Novocain for the Ninja Soul
Written by: Mikami
Warnings: Graphic violence, profanity and sex. These are adult people doing adult things. Get lost, kiddies. You have been warned.
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All shinobi were considered insane to a certain degree. While some varied in larval stages, others were prone to radical displays of the truth. Where the default definition of insanity lay in a warrior's potential dark ideals, one would have to admit that embracing the life of a shinobi was insanity in itself; many just brushed the reality aside or refused to acknowledge it altogether. But all were too assimilated within existence to even pick up the fact. The many forms of insanity in the world ran rampant, inherent in every human alike but depending on the circumstance, a different form of lunacy inevitably resulted.
Wasn't it enough that he risked his life for weeks or months at a time? Had almost two decades of combat, bloodshed and periodic chaos ingrained in him an insensitivity to all kinds of hazards? Apparently not.
Perhaps it hadn't been enough—the sadistic connection of flesh and bone or the sharp sound of the searing blade. It was a vexing thought in Neji's spiteful mind, torturous and annoyingly repetitive. It was also a piss-poor validation for the ascension of his most brushed-aside problem.
He didn't remember when it started but he had stopped counting how many times he asked her to leave him alone. But of course, she'd either ignore him or tell him that his fighting words were a waste. She even had the nerve to sometimes boast his undoing right to his face. Her maddening behavior had unraveled his anger but it always seemed doomed to be tempered by her onslaught.
In the normal time frame, Neji wouldn't see her for long periods; being in the same line of dangerous work had its perks. There was never a guarantee that he would see her again after every time she'd been sated. The off-chance that either of them could die in the next mission was a lingering possibility since youth. There were never any greetings or goodbyes between them, the instances just arose. He loathed to expect her, he despised that he anticipated her.
It would usually start with him and his solitary vicinity; the last few times had occurred at the Bunke residence. Her latest visits resulted at ungodly hours but to his dismay, he had succumbed again—that treacherous bodily ache taking a callous victory over his protesting mind. He hadn't been asleep though. Nowadays insomnia and fitful nights were old friends of his that decided to stay for an extended visit since his 'arrangement' with her began. Neji grudgingly entertained the lack of sleep and the inability to purge her.
Their little confrontations only served as foreplay. He'd frown, she'd laugh. The notes of her voice were bittersweet but possessed a hidden cruelty—which was brought to the surface by the moisture of her mouth, the sound of her breathing and the red streaks left on his skin by her fingernails. Neji would come out of it wondering if it had been a dream, but the marks served as startling proof that it never was. In the wake of her desertion, she'd let him go back to whatever the hell he was doing before she decided to waltz in and fuck with his mind again.
Insanity. Neji resorted to that last conclusion as resentfully as possible. The word insanity was meant for shinobi whose words and deeds were possessed by the dark shadow of malevolence. Then again, fixation, infatuation—obsession—could be rounded into the same category. The broadness of the definition damned him and so had she.