Death Walking
folder
Naruto › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,063
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Naruto › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,063
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Death Walking
“Death Walking”
by: WaterShadow
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Naruto. I don’t own him, I don’t own him, I don’t own him. There. Three times through. I hope that satisfies whoever’s reading this (that can sue) that I (once again) don’t own this.
I don’t know where this came from. I love writing humor-filled stories, but this just wouldn’t leave my head. You may enjoy it. I hope so.
***||***
He hated what he saw in the mirror. The face was pleasant enough, but what dominated his vision was not the reflection staring somberly back at him, but the memories.
Memories soaked in red.
Red was his life, what he lived for, the fluid in his veins, the color of death, the indication of life. His blood, others’ blood...he couldn’t have cared whose it was. All he knew was that he wanted to keep seeing it.
Wanted to keep tasting it.
His desire repulsed him even as it lured in him closer. He found it difficult to share his body with people. His arousal was almost like a secret he’d never tell anyone. Often, as his lover gasped out his or her breath in sexual completion, spitted on his body in a parody of intimacy, he’d slice his or her throat.
The throes of ecstacy found in the grip of someone else’s body were nothing compared to the convulsions of death and the feeling of warm blood bathing his cursed, pale skin.
***||***
It was too easy. It was too gods-be-damned easy.
No one was a challenge for him.
He fought on anyway. He wanted to hear his boots squelch in the remains of his enemies. Wanted to see internal organs falling out, as if an amateur medico-nin was learning the basics of surgery. Needed to feel his sword, arms, legs, fingers, toes, teeth ripping people apart.
Anything to relieve the boredom, the cursed simplicity of his life.
He lived for blood. He also lived for complications, and right now, he lacked half his meaning.
***||***
Empty.
His latest lover panted above him, filling him to the brim with a hard, eager cock, but was being solicitous in making sure he was ready. He would have none of it.
Even so full with another person, he still felt empty.
“Move.”
He wanted it over with.
With a shaky nod, the man above him started to withdraw. The hardness encased in his body moved with admirable slowness against his inner walls, rubbing him nearly to the point of distraction. He could feel every ridge of the manhood rasping against him with each inch his lover withdrew.
Finally, only the soft, smooth head remained in him. After a few deep breaths, his lover pushed himself back in with that same excrutiatingly pathetic care for his body. The slick head of his lover’s cock became taut during the slide, his sheath pressing it down and back.
Fully inside again, the man above him rotated his hips, seeking his hidden pleasure center. The man threw his head back, moaning unashamedly in pleasure at the tightness he doubtless felt. The slightest brush of the head of his lover’s cock found what it sought, sending him into unexpected pleasure.
Sighing, he forced his legs more widely apart, grasping his ankles with his hands. He purposefully pushed his hips up. ”Move.”
He didn’t want to feel tenderness. He wanted to feel pain as he was taken, submission as his body betrayed him, humiliation as he bled from another’s rough treatment.
His lover got the hint. The next thrust was not so gentle.
Much better.
The thrusting went on for a great long while before he decided to orgasm. His lover above him seemed gratified that his efforts caused this, so he came inside him. The warmth of his lover’s seed inside him did nothing to ward off the chill, the void.
He didn’t kill the man afterwards. He didn’t know why, but he knew he didn’t care.
Nothing really mattered.
***||***
There were days where pain was his mistress as much as blood ever was.
Seeing pain in someone’s eyes could be just as satisfying as seeing them bleed. There were times where he didn’t even have to see someone bleed to be happy.
It never escaped his notice that his happiness was dependent on other people. Sometimes he wished that was not the case.
The thought was washed away in the blood and pain of his victims. As always.
He still hated what he saw in the mirror. He hated what he had to do, but accepted it because he could not rise above his only passion, his overwhelming vice.
He was Uchiha Itachi. If he could not find his purpose in life, than he would swear his fealty to death.
***||***
I don't know what came over me. This was my attempt at seeing life through Itachi's eyes. He seems to lead a very lonely, empty life. The bad guy sometimes isn't just the bad guy; Gaara's a prime example. Being bored with life, Itachi decided to live with death.
Then again, that's just how I see it. I don't pity him; far from it. I actually dislike him rather heartily, but just because I do doesn't mean I can avoid thinking about what his life must be like now.
...up above there was my actual first attempt at writing penetration as well. Sheesh.
I enjoy reviews, so I'd love it if you could leave me one.
by: WaterShadow
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Naruto. I don’t own him, I don’t own him, I don’t own him. There. Three times through. I hope that satisfies whoever’s reading this (that can sue) that I (once again) don’t own this.
I don’t know where this came from. I love writing humor-filled stories, but this just wouldn’t leave my head. You may enjoy it. I hope so.
***||***
He hated what he saw in the mirror. The face was pleasant enough, but what dominated his vision was not the reflection staring somberly back at him, but the memories.
Memories soaked in red.
Red was his life, what he lived for, the fluid in his veins, the color of death, the indication of life. His blood, others’ blood...he couldn’t have cared whose it was. All he knew was that he wanted to keep seeing it.
Wanted to keep tasting it.
His desire repulsed him even as it lured in him closer. He found it difficult to share his body with people. His arousal was almost like a secret he’d never tell anyone. Often, as his lover gasped out his or her breath in sexual completion, spitted on his body in a parody of intimacy, he’d slice his or her throat.
The throes of ecstacy found in the grip of someone else’s body were nothing compared to the convulsions of death and the feeling of warm blood bathing his cursed, pale skin.
***||***
It was too easy. It was too gods-be-damned easy.
No one was a challenge for him.
He fought on anyway. He wanted to hear his boots squelch in the remains of his enemies. Wanted to see internal organs falling out, as if an amateur medico-nin was learning the basics of surgery. Needed to feel his sword, arms, legs, fingers, toes, teeth ripping people apart.
Anything to relieve the boredom, the cursed simplicity of his life.
He lived for blood. He also lived for complications, and right now, he lacked half his meaning.
***||***
Empty.
His latest lover panted above him, filling him to the brim with a hard, eager cock, but was being solicitous in making sure he was ready. He would have none of it.
Even so full with another person, he still felt empty.
“Move.”
He wanted it over with.
With a shaky nod, the man above him started to withdraw. The hardness encased in his body moved with admirable slowness against his inner walls, rubbing him nearly to the point of distraction. He could feel every ridge of the manhood rasping against him with each inch his lover withdrew.
Finally, only the soft, smooth head remained in him. After a few deep breaths, his lover pushed himself back in with that same excrutiatingly pathetic care for his body. The slick head of his lover’s cock became taut during the slide, his sheath pressing it down and back.
Fully inside again, the man above him rotated his hips, seeking his hidden pleasure center. The man threw his head back, moaning unashamedly in pleasure at the tightness he doubtless felt. The slightest brush of the head of his lover’s cock found what it sought, sending him into unexpected pleasure.
Sighing, he forced his legs more widely apart, grasping his ankles with his hands. He purposefully pushed his hips up. ”Move.”
He didn’t want to feel tenderness. He wanted to feel pain as he was taken, submission as his body betrayed him, humiliation as he bled from another’s rough treatment.
His lover got the hint. The next thrust was not so gentle.
Much better.
The thrusting went on for a great long while before he decided to orgasm. His lover above him seemed gratified that his efforts caused this, so he came inside him. The warmth of his lover’s seed inside him did nothing to ward off the chill, the void.
He didn’t kill the man afterwards. He didn’t know why, but he knew he didn’t care.
Nothing really mattered.
***||***
There were days where pain was his mistress as much as blood ever was.
Seeing pain in someone’s eyes could be just as satisfying as seeing them bleed. There were times where he didn’t even have to see someone bleed to be happy.
It never escaped his notice that his happiness was dependent on other people. Sometimes he wished that was not the case.
The thought was washed away in the blood and pain of his victims. As always.
He still hated what he saw in the mirror. He hated what he had to do, but accepted it because he could not rise above his only passion, his overwhelming vice.
He was Uchiha Itachi. If he could not find his purpose in life, than he would swear his fealty to death.
***||***
I don't know what came over me. This was my attempt at seeing life through Itachi's eyes. He seems to lead a very lonely, empty life. The bad guy sometimes isn't just the bad guy; Gaara's a prime example. Being bored with life, Itachi decided to live with death.
Then again, that's just how I see it. I don't pity him; far from it. I actually dislike him rather heartily, but just because I do doesn't mean I can avoid thinking about what his life must be like now.
...up above there was my actual first attempt at writing penetration as well. Sheesh.
I enjoy reviews, so I'd love it if you could leave me one.