Necklaces

Necklaces

A/N: Here, this is my first attempt at writing (anything at all); though I've posted on AFF before, that was only the first chapter of my *second* attempt. I have more of this story just about ready to post - it's just in the process of being edited and whatnot. (Whatnot = being agonized over sentence by sentence - pack a lunch if you plan to wait.)

Pairing: NarutoXSasuke
Warnings: Long-winded attempt at plot ahead! And of course, my first writing ever.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Naruto, and make no money from these Writings. (Now I need a good cry, jeez!)

^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^



The square was lousy with afternoon sights, smells, and sounds. Hustle-bustling folk, sushi-stands galore, laughing and bartering and gossiping - all decked the stifling air with the daily ornamentations of village life.

Heard, too, was one small and cajoling voice, which could make or break this homey scene – depending upon one’s perspective on the matter.

"I need money," Naruto petitioned himself, as he pushed his bicycle along the streets. Scuffedly besneakered feet offered a stomped-out counterpoint to the riffling sound of spokes choked with playing-cards. He could feel the asphalt wheedling its heat through the soles of his shoes. Even the sun seemed to craftily smuggle itself through the limpening hair already half-glued to the back of his neck, in an effort to bake it there.

The earth and sky themselves, Naruto mused, seemed to be in cahoots with his empty wallet today.

Suddenly, and for all the world as if he had an audience, he drooped to a stop in the middle of the road; he looked one way, then the other, as if he even remotely planned to keep out of anyone’s way. To his apparent satisfaction, he himself was safe from being flattened by a runaway tomato cart – thusly, after a theatrical huff and an exasperated blue skyward glance, he prepared his Lament.

As he’d balanced his bike (name of Kamikaze, wouldn’t one guess) with his left hand, the right found itself free – and so, it flailed, "Eighteen years old, big-nin-on-campus, hot as hell – I run the whole gamut! – but no ride. I want a car already. Even if no one else uses one in Konoha, I think I'd look so~oo hot behind the wheel. …Well. Even if no one else thought so, I'd know how hot I was.”

The lattermost thought gave the hale, strapping, oversized boy pause.

Brightening a little, he changed the course of his soliloquy, rendering it blessedly brief.

“Hehe, I'm so awesome!" was the newly scripted conclusion. With predictable swiftness, the imagined clouds obscuring his perspective had begun to thin. Not even Naruto's self-induced petulance could last overlong; his particular brand of durability practically forbade it.

In addition, he’d faced worse things than minimal cash in his relatively short life.

Things like the fox-demon that had been sealed within him as an infant; things like having been loathed his whole life for it, though in remaining the Kyuubi's vessel, he protected all of Fire Country from its wrath.

But no! he would not succumb to such brooding. It was a magnificent day - training had ended early, after he’d scored that awesome hit on Sasuke (as long as he was on the subject of brooding) - and he had an unnamed warm-fuzzy feeling about it, one that he wasn’t about to waste.

Naruto armed the beaded sweat from under his blonde forelock, and consciously drew his waning frown into a smile. Naturally, this perpetuated itself into a foxy grin.

If the tenderhearted youth could only have known how the simple changing of his expression lifted the reluctant spirits of those around him. So many more than he’d ever dare to hope. So many, who stubbornly, cruelly defied the thought of Naruto ever being of actual value.

The prankster-demon-child had already grown into a strangely appealing young man, for all the evil some ignorantly held him to possess. Yet, the otherwise good-natured villagers could rarely see him as the boy who held the demon, instead of the demon tearing around town on an aging red bike.

If he could know, even though, that there was more than hate for him – hate and cold - it wouldn't be such a task to sustain that smile. The very one he would never realize was held so dear.

As it stood, sometimes, smiling was real hard.

Even lacking this knowledge, Naruto had successfully restored a semblance of high spirits within himself. So, without missing a discernible beat, he gripped Kamikaze’s handlebars once more. He reminded himself of ‘poor widdle Sasuke's boo-boo’, and finally, he laughed.

‘I wonder how his arm’s holdin’ up’, he thought. ‘Fine I’m sure, but you gotta wonder if that ego’s gonna pull through!’

"Eheheh!" he appended profoundly to no one, as he leapt to straddle his rusty steed, rear never touching its seat. Pedaling with childlike gusto, he wove his way through squawking old women and irate street-vendors with little to no visible regard for society - why change course mid-stream?

Naruto pumped his legs faster and faster as the crowds grew sparser, not knowing or bothering about where he ended up. A sunny grin still split his face, and rejuvenating, strengthening winds whipped through the profuse shock of sun-gilt spikes that crowned him. He dare-deviled his way over cobbly, twisty footpaths, unwilling to attend any pity-party his subconscious may have dreamed up.

It was kinda neat how sometimes, if you ran fast enough, or biked, or whatever you could manage, how you could get ahead of your troubles for a while.

What seemed soon enough, sea-salt pricked his nostrils. Its soothingly charged scent had stealthily replaced the people-and-foodness of the village's square, drawing his daydreaming regard back to his immediate surroundings. With a happy little thrill, he found himself to be quite near the ocean's shore; only the occasional tree or picnic-table presently kept his company. A jerked back-pedal and he was skidding to an excessive flourish of a halt, as well as leaving more than a trace of Kamikaze's tires on the heat-shimmery walk.

In the aftermath of the wind’s whistling in his ears, in the sudden cessation of cardboard brapping noisily away in Kamikaze’s spokes, and in the cadence of the tire-squealing, he felt the quiet like a great wave – then, he thought, those were waves he heard. He must have ridden for the better part of an hour!

Smiling anew, disarmingly clear eyes reminiscent to any non-present onlooker of everything hopeful and nothing painful, he dismounted in an over-the-handlebars vault, simultaneously flinging the bicycle aside to crunch in the sand.

There was a still moment, and then, another short bout of youthful laughter pealed from the nearly grown man - contrasting whimsically free - to be immortalized as it was absorbed by the earth, the sea, and the wind.

In a characteristic and explosive flurry, he bared pale-bottomed foot and gingerbread-tan skin alike, condemning his sneakers and t-shirt to share Kamikaze’s sand-abandoned fate. Clean afternoon sunshine soon spied him galloping toward the sea. All that now divided him from the gloriously sunny scene were a crystal trinket – this depended from a black leather thong, which never left his neck - and well-abused jeans; the turned-up cuffs alternately retained and spat small handfuls of twinkling, hot grit.

Azure beams diffracted intensely about the bouncing pendant, shaming any competition from the sparkly sands. Sweat-floppy chunks of hair, a shade too long to be called short, were whisked back and out of his face to flap behind him like recently rained-on banners. Pursuing a breakneck clip, he trip-fumbled his way across the dunes and valleys that dared separate him from the water.

As haphazard as it all may have seemed, Naruto was doing only what Naruto did – he sought his objective with no working sense of restraint, or care for it.



^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^


The beautiful, gloomy boy sat on the tree-swing outside of the Academy, attempting to glare a hole into his competently, crisply, newly bandaged arm.

Sasuke had had it.

Oh, the kind, oh the brave Naruto. Always there for him, protecting him - although Sasuke was nearly positive he'd rarely given Naruto the time of day outwardly - always tossing himself in harm's way, especially if that harm was forging a path toward Sasuke himself.

His lips twisted distastefully.

After today's spar with The Moron, Naruto had insisted upon wrapping up the gouge he'd left in Sasuke's left bicep. Complete with crooning at him in a soothing, calming voice (as if Sasuke had needed that), and daubing at his wound with strong, gentle ...large hands.

What an asshole.

Just lately (surely no longer than that!), in the depths of his irksome solitude, Sasuke hadn’t been able to help but withdraw into his own mind's embrace; into his darker, more decadent imaginings… and right into the arms of that laughing, adorable, irresistible ...idiot.

But still.

Alright, so what if Sasuke had stopped denying his sexuality years before, after so many instances of inadvertently recalling those soulful blue eyes, that full mouth… that… tight… well?

He wasn't altogether decided if he preferred the notion of that sweet little ass wrapped around him, or the concept of it flexing ...straining to pound Sasuke full of something ...nice... himself.

He actually shuddered – dark eyes darting about self-consciously as he prayed no one caught his momentary lapse into expressiveness – before rubbing the back of his neck to soothe away the goose-pimples.

'... Ohgod.' …So maybe some part of him had decided.

He crossed his legs.

At first, it had been disconcerting to discover he wanted to be made to whine like some kind of whore by that nearly-shrill, crazy Loser… but then, Naruto was known for surprising people. So Sasuke could eventually take that much in stride.

‘And sometimes take a finger up there, while fantasizing about all sorts of nastiness with that hunk of yum? on more than several groan-worthy occasions… if We recall?’ a less-than-helpful inner commentator offered.

Sasuke ignored it. He came nowhere near crushing the waxed-cardboard cup in his fist – the ice in it hardly rattled - though it was entirely possible he herniated something vital in his self-restraint.

Overall, one could deduce it was kind of pissing him off.

He grumbled lowly – quite a lot of vocalization for the sullen boy – and, shifting about in a physical discontentment perhaps only teenaged boys knew well, dug his heels into the dirt beneath his seat. He listened intently to the way the old ropes that lashed the swing to the branch overhead creaked and complained. This gave him a perverse enough pleasure to keep his outward, nearly expressionless cool.

Regrouping, Sasuke decided. Now that they'd been each other’s only real friend for at least six years - through more shit together than you could wing a kunai at - it might be time to let the sexy, vexingly oblivious thing know… somehow. Only that he was maybe just a little in love with him… not the whole I think I want you to ravish me while I invoke all the gods deal.

Sasuke was a dignified young man, after all.

Hah, what did you even get a boy like him, to make him want to rut like pigs with you, whoops! make him really see you? And how to phrase it just so, so that the guy would know just the way you choked out his name sometimes, whoops! again, that you would gladly stand beside him until the stars fell into the fucking sea?

It seemed a fruit basket was less than adequate, then. ...Considering.

Also considering that the sickeningly distracting waste-of-space was most likely straight. He would be. Otherwise he wouldn't be half as irritating, and we couldn't have that, no.

… Okay, so maybe the old playground outside the Academy wasn't the best place to be thinking like this. He reflected upon his poor judgment skills as he watched the newest crop of ninjutsu-artists-in-training frolic from monkey-bars to slide, sorely wishing he could adjust his shorts.

Damned kids.

Resisting the urge to spit, Sasuke forced his mind blank, with substantial effort.

Roughly seven seconds later, he resorted to dumping the icy lemonade onto his lap instead, quite effectively ridding himself of his predicament.

At least, any physical sign of it.

'I'll kill him.'

Jaw taut with discomfort and willfully misplaced blame, he stood from the solitary tree-swing, turned on a sandaled heel, and stormed off to find that son of a bitch.


^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^

End Chapter One.

(Reviews = Love)