Measuring Up

A/N: don't expect too much from this, it's a bad bad late late birthday fic, and im angstier than fuck right now...






Sasuke sat alone in the hospital room, cold and tired. Everyone else had been kicked out long before, but even still he was on edge. He hadn't expected to see Itachi again, not so soon, and he definitely hadn't expected to lose himself like that. It really had been a stupid move, throwing himself at Itachi like that, when he knew his brother was strong. There was still a younger version of his own voice in his head, whispering that no one else could ever be that strong, no one could beat Itachi. That had made him so proud back then, but now it just made him bitter. Bitter because it was probably true.



Still, he tried not to think about what happened, about the way Itachi hadn't even bothered to give him a second glance. It hurt to think that the dobe was more important to Itachi than Sasuke was, than would ever be again. He shut his eyes against the tears welling up in his eyes.



But no matter how much he tried to think of something else, of training harder, of getting stronger, of that night when his Aniki had stood before him splattered with their family's blood, it wouldn't stick. The only thing that ran through his head was the memory of Itachi's cool hands on his skin, of the warmth of his brother's breath ghosting across his face when he'd leaned in. He shivered, his fingers coming up to trace the tender bruises forming where Itachi's fingers had dug into his neck. His eyes slid shut, remembering that touch, a touch that he hadn't felt in years, and even as violent and twisted as it had been for him he still couldn't help but treasure that touch.



He shivered, thinking of Itachi being so close to him again, the way his brother was so strong, unbeatable. Itachi would never stop being like a god to sasuke, the one who shaped his mind, body, and soul. Sasuke wanted very badly to think that he wouldn't bend to his brother's will, but he knew he would. Even now, he wanted to make Itachi proud, be someone who could live up to his brother's name.



And as his fingers traced over those marks, wincing slightly at the edge of pain it brought, he didn't even catch his eyes sliding closed, or the way his breath came just a little bit quicker. He remembered his brother's hand there, spreading his own fingers out to match the darkening outline, and even though his hand was smaller, weaker, it was almost like Itachi was there again, squeezing him. He almost didn't notice his fingers tightening, the little burn of pain sparking his brother's voice.



The words played over him again, but he couldn't quite understand them, not that he was really trying that hard. Things were darkening a little around him, and he suddenly realized his fingers were much too tight, cutting off his own air. He smiled weakly as he released them, flexing them in front of his face. It had almost been the same, not quite though. He dropped his hands with a dry chuckle but it died in his throat when they fell to his lap, hissing with unexpected pleasure. His eyes went wide as he realized he was hard.



His breath sped up even more. This wasn't supposed to happen anymore, hadn't happened in a very long time. He'd been so good at denying himself this, pushing this part of himself away, after his brother left. But then again, that was probably why, because Itachi had been here, he'd been so close. Sasuke shuddered, halfway between revulsion with himself and a sense of relief. If he could let it out, just this once, maybe he could make it go away again. His fingers slid over the forming bruises again, and he shifted against the rough hospital sheets.



His other hand slipped down over his stomach, and under the sheet, coming to rest on the pronounced bulge in his shorts. He could allow himself this one moment of weakness, and then maybe tomorrow it would all be gone. He looked to the sky outside, the light clinging to the edges of the sky, just barely visible at the horizon. It was late enough he was sure he wouldn't be bothered, things were settling down for the night.



He couldn't help but let out a small moan as he rolled it with his palm, pressing up against his hand. It had been intoxicating, the once familiar scent enveloping him again. He could remember every detail, one thing the sharingan was quite useful for. He closed his eyes again, recalling how cold Itachi's skin had been, imagining how that hand might warm from his body heat. His other hand slid across the tenderness on his neck again, he couldn't help but push a little, the little snaps of pain reminding him that his brother had been so close, that it wasn't just a dream, a fantasy.



In his head though, he imagined what could have happened, if Naruto and that weird blue man hadn't been there with him. How Itachi might have smirked at him, how he might have pressed forwards a little more, when he pushed Sasuke against the wall. He found the sense of powerlessness exciting, but only with Itachi, which he knew wasn't rational in any sense. He should be strong in his brother's eyes, but he knew Itachi would always be better than him, he'd always known that.



He could see Itachi, feel his brother's breath on his skin, the way Itachi smirked at him when he'd won, when he'd held Sasuke up by his neck. He could see Itachi's other hand resting on his hip, where his shorts might have ridden a little low from the blow against the wall. Itachi would rub small circles on the inside curve of his hip, lightly, with the tip of his thumb, before moving upwards, hands sliding across Sasuke's stomach with a chuckle.



Sasuke's breath hitched, he could feel Itachi's warming skin as the older boy pushed his shirt up, hand coasting over his nipples lightly, teasing them until they stood out against his pale skin. They would be flushed, rosy, sensitive, and Sasuke would hiss low in pleasure. Itachi would dig his nails in, raising little scrapes in their wake, just enough to break the skin, raising little beads of blood, not enough to really bleed though. Itachi would slide his hand back over the wounds then, and the salt on his hands, damp with sweat, would sting.



Itachi would withdraw a little then, telling Sasuke that he was weak, that he was going to be broken, and that Itachi would be the one to do it. His brother would lean in again then, suddenly cupping Sasuke through the fabric of his shorts, smirking at him again, telling him how sick it was to get hard on that sort of treatment, like Sasuke didn't already know.



Sasuke blushed deeply, the air in the little hospital room stifling now, and his body was hotter than he could ever remember it being. He hissed in pleasure, squeezing his erection through the layers of fabric, imagining that it wasn't his hand. He popped the button open then, shimmying the material down around his knees, then kicking it off, his hand already lightly skimming across the bare skin of his arousal.



He could see Itachi doing this, pulling his shorts down and letting them fall to the ground, teasing his hard shaft lightly as it hung, almost as pink as his nipples, and damp. Itachi would lean in, wrapping one hand around it, the other still clutched around Sasuke's neck, and he would whisper how much of a whore Sasuke was, to be enjoying this, how wrong this was, and how he should be ashamed. Sasuke blushed at the words Itachi said to him inside his head, his grasp on his shaft tightening as he moved his hand slowly, teasingly, like he knew his brother would.



Itachi's fingers would be tight against his neck still, and Sasuke's cock would be hard in his hand, leaking enough to make each movement slippery and smooth, when Itachi's fingers would eventually tighten around it, the firm grip infinitely more satisfying. Sasuke could hear his own little panting mewls, and as much as they mortified him, he couldn't stop them. He knew Itachi would enjoy that, the sounds he was making, small and weak and desperate as he knew himself to be.



Sasuke's vision swam slightly, spots dancing around the room, and he realized his fingers were digging harshly into the bruises on his neck again, squeezing his throat closed. He released them, panting all the more now that his breathing was unobstructed. In his head, he could see Itachi letting his larger hand fall, tracing down Sasuke's side, letting him fall to the ground unable to stand on his own anymore. He knew Itachi would smirk at him again then, remind him how weak he was to let this happen, to lose control like this.



Itachi's fingers would fall even lower then, pushing his thighs apart and teasing the pucker of his asshole. Sasuke could feel his opening pulse against his finger, warm and dry, and he circled it for a second before he pushed inside, wincing at the pain of the sharp, dry entry. That was the way Itachi would do it though, Itachi would never spare a moment for his comfort, not right then anyways. He moved his finger around, wiggling it inside of himself, his other hand still stroking his shaft firmly but slowly, driving himself towards an inevitable peak.



It hurt, and he winced at a particularly sharp jab, feeling the warm trickle of wetness on his finger that probably meant blood. The thought brought him an odd sense of comfort, and he worked another finger inside of himself, stretching his abused ring of muscle wider.



His fingers skated across something then that sent sparks dancing in front of his closed eyes. He pushed on that spot again, biting his lip harshly, tasting blood in his mouth again. He could hear Itachi's voice, whispering about how dirty he was, how Sasuke, the darling baby brother, was turning into such a fucking whore. He felt the warmth of tears on his cheeks then, but he didn't stop, he couldn't stop.



It seemed only a heartbeat before he was coming, pushed over the edge, and he could almost smell Itachi, feel the cool press of his brother's skin, and in that moment he let his mouth fall open, his lips forming his cry of release into a familiar name. Itachi. He felt things relax then, his body slumping, all of his energy drained away again. The bed was much too hot around him, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. He could barely even muster the energy to pull his fingers out of himself, the sickening noise making him wince in the dead silence of the room.



He realized then he was still crying, and he couldn't make himself stop.




Outside, perched precariously on the stone window ledge, a dark figure smiled. His pale skin almost glowed in the darkness. Then he was gone.