Necklaces

A/N: Hello and Happy/Merry Chriskawanzikkah! ( ~and a happy new year!~ ) to each and every Reader that's tolerated me long enough to stick with this Story, despite the ridiculously long intervals between my teeny-weeny chapter updates! Oh hell, and same to the rest of you that can't stand my sorry ass for going so slow/writing so me-ishly/being so beautiful. ::cheezy grin:: Okay so here you go, a few more pages of.. this, lol.

I've been meaning to thank so many of you for reviewing me (I can't freaking believe some of the amazing!concrit you've blessed me with, you know who you are) in some review responses - I soohoo! need to get my butt in gear, 'cause I plan on doing just that. In the meantime:

THANK YOU FOR REVIEWING ME!

(Which if you haven't done, you know, I won't be too mad about it if you do this time 'round, eehee.)

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He didn't like this, no sir, not one bit did he like this!

As apathetically as the journey that had taken Naruto from the Memorial had begun, his hopeless meander had evolved into a pace that was progressively brisk. He'd gotten ahead of trees then fields then buildings on this manic little tangent, finally taking to roofs and alleyways as the man-made obstacles presented themselves.

Naruto's senses, teamed up blithely with his nervous system, had been tweaking and thrumming at steadily higher frequencies as he’d far-too-gradually become able to piece together what, exactly, they'd begun to relay.

Something was wrong with Sasuke?

No, his brain hadn’t been the greatest help so far, but his gut had been screaming at him… screaming that something was wrong.

He had quickly, and all but mysteriously, reached the point where he hardly recognized himself. True enough that many others wouldn’t have known him in his earlier bout of mourning at the Memorial, but this nerve-wracked, on-edge and high-strung person… this was a stranger even to him. True too that Naruto would never come to mind when one pondered the more serene-natured citizens of Konoha, but this? Up until now, Naruto’d figured the notion of one’s hair standing on end was simply metaphorical.

Caught between inclement weather and the threat of experiencing a public emotional episode, the ordinarily nimble shinobi had found himself actually having to watch his jittery, queasy step.

And did it really have to rain? Naruto’s years of (much needed) coaching in the Art-of-Let’s-Try-to-Not-make-a-Scene had been meteorologically rendered laughable. The consequent splish-splashings of a half-drowned and freezing freak on wheels were less than covert.

The most fortunate characteristic of the evening thus far was that stealth wasn’t the issue at hand.

And even though nothing was ever wrong with Sasuke… something was definitely wrong. With Sasuke.

His jaw muscles had joined the physiological rebellion, having come to develop an interesting tic under the power of continual gritting. This, even before he'd discovered himself (with much trepidation) approaching the older part of town, where Konoha’s designated ‘less desirables’ would court their dubious existences.

It was then that a vague yet powerful foreboding enshrouded him like some loathsome, incorporeal wraith. A palpable chill poured over him, clammy and gelatinous, body and soul. It was nearly enough to exorcize the shakes that had set up house in his generally capable hands… but only nearly. It did manage to slow his steps.

Naruto consciously stilled. He unseeingly watched a street-rat watch him, through the now-weighty veil of his forelock. His hair bred ever-fattening droplets that plipped from waterlogged ends to the tip of his nose, the apples of his cheeks. Meanwhile, Naruto breathed - and looked inward, to the Fox.

Over and again, though the moment was short, Naruto checked himself to be absolutely sure that his senses were not deceiving him. That Sasuke's presence really and truly could be detected floating around in that …mess, like some unsavory thing in a commode.

Disappointingly, and with all attendant irony, the Kyuubi’s aim was true.

Naruto’s mind finally became receptive to what the Fox had been trying to tell him.

One: He smelt liquor, smoke, and common corruption. Two: The music the Fox heard was that kind of dark stuff burnt-out crackheads queued up to get laid, crazy, or dead. Three: He smelt no women.

He smelt no women.

Some of this sensory information served to shock him, some to exasperate him... but that last, combined with an unconscious intuiting of what could be happening, made him. It just made him. He hardly knew!

If one could roar in thought, that’s just what Naruto did.

‘…If something’s wrong with Sasuke… Something’s wrong with ME!’

With some reluctant yet still-dawning half-realization, he felt like someone had set off a firecracker right under his breastbone, which had summarily lit the whole rest of him into a blazing holocaust of fury; and such a fury it was, that he imagined his more thinking self might opt to go on a permanent vacation. At the time, Naruto had no desire whatsoever to know what was up with that, even if he had had the presence of mind to sort it out.

Oh, how he longed to kick, scream, go crazy like some coked-up and freaked-out hyena-man in the middle of the road, and let some nice white-coated men (or women, no need to be sexist, nervous breakdown or no) bother about fixing him up.

It wasn’t completely out of the question that they’d have a fucking towel.

. . .

Naruto (in his unique brand of wisdom) took a moment to envision the Universe’s hugest terry-cloth robe magically appearing out of thin air, engulfing his shuddering and all but spark-spitting form, and singing him into an endless slumber where he’d dream that all the world was built of ramen noodles and Sasukes that were not fucking up his day. Silly but true, and furthermore, it worked. He did not crack… utterly.

He did, however, gain enough self-awareness to jerk back into motion; bee-lining for something he told himself just could not be, he was completely unaware of the unbroken, wild snarl that preceded and followed his wake.

He took off like a Fox out of Hell.

So did the rat, but it chose a different path altogether.

Konoha’s number-one (albeit valued-as-a-ton-of-millstones) ninja willfully channeled all the leftover lunacy he could into a full-on sprint, the burning of his oxygen-starved lungs almost pleasant against the less amiable backdrop of his rioting emotions. Sasuke's katana pumped at his side in a tightly-clenched fist.

Nope. Naruto really, really did not like this.

"Fuckin' awesome blade," Naruto told an alley-cat's ass as it streaked away from him in a plausibly alarmed fashion. The scabbard of Sasuke's katana had proven itself impressively well-crafted, too; more than sturdy enough to remain intact under stress. The nearby dumpster it had noisily acquainted itself with could not boast such lofty claims.

With eyes radiant enough to appear reflective, and expressive of nothing likely to soothe small children, Naruto slowed, then sought out and discovered what seemed to be the portal to the establishment he'd hoped he'd been wrong about.

Determination, rage, and panic combined in his chest to form a potent cocktail, and he drank deeply of it the moment it was concocted. It was the very brew he needed; something had to lend him the emotional fortitude to get him through the door to a place like that.

'When I get a hold of you...'


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Sasuke tightened his fingers in delicate locks of fair hair. He was disoriented, and trying not to shake.

He wasn’t precisely aware, only flirted with vaguely, but it felt like he'd been waiting for far too long, and whatever teased at him so callously didn't seem incredibly forthcoming.

"Please," he repeated, or thought he repeated. His ribcage was barely able to expand enough to get air to his brain, let alone allow him any noise. Sasuke didn't think anyone could even hear him; he didn't hear him himself. Perhaps that was just as well, as he wasn't sure what to add, if or when someone was to acknowledge his plea.

It was speedily becoming a desert to him, this place - this whole situation - so much heat with no relief, so much space, nowhere to go. His chin dropped to his chest; hair matted with sick sweat flopped into his face, like it too was tired, just so tired. It seemed to want to smother him right along with everything else, but his arms wouldn't move when he asked them to brush it aside.

Something in him perked just then, popped into the edge of his awareness and bobbled there – though it would not identify itself. During his partner's seemingly needless delay, this intangible something started to worry at him, leaving Sasuke with the feeling he’d almost remembered something pressing, something key, like a forgotten lit candle that would have otherwise burnt down his house. It outright nagged at him now, tainting this formerly pleasant delirium, transforming it into something closer to a bad trip.

'Hey. Something's wrong...'

'...What?'

'What? ...I don't know...'

'What..?'

He’d never felt so woozy, yet discovering this conflicting item seemed critical. Pity the council of voices he'd usually consult seemed twice as confused as he was. The pure offness was growing with the plastically passing seconds; there was something elusive that just wouldn’t resolve. He wanted to plead with Naruto to tell him, to please tell him what could possibly be wrong with this, Naruto would know, but why he wasn't kissing him there already, was he just going to stare all night or had he changed his mind or..?

Naruto... Naruto would tell him... Naruto who was there, right… there. Ah yes, he remembered. Or if he didn’t, if it was all but imagining, the simple idea that Naruto sat at his feet beholding the magnificence of his erection was enough to re-stoke the immediacy of his hunger.

Sasuke wasn't positive he would find salvation in the solace of Naruto’s hopefully real and undeniably delectable lips; though conversely, he hit upon nothing that said he couldn't check. He tugged feebly, fingers mostly numbed.

"Please, please... I… I can’t…" he tried to say, and might have. Everything was disjointed; there was only Naruto to cling to, to be his lighthouse, to keep him safe and afloat while he floundered away in this sea of confusion.

The only thing he could fathom prescribing for any of this madness was found in the idea of having Naruto touch him. Touch him finally and soon, because maybe when Sasuke figured out what didn't jibe here this wouldn't happen, and he needed it to happen, wanted his friend to want to touch him and kiss him and taste him so badly –

Ah.

He had thought he’d known good before, but he was proven wrong. He had also been confident he’d known pleasure, but apparently, that too was a farce. The sudden friction of slick-rough wet heat on the very tip of him made him see, made him tense and concede ignorance, so he whined, but why wouldn’t anything come out?

Sasuke’s grateful, grateful eyes clapped shut on an expression contorted with something that could have been interpreted as pain; he tossed his head back involuntarily, doing away with the botheration of too much hair in his face, the tracks of his never-discovered tears preparing mercifully to dry.

All things came to him in a great deluge of sensations; everything seemed to sharpen and grow acute, louder, more intense in an instant. Sasuke believed he even heard new things; voices called from the outside this time, increasing in volume and urgency. There was a great stirring, a non-specific shuffling in his whole wide world, and so he managed to cry out, finally, cry out to Naruto that he never knew, he never knew that an act so simple could just change everything this way, that Naruto -

Oh... ow.

. . . !?

Oh, fucking ouch!

Sasuke could only suck in a breath and freeze. His eyes flew open, having only been shut for what felt like a blink. But he couldn't see, he couldn't make out what had just happened at all. He wasn’t convinced he wanted to know, just then.

The only things he would bet on about the outside world were the facts that his hands were now empty, there was no one kneeling before him, and that it felt like someone had just tried to rip it right off his body.

If that didn't suck enough, he soon learned what it felt like to be yanked off a nice cool wall by the collar of his shirt; to be tossed with no fanfare onto his face; to have what might have been a knee plant between his shoulder-blades with great force; and after a pause (during which time there was much noise to be heard, and at close proximity), to be left there, wind knocked out of him, apparently for dead.

Sasuke couldn't be sure, but from his new physical situation, it appeared that his recent perception of grandeur may have been something less than an epiphany. In this world, where he lay face-down on the floor, footsteps skittered about, people were yelling, and there was nothing but a shadowy (but more substantial, to be sure) chaos around his thunderstruck head.

Though he couldn't place too much, these things existed on the same plane in which he was just re-catching his wind - face feeling a bit cement-burnt, and in considerable penile distress - so he'd trust in this cruel new world... if only long enough to catch up on a little wheezing, then maybe grab a nap.

It wasn't like he could move, anyway.

Sasuke didn't know it yet, but Naruto had in fact changed his whole world with a simple action. It just wasn't the one he'd thought.


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End Chapter Five.

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