Disclaimer: I don't own a scratch.


I don't have much to say about this piece; it's short, straightforward and written in a rather simple style. I seriously wouldn't call this my best writing, but the idea haunted me all day and I just had to "pen" it. All criticism accepted.

Sex isn't supposed to be about love, you decide one of these days. It – that's to say love – just gets too much in the way and complicates stuff. And the last you need is more complications. You've already got enough of that: what with the ghost of Itachi looming over your head, the village mumbling behind your back and most of all, the pointless, never-ending cycle that your life has become.

This, him kissing and pushing you down onto the bed, isn't about love; it's just lust-induced fever that will end once the temperature has hit a low point and reality comes crashing in.

No, you don't need more. The only thing you need is to feel the warm of his breath brushing your cheek, his hands caressing your skin and the weight of his body on top of yours; that's all you need to forget, to make you feel alive. This is enough; more than sufficient to keep you satisfied.

You don't want more because you're not a damned girl waiting for a knight in shining armour: there's no need for flowers, timid confessions and holding hands under the table. That's stupid, you think.

It's stupid, foolish and naïve because it's a sentimental fairytale that'll disappear or reveal itself to be a rotting, hollow pumpkin in time. Everything withers and goes to the devil; there's nothing infinite in this world, least of all love.

See, Sakura for example. A couple of years back, she was all aglow in love for you, but now she's obviously moved on. You're happy for her, even though sometimes you wonder how quickly she got over it. You're happy, but at the same time, you're – a nagging voice tells you – slightly disappointed. It's not because you've ever cared for her romantically, but because it just convinces you of the fact that it wasn't true from the very beginning. Or that love shouldn't exist in the first place.

Love shouldn't exist because the last time you've been loved (and loved someone in return); you lost it all in a day, just because your brother wanted to know what it was like to kill. And the worst thing is that you loved him, too. Even when you ended his life, there was still that feeling of regret and loss. That wasn't expected: you thought you would feel relieved, freed from the anger, but no…

Instead, the moment he was – certainly and unimpeachably – dead; something inside of you crumbled and there you were, reliving the pain all over again.

Deep down, you don't want to admit that you're scared, that the notion of losing, of going through the mourning shit once more would drive you insane. You've already reached your limit and another slap would really make you lose it.

"You're so warm," Naruto tells you, suddenly bringing you back into the present. And suddenly you think that it's better -- safer -- to lie to yourself.

So, you tell yourself that you could do this with anyone and still be content because it's only the fucking that counts. But you don't like girls: they attach too much importance to things. Besides, there's always the danger of impregnating a girl and you don't want an heir. There's no need to rebuild a clan that's drenched in blood.

Sure, you could go to the very suburbs of Konoha and there in some shanty, downtrodden street find someone to screw with. You have the money and the (supposed) attitude to not care. There isn't anything horrifying about doing it with a stranger … but then you think that only Naruto and no one else can make you feel like this. And you hate yourself for that.

"You're so --," he says, whispering insignificant words into your ear and making you tremble, though it's nothing special. Although, you would never admit it, the sound of his voice sends chills down your spine, makes you feel light-hearted with giddiness – it's the deep, strong quality of it, so unlike the annoying loudness in his youth, that has this effect on you.

When you feel him moving, you try to convince yourself that it doesn't mean a thing. That you're only holding on to him, clutching because you're lost in the moment, the sensation of forgetting ... it's definitely not because it feels good to be with him.

When he kisses you, you pretend that it isn't meaningful: it's only a brief physical contact that ... ignites like a spark and again, there is that feeling of giddiness, that drowning, sinking sensation which makes you feel like you're losing the ground below your feet and that you're falling, falling…falling until your body shatters and you're no more. But you're not afraid; instead you let yourself be pulled down. And somewhere, in your subconscious, you realise that you're not afraid because he is always going to be there to catch you.

And that's the exact moment when you realise you're a damned fool.

"Harder, move harder," you say, urging him to be rougher, to thrust so hard till it hurts. You don't want him to be too gentle: that wasn't part of the contract. No, what you need is pain, raw pain that will make you scream and cry out for more. You need to be broken because pain is the only thing that's certain.

He complies, of course. With time, you've realised that when it comes to you, Naruto would do anything. That when it comes to your fucking welfare, he'd willingly break a limb or two just to keep you from getting hurt. Probably and it's not without grimace that you think that, he would burn himself alive, if it would help save you.

"Sasuke, I …"

"Don't. Be quiet," you tell him angrily, not wanting to hear those words because ... sex isn't supposed to be about that at all.

He's still a fucking idiot; that's one of the things that will never change. But you don't pause to think why he's like this, why he doesn't care that you're mean and selfish. However, you know. It wasn't hard to figure out, given how emotional and readable Naruto is. You've known since the day he dragged you back, though you really didn't give him a reason to do so. And you don't want to think about this because it makes the whole deal too real.

It's getting harder and harder to concentrate when you feel the pressure building up inside of you, when the senses take over and your thoughts lose coherency and the only thing you're aware of is him. His skin isn't entirely soft, it is callused and hard; flexible muscles and strength are packed in this body. It's perfect because everything about Naruto is perfect even in its imperfection.

You rarely let him look at you when you're fucking. Instead, you bury your face in the back of his neck, feeling the unkempt hair brushing the tip of your nose. No, you don't want him to see the look in your eyes, lest something will shine through. It's so much harder to concentrate, to keep your face emotionless like this.

Tomorrow, in the morning, you'll pretend that this was nothing and scurry off, leaving him in bed alone. And once you two are on a mission, you'll treat him as always: with the air of being annoyed and with carefully calculated distance.

He'll just smile at you, wiggle his eyebrows and try to anger you, but you will keep steady (because you're stronger than that). Though, with each passing day, it's more difficult because sometimes you really just want to wipe that grin off his face. And push him into corner and show him that he isn't the only one who's good at playing this game.

But still, as much as you can predict the outcome, you know that with the same deliberate annoyance -- annoyance because you can't believe your own weakness, you will enter his unlocked apartment and before he will able to say a word, kiss him senseless.

And one morning, you know – it's only a question of time – you won't be able to fight it anymore and just fall back asleep again, no longer in the mood to pretend.

No, this isn't supposed to be about love. It's not even supposed to be important, but it is -- and that's the sheer irony of it all.