Bloody Sheets

Disclaimer: Naruto is not mine. I was bored. I was procrastinating. It happened. So sue me. I mean, don't sue me. -__-;

Warning: the WAFFiness doesn't last.

Lighting rived the darkness of a cool spring evening. The sound of the rending skies came seconds later, a soft rumble further subdued by the rhythmic patter of rain. Uchiha Sasuke, as a result of his tragic childhood and tumultuous adolescence, was rarely one to be surprised, was one who readily took anything abnormal as coolly as possible. Even so, he lightly acknowledged that, indeed, he didn’t expect such a stormy end to such a day. His state of mind was stormy, perhaps, but the rest of the day had been sunny and mild. Pandemonium wasn’t exactly the word he would use----it was fairly close to how he felt, though, what with all that happened.

He would have wanted a more subdued ceremony. Two of them, a witness, and a village priest would have them completed their plight. Sakura would have readily agreed to his wishes, but he knew she’d want a more formal nuptial, a more festive affair. Well, the union that would revive the illustrious clan of Uchiha should be exulted with nothing but the best, he reasoned. Thus, he gifted his bride the finest fairy-tale wedding a girl could ask.

She was beautiful, of course. There was no need to say that. A flower among flowers, she stood in a light kimono of pristine white among the slender trees of her namesake. Uchiha Sasuke, too, prided himself of being highly attuned to his environment, as a jounin of his caliber should be, but what he could only remember from the day’s events were her vibrant smile, tremulous with a curious wonder and a deep inner happiness overflowing from her heart, and the eloquent blue-green of her eyes that smiled even when her lips did not..

This amazing woman was now his wife. He could care less if the village he had wronged and repaid several times celebrated with him or not. Her family was present, though his could not be, and that’s what mattered. Their friends, too, exuded joy that defied the pessimism that reeked from the malicious and the misinformed. Toward the disapproving stares of the village elders, Sasuke’s weapon of choice would be the idiotic, sniveling face of his grinning best man, the same man he owed his very soul to.

She had been upset by the lukewarm reception of the announcement of their engagement. She should have expected the political interest on the last Uchiha, he thought. A well-arranged marriage would have strengthened the village; she knew that, knew that the elders had labeled them brash, contemptuous, and rebellious. Sakura had fought for this marriage as much as he did... much longer than he had been doing so.

His clan would surely approve of his choice. He was confident of that. This kunoichi of the kind heart, the transcendent spirit, the brilliant mind, and a spine of steal would be the matriarch of the Uchiha clan reborn.

And the said matriarch was currently asleep in their bedroom. Theirs.

Sasuke and Sakura had withdrawn from the celebration earlier, as was traditional. The sleepy-eyed grin of their supposedly perverted genin sensei was the last blessing they received before disappearing into the Uchiha estate. Whatever Kakashi imagined didn’t come to past that night, though. That evening the newlyweds spent in serene closeness. Sakura quietly talked about how the day fared. He listened well, watched the play of shadow and light in her animated face. Eventually, she fell asleep in his arms.

Sleep was slow to come to him, thereafter, so he decided to shower. The warm, massaging flow of the water should lull him to sleep, should calm the excited thrum of his blood rushing past his ears.

When he stepped out of the steamy bath, his hands still shook.

This is the official start of a new ambition. A new challenge. He wasn’t afraid. He was shaking with excitement.

He dried himself well, nestled his body into the fluffy thickness of a bathrobe. Then, he stepped out.

And froze.

Sakura.... was giggling?

“Sasuke-kun! That tickles!”

Sasuke-kun? Sasuke-kun was standing right there at the bathroom door.

More giggles. Giggles of increasing throatiness, increasing heat.

A gasp. “S-sasuke... That– That felt good.” A moan. “Sh-shouldn’t we wait?”

Wait? Of course, they should wait. He was still standing there, after all.

“It’s soon, but...” She gave a delicious whimper. “I suppose.... Don’t be stupid. I want this. I want this.”

The heat was searing.

“I want this.”

She must be dreaming.

“Don’t stop.”

She must be dreaming.

And yet, he wasn’t amused, wasn’t pleased to inadvertently spy on her fantasies.

There was just that feeling...

“Love, I suppose you’d have already guessed, but... I’m kinda scared.” A nervous giggle. “I’ve never done this before. I’m kinda embarrassed... but here goes nothing.”

He could see her now, could see her in all her rosy glory. The flimsy satin of her underkimono was now pooled around her slender ankles. His eyes burned swiftly up her pale legs, her hips, her slim waist, her breasts, her neck, her flushed face, and then...

Uchiha Itachi.

The black and red cloak quickly branded itself on his eyes, burned his very sanity, unleashed his gibbering rage.

This man, this man! Standing before his woman.

Black fury. Raw terror. The detonation of his instincts to preserve his own...

His own.

“ITA—--!”

He choked on his own tongue. His eyes watered. He couldn’t even clutch at his throat. That impotent gesture would not have given him air, but to be able to do that at least...

He was frozen.

“Time and space. Both are under my control. Enjoy, my stupid, uptight little brother.”

That bastard. That bastard with his dead face, his dead stare. That bastard spread his arms to her, to his wife.

“Come. Sakura.”

Run, Sakura, run for your life!

“Sasuke...”

Sasuke!? Goddamit, run!

Sakura gazed at Itachi with shy confidence, crimson dancing atop her cheekbones. She gazed at him with those eyes, those eyes that were meant for her Sasuke.

Sasuke was frozen. He was allowed to breath now, but he might as well be dead. Better. Much better dead.

She was walking towards that murderer now. He waited for her silently, and when she came, enfolded her into the infamous shroud that declared both his identity and allegiance.

Sakura, stop. Goddamit, stop!

He was touching her, touching every inch of her skin, exploring every curve, contour, and crevice of her quivering flesh. He must be, with those dirty hands of his, for she was moaning softly, helpless. Those moans were for him, were for want of him.

“Touch me,” she goaded him. “Touch me, Sasuke.”

Fight him, Sakura. That’s not me. I’m Sasuke. I am your Sasuke. Stop him!

Only these stupid things. It was all he could do.

Her knees had melted. She was arched now, an utterly impossible position that spoke of naked, blinding pleasure. Her arms clutched desperately on that black and red cloak, her head dangling low towards the bed. A rosy nipple rose like a lone peak in his line of vision, delectable and tempting even now.

Especially now.

Sasuke would scream, if he could. Anger. Rage. Fear.

Jealousy.

The other nipple was in his brother’s mouth, crinkling in there, probably, as that red, wet tongue that darted in lavish circles stimulated that mine of nerve endings.

He was molding her buttocks. Sasuke saw. That tender flesh would bruise later. Sasuke had done the same before, had shaped that tight rear-end in his calloused hands tentatively, boyishly groping in rare instances he would test his control and allow such closeness with her. Now, Itachi was doing the same unscrupulously.

She was keening now. His other hand must be in there, in there in her most guarded place. Those fingers must be exploring hot, slick flesh, plundering as that tongue and those teeth did with her neck and torso and belly.

Her cry of protest interrupted the cloudiness that was gradually invading his mind. He realized instantly why, as the murderous prodigy of the Uchiha raised his left hand, glistening with female essence in the frugal glow of the night lamp, and licked it deliberately with slow, lingering strokes.

Itachi was staring at him. Taunting him.

Suddenly, Sakura dropped onto the bed. She bounced against the soft mattress, a vague confusion crossing her livid face.

“S-sasuke?”

Sasuke could see.

Itachi liberated his lengthy member from the confines of that voluminous robes.

Sasuke could see. Sasuke could see that monster, that thing crawling with distended veins that throbbed with life.

That thing that would violate her.

“Be gentle, love. Please...”

Sasuke was screaming.

Sakura was screaming, too.

His name. She screamed his name.

Her cunt was devouring a cock that was not his, but the name she screamed was 'Sasuke.'

Pearls were budding at the tips of her eyes. And another pair. They traced her sweat-slick face, seemed to hover in empty space for a gargantuan split-nanosecond... then fell to nothingness.

Tears. Those were his tears.

He would have wiped those tears with his lips, whispered sweet nothings to comfort her, patiently wait till she urged him on. He would have truly, no matter how sickeningly cloying he thought those things the first time he read the Icha Icha Paradise with Naruto as embarrassed, unquenchably curious teens. He really would have. He, the cold cruel Sasuke, would have.

Itachi did no such things. He slammed into her recklessly, following the initial cruel thrust that broke her maidenhead. She shrieked, first with pain, but then with pleasure.

Again. Again and again. The sound of flesh against flesh slapping together could be heard amidst the background of rustling, amidst the cacophony of squeals and grunts.

Itachi’s gaze still burned into his, burned his very soul.

She could not control those desperate animal noises, Sasuke knew. She clawed at her lover’s back and neck, groaned, grunted, and moaned with abandon. But Itachi’s face remained impassive, screwed into determined concentration... The same way he looked when he massacred his own clan in one night.

Itachi looked... He looked the same as his brother... The same as when Uchiha Sasuke tried to kill Uzumaki Naruto, when Uchiha Sasuke defected from Konohagakure no Sato.

Sasuke was screaming.

Sakura was screaming.

The dam broke. Blinding pleasure. Pure bliss. Unreality. The peak of the most intense of sensations coursing from his center, zipping to the most distal of his cells.

His name on her lips. Her name in his.
Itachi, Itachi who never smiled, smiled then. Those dead eyes stared at the rabid eyes of the immobile avenger, not even with unspeakable maleficence, but with calculating glibness, casually watching as the youngest Uchiha frothed at the mouth with rage and lust, as white, hot liquid spurted from avenger’s jutting member and sprayed into the empty air.

Sakura was slumped on the bed, panting hard. Itachi towered impassively above her, wrapped again in that black and red cloak.

He was staring at him still.

“Don’t be afraid, little brother,” he whispered as he drew closer.

Sasuke, still heady from the onslaught of his orgasm, screamed in terror.

“Your ambition is well underway, it seems. I offer my congratulations. What do you say to a little family reunion?”

And all else was drowned in the hell of the mangekyou sharingan.

~~~~

“ITACHI! DIE!!!”

He was hurled from bed and into a battle stance, ready to unleash one of his most powerful attacks.

“Sasuke-kun?”

That sleepy little voice broke through the savage, animal-rage that was rampaging through him. He eyes snapped to his side, to the disheveled, pink-haired woman lying beside him.

“Bad dreams?” she asked in concern.

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. A bad dream, of course. He had been having that dream for more than two weeks now... Even at the night of his very wedding he dreamed the same nightmare.

Itachi was dead. Itachi was killed by the unleashed power of the Kyuubi. It was just a dream.

Sasuke felt his spine stiffen as raw terror briefly caressed him, but he also flushed as images from the said dream surfaced to his mind easily. Kakashi would have laughed at him with his stupid perverted laugh. Frustration, he would have called it. The result of years of suppression of both love and lust. That perverted bastard. As if Sasuke would actually appreciate linking his more carnal urges with his long-term obsession of killing his brother.

“Can’t wait to consummate that marriage, eh Sasuke?” the silver-haired had said to him some days ago. “Don’t let all those years of denseness catch up with you till wedding night or Naruto and the others’ll gut you. They might want to see those bloody sheets the morning after. It’s tradition.”
Indignantly, Sasuke grunted. “Like hell, I’m still waiting. Tradition my ass.”

“Are you okay?” Sakura was staring at him now, all traces of sleep gone from her eyes.

“Aa.” And yet, he avoided her gaze, tried his best to keep the more telling signs of his growing desire concealed. It was too easy to imagine those bright orbs slowly glaze over with oblivious ecstasy.

Lithe hands alighted on his jaw and firmly turned his face the opposite direction. The limpid aquamarine of her eyes doused him with healthy calm. Her lips descended on his, soft and heavenly.

“Good morning, then, anata,” she said, smiling at him mysteriously.

“What?” He finally asked as he slumped back against their bed.

She continued stroking his face as she followed suit. “I haven’t given you my wedding gift yet,” she murmured. “Anata.”

Anata. That sounded nice. That promised nice. Maybe she’d start on that important thing they didn’t get to do last night.

He turned to her then. “Well?”

Tears of happiness.

Then...

“I’m carrying our first Uchiha, Sasuke-kun. You’re ambition is well on its way to fulfillment. Congratulations, love.”

And his mind ripped in a soundless scream.

The end.

_October 24, 2004 (3:08am)

AN: Any reaction is good. (And I've never been flamed before, so I'm quite curious how it would feel.)

First time I wrote anything NC-17. I just sat down the night of Oct 23rd and typed. And this came out.

Scary.