Warnings: Graphic violence
A/N: ...lulz. Title. Can mean both to sever and "a separation." I'M SO CLEVER. LOVE MEEEE. Uhm, yeah. Whatever. I was angry and upset and having a dreadful emotional thing when I finished this last night, so it ended up pretty harsh. Sorry, Itachi. Sorry, Sasuke. Sorry, readers who aren't into this sort of thing. But I really like it! Eroguro life forever and all that stuff.

---

It’s far too easy to be satisfied by it, far too easy to get lost in it. The rhythm of flesh slamming into flesh, the sound of solid hit after solid hit. The pain of it. Knuckles getting split open, skin raw and bloodied—his own blood and his brother’s. The feeling of the body trapped under his squirming weakly, trying to get away.

Itachi’s not going to get away. Not this time. Sasuke’s good enough, finally. And really, it is easier than he could ever have expected. All it took was being able to sneak up on Itachi; hard, but not impossible. He forced himself to learn, to be good enough to do it. And then all it took was a sharp jab to the back of Itachi’s skull with the back of a shuriken, watching that body crumple.

That body he’s been chasing for years and years.

And it felt so good—feels so good—watching Itachi’s eyelids flutter open, tugging ineffectually at his wrists and ankles.

Not going to get away this time. This time, this time, it’s going to end. It’s going to end and Sasuke is going to drag it out, pull it out into thin, delightful strands of pain and blood and everything he’s needed for so long now.

Sasuke laughs as he hits Itachi again. He doesn’t talk, and neither does Itachi, their eyes doing all the talking. Itachi’s defiant; still convinced he’s in control. And Sasuke’s eyes? They’re just delighted.

It’s all so perfect.

Sasuke’s fist meets Itachi’s cheek one more time with a crunch, before Sasuke climbs off of Itachi, unable to control his laughs. He doubles over, clutching his stomach.

“It’s so fucking funny, seeing you like this. Finally.”

Itachi doesn’t say anything. Just glares, lips split and oozing blood, one eyelid swollen almost shut. Shanringan won’t do him much good now, will it? Sasuke’s made sure of that. It took a long, long time to find something to solve that problem, but he did find it eventually; a circle of symbols surrounds the bed, infused with almost all the chakra Sasuke possesses. No jutsu can be performed, within this circle. Not even the eye.

Sasuke doesn’t need jutsu himself, not for what he wants.

Sasuke picks a shuriken up from the bedside table, using it to cut away all of Itachi’s clothing. It’s not really that he wants to see his brother naked; it’s just that he needs the access. He tears part of Itachi’s shirt into a long strip, doubling it around and tying it tightly at the middle of Itachi’s left thigh. Tight enough to cut off the blood circulation. Wouldn’t do to have Itachi dying. Not yet. Not damn yet, because Sasuke needs this, craves this. He needs for Itachi to feel all the hurt that’s racked up inside of Sasuke after all these years.

“What are you doing, Sasuke?” Itachi asks softly, the slightest traces of something beneath his words; panic, perhaps. Fear. Good, Sasuke thinks.

Sasuke doesn’t answer that, just goes to work.

And for the first time, Itachi screams.

The shuriken isn’t exactly razor sharp; Sasuke has to saw away at just below Itachi’s knee, arms getting sore, sweat dripping down his skin. It’s truly gruesome work, but Sasuke enjoys it. Enjoys it because it’s revenge. It’s payback for every single moment of anguish Itachi has caused him. And hearing Itachi’s voice crack and shake is worth any hardship in the world. Eventually Itachi’s screams cease, eyes clenched tightly shut. There’s sweat on Itachi’s brow. Sasuke relishes in every moment and when he’s done he lets out a small laugh, holding Itachi’s former calf with one hand. He strokes it gently with the fingers of the other, before tossing it over his shoulder. Itachi opens his eyes, which have become glazed and pained.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, little brother,” Itachi breathes, weakly, and Sasuke grins, the expression unbalanced on his face. His fingers search out the wet hot stump that is Itachi’s knee, digging into it and feeling muscles and sinews being crushed and moved under the pads of his fingertips.

“A-ahh,” Itachi breathes, and the moan of pain sounds almost sexual, which makes Sasuke’s stomach twist. Sasuke pulls his hand back, wiping his palm off on the mattress even though blood is already all over him. He tears another strip off of Itachi’s shirt and ties it tightly around Itachi’s other thigh, biting his lower lip softly as he works.

This time, Itachi is completely silent, which makes Sasuke’s motions even more vicious, because he wants to hear agonized screams, damn it, not just Itachi breathing hard and unsteady. It seems easier this time, though, and when he’s done and the removed limb is tossed over the side of the bed, Sasuke lets out a satisfied sigh, gazing at his work. He’s wanted this for so long, wanted to torture and main and kill Itachi and now he’s almost there. And now that he has Itachi immobile and in his grip, it’s like he just can’t stop, because next he leans over Itachi and takes away both arms at the elbow and it feels so good and Itachi stares at the ceiling with such glassy eyes and there’s so much pain in the way his jaw is clenched and Sasuke just wants to laugh and never stop laughing because it’s his, it’s his, it’s his, his revenge. Sasuke straddles Itachi’s waist, leaning forward and crooning words into Itachi’s ear.

Private words between the two of them, words that Sasuke’s been waiting so long to say, and he punctuates them with a soft kiss to the side of Itachi’s throat before following that with a glint of steel, jerking across Itachi’s neck. Sasuke could dance in the blood that splatters him, but instead he just gives out another laugh and knows that it’s over. It’s all over and Itachi is over, over, over. No more.

And Sasuke wakes up with a startled gasp, chest heaving up and down rapidly. He stares up at his ceiling, clutching the sheets beneath him tightly. His stomach hurts badly, and he quickly staggers out of bed and down the hall, retching into a white porcelain sink, though nothing comes up.

It’s not the dream that’s making him feel sick.

It’s the fact that—he’s hard. Aroused. By the images of dismembering his own brother. Wearily, Sasuke pads back down the hall to his small room, sitting down on his mattress and gazing at the wall blankly. After a while, he lays back down, pulling the covers back over himself and rolling onto his side.

And after roughly fisting himself to a quick finish, hot sticky semen landing on his hands and probably his sheets, Itachi’s name spills roughly from between his lips.