This one's for you, Aimee ^^ Another 1,000+ word Uchihacest oneshot. I sorta-kinda got the idea from Gaara's line: "Perhaps the companionship of even an evil person is preferable to loneliness." Enjoy and review :)
Pairings: MadaIta, references to SasoDei and one-sided KisaIta.
Madara was kind enough to never ask why Itachi kept coming back. Never questioned it when Itachi would come to him and kneel in front of him, wordlessly pleading for the small tokens of affection that Madara saw fit to give him.
Madara would smile at this and run his hands through Itachi's crow black hair, pressing a kiss to his cheek or forehead with a low, dark laugh.
He didn't ask because he already knew.
Itachi had an urge- an overpowering need- to feel human. He needed to feel his heart pound, to feel his blood rush, to feel that burst of pleasure that coursed through him at the moment of climax. He needed this, because it breathed emotions into his body, gave life to the corpse that he called his body.
Madara knows this because he knows everything about Itachi. Knows every inch of his perfect porcelain body and his startlingly brilliant mind. He knows all the things that Itachi wants desperately to say, but cannot put into words; so he has trained his body speak for him.
And oh, the things that Itachi could say without making a sound. With a glance of his dark eyes he could say, "Love me." With the subtle trembling of his lower lip, he could say, "Comfort me." With the tensing of his body, the quickening of his breath, he could say "Fuck me" just as clearly as if he screamed at the top of his lungs.
Madara gladly obliges these requests, comforting tears with empty words, which nonetheless seem to pacify Itachi's omnipresent sadness. With little kisses and gentle touches, he could make Itachi feel loved. Madara does all this because it gives him a sense of control.
He was the one who controlled Itachi's feelings. The one who soothed nightmares and lifted his melancholy mood. But most importantly, he controlled Itachi's pleasure. Controlled when Itachi felt the most alive.
"Aah!" Itachi gasped, as Madara rubbed a gloved hand along the length of his cock. His eyes were shut tight; his face flushed a deep red. His knees were trembling and weak. Quiet moans and gasps escaped between his gritted teeth, his bare chest heaving with deep, heavy breaths. Madara smirked tightened his grip as he continued to pleasure his protégé.
He was absolutely addicted to the power trip he got when he did this. Reducing Itachi to moans and whimpers, taking power over the boy's emotions. It was easy, too. Itachi's resolve and Uchiha pride went to mush when Madara had his hand in his pants, giving him what he wanted so badly.
Itachi made a loud, deep, drawn-out moan from low in his throat as his release came upon him, coating Madara's glove with sticky semen. His breathing was heavier than before, and he was still as hard and needy as before.
Madara silenced Itachi by kissing his soft, full lips. They eagerly parted to allow Madara's invading tongue.
If loneliness had a taste, Itachi's would be it. The sweetness of solitude, tinged by bitterness of seclusion and despair.
Because Itachi never wanted to be alone. Not really. There was a time when he thought that was what he wanted, but that time had long since passed.
He doesn't want to be alone. Not anymore.
They break the kiss to part for air, and Itachi opens his eyes to plead for his mentor to continue.
"It feels good, doesn't it?" Madara asked, his smirk growing wider.
Itachi takes a few deep breaths before nodding.
"Would you like more?"
The airy, pleading tone in his voice was enough to convince Madara to continue. Besides, his own aching erection was demanding attention.
He laid Itachi down on the futon, pulling pants and underwear off with well-practiced motions.
"On your knees," He ordered.
Itachi usually prefers to have Madara take him from behind, so he can't see his expression of pained ecstasy. Madara was willing to humor him tonight, by allowing him to hide his humanity from the very man who gave it to him.
Madara pulled off a glove with his teeth and stuck the fingers in his mouth, keeping his gaze on Itachi the whole time.
"Breathe," he said, noticing that Itachi has been holding his breath.
He gasped as the first finger pressed into him, probing for that special place with long, slow drawn out movements inside that hot, tight space.
"Heh. I found it."
The other fingers soon joined the first, stretching him in all directions. Cries of pain mingled with wanton, lusty groans.
Madara continued to rub against that special place until Itachi couldn't stop shaking from the overload of pain and pleasure. Agony and bliss. The most potent combination of sensations, these made Itachi feel like a person, if only for a short while.
He stroked Itachi's hardness a few more times before he came again, too out of breath to do anything more than gasp.
Pulling the fingers out, he leaned over and sucked on Itachi's neck until he was sure it would leave a bright red hickey. He undid his pants to free his erection.
Spreading Itachi's legs further apart, Madara readied himself to enter.
Itachi was tight. He had always been tight, and it felt so very, very good around his aching cock.
Itachi had begun to cry, tears dripping off his nose and chin. Madara says nothing. He knows the tears are not from the pain of penetration.
It was somewhat cathartic. Itachi would shed tears of guilt and regret for his troubled past under the cover of the pain of sex. The emotional effectively disguised as the physical.
His body was perfect. His heat mind bending. Everything flawless and perfect and wonderful, and Madara owned it all.
He paused to take in Itachi's body, slicked with sweat and absolutely beautiful.
"Ah…Madara-sensei, please move."
Madara starts up a slow, steady pace, because Itachi likes it better that way. They had been rough many times, but it left Itachi bloody and miserable. Madara didn't feel like that today- he decided to be merciful.
He pulled out before carefully pushing back in again, watching carefully for Itachi's reaction.
Itachi was hard again, groaning and reaching to touch the place where he ached. Madara grabbed his wrist and took over the task, expertly maneuvering his hand in ways that made Itachi whimper.
When Madara was inside Itachi, Itachi felt complete. It may have been obscene, but it was the only way he felt any semblance of life or humanity.
Madara continued to rock in and out of him at a slow pace, ghosting light touches over his body.
groaned his completion, releasing inside Itachi as he came for the third time that night.
Heavy breathing and pounding hearts slowly quieted as they came down from their high. Itachi was completely exhausted, but he would not allow himself to fall asleep in Madara's room. He forced himself to stand, legs as shaky as a newborn fawn's. He cleaned off and dressed himself before dragging himself out of Madara's room without a word.
Disgust and self-hatred always followed these long late-night sessions. The brief orgasmic high almost wasn't worth the terrible loathing he felt for himself for hours afterwards.
But no matter what, he knew he would always return. Because he needed that. Needed to feel human for a little while longer, or he would go insane.
He collapsed on the pillows in his own room, asleep as soon as his head found a comfortable place to rest.
The other Akatsuki stared at Itachi as he walked into the room the next morning. They always noticed the limping, the red marks and bites decorating his body. But nobody dares to say anything. Itachi's business is Itachi's business.
Kisame acts odd on mornings like these, muttering under his breath and fretting over Itachi more than usual. If Itachi coughed, stumbled or winced in pain, Kisame would be there, asking if he was alright. Itachi would glare until Kisame left him alone again.
Everybody values their lives too much to ask Kisame why he does this, and Kisame never wants to say. To admit the unrequited feeling he may harbor somewhere deep inside.
Itachi cringes as he sits down and picks up a book, more to hide his face than anything else.
Attention is diverted when Deidara makes his entrance. His limp is much more pronounced than Itachi's. his arms and legs are covered in what appear to be rope burns.
Ropes…or, perhaps…metal cables.
Sasori looks up from repairing Hiruko with a knowing smirk. The others stare at Deidara until he sends them a glare that gets them to leave him alone.
He and Itachi connect eyes for a moment, and though Deidara hates Itachi with a passion, there is an understanding between them. They exchange small smiles before returning to their cool indifference to each other. Each knows that the other felt alive that night, and that the powerful feeling was worth any concerned glances or awkward, silent mornings.
Hee hee, I had fun writing this ^^ Than