Affection

When he had entered this room, not once had he considered that it would be this bad. That he would now be lying there on the floor, fingers groping about for something to grasp, back arching painfully into the mats. But for all the pain binding his body, his eyes gave no hint of it. Instead, they focused securely on his brother’s figure. Hating every breath that spilled from him, every step that was taken towards his horribly prone body.

And that was all he could do at that moment – glare. As if those eyes of his had the ability to send Death upon whomever he wished with just a glance. His couldn’t. . . but Itachi’s. . . .

From some unknown depth, a growl wrenched itself out. Hating, hating, hating. Always hating. He loathed the way his brother could just toss him about like this. Like nothing. Why was he always nothing?

But even worse than the bruises rising to his skin - claiming muscle, claiming bone on its mission outward – and marking him as inferior was the way his brother looked at him. Not as if he meant nothing. No, as though he were even beneath that. Unworthy of nothingness. And yet. . .there was that glint of something else. Cold gratification. Even colder want.

There was the smallest twitch of his brother’s lips as Itachi kicked him in the side. The pain was enough to make him roll over, hands flying to the sharp bite over his ribs. For a moment, the world blacked out, eyes screwed shut, and all he could do was gasp as Itachi descended upon him. All touch, sound. Not a single visual to confirm the act.

His brother wasn’t heavy. Not imposing in the way the thought of him tended to be. But this was only because he knew Itachi was holding off. One eye slowly opened before closing again. Itachi was straddling him, feet planted firmly by each hip. More of a crouch really. He just happened to be underneath.

Why did it always feel that way? Never worth the effort to his brother. Because Sasuke was fully convinced it wasn’t care that kept the elder Uchiha from bearing down on him with all of his ability. No, Itachi just didn’t take him seriously. Still viewed him as that foolish, weak child.

“Not enough,” came the soft whisper, oddly detached. He could feel a fingertip running down his neck, following the line of his jugular.

Sasuke urged his body to move, screaming inside that his hate should be more than enough to move disobedient limbs. Right now, he could very easily land a blow on his brother. Anything to validate himself. Anything to destroy the impossible vulnerability of lying there like this with Itachi.

When he felt the hand upon his stomach, muscles shuddered into tightness, bellybutton pulling down as if trying to sink not just to but also through the floor beneath him. Eyes finally dared to open only to find that Itachi wasn’t looking him in the face. Rather, his brother's gaze was focused on the patch of skin he had just exposed. He was startlingly white in the dim lighting of the room, like moonlight playing with shadow. Not something he had ever noticed before really, but with his brother’s midnight clad figure over him, the darkness of the polish on his nails. . . And suddenly the image of china shattering ricocheted about in his mind. How easily his brother could break him.

Or any number of other things. Like the way his skin prickled now as fingers skated up his center, pulling up his shirt with each push forward. His heart gave a loud thud, one that boomed in his mind. It wasn’t until tongue pushed against his lips that he realized they had parted.

Something was telling him to stop this. Violation. Hadn’t he suffered enough already? But before the words could launch themselves out of his throat, Itachi had him by the neck. Slaughtered the sound before it could even become thought. Sasuke gave a strangled gargle at the suddenness of it all.

Whatever Itachi knew of lust, it wasn’t that fire-scalding, shameless thing that consumed most people. It was quiet. Harsh and unsympathetic, knowing only of what he wanted and that he would have it. One hand at his brother’s throat, he resumed exploiting the flesh that had been uncovered.

And it was then that some semblance of life flooded Sasuke’s limbs. The instinct to survive could overcome almost anything, and his own hands were now upon his brother’s wrist, tugging violently at the hand that sought to suffocate him.

Itachi answered by clamping down even further. To bruise. To mark. So that when this was all over and done with, Sasuke could look in the mirror and see the reminders. I let you live once again. But something was always taken in the process.