A/N: A lot of myself went into this emotionally, and I'm not sure why.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

When his looming figure appeared at his door in the middle of the night, Naruto was ready to throw everything into getting away with his life intact. Yet when all he did was stare with those luminous eyes, looking oddly vulnerable in the darkness, Naruto recognized within this man, his enemy, an unnameable emotion which they both shared.

No words were exchanged and yet, every action was understood. Intentions and reactions crossed the air between them, stuck in the silence of the doorway.

Naruto was sure the first time would be the last.

Limbs entwined together in the darkness, like puppets with tangled strings, they panted the aftermaths of their pleasure into the air. He would stare at the dangerous man lying beside him, eyes glowing red, skin shimmering with sweat, and wonder when they would be broken.

When Itachi arrived like a shadow the second time, Naruto knew that it was a beginning of an end.

It was not to say, despite his hasty actions, that Naruto didn't question the motives which drove Itachi to him. Itachi probably knew he was curious, but Naruto never probed, and Itachi never offered, and so their erratic schedule together remained unchanged.

The older man was always silently passionate during sex. He moved with a refined grace, yet each movement was tinged with a desperation so profound that Naruto wanted to cry. Instead, he wondered why Itachi's eyes were always so terribly, beautifully red.

Bathed in the cold moonlight, they moved against each other with an innate rhythm born of shared experience. Naruto never questioned why Itachi got to top. The answer remained so simple, yet they both knew that no one else would be able to understand. No words passed through the air, yet hundreds passed through each meeting of skin to skin. Itachi was explaining. Naruto wanted to understand. And so he allowed himself to remain open to whichever nameless emotions Itachi needed to broadcast.

The first time Itachi's eyes fell to their natural dark grey during their coupling, Naruto understood the reason for his perpetual Sharingan: underneath the glaring brightness, Itachi lost the ability to hide his emotions. It was like a writhing mass threatening to swallow Naruto alive. The anger-sadness-frustration-hurt which lay so close to the surface stunned him into stillness, but the sudden flicker of eyes to the headband lying innoculously on his bedside table brought understanding.

What would bring a man of such magnitude into the bed of his supposed prey? What could force Itachi into a pained silence? What could empower a twelve-year old to vow the rest of his life to the retrieval of his best friend? What could force him to kill?

It was all relative, Itachi and Naruto's lives were. They revolved around the same source, and they were both given strength, grief, happiness and despair by the same person.

Circle dot.

Round and around they went, tangled together in their passion, bound by one source, tatters of memories shared across the barrier of one mind to another, yet never growing closer to that one goal within their revolving dance. With each other or with the figure always standing there in the distance, neither of them knew.


I'm sorry, he whispered as he lay dying under the rain, a hand reaching like a pale fluttering butterfly towards the smaller figure limping away.

I know. I'll bring him back for both of us.