Not about...

Disclaimer: Naruto and Sasuke don't belong to me but to Kishimoto-sama and...duh... not making money with this, I doubt anyone would pay for it XD

A/N: um... yeah well, like I said in the summary, this just hit me some time ago, I guess getting depressed has its advantages too X3
I just started writing and this rea~~~~lly short piece came out, hope ye like it and R&R, cuz a comment-addiction is a really nasty thing to suffer from XD
(if you find any spelling or grammar mistakes, pls contact me, and I'll fix it. I don't have a beta and English's still not my mothertongue, so I'm glad if someone points mistakes out to me ;3)

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This wasn't about love.
The soft lips on his, the callused fingertips, tracing his collarbone, the grip in his sun-golden hair.
No, this wasn't about love, it was about need, desperation... about having something to cling to, about something...anything... to prove that they were still alive, that they were both still feeling, that they weren't empty shells... machines, intent on killing and nothing else.
It was proving that they could do other things, that they could not only take lives, slaughtering when they were ordered to.
It was about being able to forget that their hands were drenched in blood.
About making the other one forget...
If it had been love, it would've destroyed them long ago.
So... no... it was not love, he kept repeating it in his head, like a mantra, this was not about love.
Love had always been an empty word... between them, there were many things. There was...respect, trust, worry for the other, there was fear, disgust, despair... hatred even...
But there was no love.

A moan escaped his lips and he felt the smirk against his throat between the kissing and nipping and sucking...
The wall his back was pressed against, was the only solid thing there. The only thing that he could cling to, besides the hot body pressing him against the cold stone.
His own hand found raven black hair, silky soft strands and he dug into them, scraped his nails across the scalp.
He heard a hiss and then felt teeth digging into the soft skin where his shoulder and his neck connected, biting down until they drew blood.

Love definitely had no part in this sinful contact, in the way their bodies were grinding into one another.
He looked down into black eyes and every time he did, he wondered, how they had ended up doing this.
Why he had let the bastard in, why he hadn't objected to him smashing his body into the wall, to him claiming his mouth.
No... there was no way he could have refused, no way he could have pushed the teme away.
Cause... no matter how hard he tried to deny it, he needed this.
He needed every bit of it.
The pain, the brutality of this act, the pleasure... the fight for domination.
In the end he always gave in to this little game they were playing.
Because...even if there was no love in it, even if it was purely for the purpose of distracting them of what they were... it was still warmth, the warmth they so desperately sought for.

And when both of them finally found completion, when they dragged their exhausted bodies to his bed, lay down next to each other...and when the pale arm reached around him, pulling him close to the lean body, when the other slender hand softly, tenderly, caressed the whisker-marks on his cheeks...then...
And only then, did the soft muttering in his head stop, only then did he think...
Maybe...
Maybe there was a possibility...
The slightest chance...
That this... could be love after all.