This story is loosely based on/inspired by the poem at the end. This is a strange fic, and I usually worked on it well past midnight, when I was tired, and feeling emotionally drained. This story is also written very differently than most stories I write.

WARNING: This fic is raw and contains non-consensual male - male scenes.

Tentatively dedicated to Kaikouken. I really hope you like this. If this is not up to the standards you would like, let me know.

The Queerwolf

I am the one they call the Queerwolf, the one that hunts for men to sate my lusts. But I have no control over my desires, this sickness, but he – the blond one – he, might just be able to help me, to save me from my own insanity…

I am the one that roamed the woods, always hungry but never for food.

I am the one that hid in the brush, waiting to hunt but never for animals.

I am the one that haunted the village, hoping to die but never finding peace.

They called me the Queerwolf.

Who is the Queerwolf? Who am I do you ask? My name, my real name, is Uchiha Sasuke, but they all called me the Queerwolf. This is my tale of how I became the Queerwolf and of how one man gave me back my sanity – and my humanity.

I wasn't always known as the Queerwolf. I was normal in the beginning. But that was the beginning. After my change, I wasn't fit to be called human, and I did everything in my power to avoid hurting those around me. It was a struggle since most of the time I wasn't in my right mind.

At one time I lived in the mountains away from those that I feared to hurt. I lived away from those I feared might become my victims when I could no longer control myself. Still, I could not help but want to rid my body of the lusts that ran through me, rid myself of the inhuman lusts I could not control. I frequented the nearby village many times, always watching, waiting, waiting for someone to come my way to sate my desires before once again returning to the mountain's caves.

The place in the mountains was not my true home. I had no home. I didn't deserve one. Often did I haunt the trails from my mountain dwelling to the village in the valley. A few travelers would peer upon me. I did not shy away from them, but I did not encourage their advances if I could help it. The problem was, that most of the time, I was unable to help it.

Not that it was any of my fault. Not really.

When I was but thirteen, a strange and foreboding man came to my village during a great time of need. A plague had befallen my village, and the man, this strange traveler, promised that he would help the people of my village. He had potions and the like to cure the sick. He cured my elder brother Itachi who had been tormented by the plague's horrendous symptoms for over two dreadful weeks. My brother had succumbed to a wild fever on the night that the man who called himself Orochimaru came to our house. We had heard from others in our town that this stranger healed others from our village and requested no payment. My father and mother readily agreed to take his potions, not thinking that there would be a cost in order to save my elder brother's life, to save their eldest son, their precious Itachi.

And as my family had hoped, the man had not requested payment. At least, not then.

Three weeks passed. Orochimaru cured everyone in the village. When it was clear that the plague was no more, he called for a village meeting, warning the entire village that there was likely to be another outbreak of the plague. He told us that he could prevent it from coming back. Everyone waited on eager breath, waiting for him to tell them what miracle he would perform next. Someone asked what he would do, and he laughed, laughed mirthlessly. The sound was horrible. I remember the chill that I felt as I waited next to my father's side. Even he, my brave father, stiffened at the sound of that man's cruel laughter.

He laughed cruelly, saying he could save us. But why would he? Why would he when there was nothing in it for him? He would do nothing unless properly compensated.

Orochimaru had seemed so nice, so friendly at first. He had cured the village, yet now with the way he laughed his mere presence seemed to defile the very people who he had saved, saved without the request of payment. Now that the people knew how he sounded, they could hear and see that he was mad. Whispers started to spread through the hall. Perhaps he had been the one to bring the plague to our village in the first place. His deranged laugh, his maniacal facial expression made it clear to the people in the village that what he had done was not for "free."

Now he named his price to spare the village from the next plague, a plague that he would surely unleash if his demands were not met.

He desired a young male, a young male to be his aid, but it was quite clear that this man desired more. The way that his eyes were wide and lust filled, the way his tongue darted out as he licked his lips, the way that he sensually whispered his request made his intentions clear. He wanted a young male lover, not aid. To my family's horror, he requested my brother Itachi. My family was torn. The man had saved Itachi's life, yet now he was requesting the rest of Itachi's life in order to prevent the same sickness to come back and torment my family and the rest of the villagers.

My parents had no choice but to give up Itachi, their first born, in order to protect everyone. Itachi agreed to go but reluctantly so. Orochimaru was pleased, and he and Itachi left.

I often thought of my brother, worried after him. He was with a mad man, and he had sacrificed himself in order to save the villagers. I missed him terribly, yet I feared seeing him again because it meant seeing the man called Orochimaru. Whispers spread that Orochimaru had gone to other villages, and that they had suffered at his hands as well. Other boys had been requested, but as to the truth of that matter, I was unsure of since it came from the drunkards in the local taverns, drunkards who loved to invent wild tales. Even so, if it was rumored that he was nearby, I sometimes went looking for him to see if I could see my brother.

Two years passed and the man called Orochimaru returned in a rage. The twisted witch doctor claimed Itachi had committed suicide, and Orochimaru saw this as betrayal. Itachi's refusal to live was the rest of my family's death sentence – save mine. Orochimaru came back and killed my family while I inherited Itachi's fate.

I remember feeling helpless as I came home from a weeklong visit to a nearby village. I had traveled to it in a hurry after hearing news that Itachi had been sighted there. I had hoped to at least see my brother again, despite my fears of seeing Orochimaru. Instead, I found out that my brother was dead. I returned home to notify my family, only to find my parents dead by the same plague that Itachi had had but two years before. I came home, staring in horror at my family. I sobbed and breathed too deeply. I was infected with the plague that lingered in the air and fell ill almost instantly. I was unable to do anything as I felt horrible fear well up in me at the prospect of death and even greater fear welling up in me as my front door opened to reveal the person who I had feared for so long. Orochimaru came in and stood over me, grinning at me maliciously. The instant affects on the potent form of the plague made me dizzy, and I could do nothing to defend myself.

I feared that he would defile my body in my weakened state as he surely had my brother, but he refrained. It was only years later I concluded he must have refrained since I was infected with the plague.

Although I was infected with the same plague that the rest of my family had been exposed to, Orochimaru kept me alive like he had kept Itachi alive. He "saved" me, only to hurt me worse. When he "healed" me, he exposed something else into me, actually injecting some form of liquid into my neck. He told me he would be back for me on my seventeenth birthday when he was done searching for something of great importance to him, and perhaps I would be more pleasing to him when my body filled out, and I looked more like my brother. I had to two years before he would come back for me. If I did not wait, certain death surely awaited my village and me.

It was clear to me, within a matter of days, that the liquid had changed something in my mind. Itachi had refused him, and most likely his advances, but he made sure he would not have the same problem with me. He injected one of his potions into me, a potion that turned me wild with lusts, unsuitable lusts. I wanted to be touched, to touch. It drove me mad. I feared when he would come back. And yet, I craved it, desired it.

I became quite inhuman at times. I had been a mostly quiet child, but this potion drove me wild with lust and desire, only abating when I could satisfy myself: until my lust was sated. Although I never saw my reflection, I could feel that I turned into a monster when my desires were at their peak. My teeth grew longer and my fingernails turned into claws. Until I could dominate, until I could mount another – and not just any other, my body only desired the flesh of males – I was capable of anything. I feared hurting the people of my village, but there were times that my neighbors fell victim to me when I was lost in the throws of the poison that Orochimaru had seeped within my veins.

I became inhuman and monstrous. My nails lengthened, my body changed. But I repeat myself. Did I not just say this? Let us move on in my tale. Ah yes, my appearance.

Perhaps my eyes changed, I never knew for sure. My mind was always in such a heightened state of desire I noticed little about my body save for what lay below my navel and in between my thighs – wanting to be released. I only noticed my nails and teeth for when I mounted those poor souls who suffered the brunt of my desire I often saw the bites and scratch marks left upon their backs where my long nails scratched them, where my teeth had broken their flesh.

The villagers feared me. They called me the Queerwolf. I was like a werewolf who transformed, but I was not a man-wolf; I was much more terrifying. I was a manmade monster.

At the age of sixteen, I left my village. I had to. They knew. They knew what I was, and they knew my desires. I desired the flesh of other males, and I was outcast for it. I knew that there were other villages that would not object to my desires; I even knew that there were monks that practiced sodomy, but I could not bear to be amongst others I might hurt. I could never succumb to the temptations that were anything but dominance over another, and I sought to distance myself from people.

I also had to leave my village for I feared Orochimaru's return.

I think that is what frightened me most. I think that is what frightened my own village most. My ferocity, my desires, my lust for another male, they were all Orochimaru's twisted doing. The village would rather take its chances with Orochimaru's wrath than with my heinous crimes.

I fled from my village and took to roaming the woods. When I could no longer resist the urge to satisfy myself, I lost my mind, and I know there were times that I nearly killed the men I victimized in my frenzied state.

My prey were always males of no importance to me. Some knew what I was; I knew that the tales of my actions were known up and down the mountain roads that I haunted; I even suspected that some came to me because they wanted to know the passions I had. They came looking for the fabled Queerwolf, for me. These men disgusted me the most. They saw my desires as a way to create their own fantasies. Did they not realize how greatly I was tormented? Did they not know how horrible it was for me to succumb so fully to these desires? Did they not see that I wanted to be normal? No. No one did. No one understood.

The days of my self-isolation upon the mountain trail became so blurred that my seventeenth birthday had come and gone before I even had the chance to worry whether or not Orochimaru would come for me. If he had, he hadn't yet come looking for me in the place where I stayed. I went higher into the mountains, farther away from humans, other non-tainted humans: farther away from people that I might hurt. I fled to the hills where it offered the greatest safety, the greatest safety of distance away from those I might prey upon, and the greatest safety away from the man who might come to claim me, the man I feared I would not be able to resist.

If you were to ask me how I survived in the wilderness, I would be unable to answer you. Days became so blurred together; there was hardly a time that I was in a clear state of mind. A day here and there might stand out, but only with large blanks in between. I knew there were times that I must have hunted, when I became no more than a snarling, hungry creature who desired another. There are flashes in my mind where I remember taking down a large animal in the woods and eating it raw. I was wild. My habits were crude, and I dare not speak too much of what I remember. The one thing I do remember, the one thing I try and forget above all but cannot is the lust I felt. The lust was the most horrible thing about me, the thing I wish I could forget.

My desire for flesh, for the flesh of another man drove my insane until I could not force myself to remain hidden. I'd descend from my place in the mountain and travel down to the valley. I only know this because the times my mind was most clear was when I had just sated my lust. The feeling was such that it was like waking from a horrible dream only to realize my nightmare was my reality. Sometimes I was still inside of my victim. Often times I would vomit, grab any clothes that I could, and run for it.

Sometimes there was blood on my body, and I wondered but never pondered too long how I managed to overpower my victims. The idea of it horrified me. I blocked it out for the most part. Do not ask me to try and remember how horrible I was.

I lived in fear. Several years went by like this. I remember very little save the shocked and horrified expression of some of the men, or the sexually elated ones who found desire and sexual release at the way that I forced myself into them. I hated these the most. But, did I not mention this already? I am repeating myself. I do that too often. Forgive my rambling for I feel the need to repeat these words, to repeat the things I did for I lost years of my life stuck in this cycle.

Nothing changed for several long years. I had a few days of clarity here and there, but mostly I was left with images of my victims. I was tormented with the desire to kill myself, and that insane, always insistent urge, the desire, the need to feel myself sliding within the tightness of an un-lubricated male, the first thrust the best, the tightest around my arousal. The constant fear that Orochimaru would come and find me and want me to perform these actions on him repulsed me – and the possibility that perhaps he would perform them on me and keep me unsatisfied seemed to haunt me just as much.

And I hated myself. I hated myself for knowing that if he came for me, I would go, seeking what comfort he could offer from my unstable and animalistic lust.

I heard whispers of how the people viewed me. The name the Queerwolf had followed me from my village. The people near the valley I frequented were probably almost as scared of me as I myself was.

But all of that changed. It changed when he, the other, came.

I could not even tell you what day it happened. There is no clear recollection in my thoughts of the day I saw him, saw the other, the one whose name I now fear and refuse to speak. I clearly remember seeing him for the first time as I hid in the trees, watching as he traveled on the path to the village.

It was a strange time for me. I was lost so deeply at the peak of one of my frenzied desires, and I was to the point where I could no longer hold it off any longer. I came down upon the mountain trail towards the village at the base of the valley when a pair of eyes met my own. It was at this moment that I felt my mind go clear. He had blue eyes, such bright blue eyes, and blond hair. He traveled with a group, his friends I later found out, and he saw me. He yelled for his companions to go and warn the village that I was on the prowl. It seemed that he had heard of someone – or I suppose you could call me something – who came and victimized those on the road.

How his eyes searched through the brush to find me in my hiding spot, or how he knew who and what I was, I was not then sure. He held my gaze for a time, and I felt my head clearing, my mind seemingly changing back to clearness the way a normal human should have. When his eyes turned away, I suddenly felt weak, and when I moved in the brush to get a better look, he had vanished.

Shivering from the strange sensation his gaze had cast upon me, I trudged back up the mountain to my cave. I curled up, and cried, feeling strangely weak, strangely drained, and somehow more human than I had in years. I felt the emotions and the guilt of what I was wash over me, and I howled at feeling the pain of being human and feeling human emotions. My victims called me a wolf, and I wished I were, wished I didn't have to feel the guilt wash over me. But did I not mention this already? Once again I repeat words in my story.

That was the first night that I had to hide. People came looking for me, and I saw him again, the blond, leading the others. Rage of being hunted like an animal filled me, and I wanted to strike, but I daren't try with so many people.

Three weeks passed in this way. Three weeks where I could distinguish the days. Night followed day and day followed night. Then night followed day once more. The pattern repeated, the familiar pattern of time, and I felt conscious of time for the first time in what seemed a lifetime.

I felt human. No, that's not right. I felt animalistic. What I was before, I cannot say should deserve to live. A monster does not deserve to live. Animals are more kind towards each other than I was to my victims. No, I was still not cognitively on the same level as a human. My sense of right from wrong was skewed.

Still, no one can ever truly understand how dearly I treasured my ability to once again determine between day and night. How I took for granted the ease of which I understood the world around me before I fell victim to Orochimaru's curse, before I lost my mind to the insanity of my own desires and lust!

However, after a few days of being hunted I felt I was losing myself again. Lust. How I hated it. How I craved it. How it tormented me so! Three weeks passed, three weeks in which I was hunted by those who would no longer tolerate me for my actions. Three weeks in which I saw that blond haired man walk by. I had seen him close up several times. I always hid in the bushes of course.

There was something about him that drew me. He seemed to have some sort of power, as though he knew how to deal with people like me. I had determined that he had to be some sort of demon hunter on the fourth night when he nearly caught me. The others who were with him were his friends. Lackeys. Others who were not as interesting as the blond one. He had nearly caught me off guard on that fourth night. He held his torch high looking for me. I thought I was well hidden, but he seemed to have a heightened sense that seemed to alert him of my presence which kept me running from him and the others. The torchlight fell upon me, and he and I stared eye to eye for a moment. I caught a look at his face in the dim light, the moon striking the right side of his face, the torchlight the side of his left. Each cheek held three marks, three marks that I could only guess were claw marks.

He turned to yell for aid in my capture, but I was too fast for him. As he turned, I was already gone.

But I couldn't forget that look in his eyes. There was something there, something I connected to, and whatever it was had made me feel less like a monster, and more and more like my old self. It saddened me, terribly saddened me. I saw a man, I saw the face of a man, a man who should be smiling. A man who might have once been used to laughter and joy. A man who looked so lost and lonely. A man who looked like he felt sorry for me. A man who looked like he understood me.

His eyes haunted me as I was chased for three weeks. I felt myself feeling sorry for this man who I did not know. I felt I should know him. I felt that I should comfort him. I felt that he understood my pain, but who else could possibly understand?

But I knew he did. His eyes told me he understood my pain. I dreamed about those beautiful eyes of his on the seventh day of the third week. I dreamed about him. For nearly four years I had not had a dream that was not a nightmare, and that night, I dreamed about him. I dreamed about his eyes.

I saw him, standing there, seemingly happy. And in some ways, in my dream, he was. But he wasn't. I cannot explain it. He was as happy as he could be, and he did his best to be as happy as he could be, but he was clearly lonely. There was more to the dream, but what I remember most about the dream were his eyes and the way they looked.

I wanted to reach out to him. I wanted him to reach out to me. I don't know what I wanted really, but I knew it had something to do with him. When I woke from my dream I was at a loss. The dream had felt so real, and I had not had one for so long, that for a moment, when he was not in front of me, I felt panicked and alone. I had not realized how lonely I had been, how foreign I had felt. For so long I had not been able to feel much of anything, lost too much in my own lusts and desires, my mind burning with the lust and violence from which had been forced upon me.

Loneliness. Such terrible and utter loneliness. These feelings seemed strangely foreign to me, and all that more powerful. I had not been able to feel much of anything but lust since who knew when, and to have other emotions thrust upon me so unexpectedly, to have them forced upon me hurt. It physically hurt. My body tensed, and I began to shake.

I hated it. I had forgotten feelings such as loneliness. Guilt was something that I could live with. I knew that it was not fully my fault for how I was. I blamed it upon Orochimaru. My guilt was there, but it was not strong. But this loneliness – how I hatedit. And it grew. It grew and grew in a matter of minutes. It became hard to breathe. I wanted the feeling of loneliness to go away.

My body began to react, and this time, not out of lust, but out of hate. I hated this stranger, this man who made me feel. My mind began to change, change into the animal-like being. I wanted to make him go away, make him leave, make him stop coming after me with his friends. It was obvious that it was he that they followed to find me, and it was obvious that he was able to track me. But how?

My mind began to calculate as it had not done for years. My head ached from thinking so hard as though the poison that affected my body affected my mind when I tried to think. I ignored the physical pain. I had to make that raw feeling of loneliness go away. Somehow I strung together that if I were to rid myself of him, I would rid myself of the loneliness.

I needed to capture him, needed to snare him on his own and then go through with my plan.

First, I would rid myself of the burning desire that normally affected me mentally. I was hard almost all the time, and any thought of the blond sparked my erection to enflame. The pain from being so hard all the time had become almost unbearable, and I needed release, but I didn't dare with them hunting me.

Perhaps it would destroy him, deter him, and he would stop coming after me. I would break him so much that he would leave. If not, then second, I would have to kill him.

I formed my plans and waited.

He came that night with his friends as he always did. None of them ever fell for the few traps I tried to set, but there was one thing I noted about the others when they chased after me.

They were not as fast as the blond.

I would run, and run for a time, but not full out. My plan was to separate him, and when the distance between his friends and us was great enough, pounce on him, and ensnare him.

Night fell, but it was a bright night. The moon was full, strangely more luminous than normal, lighting the usually darkened forest. The moon aided me as I hid, waiting, listening, and watching for the group of men that he led. They were easier for me to see in my hiding spot, and even their shadows could not hide from the strangely brilliant luster of the moon.

I could hear them long before I could see the group that hunted me, but I could tell they were more wary on this night, the night when they could not hide. He came into view first, the one I sought, and the moon allowed me to see the claw-like marks on either side of his cheeks once again.

It was strange that the lines seemed somehow more prolonged than normal. His eyes darted around, and they landed on my hiding spot though I had not moved, and it was then that I wondered for a brief minute if he could smell me.

I didn't dwell on it because I knew he had found me, but before he could beckon to his companions, I began to flee. In an instant the sounds of the surroundings changed. I could hear the sounds of twigs and undergrowth being torn through as the group came after me. I ran.

I ran for over an hour. He still followed me, and I could tell that his companions had not been able to keep up. I wondered if he realized that, and I wondered if they were really his friends if they allowed him to chase after me on his own.

I had many thoughts about him, so many thoughts, coherent thoughts like a normal being, thoughts that seemed foreign and somehow strangely familiar. Questions, that's what I was thinking about! That's what it was called; questions about him because I was curious. I vaguely remembered this sensation, and as this realization dawned on me that I had required another part of my humanity back to me, I had to remind myself that I could never become human again.

I didn't want to feel. I couldn't afford to feel. I was an outcast, and I would always be so. I had accepted my fate. My only other choice was to commit suicide, but I could not. My brother's choice would not be my choice.

But these thoughts cost me, and it was he who struck out at me first. I had been distracted thinking so, and he had caught up. I recovered quickly, feeling the side of my cheek where he had hit me hard enough to send me sprawling to the ground. I quickly stood back up and stared at him.

His eyes struck me first, and then his scent. He was perspiring, and I could smell it, and the fact that I had not been able to satisfy my demonic lust assaulted me in full force. My nails lengthened, as did my teeth, and I watched him and his reaction as he seemed unconcerned about my new appearance.

He seemed to notice my intent though and his eyes narrowed.

"I'm not here to hurt you Sasuke," he said calmly. He stared directly at me, and I was momentarily stunned that he knew my name. If I had not been for my strong desires, I might have found myself lost in his eyes again like I had the first time he had seen me on the trail.

As it was, my body had finally reacted, and I needed release. I had been at my peak three weeks ago when he started this chase, and I had never gone so long without satisfying my desires since I had been cursed.

I didn't respond to him, and I began to circle around him. He rotated on the spot as he watched me move, and I devoured him with my eyes. His clothes were torn in areas where they had been caught in the brambles as he had chased wildly after me. There were scratches on his face in addition to his three long scars. His chest heaved slightly as the long running took its toll on his body. I did not find his face particularly beautiful per se, but there was something about his eyes that held me captivated, holding me, making me want to make him mine.

"I can help you Sasuke. My name is," he said his name, that name I dare not repeat! "and I can help you," he spoke. He really had said his name, he really did. But I can't repeat it now in my tale. I cannot. "Let me help you," he murmured softly. He said other things trying to console me, but I was lost. His voice, the way he spoke to me left me reeling in erotic images. I imagined myself pressing inside him, feeling the way that his body would move as he struggled against me, feeling the way that my skin would sweat and our sweat would mingle. I could practically feel the sweet tightness of my first thrust inside him, and then I would make him orgasm, I felt that I could, and he would moan in pleasure as well as in pain. He would feel the emotional pain that he had brought me through the physical pain I would bring him. Right now he probably feared me and was just trying to make excuses anyway.

These images assaulted me, and I could not think any more. Time was being wasted just looking at him, and I flew my body at him, my claws ripping at his clothes, leaving other marks along his body as I began to mark him as mine.

But then something happened, something I was not prepared for. I was not prepared for him. I had been foolish to think that he had been scared of me. Foolish indeed.

The next thing I knew, claws were on my body, his claws on my body. His form changed; his body became more like mine, his nails lengthened like my own, those claw marks on his cheeks became more prominent – those marks that were his whiskers.

I don't know how he managed it, but his clothes seemed to vanish as nine tails appeared behind him. His tails were prehensile, and he used them to grip my arms and legs, forcing me to the ground as his own claws seemed to rip and shred my clothes that were already pathetically torn and ripped due to age.

I was naked and bared in a matter of moments, spread on my hands and knees as he pressed his naked front to my naked backside. Four of his tails held my four limbs tight. I felt his toned muscles pressing against my back, making me feel quite exposed. I always took my victims from behind. To be so exposed briefly shocked me. I struggled against him, my back pressing against him, feeling his own erection brushing against the side of my naked backside. I panicked against him, finally knowing what my victims must have felt like, unable to do anything, unable to move, unable to release myself from his hold, feeling at a loss, feeling helpless.

"I can help you Sasuke," he murmured as he pressed the side of his face against my own, whispering in my ear. I shuddered and struggled against him, but he only responded by rubbing his erection against my cheek. "I heard of your existence over two years ago, and I have been searching for you ever since," he said huskily. I struggled against him again, but his tails held me fast. Then his hands came up to ghost over my sides. They moved to hover over my erection, and I shuddered again, wanting him to touch me, fearing that he wouldn't. Why wasn't he moving? Why was he talking? Why wouldn't he do to me what I had wanted to do to him? "I can help you Sasuke," he repeated.

"Please," I moaned throatily. "Help me," I begged.

Pain tore at me as he thrust himself inside me without further warning. It hurt. It hurt so deliciously. He thrust again, and the pain intensified, and I moaned. He thrust again and again and again. I felt him, felt his cock inside of me, sliding in and out, his head penetrating deep enough that I felt like he would go right through me. His hand wrapped around my cock, and I began to pant as he thrust into me and pumped my erection.

He panted in my ear, his movements wild and frenzied behind me as he bucked his hips into my body. My body began to spasm as I felt my orgasm coming, felt the way that my sac tightened as I came, my semen coating over his hands.

It did not stop him. My body spasmed harshly as he continued to thrust inside of me, thrusting and grunting in his own lust, but he did not leave me alone. He let me come to my release, but then put his hands back on my softened penis, using my semen to lubricate my cock as he began to stroke me once again. It hurt. I was so sensitive after my release, the pleasure truly hurting as I came to another painful arousal, his hands never leaving my body alone as his teeth began to nip and bite at my neck. His hands began to pump me as he continued his ceaseless thrusting.

He didn't stop, and forced me to orgasm again, this orgasm coming faster, harder, and more painful than the last.

"Stop," I groaned as my body spasmed once more back against his, his hands once again finding my cock, blissfully painful as he assaulted my body. The third time took much longer before I came, thrusting almost dryly into his hands as it felt as though there were hardly anything left inside me to relieve myself of. He finally came, finally stopping his ceaseless thrusting and pumping.

He pulled out of me and removed his hands from my cock, allowing me to slump forward to the ground, supported ever so slightly by the hold his tails still had on me. I choked back a sob, feeling violated, feeling the way that I must had made others feel, yet somehow feeling sated and wanted. Wanted and somehow cared for.

"Is your lust gone?" he murmured. I choked back another sob, not answering him. He gently flipped me over onto my back so I was forced to face him. The pain that shot up my backside made me hiss. I glared at him angrily and defiantly, knowing I had no right to feel so angry as I had wanted to do the same to him that he had done to me.

He leaned forward and gently kissed my lips.

I bit him.

He seemed quite unabashed at the action and his hands came to my body and began to gently stroke my hair. I turned my head and bit the side of his hand even harder. He pressed his hand down into my mouth so that my teeth sank even deeper into his hand, probably breaking one of his bones. Yet the way he forced his hand down onto my teeth made my jaw lock so I was unable to pull away as I felt a small amount of his blood trickle into my mouth. His other hand came up and gently stroked my hair as I was unable to move my head to bite that hand.

"You were lonely too, ne?" he asked. "No one wanted to come to you because of the fact that you were contaminated from something out of your control, right?" he asked. He refused to remove his hand from my mouth so I did not answer, and I wondered how he knew about my past. "You are the same as I was," he murmured, and I felt a tear land on my cheek. My eyes widened as I realized he was crying for me, and a tear of my own slipped uncontrolled from my eye. He brushed it away and then went back to stroking my hair. He propped his body on top of me, but not all the way.

I finally realized what he was trying to do to me, and I began to sob in earnest as I realized he was comforting me. Someone was actually comforting me, comforting the Queerwolf. As my sobs wracked my body he finally unclamped his hand from my mouth.

"It's not your fault Sasuke," he murmured to me as he allowed me to cry, and I finally looked into his eyes again, knowing that he truly did understand me. Clearly his past must mirror my own; his claws and teeth were enough to prove that, though I didn't know why he had tails and whiskers. "It's not your fault," he murmured again. He let me cry, let me feel my emotions, and I felt completely human for the first time since I'd been tainted. Everything was overwhelming, the guilt of what I was and what I had done to others hit home as I had finally experienced first hand what my lust had cost others.

I'm not sure when his grip on me loosened, but I do remember finally noticing that he looked "normal" again, his tails gone. The only grip he had on me was the firm but gentle hand that rested on my hip, his other hand meanwhile stroking through my hair. He held me like that for sometime, and I finally began to relax, my mind quieted and my body stilled.

Something was different, and I didn't quite understand why, but I felt at peace.

"I have to go," he finally murmured quietly. "My friends will be looking for me. We will not bother you any more," he soothed, but my momentary peace shattered, and I reached out for him.

"Don't go," I begged, knowing I sounded pathetic, and feeling foolish for it. He smiled at me, somehow knowingly.

"It's gone," he murmured. "Your lust is gone. You don't need me. You're free."

"H-how?" I asked, hating myself for sounding so foolish and weak. He merely smiled.

"Because that's what I promised I would do." He untangled himself from my body, smiled at me once more and walked off in the woods. I wanted to chase after him, but my body felt too exhausted to move. Everywhere ached, and somehow I felt that if I chased after him, the momentary spell of peace he had given to me would break.

Weeks went by. The cloud of passionate haze that had once constantly loomed over me, been woven inside me, had indeed finally lifted. I felt no cravings like I used to. After determining where I was in relation to my home, I decided to go back to my village to see if I could find out what had happened to the people there.

Then I would begin my search for my blond savior.

The village was still standing, and some of my guilt eased. I had always felt as though when Orochimaru found me gone that he would wipe out the rest of the people where I lived, but it was not so. I desperately wanted to know what had happened, but I feared showing myself in the village. The once haughty air I had had when my lust consumed me had been destroyed from inside of me, and I had yet to rebuild my own pride and my confidence.

I snuck back to where my old home had been. It was, surprisingly, vacant, and it was clear that people avoided the house like (dare I say it?) the plague. No one had dared enter the house, and for that I was grateful. I had grown quite a bit since last I had lived there, and I was able to fit into my father's clothes. I took an old pack and placed a few belongings into it: some of my mother's jewelry to sell, some fishing gear, hunting tools, a few knives, and some of my father's clothes to change into. I also took my father's old, black traveling cloak to cover my head and shield my face from those who might recognize me.

Taking the money left to me, a quite significant sum, I left my home and entered the village. I noticed how big it had become, and I was again grateful that nothing had happened to it. I approached someone who looked unfamiliar, hoping he would not recognize me.

"Sir," I greeted, "the house out by the large oak seems abandoned. Who would I ask within the village to buy that house?" I questioned. The man looked at me funny and walked away. Clearly strangers were no longer welcomed in my old village. I was not surprised after what had happened with Orochimaru.

I asked many people this question before I finally found a man willing to talk. From what I gathered he was a storyteller and enjoyed having an ear to speak to.

"You must be a stranger in these parts. That house is the Uchiha house. Nigh on seven years ago a plague swept the village. A man came and cured our sick. At first we thought he to be a Godsend, yet barely a few days went by before he demanded restitution for his services. He took the eldest male child from the house ye ask about, and it was clear that this man had horrible intentions for the boy. Two years passed, and the man returned. He slaughtered the parents of the child he took but infected their youngest child with a disease that is worse than death itself. The man called Orochimaru claimed that the eldest male had killed himself rather than be tortured by the man any more, so he came to make the youngest Uchiha his next victim.

"Only trouble was, he left the boy here. The boy turned mad and sodomized some of the people in the village. Usually it was the drunks when they were too stupid and went too near the house, but what could we do? The village had to keep the boy alive for when Orochimaru came back, or else he would surely kill us all. Still, whatever sickened the mind of the youngest must have driven him mad with guilt for he finally ran away less than a year before his seventeenth birthday, the date when Orochimaru was to come back for the boy," the man said.

"What happened next?" I asked the storyteller.

"Orochimaru never came back on the boy's birthday," the man grinned widely, and I could see that he was missing most of his teeth. "Another man came, well, a boy really, to the village's aid about a year after we expected Orochimaru's return. He said his name was," and the man spoke the name of the one who had saved me, and I nearly gasped. "From what I gathered, the eldest Uchiha boy really didn't kill himself. Apparently Orochimaru found himself someone else that looked more interesting to him and his sodomitic ways. The boy," again he said my savior's name, and I felt my eyes shut close and my body nearly shuddered, "had been the more interesting one. Only problem was Orochimaru got more than he bargained for with the second boy. Orochimaru killed Itachi himself in his lust for the other male, yet," again the man said his name, and this time I couldn't help but shudder, "out smarted him. Ran for it. That was when Orochimaru came back to the village and killed the Uchiha parents and sickened the youngest. He apparently did not take the youngest male then because he wanted to try and find -," this time, when the storyteller said his name, I shuddered so violently that the man paused in his narration. "Are you well?" he asked worriedly.

"Yes," I said, composing myself as best I could. "Please, continue."

"The new boy," the man said, and he refrained from saying his name, and looked at me. He seemed to have realized that it was his name that affected me so, "found a way to control the same lusts and desires the youngest Uchiha was inflicted with. It was the newcomer to the village that stopped Orochimaru. He gathered a band of friends together, and they helped him kill Orochimaru. The boy then searched for our village, wanting to apologize to the Uchiha family for being the one who Orochimaru had chosen over Itachi. I suppose he felt that it was partly his fault that Orochimaru killed Itachi because Orochimaru killed Itachi over him. Anyway, he was saddened to hear of the Uchiha parents' deaths and even more saddened to hear about what had happened to the youngest.

"The boy set out the next day to see if he could find the youngest Uchiha, saying he would search until he found him and brought him to peace, wanting to make amends. Don't really see that it was his fault. Orochimaru had decided to kill the Uchihas and sicken the youngest, but I tell ye, there was no changing his mindset. He wanted to find the youngest Uchiha so badly that all we could do was tell him rumors of what we had heard. We told him to follow the whispers of where the Queerwolf roamed. Hope the blond found the Uchiha. He seemed so desperate to find him, and the youngest Uchiha didn't deserve what that man Orochimaru did to him." The storyteller finally finished his story and looked at me expectantly.

"Thank you sir," I said, bowing and turning.

"Stranger!" he called after me. "Didn't you want to know who to buy the house from?" the storyteller asked.

"Not any more," I murmured. He gave me a curt nod as though believing his story had deterred me from wanting to buy it. I walked a few more paces before turning around, figuring I owed the man something for his story, and since he was a storyteller, I figured it would make a good ending to his story. "The savior of the village – he found me and saved me too," I murmured. The man looked at me strangely before comprehension seemed to dawn and his mouth opened wide. I nodded to him and walked off, walking straight through my old village for the last time.

I set my gaze forward, setting out to travel on foot to search for him, for my savior.

He had left me alone, and I wanted to know why. Why did he save me and then leave me? Why didn't he let me stay with him? But I think I knew. He knew I would need time by myself, time to travel, time to repent for the sins I committed unwillingly.

I repented by helping people on my journey to find him. While my lust was gone, I found myself to have incredible strength. Perhaps my strength was due to some side effect from the sickness that I had never noticed due to my constant haze of lust. Perhaps it was just that living so wildly and bestially had made me stronger overtime. Or perhaps it was that he was the one that had given me strength. I suspected the latter.

I was able to help the villages I wandered through searching for him. Sometimes I helped the poor rebuild their homes. Sometimes I helped people with their harvest. Sometimes I was able to stop men who victimized women the way I used to victimize men.

Three years passed, wandering from village to village searching for him or any sign of his friends.

I had nearly given up hope when I finally found one of his friends, and the man reluctantly told me where he lived. My savior had since settled in a village not far from my old village, and I rushed to find him.

He was outside of his little home when I saw him again. There were children all around him, and he was doing tricks for them with his hands, and telling of old pranks that he used to pull. His grin was wide, and his eyes as blue as ever.

It was strange standing there, watching him. He seemed so happy and content, so mischievous and full of love and somehow untainted like I was. I waited in the shadows, watching the children laugh at his antics, and I felt a tug at my heart.

I did not belong here.

Still, I couldn't seem to move my feet away from where I stood rooted watching him. I watched him finally shoo the children away, saying that he had supper on and that he was getting hungry. He watched them all go from his front gate, smiling at them before he turned his eyes towards me.

I shouldn't have been surprised that he knew that I was there. Hadn't he found me so easily before? I felt foolish standing there. He and I had barely known each other. I had spent my time running from him for three weeks, and he had left me after he had rid me of my lust. Why had I come back to him when I didn't know him? Why would he want me to come to him when he didn't know me?

"I have enough stew for the two of us," he called, smiling gently, as though he had been expecting that I would come to him. My heart fluttered. His smile grew as though he could see my relief where I hid in the shadows. He opened the gate wide for me, and I finally emerged from my hiding spot.

I walked up to him and passed him while he held the gate open for me to enter. I paused, staring at his eyes, and I felt my breath catch. They were just as I remembered them, but being this close, I could see the strain of loneliness that I had been unable to see from far away.

"I-" I began, wanting to explain why I was there, wanting to explain why I needed to be there with him, but he cut me off.

"I understand," he said smiling at me. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like." He shut the gate and walked into his home, and I followed, feeling more sated and content than ever before.

The End.

The Queerwolf

The Queenwhite Mountains are my home. I haunt

Hermaphroditic slaloms of Vermont

But at nightfall queerwolfishly I go

Down to the valleys, macho-green, below

And, leering, sidle up to yummy youths

And catch their cocky eye and make my moves:

My paws, my claws, my fangs hiss sodomy,

Oh dear, some fox has wised them up to me,

He Makes His Moves, they cry, He's On The Prowl!

I scuttle to my mountain top; and howl.

I DID NOT WRITE THIS POEM. This is copyright Eric Bentley (1971). I found the poem and my imagination ran away with me.

I hope you liked this very bizarre fic. If not, that's okay. I didn't like it sometimes either. Let me know if you hated it, liked it, or were confused as hell. ~ Jelp