be honest, I was half asleep at the time, and don't remember writing parts of it. It's very short, and, just a warning, might contain offensive material. There are mentions of rape and torture, along with harsh language and incest. That's right, ItaSasu. Rawr.
***
nar·cis·sism
1. self-admiration: excessive self-admiration and self-centeredness
2. personality disorder: in psychiatry, a personality disorder characterized by the patient's overestimation of his or her own appearance and abilities.
In psychoanalytic theory, emphasis is placed on the element of self-directed sexual desire in the condition.
When he fucks me, he doesn’t like to do it from behind. He likes to see my face. My face, that’s so much like his, as much as I hate it.
He cut scars under my eyes, one day. Just took a kunai and made two identical slashes down my cheeks. Shallow cuts, but deep enough to scar. He didn’t give a reason for it. The only words he spoke were, “You’ve earned it, now.”
At that point, I’d been here for two weeks. Enough time for my entire world to narrow down to this small room, and the adjoining bathroom, where I’m allowed to shower when I need it. Enough time for me to stop caring what’s outside this room. Stop believing that there is anything outside this room. To think maybe the rest of my life was imagined, and I’ve always been here.
It’s been longer, now. I’ve stopped counting the days.
When I look in the mirror in the bathroom, I look at him. My hair has grown out a bit. It doesn’t spike in the back anymore. It hangs around my face and over my shoulders, loose and limp and his. Pale white scars extend from the inside corners of my eyes and downward, twin lines not exactly like his, but close enough.
I look at myself, I look at him, and I hate. It doesn’t matter anymore that it’s not him. This thing that I see, it’s close enough, and I’m too tired to extend my hatred to the real thing, anymore.
He leaves sometimes. I don’t know what he does or where he goes. I don’t try to escape anymore. He keeps me too exhausted or too wounded to use any jutsu, and the door is sealed with something stronger than a lock.
Sometimes I hear voices outside. I wondered for a while who they could be, tried calling for help. Now I think that I probably imagine them.
When he comes back, it’s always the same. Touch, pain, pleasure. A mixture of the last two until I’m not sure which I’m feeling anymore. I used to fight back. Now I don’t, unless he tells me to.
This time he touches my cheek, strokes it and looks into eyes that are finally as dead as his are, and he smiles a smile that isn’t happy, or sad, or anything at all.
“Perfect.”
A/N: Okay... if you didn't get that (because it confused ME thismorning afternoon when I woke up and re-read it), the idea is that everything Itachi's done from the massacre to present has been to make Sasuke more like himself, because Itachi's a narcissist. Not that I actually believe that, but it was a fun concept at 4 in the morning.
Also... the original idea I had for the fic was working off of the comment Itachi made right after the massacre. I can't remember it exactly, but it was something like, "Come before me again when you have the same eyes that I do." So the idea here is that Sasuke has killed Naruto and come after Itachi, but... er... yeah, things didn't go as planned. >.> *cough*
Okay... this is what happens when I've been off my medicine for weeks and am up at ungodly hours of the morning. I write REALLY weird fic. I don't know where this came from. To be honest, I was half asleep at the time, and don't remember writing parts of it. It's very short, and, just a warning, might contain offensive material. There are mentions of rape and torture, along with harsh language and incest. That's right, ItaSasu. Rawr.
***
nar·cis·sism
1. self-admiration: excessive self-admiration and self-centeredness
2. personality disorder: in psychiatry, a personality disorder characterized by the patient's overestimation of his or her own appearance and abilities.
In psychoanalytic theory, emphasis is placed on the element of self-directed sexual desire in the condition.
When he fucks me, he doesn’t like to do it from behind. He likes to see my face. My face, that’s so much like his, as much as I hate it.
He cut scars under my eyes, one day. Just took a kunai and made two identical slashes down my cheeks. Shallow cuts, but deep enough to scar. He didn’t give a reason for it. The only words he spoke were, “You’ve earned it, now.”
At that point, I’d been here for two weeks. Enough time for my entire world to narrow down to this small room, and the adjoining bathroom, where I’m allowed to shower when I need it. Enough time for me to stop caring what’s outside this room. Stop believing that there is anything outside this room. To think maybe the rest of my life was imagined, and I’ve always been here.
It’s been longer, now. I’ve stopped counting the days.
When I look in the mirror in the bathroom, I look at him. My hair has grown out a bit. It doesn’t spike in the back anymore. It hangs around my face and over my shoulders, loose and limp and his. Pale white scars extend from the inside corners of my eyes and downward, twin lines not exactly like his, but close enough.
I look at myself, I look at him, and I hate. It doesn’t matter anymore that it’s not him. This thing that I see, it’s close enough, and I’m too tired to extend my hatred to the real thing, anymore.
He leaves sometimes. I don’t know what he does or where he goes. I don’t try to escape anymore. He keeps me too exhausted or too wounded to use any jutsu, and the door is sealed with something stronger than a lock.
Sometimes I hear voices outside. I wondered for a while who they could be, tried calling for help. Now I think that I probably imagine them.
When he comes back, it’s always the same. Touch, pain, pleasure. A mixture of the last two until I’m not sure which I’m feeling anymore. I used to fight back. Now I don’t, unless he tells me to.
This time he touches my cheek, strokes it and looks into eyes that are finally as dead as his are, and he smiles a smile that isn’t happy, or sad, or anything at all.
“Perfect.”
A/N: Okay... if you didn't get that (because it confused ME this
Also... the original idea I had for the fic was working off of the comment Itachi made right after the massacre. I can't remember it exactly, but it was something like, "Come before me again when you have the same eyes that I do." So the idea here is that Sasuke has killed Naruto and come after Itachi, but... er... yeah, things didn't go as planned. >.> *cough*