IMPORTANT NOTES: This is a repost. This used to be posted in my yaoi account, Requiem'sKiss/Fujoshi-chan but I already deleted that one and I moved this fic here. I did not steal this story, I made it and it's mine. If you see this story posted anywhere else that isn't by requiem/jaded savant/cathydeff then it is not me and they plagiarized me.
The gavel knocks against the wood, hard, once. And in that single bang your life is decided, ended or begun; only you could tell.
The sound is slightly deafening to your ears, and you thank whoever is listening (you had long since learned that there is no God) that you have two eardrums. You don't do anything; just sit in that uncomfortable wooden chair in which they usually place people like you, to intimidate, to scare, to weaken. It doesn't work on you—it never does. Instead, you make yourself a bit more comfortable, shifting slightly, masking your movements as if straightening yourself in surrender. It's the end, anyway, you reason, so at least, allow yourself the last vestiges of comfort.
You hear your name being said, distantly, as if from another life, another dream. You don't really listen. Nobody really does, especially when you speak. You learned that years ago, that when you speak, they hear, but never listen. So why would you listen to them now? What difference does it make?
So you hear them, you hear your sentence. It's your punishment, they tell you, for what you've done.
What you've done…. It brings a weird taste to your mouth. What have you done, exactly? The questions tumble in your head, niggling in your mind.
He deserved it, he brought it upon himself. He killed your family, broke your bonds. Fate wrote his sentence as soon as he'd done everything against you. You say that it's all for revenge, what you've done. You are an avenger.
That's why you left. You weren't strong enough; you needed more. Power. Strength. It was all that mattered to you. For revenge, you said so many times, chanting it as your daily mantra.
And it's also why you killed. Why you decided to end his life. You've never killed before. You told yourself that he would be your first and only kill.
Because if you did any more, you would be like him.
Half-dead, no life, no meaning.
You jerk back to the present. She's saying that you're going to be executed at dusk tomorrow, barely giving you twenty-four hours to live.
You want to ask why they can't kill you this second. Why do you have to wait?
But that defeats the purpose. You're supposed to grieve for your own life, beg for a few more hours, days, weeks, months, years. Waiting is your real punishment, not your death.
In death, your life ends, and that's that.
But lying in wait for death, it is the worst. Knowing that every second that passes, your life shortens, coming closer and closer to the end that will inevitably come. It is scary, knowing what exact time you will die, but you've learned to anticipate death at every corner, even learn to welcome it along the way.
The feeling of the impending end is not new to you. So you don't react to her words, since you knew all along that this would happen.
They are so predictable, you think scornfully.
People around you whisper, snicker, talk, and rejoice. Because they say that they are victims of what you've done. You've broken them, took away what their greed gave them. So they blame you for it. They need someone to blame--and you are easy target.
And you realize that these people are the same ones who sang your praises long before you had left. Their hypocrisy drips from them, to the floor, to the walls, silently suffocating you, and this time, you want to kill again, just so you can breathe. But you don't.
Because you swore that you'd never stoop to their level.
The gavel strikes again.
And everything becomes completely silent.
Your cell is small, barren except for a cot, a sink, and a toilet. You lie on your back on the musty sheets, looking as if you are thinking, but you are not. It didn't take you three minutes to come up of a way to escape from this place but you don't do that. You just want to rest, distantly realizing that when you die, you don't do anything anymore. You just disappear.
And that's what they want, for you to disappear.
Because you are their mistake they want to correct.
And it's your death that erases their sins.
There are no windows in the room, so you don't know what time it is from the placement of the moon in the sky. It has probably been hours since your trial ended, since you were brought back to your 'room'. But you saw the moon when they led you back here. It was beautiful, majestic, full, and bright. A glowing ball of serene light against the darkness.
As you think of the moon, you think of the sun. No, it's a different sun, not the one which hangs up in the skies. Because it's your own sun, the one which shines for you alone. If your life is darkness, he's the light in the corner, which tells you that your life is not dark enough for you to think that everything has ended before it started.
As if in answer to a prayer, your cell door clicks open. And by that familiar, remarkable feeling alone, you know that he's come, as he promised he would.
You see him, see his profile etched against the blackness. Nothing could hide his light, and you suppress a smile at that.
He speaks, and for the first time in a long while, you listen.
You hear what you want to hear, spoken in his voice, that soft timbre that always leaves you wanting for more.
"I'm here to keep my promise."
But it's not what you need to hear.
You lie back on your cot, now more than annoyed. You are downright angry, and with good reason, too.
You remember that moment, when that particular promise was made. Perspiration was rolling off your bodies, as you both created a perfect rhythm with each other. The scent of heat and lust and sweat and sex permeated the air to the point of nausea. But you didn't care, couldn't care less if you tried. Your whole attention was fixed on the man underneath you, squirming deliciously as you pounded him to the damp mattress. You thought dimly that it was always like this between you two: one always had to dominate and one always had to submit. It didn't matter who did what at the time, because you liked to change places. You were never equals, no matter how much he says that you are.
And it was fine by you. And it was fine by him.
You reached it, reached that point that you were searching for. Your pants grew heavier, your breaths shallower, your gasps louder. By some unspoken rule, the one on the bottom always got to come first. So you let him, and you followed. The tightening around your stomach was loosened and you fell on him, breathing heavily, trying to gather what was left of your thoughts.
But it was a futile effort as his lips claimed yours, searching, probing, demanding. But there was something wrong with that kiss. It had a deeper message to it. So you broke away, eyes asking, as your licentious dark orbs bored holes in the other man's cerulean ones.
He rolled off the bed, gathering up his clothes. And you watched, saying nothing. It was always the same. You would come to him, demand what you knew you craved. He would submit, beg, plead for what you could give at that moment, but when it was over, he would leave. Without a word, without a glance back.
And you wondered why it left you feeling empty.
--Because you know that it was the same way you left him--
But this time he came back on the bed, asking for another kiss which you gave without a moment's hesitation.
"They're suspicious," you heard him mumble against your lips. "They're tracking me."
You caught the unsaid, felt as if your heart, whatever was left of it, shattered in a million pieces.
And now I can never come to you, not ever again.
Before he could leave, you wrapped your arms around him.
"No," you said, your voice strong, "this isn't over until I say it is. You are mine. Only mine. I was your first, and I will be your last."
"That's not possible."
"I will make it happen." You let him go, and gathered your own clothes, put them on and made your way back to him. But you knew the truth in his words. Knew that he didn't really belong to you. He was another's. You were just stealing him for a few moments before he went back.
And it hurt. It fucking hurt.
But you didn't let that show. He always saw you as the strong one, not knowing that his strength is greater that yours.
Because you believed that you are weak, will always be weak.
And it's him to whom you have shown all weakness.
"One night, just one night, I want to be yours as much as you are mine."
You disappeared, not seeing the tear that slipped down his face and left a shimmering trail down a tan cheek.
You didn't hear his small voice, so soft it was barely spoken.
He speaks again, the same man who haunted your dreams, who drove you mad by his mere memory, eternally burned into your mind.
"I wasn't there--"
You angrily cut him off, knowing what he is going to say.
"I don't need a sympathy fuck," you growl, "Get the hell away from here. I'm tired. I want to sleep."
You see that he gets angry as well and he stomps to you and grabs you by the collar, angrily shaking, teeth gnashing. You can feel his anger coming off him in waves.
"I didn't come here for that," he roars, "I didn't come here for you, I came here for me. Because I need closure and you are going to give it to me, you bastard!"
You slap away his hands, turn your head to the side and smirk. "Closure?" Your hands snake to back of his head and you coil your fingers one his rough hair. You yank the strands strong enough to tear at his scalp.
You lean in close, breathe into his ear, "I'll never let you go. You can never escape me." You lick the shell of his ear, delighting in the shivers that rack his body at your touch.
You pull him close, try to get him to the bed but he pulls away, breathing hard, staring at you with those eyes that hurt and soothe you at the same time.
"I set up a jutsu on your room," he says. His fingers are on your cheek, on your neck, caressing, teasing, promising. "The old hag gave me five minutes with you." He smiles and comes closer, his lips brush on your cheek. "Outside everything has stopped. Here, you have me for the whole night."
You smirk, and press your lips against his pliant ones.
You savour the moment, because it's more than you can ever ask for.
You groan at the feeling of his body against yours. Your hands travel everywhere on the hardened yet strangely soft body they can reach, as if making sure that it is real, and not just another frustrating dream that ended with a cold shower and an exhausted body.
Someone groans into the kiss and your movements become jerky with need.
"I need you…" you whisper against a red ear. You hate the plea in your voice, the raw want in your every tone. He was the one who was supposed to beg, not you.
He smiles softly, saying your name as if a reverent prayer as he stokes your cheek. You bury your face in that warm palm, not believing that there will come a day when you will succumb to this strange emotion welling up in your chest. You decide not to name it, decide to ignore it.
Because it's too late for everything, to tell him what you felt all these years.
"I need you, too."
And the last of your restraint snaps. The only thing in your mind is to fill this indecipherable need that has pooled in your gut, demanding to be satisfied. You have waited so long for this.
He can see that, and tells you that it's okay. To take him as you see fit. He is yours.
And you feel that this one night is worth everything after all.
"Tell me what you want."
You, just you. Only you. This night, all nights. Forever.
"Tell me what you need."
For you to tell me that I'm the only one you need.
"Why did you leave me?"
Because it's the only way I could be with you.
"Why have you come just now?"
Because it's the only way I could escape you.
"Why won't you let me save you?"
Because I am beyond saving.
He can only shake his head at that response, not accepting, not understanding. But he knows that it's you, and the only thing he could do was set it aside.
He looms over you, smiling again, but it's different. You hate the change in his smile. Yet you don't say anything.
"Now it's my turn to have you," he says, and you could only pull him close.
"The rest of the night is still ours."
It is a mere whisper yet it threatens to assault your body in pure desire. Pure guilt. Pure shame.
Yet you know that it will be your night. Your only night.
--Promise me that you'll shine for me, and only for me. My beautiful sun.--
"Actually, I lied." He presses a kiss against your brow, his voice soft, a mere breath against cold, pale skin. He thinks you're asleep, but it's what you're good at, faking. It's what you're both good at.
"You don't have me for the night," he continues, still unaware that you're listening, hanging to his every word.
"Because I was always yours from the start, till my last breath, forever. You are right, I am as much yours as you are mine."
And just like that, you are finally saved.
The sun sinking below the mountain ridge is lovely, you think. You love sunsets, the ball of light giving way to the darkness. It soothed you before, when you were at your worst, and it still soothes you to your very core.
You know what's coming, yet you do not fear it. There is nothing to fear, you tell yourself.
He's not here. You don't expect him to be. He gave you the night. That was the promise.
The sun is breathtaking, casting golden and pink lights reflecting on the heavy clouds above. The trees are swaying gently in the frigid breeze, delighted leaves swirling in an agitated manner as they blew across the unending sea of green. Birds are mere speckles in the sky as they dive for their homes for the night, the distant cawing and crooning sounds a simple tune to your ears.
To die in such beauty. Fitting for such a creature tainted with so much ugliness.
--Because I was always yours from the start, till my last breath, forever. You are right, I am as much as yours as you are mine.--
His words echo in your ears. You think of them only. His words, his breath fanning against your heated skin, warming you.
They mean everything to you.
You don't even feel it as they pass the poisons in your body. She said it would be quick, and painless. She held up to that.
You face relaxes in a smile.
At the end of the tunnel, instead of the darkness, you can only see a bright light.
Beta by dark mirth, who deserves all the love in this world for checking this over for me even though she didn't know what Naruto is.
Disclaimer: Sasuke drove a chidori through my chest when I told him that I owned Naruto. Cool, I don't have to pay for heart surgery anymore.