Of Heaven and Hell

Author’s Note: Wow, thank you ALL for these encouraging reviews. They really mean a lot to me. Sorry about the time between updates, but please bear with it. Don’t worry—there’ll be smexing soon. I promise. :D

Let’s see…I would like to publicly confess my love for Ness, my beta. If Chizzakoo didn’t have dibs on you, I would so make you my own. You are the queen of the universe.

Note:Braziers are those things you can burn stuff in, usually made of iron and suspended on little legs. No, I’m not talking about bras. This is a yaoi story, people. We have no need of bras here.

Also, there are NO Original Characters in this, despite what the middle of the chapter might make you think. I assure you—it’s one of our boys. =D

Just a brief note--there -IS- a bit of ItaSasu later on, though nothing sexual happens. I'm not a particular fan of this pairing, myself, but...Well, if you had Sasuke tied to a pole...would YOU pass that opportunity up? =3

And also, keep in mind that this is--as I stated--an unconventional sasuxnaru story. Meaning, I'm going to focus on the story before I can get to the sex. Stick with it. It'll be worth it. 8)

...I hope. XD

----------------------------------


Wind whistled in the trees overhead, gently stroking and teasing the leaves, whirling through their branches, dancing in an un-choreographed ballet. Small ripples extended from the edge of the lake’s glossy waters, growing in size as they stretched, fading into nothingness, their slack soon picked up by another ring. Snow sparkled along its bank, rolling over the stone pathway, climbing on the knolls of scattered hills. Mist loomed around them, he could tell, but it did not penetrate the arboreal defense of oaks and firs surrounding the small park. His gaze hung on the surface of the lake for a moment before returning to the head resting in his lap.

He ran a lacquered nail gently along the ridge of a perfectly shaped cheek, onyx eyes locked on the slumbering face of the silent angel. Here and there, golden strands of silken hair fell across the boy’s tightly shut eyes; he brushed those aside with a tenderness not befitting one of his kind. A warm smile dotted his face, lingering in his eyes as it slid to a frown. Fingering the three slanted gashes in the blond’s face, he loosed a sigh, placing his hand on the man’s chest as he gazed once more across the lake.

The moon floated through the star-flecked, navy backdrop of the sky, hovering just within reach, giving him the impression if he extended his arm, he could grasp it. His breath ghosted from his parted lips in a wispy cloud, tendrils writhing in the moonlight, stretching upwards before disappearing into nothingness. Somewhere in the distance, a lark trilled, the sound beautiful and warm, light and pleasing. Scattered flakes wafted from the tops of drifts, flitting about in the wind, settling to rest far from their starting point. Absently, he stroked the material beneath his fingertips, tracing the faint lines of fabric, the blond’s chest rising and falling

He shook his head, earrings chiming as he moved, brushing against his cheeks and neck, sending shivers through him. The head in his lap shifted, wriggling closer to the apex of his thighs. A wave of heat rushed through his body, and he refused to recognize the slight blush dotting his cheeks. He tilted his head back, staring upwards into the night sky, glimmering diamonds reflected in his eyes. He guessed it was a few hours after midnight.

Now was as good a time as any to leave.

Sighing once more, he arched his shoulders, pinning the blades together as he shook his body, wriggling an arm out of the jacket. Cool air bit his collarbone, the fabric peeling away from his chest slightly, the tiniest expanse of bare flesh, the night’s prey. He shivered slightly, but forced himself not to think about the cold. Hair slipped into his eyes, and he tossed his head once more, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering.

He thought he heard footsteps behind him, and he twisted in his seated position, wincing as the boy in his lap moaned in irritation. The blond took that opportunity to rub his face against the leather seam of his crotch. Heat flushed through him, and his cheeks crimsoned, forcing him to bite the inside of his lip. He couldn’t disturb the slumbering boy, no matter how much he wanted to grab him and…He couldn’t.

The edge of his coat slipped down even farther, revealing a mesh-covered shoulder blade, milky skin gleaming in the opalescent light. He trembled at the chill, wishing he could change into something safe, something warm—but an angel could never place his head on the lap of a demon. Mortal—susceptible to famine, hunger, disease, and pain—was the only body he could occupy and still touch him, still hold Naruto.

Pausing in his actions, onyx eyes swiveled down to the boy’s face, free hand moving of its own will. He smirked fondly, pushing the ornery strands of flaxen hair away once more, wishing gravity would stop working. His hands moved along warm skin, toying with the black earrings, so sharply contrasted by his tanned skin. Drifting downwards, he soon realized his fingers caressed the faint scars once more, and he quickly ceased actions, though he never stopped wondering what had caused them, why they were there. His gaze snagged on the new flesh marring his own wrist, and he clenched his hand, pulling away as though burnt. Something was happening…

He heard the faint crunching of snow from his right this time, and he turned his gaze, honing in on a shadowed clump of winter-frozen foliage. His gaze darted from clouded the shaded shrubs before him, shivers crawling along his flesh. He wasn’t too sure these were from the cold.

A faint moaning-mewl rose from his lap, and he looked down, face shifting softly into an expression of tenderness. He ran his fingertips along Naruto’s lips, the warmth and heat they exuded heating him from his head to his toes. The sound of rustling leaves, stirred by something other than the wind, assailed his ears, but he did not look away. He wanted this one second, this one moment of peace to themselves. Then it could be over, and he could return to his curse.

Surely even a demon deserved that much.

He opened his mouth to speak, closing it after a moment, knowing he strongly resembled a gaping fish. He wanted to say something, anything, but he knew any words his mouth could form would cheapen the moment; he wanted none of it.

He twisted his spine, wincing at the effort, trying to keep his lap completely still. When the collar of the coat was at his elbow, he wrenched his arm out, ebony fabric instantly shrinking to a size fit for its single wearer. The boy wriggled into the jacket deeper, like an animal curling tightly in its sleep. He grinned wryly, knowing the cloak was his no more.

His hands cradled the blond’s head gently, holding onto the warm flesh with his hands. Gingerly, he sidled around the sleeping body, scraping the back of his thighs on the metal of the bench. It was…uncomfortable, something he was not used to. Though he had been capable of using a mortal body for hundreds of years, he had never remained in the form for so long. He was hungry once more, and there was a strange desire to…well, bluntly, fuck the boy right by him.

He couldn’t tell if he liked the feeling or abhorred it.
Ever so carefully, he placed Naruto’s head onto the bench, wishing he could have left something behind for a pillow, but the scant clothing he wore was barely enough for him. A tank-top and mesh undershirt were scarcely winter attire. The boy’s lips parted, and he whispered something in his sleep, body moving into a compact ball. Even in the fetal position, that kid was damn cute.

He began to spin on his heels, only to hesitate in mid motion, eyes still locked on Naruto. Glancing around sharply, gaze lingering on the shadowed underbrush nearby, he bent at the waist, tilting the blond’s face slightly. Licking his chapped lips with a nervous tongue, he pressed his mouth to Naruto’s, a gust of cold air blowing hard against his back, making him brace his hand on the back of the bench. His head began to spin dizzily from the simple contact, and he knew he was losing his mind. For a moment—a brief instant, not even a second—he wondered if he could stay.

But he knew he could not, so he pulled away reluctantly, turning abruptly on his stiletto heels, stalking down the snow-covered knoll upon which the bench had been perched.

His arms wrapped around his torso tightly, trying to force himself from shivering, a sign of mortal weakness he rather hated about the body. The damn cold was making his heart hurt, too. Made him want to sit down and cry. He rather disliked being mortal.

The wind had stopped.

It was completely silent, and out of the corner of his eye, he detected no rippling on the lake, no rustling of the leaves. His body quivered sharply once more, and he moved faster. Every muscle in his frame was pumping adrenaline through him, heart stammering rapidly. He needed to find a safe place to change from of this vulnerable state before he was caught unaware.

If she found him as a human, he would be good as dead.

He followed the stone-laden bike path that curled around the lake like a slithering serpent, heels clacking against the ground. The snow barely stifled the raucous noise of his movements. If anything, the glimmering sirens betrayed him all the more. He knew sound didn’t matter, though; he was in the open, prey, and he knew it.

His eyes latched onto the copse of trees nearby, from which the earlier noises had leaked from. Fear was a pointless emotion. Nevertheless, it flushed through his veins, screaming, trying to take hold of his brain and steer him the other direction. He hooked his thumbs in the loops of his leather pants, trying to regain his air of nonchalance, knowing he failed completely. At least Naruto was safe. She was only after him.

Maybe she would let him walk by. He knew she wouldn’t.

“Why are you running so fast, Sasuke?”

The voice lanced through his mind like a dagger, piercing his consciousness and burning his ears. He spun around, damning everything for being so distracted. His earrings trembled as he turned, crying out in protest as he folded his arms over his chest once more. A teal gaze met his own, though hers was less steely and cold; golden eyebrows knit in irritation as she eyed his earrings, the opposite color of her own.

“I was looking for you, Temari,” he said casually, as though his heart wasn’t about to leap out of his body through his mouth.

“Looking for me? You were trying to run away from me, you idiot,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her ample bosom. She rubbed the bridge of her nose in irritation. “Geez, can’t you even think up a better excuse?”

“But that would mean I would be lying, and I’m not.” His shoulders slumped, and he stepped closer to her, hanging his head in silent atonement. He glanced at her feet, covered with industrial-style steel-toed boots. He kicked at the ground with his own heels, glancing up at her through his bangs.

“Sometimes I wish you were an angel, just so you wouldn’t be able to lie so badly.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, the other moving to her hip. “But you would still be you, Sasuke.”

Normally, he would have shrugged her hand away, but after a thousand years of friendship with the same person, he had learned to let her in, so to speak. However, he did move back, stilettos kicking up small flurries of snow. “Why are you here, Temari?”

She sighed, glancing towards the lake. “You know perfectly well why I’m here.”

“Refresh my memory,” he commanded icily, much the way his entire body felt. He stepped around her, moving slowly, trying to force the blood in his body to circulate once more. The woman glared, stalking around him in a tight circle.

“Sasuke!” she hissed irritably, running her hands through her four ponytails. “I was sent to—”

“Follow me.”

“To protect you,” Temari mumbled, voice taking on a tone of maternal fondness and compassion. “You’re an important denizen of hell, you know. We have work to do. You can’t be up here,” she looked from the lake towards a bench upon which a certain blonde angel lay sleeping, “screwing whomever you chose.”

“You would never do that, would you, Temari?” he responded aloofly, trying to distract her from Naruto. Even though he was not who she had come for, an angel in mortal form could be tormented, punished. He would die a second death before letting that happen to the blond.

Wind blew past them coldly, hissing like a seething creature, roaring through the trees. His arms tightened around his torso as a shiver shook his frame. Clenching his teeth to keep from chattering, he stared at Temari pointedly, her face shifting between anger and frustration. A bird warbled off in the distance, and he fancied it was the same lark, singing to soothe him.

“What I do is none of your concern,” she said stiffly.

“So, I’m right? You took that guy home from the coffee shop and really served him?”

“My superior or not, I will hit you if you don’t stop, and in a mortal body, it will hurt.” Temari stepped closer to Sasuke, the six inch difference in their height barely noticeable. She raised her arm over her head, bringing it down, tugging Sasuke into a quick embrace. “I understand what you’re feeling right now, I really do. I know what it’s like to care about someone you can’t have. But you have to go back home. You have things to take care of down there. He’s…he’s a bloody angel, Sasuke.”

“I’ll be alright,” he mumbled, resisting for a moment before giving in and pressing against the warm body. Their hold on one another was chaste, compassionate; Temari was the only person Sasuke really trusted. “Like I’d waste my time worrying about someone like him.”

“Of course not. Not you.” She disentangled herself from him, cocking her head to the side and clucking chidingly. “Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke. Turn back to normal before your skinny body turns into an icicle.” Temari turned abruptly, walking towards Naruto. “Hurry up. He’s noticed you’re gone.”

She disappeared in a quiet crackle of fire and air, charring the stone and leaving a puddle of melted snow in her wake.

He shook his head, wondering how he had ever managed to befriend such a fickle person, never mind that she was of a gender he despised. His eyes moved to Naruto’s form, and he took a step towards the boy before he managed to control his body. The coat would have to be enough. It was the only thing he could leave with Naruto, the only extension of himself he could expend.

Eyelids drooped slowly, and his fingers made a complex symbol, archaic words of Greek and Latin origin bubbling from his lips. Fire lapped at his feet from the ground, crawling up his body, engulfing him completely. No longer was he cold. No longer was he human. He gasped quietly, the words he mumbled taking on a painful air as wings tore through his flesh, extending behind him. They flapped lazily, folding around him like a womb. As the flames began to die down, licking at him affectionately like a loving pet, he opened his eyes.

Red pupils locked on Naruto.

“You heard her,” he mumbled. “I have something to take care of.”

And he was gone.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

His eyes were dark, shadowed by death and destitution, brilliant in the deliciously evil way they shimmered in the emptiness. Scattered beams of light danced across him, flickers of flame, outlining his face with illumination, never staying longer than necessary. Lips were drawn in a thin, taught line, pursed with fatigue, held by seriousness. He exuded mortal exhaustion, slumped shoulders those of a weathered cripple, a weary traveler, his arms tucked neatly within the opposing sleeves like a bent sage. He would have been the perfect picture of a favorite grandfather, save his painfully cold countenance, unfittingly soft skin…and his eyes.

They were feral eyes, like those of a crazed eagle or rogue wolf, slaughtering for the kill, hunting to taste and smell the fear of his prey. They shone in the frantic pinpricks of light that had the misfortune of locking his gaze, drawn in by the flecking spirals whirling around the irises. Color of blood, intensity of hell-fire, his eyes seemed to capture the light, holding onto them like a dragon with his gold. Suddenly, his lips lifted in a cold, wry smile, and he chuckled, the sound as warm and inviting as steel lancing through a heart, each lilting beat crueler, malicious than the last.

The laugh was evil. He was evil.

He slipped amidst things unseen, creature wrought from the loins of mystery and chaos, body pressed against a sticky wall. He was void of compassion, of life, of hope and of fear. Lurking from within the depths of somber shadows, he fought to suppress a grin of mild amusement, the emotion itself uncharacteristic and foreign to him. This was his element, this feeling of danger, of calculating mischief and malady. Red eyes danced with power.

The pads of his fingertips dragged along the viscous rock-formations, legs striding towards his goal with confidence. His way past jutted stones and sulfurous pools was void of others. They might have been cloaked in the darkness, just as he moved, but they failed to bother or intrude upon his mission. Anyone with eyes would have seen each motion was full of cause and purpose. He expended no superfluous energy, however. He would need it soon enough.

Liquid bubbled in the far distance, darkness enveloping the gastric sound, amplifying the rippling and grotesque noise. Every so often, shrill screams pierced the air, reverberating through the cavern. His lips curled in a full-smile. He moved with a terrifying certainty, wooden sandals clacking beneath him, mingling with the ghastly echoes surrounding him. He had never felt so sure of himself. Painted fingertips clenched and unclenched, tingles of excitement circulating through him. Shivers crept up his spine, tickling along the nape of his neck.

Candle-lit fire danced within in-set alcoves fearfully, muted light shining from their flames, as though trying to become one with the darkness, hiding in the rock. He pulled his fingers away from the wall, rolling the sticky moisture around on them. Nothing save pure evil flashed behind his shadowed, red eyes as he brought his hand to his lips, licking the flesh slowly. Sulfur and brimstone. He sighed with contentment, lapping at his skin.

The robes around his feet swayed and swished, eerily void of rents or tears. He folded his arms once more as two iron doors in the distance came closer into view, dimly illuminated by burning braziers. Impressions of rune-like lettering, sprawling scenes of torture and suffering, images of blasphemy and chaos patterned the ancient entry-way. Hallways arched and curved to either side of the doors, and he noticed without much interest that tiny beings crawled through them with urgency, fleeing his approach. His tongue coiled around an index finger, eyes shimmering with wry amusement. Death sung through his veins, chanting his name, reminding him that he, alone, mattered.

Slowly, he mounted the grimy stone slabs that served as makeshift stairs, leading to the dais upon which the twin braziers blazed with shaded flame. He stared at the handle to a door for a moment, scarlet gaze taking in the curved, serpentine figures, seemingly too small for the giant entrance. The iron doors, shimmering dully before the fires, filled an entire wall of the enormous stone womb, yet the handles barely accommodated his palms. He took a mental note to replace them when he was of a status to do so.

His hand shot out, fingers coiling around a cobra-shaped piece of steel, muscles tensing to pull. He paused. This, in itself, bothered him, the hesitation so foreign, so alien, that at first he couldn’t place it. The action, however, was not out of fear. It was out of interest. He strained his ears, senses weaving in and out, past the frothing sound of seething liquids, past the lamentable cries of the damned. He heard hissing.

The hissing of an innumerable amount of snakes.

Licking his lips, he pulled harshly, wrenching the doors open, wincing as he shot the leather wings between his shoulder blades out behind him. He tugged the rough appendages behind him neatly, wary of his own knife-like talons. He wriggled his fingers anxiously, pale cheeks flushed with exhilaration. But he forced himself to relax, straightening himself before be stepped through the doorway. It wouldn’t be proper to usurp Satan if not in peak form.

The dark fingers from the receiving hall wrapped around him, pulling his lean body within its embrace. He heard the doors shut behind him, as though from a great distance. Intangible hands stroked and caressed him; ethereal, full lips nibbled his ears and promised him power beyond his deepest desires. Normal beings would have instantly closed their eyes and given in to the lewd pleasure offered by the fake hands and empty fantasies. But he would not. He brushed them off with a curt flap of his wings, beating the wraiths away. Anything that could have been promised to him would be his by right soon enough.

A quick glance around the cavernous receiving hall, tear-drop flecked eyes displayed a relatively bland room. The walls were slanted, slightly concave, sloping towards the floor. At scant intervals, flames danced from wax-drowned stubs, wicks wallowing within a pool of liquid. They, too, cast little light over the room, despite their numbers. From his sentient point in the geometric center, he didn’t need them to know what lay in the dark corners of the room. The quivering, twitching bodies of those who had succumbed to the tempting littered the darkest recesses of the stone tomb. His lips twitched in pleasure; he could sense their suffering.

He redirected his attention before him, scarlet orbs lingering on a smaller set of doors before him. These were decorated with ornate carvings of women and men, engaged in various acts of debauchery, faces contorted in a mixture of ecstasy and agony. Here and there, scattered amongst various sorts of foliage and undergrowth lied serpents, pair fangs bared, hoods erect and full. Each wrapped around a fruit.

He placed the flat of his hand against the door, wings quivering against his spine. Once more, he had to still himself, fighting sexual excitement. Being this bad was more arousing than anything he had ever experienced. He pressed his lips tightly against one another and gently pushed the second door open, eyelids slipping to cover his red eyes.

White, burning with more intensity that should have blinded him, blazed from the other side of his flesh, pupils contracting in response, fearfully withdrawing into fine pin-pricks. The brilliance of the light was twisted, he knew, though he did not force his lids open just yet. Soon enough, the blinding glare would fade, leaving behind a kind of green glow, swathing everything in discolored light. Just like the specters gathered in the room behind him, the light was meant to hinder any who sought to enter His chambers.

As he predicted, the burning white disappeared completely, and he opened his scarlet eyes, smirking slightly. The grotesque afterglow of the light was absent, the only light an oddly cheerful fire crackling upon a hearth on his right. He supposed it had something to do with his status.

After all, Satan should have some trust in his second in command.

The floor moved. At least, it had seemed to when he had first seen the inner sanctum of hell’s throne room. What he had first mistaken for an ever-changing carpet, upon closer scrutiny, had come into view as a cluster of snakes. Pillars and columns rose from the floor to the cavern ceiling, the figures of bats, scorpions, and other such beings crawled along the face of the stone. They were etched into the rock for all eternity as proof of His pact with them, His favorite beings. Fires appeared out of nowhere, dangling without suspension in the air, casting ghastly, dull light through the chamber. He had shivered at the pure evil looming in the air like a humid fog.

Now, after having seen it countless times, he simply surveyed the room around him, crimson gaze marking the monolithic statues exalting the King of Catastrophe. Serpents writhed along them, draped around a stone neck, curled protectively around an iron sandal, poised and hissing in the crook of a marble arm. Stone tiles lanced through the middle of the serpentine sea, leading towards a raised segment of the cave. His wings arched slightly, stretching languidly. He took a step forward, daintily kicking a skull away, the bone colliding with a pile of gold coins which clinked in irritation. It was like pirate’s treasure trove, ripe with jewels, riches, and skeletons of the fallen.

He knew he should have probably not kicked the skull; surprise would have given him a drastic advantage. However, though he preferred sly manipulation, there were moments when he chose to operate with dignity and honor. Overthrowing a ruler of the underworld was such an occasion.

He ran his fingers along the fine hairs of his arms, shivering elatedly, knowing that he could not take a false step, make a wrong move. He had waited centuries for this moment, and the power he would forge for himself with an act of betrayal. Other than the hissing, wriggling ocean on either side of the stone bridge upon which he tread, the room was void of any other’s presence. Except for Him.

He lay draped across the cushioned armrests adorning a high-backed, red velvet chair. Thin, fragile fingers plucked idly at the fraying fabric, pale flesh seeming to glow in the dancing firelight. Golden eyes swiveled, and he felt as though he would throw up, bile rising to the back of his throat. He quickly pushed the desire down, wings twitching in irritation.

How dare that bastard try to make him feel inferior?

He smirked with a cool grin, red eyes locking with the sallow, sunken orbs, color of faded gold. Yet they were too brilliant for the slack, wan face. An oily-haired head rolled to the side as he straightened, twisted grin stretching his tight face. The lean figure in the chair shook His head, ears curiously void of earrings; his own were the same, bare lobes of skin. Crimson eyes shut briefly as he nodded a silent, fleeting admonition of servitude. It quickly passed, and he straightened once more. The other dipped his head as well.

A purple, forked tongue darted out to lick a cheek, and he once more fought the urge to retch. The golden eyes seemed to gleam with a piercing glare, and he knew it had nothing to do with the reflection of the candle light.

He was being tested; he was testing.

It was a silent battle of wills, trying to break one another, action poorly disguised as a greeting. The man rose slowly, white robes flaring around His thin ankles, as though trying to avoid touching the bleached whiteness of His figure. The slit-pupils of His eyes never blinked. It would have been unnerving if he had not thought of this moment, prepared for this moment everyday for the past millennia. However, he had.

“Orochimaru,” he said stiffly, leathery folds of skin quivering behind him.

“So informal, Kiniiri,” the creature rasped, voice a sound that gave one the feeling of being drowned by rotting flesh covered in honey. He slithered forward slowly, feet seemingly immobile as He oozed from the dais, cruel smile contorting His face. The snakes seemed to stir at their Master’s approach, the roaring sound of hissing rising to an impossible volume. With apt reptilian grace, they surged from the columns and statues upon which they were draped, adding to the mass of their kin wriggling beneath the rock-bridge.

The one called Kiniiri lowered his head, this time swooping into a full bow, doubling at his waist. However, his wings stood erect and defiant behind him, spreading to their full girth. Scarlet gaze lifted and locked on amber eyes. “Isn’t familiarity a part of my position, Orochimaru?”

He sneered, lips curling in disgust, expression quickly replaced by a salesman-like grin. “Of course, Kiniiri. What is mine is yours.”

“Of course,” he responded seriously, acting as though he truly felt some sense of chivalry and obedience towards the other. Cracked skin and greasy complexion soon came into a terrifyingly vivid view as Orochimaru drew close, extending a pasty hand. Crooked fingers traced his jaw line; he felt his blood boil. He wanted to act. Not yet…Not…yet….

“This means…what is yours…is also mine…” Yellowed eyes flashed with a possessive countenance, that disgustingly purple tongue tasting the air in an almost seductive fashion. “Isn’t that right, Kiniiri?” He cupped a pale cheek, grip tight and nearly painful.

Kiniiri withdrew, tossing his head, expression stern and apathetic, as though the blatant lust glimmering in those pupils was not there. With great effort, he pinned his wings to his back, holding them tightly. He had gone through a great deal of…tests…to stand here, before this Thing; now it was time to exert his own control. The next few minutes of waiting would be more torturous than the past thousand years.

“You pull away from me,” Orochimaru remarked blandly, though Kiniiri knew his black blood was boiling with bitterness. Good. Anger made Him stupid, and stupidity gave the red-eyed male an advantage.

“You touched me.” He turned his back, stretching his wings casually, the action nothing of interest, but enough to enrage Him all the more.

“You are mine to touch, Kiniiri.” The leathery appendages were not only for flight—they alerted him even before a vice-like hand placed itself upon his shoulder. He stiffened beneath the touch, though he knew everything was working just as he had planned. Even the brief exchange between them was as he had expected.

Orochimaru demanded respect from his playthings.

He was done playing.

Kiniiri shook the hand off, spinning on his heels, sandals clacking against the stone with a dull thud. Red locked with gold, spiral flecks within his orbs growing in size as his hands twitched. Hell, he felt good. The snakes were hushed, beady eyes locked on the pair above them, tails quivering with anticipation. No one stood up to Satan. Not even Kiniiri.

At least, he hadn’t before.

“Kiniiri,” the Lord of the Underworld warned, voice dangerously low. “You do not know what you do.” He brightened, smiling lifelessly, the expression not reaching his narrowed eyes. “Come to my arms. I’ll forgive you.” He held onto his “s” far longer than was sane, and Kiniiri’s stomach twisted in disgust. How he hated Orochimaru.

“I know perfectly well what I’m doing. I’m taking what should be mine.” His right eyebrow winced in pain as nails extended from his hand, protruding through the flesh grotesquely, evilly. He brought a polished claw to his lips, tongue running along the edge. “You’re too old. Too weak.”

“I’m Lucifer!” Orochimaru hissed, fangs bared, firelight flashing behind him, glow intensifying. Kiniiri’s lips curled in a wry grin. He knew the rest of hell must have been crazed, wondering why fire suddenly cast light. “I went against God!”

“But you lost.”

Orochimaru chuckled softly, shaking his head like a grandfather scolding his favorite grandchild. “And you think you could do better?”

“I intend to.”

“I could call Kimimaru in here and have him fight against you,” He purred, stepping away from Kiniiri, arms lying limply beside him. “You do realize that he’s…less than loving of you? After all, you took his place.”

His gaze never left Orochimaru’s hands, watching them intently. His words were a mere distraction, trying to keep him from focusing. He had seen it before, countless times, against the people who attempted to usurp His throne. He flicked black bangs out of his eyes, licking his lips as he moved, putting distance between him and The Devil. Whether by lack of preparation, lack of power, or lack of dedication, the red-eyed being was not sure, but he knew that none had succeeded before.

Times were changing.

Kiniiri and Orochimaru paced, circling one another, finding their movements very difficult on the narrowness of the bridge. It hadn’t been built for confrontational purposes and was barely broad enough for them to walk around the other. Though the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, Kiniiri knew it was too late to back down now. He had challenged Satan, and with his actions, sealed his fate. He could either win or suffer beyond his comprehension. He would not lose.

“What’s the matter, Kiniiri?” Orochimaru sneered. “Are you thinking about backing down?” He raised His thin hand sharply, and Kiniiri’s muscles clenched, readying to strike. Smirking, the fingers buried themselves in the stringy mass of coal hair, stroking the strands absently. “You seem a little tense…want me to get rid of those kinks?”

Curling his lips in disgust, Kiniiri spit on the floor before Orochimaru. The claws on his other hand breaking through the skin. Had anyone come into the room, they would have seen Satan and his closest follower strolling slowly in circles, meandering on a narrow strip of stone. Their bodies seemed to be loose, their stances casual. Their eyes, however, shone with their true rage, glimmering cruelly in the darkness, burning with anger and betrayal.

“You may not touch me anymore,” he murmured lowly, not letting his hatred get the better of him. “If you do, I will kill you.”

“I’m already dead, my darling Kiniiri,” He cooed. Orochimaru stroked his chin thoughtfully, golden gaze sliding along the other’s body, lingering on key points in his anatomy. Kiniiri’s wings beat the air with rage.

“Don’t play stupid, Orochimaru. It’s not becoming.” His clawed hands deftly untied the knot at his waist, dropping the robes off his body, tossing them away. He shivered as the cool air of the cave brushed along his bare flesh, tickling the tight muscles of his shoulders. He grinned, knowing that he had already won. He stretched, arching his body upwards, the clingy material of his tight black tank-top sticking to his chest. “You know that Hell is full of the damned, and every one of those cursed souls is more than ready to torment you. If I were to kill you…” he paused, running an elongated fingernail down his own chest tauntingly, fully aware of the mixed emotion in his opponent’s eyes, “…you would be theirs to torture for all of eternity.”

Orochimaru moaned softly, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. Kiniiri wasn’t sure if it was because of the visual display of sexuality or a sound of appraisal. Either possibility would have made him nauseous all the same. “Seems like you’ve been paying attention. Been stealing my secrets, Kiniiri?”

“They’re not your secrets, Orochimaru. What’s yours is mine.” He grinned, flashing his white teeth in the muted candlelight. “Remember?”

“If I kill you, the same thing will happen to you, my pet, and it’s a pity I’ll have to kill you.” He laughed curtly once more, and Kiniiri felt his skin crawl. “Out of all the toys I met in ten-thousand years, you will always be my favorite plaything.”

The claws on the ends of his wings drooped, scratching at the stone beneath their feet, exerting some of his tension. Absently, he noticed that none of the snakes made any noise, the rattling of tails, the hissing of tongues completely void from the air. Kiniiri let Orochimaru insult and mock him, knowing it was a waste of energy to pay any attention to his ramblings. Every submissive action, every obedient command he had performed was only a stepping stone to here, to this moment. He wouldn’t let anything distract him now.

“What’s the matter, Kiniiri?” He murmured, lapping at the corner of his mouth slowly, forked tongue too thin, too long. “Can’t get the memory of me screwing you out of your mind? Grasping your shoulders? Pulling your head back as you begged for more?”

His lips twitched, the only evidence Orochimaru’s words had been heard. He tried to block out the memories of being raped and beaten, pinned to beds and tormented. Things he had tried to push from his mind flooded back at him, and he nearly vomited, but nothing would distract him.

Orochimaru snorted bitterly, only to grin in a full smile, the grin suiting a circling vulture as it swooped from the sky to attack its prey during the dying breath. “No, you wouldn’t think about me. Not when you can’t get your mind off him.”

He could feel his resolve snapping as each word left Orochimaru’s wrinkled lips, trying to close himself off, knowing it was a losing battle. Before he could catch himself, he was moving forward, wings propelling him faster. Though it was less than a meter’s distance between him and The Devil, he felt as though he was barreling through molasses, suspended in time.

Sparks shattered everywhere, raining onto the floor as his claws locked with Orochimaru’s, faces inches apart. “Don’t talk about him,” Kiniiri seethed through clenched teeth, crimson eyes alight with fire and hatred. “He’s too good for your twisted mouth to mention.”

“What’s this, Kiniiri? Did I find your weakness?” he gloated, serpentine face and slit eyes gleaming with control. Damn. He twisted his hands, Kiniiri’s fingers screaming in protest at the pain. “Don’t let your guard down, now, or I’ll make him suffer in your stead.”

It took all of his control to bottle the rage seething through him, but he succeeded all the same. He smiled lightly, tossing his head from side to side, black hair fanning out around him, framing his face majestically. “You have no need to worry about him. I won’t lose.”

Kiniiri wrenched away from Orochimaru’s hold, closing his eyes as he reached within him, shooting tendrils of energy pooling in his gut to his feet, launching himself into the air. His wings quickly took over, beating the air slowly, holding him well above Orochimaru’s head. He knew he didn’t need to worry about the ceiling—he had flown in the room many times before and had never hit the roof of the cavern.

He folded the leathery flesh against his back, lancing towards the cave floor, claws extended for the kill. Wind peeled around him as he dropped, body arched like a dagger. Just one clean cut, and then it would be over. He just needed a single gash. So concentrated on the figure before him was Kiniiri that he didn’t notice the giant snake behind him until it was too late.

Heavy breathing panted against his neck, hot and moist. Slit onyx eyes came into view as he spun, ducking a wing as he curved in the air, thrusting himself upwards, out of the giant’s way. The purple serpent hissed at him, coiling around Orochimaru, nearly the size of the room itself. The snakes in the pit were still, swaying in a trance-like manner, all eyes on the giant hooded cobra.

“Are you ready to come back to me, Kiniiri?” Orochimaru whispered, the sound somehow reaching Kiniiri’s ears, borrowing into his brain. “Just say the words, and I’ll take you back willingly. I might even forgive you…if you’re very good. If you continue being bad…Manda might not be so forgiving.” He stroked the snake’s scales with a twisted gentleness.

Kiniiri shivered, wrapping his arms around his lithe frame, flesh tingling. He was a good distance from the pair, and he took the time to think, hovering in the air. He hadn’t considered Orochimaru using Manda, though it was an oversight that he knew could cost him everything. Losing didn’t frighten him. Thinking he could lose, however, did. He licked his lips, lifting his nose defiantly. “I will not lose to you. Nor will I beg.”

“Then I will let Manda kill you.” Had he known better, Kiniiri would have almost detected a hint of longing in Orochimaru’s voice. The Devil slowly stalked back along the bridge, ascending the stone stairs, plopping into his chair limply. “Go on. Kill him.” He waved to the snake with a frail hand, closing his eyes in disinterest.

Ignoring Orochimaru’s blatant dismissal of his talents, Kiniiri darted about in the air, mind moving calculatingly. His mind roiled, trying to think of something, anything that would bring him to victory. He had come too far to lose now. There was little he could do, really. Except for the Mangekyou.

He had heard stories of the talent during his millennia in Orochimaru’s court. He had climbed the ranks of demon-hood in order to gain access to the books in which instructions on obtaining it had been written; he had finally achieved it, eyes a testimony to his efforts, but he had kept it a secret, telling no one, not even the person closest to him.

And he would use it now, on Orochimaru, to protect him.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, gasping as pain ripped through his body. He knew it would cause him pain, and he hadn’t expected it to hurt this much. Sweat beaded on his pale forehead, trickling down his temple, matting the front of his bangs. Teeth sunk into his lip to keep from crying out as his shoulders shot forward, chest rising into the air. His wings flailed, trying to keep him aloft.

The pain disappeared as quickly as it had come. He smirked in confidence as his eyelids spread slowly. Kiniiri couldn’t see the change, but he knew his eyes were different. The red orbs locked with Manda’s steely gaze; he lowered himself gently. Raw power flushed through his veins, and he felt the stirrings of arousal begin. He hadn’t used the Mangekyou before, but he was sure to use it again. Very soon.

Less than a full second later, Manda was trapped within an illusion.

He could have spent hours fixating on the exhilarating thrill of having charmed such a large beast. However, as the hooded, amethyst head fell onto the other serpents, he knew there were other things at hand. With a sickening thud, Orochimaru’s giant collided with many of the beings wriggling in the pit, and he had to force himself to look away, resisting the sadistic tug of death.

The fires around the room flared even more intensely as Orochimaru lurched to his feet, golden eyes flashing wildly. Had he been a snake himself, his hood would have been raised, ready to strike. He moved slowly towards Kiniiri as his right foot touched the floor, the left following suit. They moved towards one another, Kiniiri’s claws raised, Orochimaru’s hands eerily empty of any weapon for killing.

Too easy.

“Too easy,” Orochimaru purred as His claws dragged across Kiniiri’s neck slowly, teasing the flesh. His nails caressed Kiniiri’s skin, not severing his jugular, razors barely breaking the surface. “You let yourself be caught off-guard.” Orochimaru’s tongue flicked out, lapping at Kiniiri’s ear. He could feel the hot press of something hard against the back of his thigh, and he felt himself pale.

“You,” he panted, afraid to breathe deeply. Half a centimeter and the victory would be Orochimaru’s. “You have—”

“Claws? Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I give my darlings my favorite weapons?” He cooed, stepping backwards, towards His chair. Kiniiri forced himself to think. With sickening dread, he realized the only defense he had was the—“And don’t even think about using that silly Mangekyou, pet,” Orochimaru whispered. “That silly trick won’t work on me.”

When Orochimaru stopped, he knew they had reached The Devil’s chair. Kiniiri felt himself pulled down onto the cushion, struggling as Orochimaru spread his legs. His back was to the other, but he could feel the desire burning in Satan’s golden eyes. “Don’t…” The weak command was the closest thing to a plea he had ever uttered, and it frightened him.

Cold fingers slipped beneath the hem of his tank-top, clawed finger applying pressure to his throat. “I will do what I want before I kill you, and then I will take him.” His thin hands stroked and massaged Kiniiri’s abdomen, circling his navel. “I have given you enough chances.”

Kiniiri bit his lip, closing his eyes. It was only to save him, and nothing more. For him, he would do anything. Still, the knowledge was just barely strong enough to gather his will. “Please?” He whispered, nearly gagging on the word.

“Please what? Please kill you?” Orochimaru sucked on the flesh between Kiniiri’s neck and his shoulder, laving the skin with his tongue.

“Please. Don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything…”

“Kiss me.” The command was low and desperate, needy and impatient. Kiniiri winced as he felt The Devil’s hips move, pressing insistently against his clothed flesh. The claws around Kiniiri’s neck lowered.

He spun around, legs spread widely over Orochimaru’s, an arm encircling His neck, the other resting on a robed pectoral muscle. His red eyes gazed intently into Satan’s, and he inhaled deeply, pressing his mouth to Orochimaru’s hotly. Hands found there way to the small of his back, tugging him closer as a forked tongue probed insistently as his lips. He parted them as Orochimaru died.

With a sickening plop, he withdrew his hand from the gaping hole in Orochimaru’s chest, fingers hot with blood and sticky with fluid. He wrenched his mouth away from The Devil, spitting the taste out of his mouth, slowly dismounting from the lifeless lap. He stared at his hand, the light slowly fading as the fires died down to sputtering flares. He ran his tongue along a claw, tasting the black blood mottling the nail. He had won.

Betrayal had never tasted so sweet.

He wandered over to the edge of the stone pit, gazing down the several meters, looking into the eyes of several million snakes. Each gazed back unblinkingly, tongues flecking the air, eyeing him almost fondly. He smirked to himself and glanced towards Manda, the monolithic reptile lifelessly draped over the stone and into either side of the pit. He paused for a moment, spinning on his heels sharply.

He held onto Orochimaru, wings pushing him into the air as he flew, weighed by the limp figure. As he hovered over the gaping mouth of the snake’s containment, he released his hold, dropping Orochimaru into the fray. Though his soul was probably being rent into tiny pieces, passed from hand to hand by the damned, it never hurt to take care of the body, and being tossed onto a pile of snakes was a good enough plan as any.

He drifted towards the bridge, lowering himself effortlessly, sandals softly pressing against the tiles. He barely noticed when his wings disappearing into the flesh of his back with minimal discomfort. His irises faded back into their natural onyx hue as he stooped to grasp his robe, shrugging it on. Without a glance behind him, The Devil exited the room.


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------


The twin folds of eyelids parted, petals exposing the flower beneath, blinking several times rapidly. He wasn’t sure why his vision was so blurry, but really, it didn’t matter. He tried to bring his hand to his face, hoping he could rub the spots away, but quickly abandoned the idea. His eyes moved slowly in their sockets, swiveling around the dank room, shivers creeping up his spine.

Tattered tapestries telling tales of long ago hung from the walls like long-dead victims chained in a torture chamber. They flapped idly as a weak breeze ruffled through the room, forcing him to tremble once more. He realized, dimly, he was shirtless. He didn’t remember undressing or being undressed. The last thing he remembered was…He set his jaw, eyes burning with resolve, continuing the examination of his surroundings. He was terrified. He was alone. He was…home.

Candles lapped at the air, sputtering, some dying here and there with the low gust, hissing in defeat. White wax dripped along the stone walls of the enclosure, marring a trail to the ground, stemming from their shadowed alcoves. Moth-eaten carpets lined the floor in hap-hazard patterns, giving on the impression of having stepped into a warlord’s dwelling, spoils littered around in an attempt to decorate.

Bones and precious stones, gold and silver, paintings and books were strewn across the floor, piled in shaky stacks. Idly, he wondered if it was his own fault that, save for the shredded wall-hangings, the room was so bare. A bird squawked somewhere in the shadows, demanding attention. He heard the sound of low breathing behind him, felt a hand brush against the small of his back.

The color drained from his face as he tried to turn his head, finding himself unable to do so.

The rope around his neck made it difficult to do anything.

What had he been doing before now? Hadn’t he… Pain lanced through his skull, eliciting a raucous snarl of frustration and despair to lash from his lips, hurled from his throat like a sin. He couldn’t…remember. The precise and honed sounds of bats seeking out their dinner as they spiraled around the impossibly high ceiling above his head distracted him long enough for the pain to ebb away. He felt as though the memory was looming on the edges of his perception, just too far for him to recall, just too close for him to forget its existence entirely.

The wind in the cavern shifted, the dancing flames of alit wicks changing in their dance, twisting and contorting in a chaotic ballet. He clenched his fingers several times, the constraints cutting off his circulation, making his hands feel asleep, numb. The post he was tied to rubbed against his back smoothly, and he knew he was the prisoner of a mad man. Only one person who had lived, if it had been a life, would risk tying him to a sanded piece of wood.

As a tongue slipped within the shell of his ear, he stiffened entirely, paralyzed board frozen in mid-motion, muscles clenching and tightening. A low gasp slipped through plush, slightly parted lips, and he glared, eyes flashing scarlet with fire. He couldn’t see who licked him, whose tongue writhed around inside his ear like a rampant snake, but there was, only one person in the entire world who could tie him down. He jerked his head away roughly, snarl curling his pale lips.

“Brother,” he seethed through clenched teeth, molars squeaking in protest. A tiny bit of flesh between his teeth ruptured and blood filled his mouth. He didn’t care. As his head flailed, straining to see behind him, shimmering hoops of finely polished white gold lapped at his cheeks tauntingly, like the tongue curling within his ear.

“You should call me by my name, Kiniiri,” a deep voice purred from behind. His bare chest prickled with gooseflesh as fingertips ghosted over the corded muscles, stroking him gently. “After all…we’re on…very familiar terms.”

“Itachi!” he hissed, trying to struggle against the restraints, his only reward the agonizing burn of rough rope on pale, chafed flesh. He ignored the aching sting in an attempt to break free, or at least get those damn purple-tipped fingers off his skin. “What the hell am I doing here?”

An almost purely sexual voice ruptured into pealing laughter behind him, the voice low, dizzying. Had he not been so consumed by rage, he would have found himself captivated by the deep sound, promising love, sex, happiness. He knew they were empty promises, but he still found his head inclining towards his brother, leaning against the polished wood of the pole. It rubbed against his back, pressing tightly against the backs of his thighs, the ropes around his ankles spreading his legs sensually.

Only now did he notice that his pants had been torn, rent into holey shreds. The leather fabric that had clung to his muscled calves was absent, the pale skin prickling with tiny bumps and…something else. With great effort, he tore his mind away from incestuous, romantic fantasies, anger replacing the lust within him.

When had Itachi become sex on legs?

“You’re getting slow, Kiniiri. You shouldn’t even have to ask.” Though he couldn’t see it, he knew it was coming, the hand that snaked up his throat, caressing his jugular lovingly. A shiver—from the breeze—crept along his body, rocking him into the wandering hand, purple lacquered fingertips running over his lips.

He wrenched his head away from that poison grasp once more, head twisting to the left. “Don’t call me Kiniiri,” he growled from the depths of his abdomen, sound guttural and fierce. “It is not your position to call me that.”

“Oh, but it is, baby brother.” That damned hand inched from his jaw line, tracing down his neck, leaving tremors of muscles spasms in its wake. Fingers drew lazy circles around the shallow dip of his navel, dangerously close to the button marking the hem of his make-shift shorts. His body bucked against Itachi’s hand, trying to dislodge it. Deceptively gentle digits stroked the trail of downy fluff that broadened as it disappeared behind the buttoned opening of his only article of clothing. Sasuke’s head began to swim, but he knew it was just another of his brother’s trick. Just a trick.

“What…have you done?” He couldn’t recall ever having a sore throat while in demon form. First for everything.

Hot, damp air tickled his earlobe; his crimson eyes slipped shut of their own accord. “Come now,” he purred, a lone finger crooking under the leather, slowly crawling down, the simplest of touches exuding desire and pleasure. “Don’t tell me you can’t figure it out…” Teeth scraped over thick flesh, capturing a hoop of his earrings, tugging playfully.

“Did you bring me here to rape me?” Sasuke’s legs wanted to tremble, his lungs wanted to heave and roll with thundering pants, and other parts of his anatomy wanted to stand and call attention to their needs. He shot all requests down. Itachi would not get the sadistic pleasure of knowing he had any affect on him. The blush on his cheeks could have been a trick of the lighting, and the slightest quivers he was unable to quell could have been his furtive attempt to break free.

“So many questions, Kiniiri.” The teeth of his zipper parted with a relieved moan, crying in a hushed tone. “Can’t you just be a good boy and be quiet, or do I have to put something in your mouth to shut you up…?” Sasuke knew Itachi’s eyes were glimmering with power and control. He knew the look Itachi possessed, that demonic gleam of a predator cornering his prey, toying with it, adding to the exhilaratingly arousing high of a kill. Of victory. Deft hands moved to his button, quickly loosing it, playing with the elastic of his waistband.

The only thing keeping his shorts on was the pole to which he was bound. For once, he found himself loving and hating something at the same time.

“Itachi…” His voice wavered slightly as he squirmed. Though he wasn’t sure if it was away—or closer to—Itachi’s wandering hand.

Fingers wriggled between leather and wood, wrapping around a warm mound of flesh pinned against the pole. A husky chuckle assailed him, more agonizing than nails on a chalkboard, more intoxicating than the finest wine. “Kiniiri’s ass is very nice…”

That stirred a memory within the sluggish nerves in his skull, weak and clouded from the lack of blood. Flashes of blond hair and blue eyes, the color of the sky after rain appeared before his mind’s eye. His fingers clenched tightly, arms squeezing the wood of the pole.

“Let me go, Itachi.” His voice was heated with disgust and hatred, irritation and contempt, anger and loathing. Newfound resolve flushed through him, and he craned his head around, the corner of his eyes meeting the gaze of one scarlet eye, the same shade as his own. His hips slammed against Itachi’s hand, pinning it to the wood. “If I want to, I can get out of this, you know.”

A serpentine hiss was all he received as Itachi pulled away from Sasuke. “Little brother, you know not to whom you speak.”

Common sense told him to stop. Common sense told him to be respectful. Common sense screamed at him and clasped his lips together. Just like his desire, Sasuke brushed them all aside with his will of cold iron. “I’m talking to Itachi. Someone who is not as impressive or as powerful as he likes to think.”

The biting retort, the stinging response, the more-or-less lethal wound he anticipated never came. Instead, he heard the convulsing pants of silent laughter, the scuffling of sandaled feet on stone. He shivered once more, biting down to keep his teeth from rattling out of his skull.

Itachi stepped out of the shadows and stood before him.

He couldn’t help but widen his eyes at the pure beauty of the man before him, every inch of robed flesh exuding a sort of power women would sacrifice freedom for, men would kill to obtain. Where Sasuke had been given the grace of a courtesan, blurring the line between male and female, Itachi had inherited their father’s raw, steely strength. The wrinkles framing his warm lips gave him an air of ancient sophisticated, matched by the knowing gleam of his crimson glare. He sneered down at his younger brother, mouth curled in a mocking grin. The earrings hanging from his ears seemed to bounce, mocking him. The claws hanging from the interlocking bangles of hoops reached for him hungrily.

The light played across his features fondly, candle light eagerly stroking the rough angles and planes of his face. The unseen bats overhead chattered as a warning as a cold gust of air whipped through the cavern, stirring the papers on the desks littered through the room. The wind lapped at Itachi’s black robes, and he tucked a lock of ebony hair behind his ears. Slowly, he shook his head.

“Kiniiri,” he mumbled, hand snaking out to stroke Sasuke’s chin, grasp tightening and holding his head in place. Sasuke’s struggles only earned him more burning pain of the rope grating against his flesh. “Kiniiri…What sort of second in command are you? You have no respect for me…”

Sasuke didn’t even realize Itachi had released his jaw till he saw the fist rushing towards him as his world spun, disappearing into darkness.


Minutes, hours, days, months passed before he opened his eyes.

And the first thing he saw made him want to shut them again.

Through half-shut lids, he inspected her, examining the woman perched beside him. She was pretty enough, he had to admit. Something about her vermillion eyes, color of the finest emerald was captivating, the doe-like trust within them almost enthralling. The garland of pink hair draped around her face, an innocent frame of silken strands, dripped with the sweet smell of lilacs, like a field of wildflowers after the rain. Lips just shy of seductively full were pursed in a thin line, the bottom sucked in and held between white teeth. Her thin arms wrapped around a body that had not quite grown into woman-hood, stroking the crimson of her dress.

Dimly, he registered his surroundings as her room, the sterilized, cold decor befitting a hospice. She hadn’t been lucky when dwellings had been distributed, though she had managed to procure a room with a view. Through a circular cut in the rock, he could see the dancing flames of a fiery lake in the distance.

Here and there, white furniture stood against the walls, a bizarre color by demon standards. Color reflected power and strength; white was shunned, loathed. For a Higher Demon, such as herself, the ivory tones were more than out of place, but it fit her. Wilted cosmos flowers protruded mournfully from the curled lips of the several vases adorning alabaster desks. Papers and pens, different types of ointment and gauze were strewn across the desk haphazardly, junkyard of supplies. The fact that she had managed to obtain such artifacts reminiscent of the world of the living was mind-boggling. There was scarcely a need to tend to wounds down here.

Though she hovered over him, she hadn’t noticed he had awakened and was looking around her room with one slanted eye. He didn’t need a mirror to know that half of his face was bruised and purple, flesh mottled with the aftermath of his brother’s wrath. From beneath her white sheets and coverlet, his fingers opened and shut, wrists sore, though void of pain.

For all her faults, Sakura was a damn good doctor.

“Sasuke?” she asked, finally noticing his movements as the sheets curled around his hands. Her hand plastered itself against his forehead as she sighed softly. She placed her palm gently upon his arm through the thin material of her sheets. “Sasuke?”

“I’m awake,” he mumbled, forcing his less swollen eye open, fixating his black eyes on her. Not caring if she took offense to his actions, he twisted away from her, bringing his wrists to his face.

“You had pretty bad burns from the rope,” she said softly, wandering over to her desk and shuffling with the papers on top. Her eyes never left his face. “Luckily, the ointment got rid of all the chafing. Your neck and ankles are fine, too.” She grabbed a tiny pot on the one of the bookcases near her desk, scurrying back to Sasuke, laving an ample amount onto her hand. Sakura slowly rubbed the ointment on Sasuke’s face, over his bruise. He could instantly feel the swelling disappear, bruises vanish and leave nothing but his pale skin behind.

“But,” he murmured, suddenly feeling cold, despite the cozy heat of hell’s fire, “…but, you left scars…”

“Those were there before.” Sakura rubbed her own wrists as though in sympathy, turning away from Sasuke and gazing out the make-shift window. “Hot day today,” she mused quietly. He guessed it was a poor attempt to lighten the mood.

He shivered, forcing himself into a sitting position, scooting till the head of the bed cradled his bare back. Hands fled through his hair, brushing the tangled strands with crazed fervor, as though unknotting the kinks would explain everything.

Why weren’t his scars gone? Sakura had a reputation for a cure-all that would heal any wounds, clear any scars. Healing was a luxury only permitted to the Higher Demons. Angels were unable to hurt demons, except for those of the Upper Hierarchy, as none other than High Demons could injure and angel, but demons could—and often did—hurt each other. The healing of flesh that had been rubbed away by the tight rope was proof enough that her medicine had worked.

But why did it still look as though he had committed suicide?

Slowly, he brought his eyes upwards, gazing at her once more. He licked his lips, flipping long bangs from his face, back straightening. It would do him no good to worry about scars now. Not when he had to deal with his brother. “How did I get here?”

She stepped closer to him slowly, white boots kicking at the gravel the carpeting of rugs didn’t quite cover. Green eyes returned to his face, and he thought he could detect a blush on her pale cheeks. “I asked Temari where you were…And since she—”

“She knew?” He folded his arms over his chest, growling haughtily. “She knew I was with him, and she did nothing?”

Her eyes flashed with fear. Even if he rarely lashed out in anger, the very air around Sasuke conveyed his emotions just as well as words, and right now, the air was very angry. “I’m sure she just wanted to give you some time alone with your brother so—”

“So he could rape me?” Sasuke asked quietly, voice a dull rumble.

“So you two could talk, dumbass.”

Sakura’s eyes darted to her doorway, and Sasuke’s gaze swiveled there as well, though he knew what he would find. He knew that droll timber of voice, that irritated slur of words. A thousand years of nagging had drilled it into his mind.

“Temari…” Sakura said, glancing from Sasuke to the woman, jealousy glimmering within the pristine pools of her eyes. Gears turned within her head, calculating the exact relationship between woman and man. Though Sasuke and Temari had been assigned as a tag-team on missions, their friendship had held tight since they had graduated from Lesser Demon status and handled missions alone. It was, however, rare to see Temari receive a mission that was farther than a mile from Sasuke’s.

Feminine etiquette, as well as the desire to impress her male guest, overtook her, and she nodded politely, motioning towards the other woman. “Why don’t you come inside?” she asked curtly, though Temari already was. One boot-covered foot was propped against the wall, stance conveying subtle hostility. Sasuke stared out the window towards the orgy of sulfur and brimstone, willingly oblivious to the unseen conflict between Sakura and Temari. He had learned that the games of women—especially those between his best friend and stalker—were best left ignored.

From her post against the wall, Temari ignored Sakura’s request, entering the room only because she so chose. She folded her arms over a buxom chest, posing beside Sasuke. “Why don’t you leave us alone?” she commanded, craning her neck from Sakura, tilting it in the direction of the door.

Normally, Sakura would have been on her best behavior in front of Sasuke. But years of competition—and an incident involving superglue and coals—had worn on her manners. Sakura nodded stiffly, heels hammering on the floor as she headed out of her own room. She spun around the instant she passed the doorframe, hand wrapping around the doorknob. “I’ll leave the men to talk,” she cooed, smile sickeningly sweet as she slammed the door, presence and comment instantly forgotten.

Sasuke watched the woman as she wandered around the room, playing with the papers on Sakura’s desk, dropping into a chair. Temari reached towards the purple, dead flowers, running a finger along the dry and cracked skin of a petal. She frowned slightly, lowering her gaze as she turned her body towards Sasuke, not meeting his eyes.

“You knew I was with Itachi, and you didn’t come?” His hands twisted in the sheets, searching for something to do. His black fingernails poked at the white fabric, idly clawing at it.

“I knew.” Sasuke couldn’t remember a time he had heard such a cold reply from anyone other than himself.

He folded his arms over his chest, staring at his lap. His head hurt more than he cared to think about, and he suddenly wanted to get out of this room, this hell. Sasuke’s tongue lashed within his mouth, desperately attempting to form thousands of questions, stubborn will keeping them from being spoken. Icy black eyes turned to stare at Temari with practiced distance, staring down at her as though she weren’t his only friend, but a traitor – which she had become.

He wasn’t sure if his gaze compelled her, but she looked towards him, quickly glancing away. “Sasuke, don’t look at me like that,” she waved her hand at him, motioning for him to turn away. “I knew you were with Itachi. I…told him where you were.”

“After I—”

She nodded slowly, the four ponytails on her head bobbing up and down like sinking ships, silencing him mid-sentence. Her face slowly turned towards him, worn and tired. He could tell she was sorry for betraying him, giving him to the man who had created such pain within him, and something within Sasuke stirred for Temari, reminded him that she mattered. Absently, he wondered if that blond had done something to him, made him feel remorse.

“After you came back from…I told Itachi where you were.” Her hand drifted towards the mesh of her fishnet stockings, fingers looping beneath the gaps. Sasuke’s hand followed her motions towards her shapely thigh, gazing at it with disinterest. She was beautiful; anyone with eyes could tell that much about her, but what had drawn him to her was the charisma she had, an inner fire that Sasuke hadn’t known existed before her. Their relationship was chaste, though many centuries in the past, one participant in their friendship might have longed for more.

“It isn’t your job to play peacemaker between me and my brother,” he muttered coldly, leg disappearing beneath the sheets and hooking over the bedside. The second followed its mate as he twisted, placing both feet firmly on the floor. He still wore the tattered remains of his leather pants, though the button and zipper had been done. By Sakura, he guessed, and shuddered. “Don’t go too far.”

“No, my job is to keep you from fucking yourself over too much,” Temari hissed, hands stubbornly placed on her hips, eyes narrowing dangerously. “And that’s why I wanted him to put you back in your place. You may be important down here, Sasuke…” her voice trailed off, almost regretfully. The sudden change in her voice made him look towards her. Had she been any other woman, he would have thought he saw tears prick the corner of her jet black eyes. “…but not even you can consort with an angel.”

A shiver crept up Sasuke’s spine, threatening to jar his whole being. Desperate to move so she wouldn’t notice the sudden onslaught of tremors, Sasuke turned to a rocky wall, bracing his bare back against the cold surface. He tossed his head, tilting it to one side, staring at Temari pointedly. “We don’t even need to think about him. There are worse actions around here than my romps.”

She, in turn, rested against the opposing side of the room, biting her lower lip, nodding slowly. “And what are these? Other than your excuses,” she added with a slight smirk.

“Nothing to grin at,” he muttered, eyes flashing from onyx to crimson. “My brother overthrew The Devil.”


------------


Author’s Note (continued): To clear up any questions about this chapter, I figured I would explain something right here.

Yes, Itachi was the one who killed Orochimaru. He called Sasuke Kiniiri because that word roughly means “favorite; pet.” Calling Sasuke “Kiniiri” was also Itachi’s way of informally naming him Second-in-Command.

Hope that makes more sense.


It was my attempt at suspense.
-------------


Stace—I’m sorry I haven’t been able to update Snow Melts lately, but I’m trying to focus on this story. Please forgive me. ^^;;;

ZoeyJade—Thank you for your comment! I’m glad you seem to be enjoying it so far. ^^; There’ll be sex within the next two chapters, I swear. And I’ll do my best to make it deliciously perverse.

ST—Hopefully, a month isn’t too long for me to update. Thanks for taking time to read it. =D

GW—Awe, don’t be mad at Sasuke. Without him, there wouldn’t be any SasuNaru or NaruSasu. But, yes, that waitress was Temari.

Shez—Wow, that means a lot to me. Really. ^^; I hope you’re still interested in the story. Don’t worry—it’ll get back to their relationship soon enough.

Kenshinjunkie03—Well, as I stated, Hell brings out the worst in most people, and it brings out Sasuke’s perverse side. =p

Macy—Thanks for making me feel better about my writing. ^__^;; And your request was answered!

Kyuubers—Seriously, I love you. I’m glad you like my story, and it’s awesome being able to have you read some things just to make sure I’m not going completely off track. And write more on your thing, woman.

Someone—Haha, thank you very much. And here’s an update. :D

Phoenixdown7—Yes, you are my hero. Truly. I love your art and you and just everything about you. Thank you for reviewing. ^__^

Animegirl—Aren’t Sasuke and Naruto the perfect demon and angel? I’m glad you like the materialization of that concept. Don’t worry, as far as I know, I don’t intend to drop this fic. =D

Kuraikage—I’m glad it’s kept your attention so far. Hopefully, this chapter didn’t lose you. And thanks for reviewing.

Demon—…Please don’t kill me. Or else I won’t be able to continue updating. ^^;;

Mindgames5150—Thanks for the positive feedback. *grins*

Yugiko—Well, it wouldn’t be rated NC-17 if it wasn’t a –bit- naughty.

Ly—Here’s the third chapter. Dun dun dun—the plot thickens. *dork*

Evil—First off-nice name. Secondly-going against God isn’t an original concept by any means, but I hope it adds a bit to the suspense and eventual sex. *perverted laughter*

Spunglass—You rule, Spun. I LOVED seeing a review from you, especially since I worship you from my loud and obnoxious post in the IRC channel. <33 you spunny

Kayoko—I know I go overboard on the description, but I can’t help it. I’ve decided that I like to write and ramble. I tried to cut back this time, though. And THANK YOU FOR PUTTING ME ON BANANA OIL.

Silverfox—I enjoyed teasing Sasuke. Truly. I’m glad you’re enjoying it (I hope) so far. =D

Anon^^—Sadly, I do make quite a few typos and spelling mistakes. I’m sorry ‘bout that, but thanks for pointing them out. And I enjoy seeing speculations. *grins*

Tokushiku—Ah, it’s you! Thanks for reading and reviewing. Seriously. ^__^ And, to tell you the truth, out of all the people who might be reading—and Sasuke and Naruto—I want them to have sex more than anyone. *snickers* I really do. ^^;

Ndigo—Thanks for reviewing and taking time to read it. I’m glad you’re enjoying this concept. :DD

Iris—I knew this was going to come up eventually. I don't think I can post links in here, but someone did an essay about how the church skews what the bible says. But I believe int aht essay. :D; I think that God--if there is a God--would love everyone--hetero- or homo-sexual.

AmuseMe—My goddess has commented. :D I’m sorry I get bogged down with descriptions, but I really honestly DID try to cut back this time without making it feel rushed. And don’t be jealous. You > me.

Darkangel—I see you want me to turn this into a kinky fic. *grins* Well, now you know what happened to Sasuke. He didn’t abandon Naruto. He just…had to go.

WaterBookLover—For some reason, I love your name. I seriously stare at it all the time. Don’t ask. And here’s an update. :D

Blisblop—I just wish he would look so sexy when he shows up in the manga. *crosses fingers* Come on…less clothing is better…

DeadUchiha—Thank you. ^____^ I’m glad you like the attempt to make Naruto seem angelic. =D

Ghostninja85—It’s always nice to see a familiar name. And now you know where he went. :D

Nora Shu—Awe, don’t be too mad at Sasuke. He was just trying to protect his man.

Riyo-sama—When I get the chance I’ll check your stuff out. And thanks for reviewing. :D I feel loved.

Kitsune—Haha, you like my story but call me evil? *smile*

WolfPilot06—Continued. ^__^; And thanks for your review.