Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, but I sure as hell own these morbid tales I spin.

Rated Mature for adult themes and severe angst. NOT for Sakura lovers...but even if you are, you should know I love her to death and just read it anyway.


A Thousand Unheard Words

Because when it comes down to it...an Uchiha does not cry.

And neither does his wife.

I am the trophy that is showcased by your side in forced loyalty.

I am the sun that rises for you every morning, that stays with you throughout the tiring day and the busy life you lead...I am air...I am always there whether you wish me to be or not. But that is only because you have dictated it, and, so it shall be.

I do not speak.

It is not my place and you do not allow me to; decisions are made in your own mind without interference. After all the times you listened...now you ignore me. My opinion is worth nothing.

I do not work anymore...my days as an aspiring medic are now shattered dreams, and I reminisce in faded photographs and suppressed memories in the twilight before you cross the threshold. Everything must be perfect when you walk in the door...I have never defied you enough to bring down the wrath you still possess, despite the fact everyone assumes you are fine. Just because I'm here.

You are not the boy I fell in love with.

So even when I do not want to, you make me. Slowly, over desperately, swiftly moving time, you have ripped me from my cradle of the innocence you used to treasure in me, you said you did; now you have taken everything that makes me who I once was. Everything.

You hurt me to ease your own pain...and maybe once you felt remorse somewhere in the black stone that is your heart...but now...I do not know where Sasuke Uchiha has gone...now he is replaced with this. With you.

Sometimes I try to block it out, imagine that the man touching me, the young boy whispering sweet nothings in my ear, lips brushing me in a way that leaves me breathless from desire...like he did so long ago. I just try to imagine it is not you. And it works...cradling my slender body so gently and holding me as if I was the only thing in this cruel world that mattered, never dreaming of hurting me...

But then reality ruthlessly pierces my imagination and shatters it into pieces that cut me from the inside out and let me bleed...bleed everything I am reduced to, which is merely an existence, not identity. When your calloused, rough, strong hands touch me...they do not grope or grasp with desire...they grab and control and they like the feeling of me, powerless, squirming underneath you.

Foreplay is a waste of time. Gentle words are for the weak. Love does not exist when I come together with you, or rather, you force yourself into me. Dare I utter one word against this? Of course not. You would probably kill me...or I could break your fragile little heart. Yes, your heart is fragile no matter what you say. So fragile that you are in a constant strain to keep it together, and you do, barely, by letting your sins fall on me.

I bite my tongue as the back of my skull is slammed into the headboard; tears of pain gather on my eyelids but I cannot let them fall...there is worse to come. Everything is about this dangerous domination: Your tongue dominates mine, ruthlessly penetrating my mouth as your hand cradles the back of my head and presses me to you.

When you bite me and mark me in primal ownership, my blood pours only for you and you like that. Too much. Rivets of crimson, painted by the morbid artist, he who controls. In some sick twisted way, I like it, but I resent and loathe you much more. You want every person in this world to know...I am yours.

It hurts when you do this, and now you move lower, painting my constantly tender breast with bruises again...I moan in this ecstasy that brings guilt flooding to my stomach, for it's so wrong, yet feels so right, even when I know the truth.

When people see us out and about they know I belong to you, but they think it works both ways and the relationship is normal. It is not. I cannot tell anyone about you. All that were close to us throughout our lives waited so long for this joyous thing to happen...and they would never believe, in their wildest dreams, it could go wrong.

And it shows just how stupid they are...and I am... and always will be.

You own me because you are afraid...that if you do not hold my leash tighter there is a chance I will leave you too...and you cannot handle rejection, you do not want to face being alone ever again, not if you can help it. You could not stop what your brother did, but this you can. This, me, you can control. No matter how much I plead and reassure...you are too reluctant to believe.

"Say it!" he hisses, holding my head so tight that his nails are digging into my scalp and the beautiful hair on my head is ripped from it. His voice lies; he tries to sound tough, but his eyes are like a child's and they plead. Don't you ever leave me...

"I love you," I whisper, but I cannot look at him, not in this dizzying haze that is the pain he is dealing me.

"Like you mean it," he growls, and I gasp as he penetrates me with his fingers, roughly forcing me open like a toy, and so this dangerous rhythm does not begin, only resumes.

Normally I quell it, I ignore it.

But it always comes back. This dangerous, existing rhythm of the truth.

His other hand roams wherever it pleases, while he continues to bring pain upon me...like he does every single time...in fear. His strength presses my head into the wooden headboard once again and the beat continues...like the murmur of impending death.

Always, I disgust myself. Always, I relent. It just felt too good, and I loved him too much.

He growls as if an animal sated and seems to content himself within his mind as I start to gasp and moan from his burning, guiltily enjoying his disgusting pleasure. But I cannot hate him for that...

God, I love it too.

The rhythm does not increase, but only intensifies so powerfully I am dizzy and now the words tumble off my swollen lips in a waterfall of gratitude and love for him...

My fingers weave themselves through the ebony locks...


And abruptly, his name comes out in a breathless scream that leaves his eyes glittering dangerously and I instantly regret it through my haze of ecstasy. And here he comes.

In sickened pleasure he tastes everything I am off his fingers and then attacks my lips, so now I can taste myself. Now...

In habit my hands try to place themselves on him, to wrap around him, but no, this is how it always goes; he slams my wrists against the headboard and keeps them away, above my head, and now...

There he goes...

Our bodies do not separate and there is no me, there is no him, there is just one. My head is slammed again and my neck bends as his thrusts force me closer to his burning flesh; explosions on the skin as we collide in nothing but raw emotion...his control. I can only scream, over and over again, letting my neck bend painfully as I am forced apart...so finally the rhythm increases, and with every single thrust against my hips I hear, with every single beat. It echoes:











It goes on and on.

It hurts to hear. I endure it every single time. The words he will never say, that are not meant to be heard.



Every time for the world to hear, for me to hear, and eventually the thrusts fall into the rhythm in my mind...and I am speaking to myself as I hear his groaning–








"Love–me," he commands in a strained voice, concentrating now on everything he does at the end...the emotion he gives to me, makes my burden. His mistakes, his insecurities, his fears. When he releases himself into me, he gives these to me, and then he can walk out and take on the world again, only to bring home fears he is afraid to house himself.

His name leaves my lips again in one last scream of nothing but the rawest ecstasy and so I do this for him again...I take the emotions he cannot keep himself.

For only a blissful moment I can lie there and feel his heartbeat colliding with mine, his chest suffocating my own, and I he looks down at me with the child's eyes again.

"Don't...ever...leave me."

No strength to nod in agreement; he rolls off me and I remain sprawled across the velvet sheets. Physically I throb in the dangerous rhythm that never leaves me, that tells me what is what, and every fiber of my being is the essence of pain and exhaustion. Mentally I am tortured into giving him what he wants, his control. Emotionally I am scarred, cut from the inside out with the broken shards of what used to be love, and I will always bleed for him.


I feel the mattress rise and I whimper in pain, head still smashed painfully against the wooden headboard; he turns and stares down at me still with eyes full of pity for me, but they are soon replaced by his blank expression of stoic indifference. He was already dressed in shorts. Abruptly, he walks slowly to the bed and I wonder what else he could possibly do...

With a gentleness I did not expect, that I have not felt for so long I was sure I was dreaming, he gracefully bent his tall frame down to kiss my forehead. And it was out of love.

I would never get that again.

"I love you, Sasuke," I whisper, not knowing if he had left or not.

After he had finished pulling a shirt over his head, he blinked once.

"I know."

But he didn't know...and he might never believe it was true.

And then he left.

I am his everything, I am owned by him, and I lie here on the sheets as his greatest fear, his confusion, vessel of his dangerous emotions...and his mistakes.

This dangerous rhythm has subsided, but it stirs fitfully within both of our twisted hearts...over and over with a powerful intensity that never leaves, only lies in wait.

And it always speaks to me, telling me the truths.









Depressing, neh? Maybe sequel. Review.