disclaimer: disclaimed.
dedication: Les. you're welcome. I said I was writing something for Dirt Empire. I lied. it turned into this.
notes: well hello there OTP. I never meant to be gone so long. I still love you.

title: all too deadly
summary: The sun bears down, again. — Sasuke/Kiba.






The beach that summer belonged to Konoha's graduating classes. In the sticky mildew heat, the almost-adults frolicked in sand and water, a laughing tumble of tanned skin and summer-colour light. It was the last hurrah; the summer before they went off to university, and became honest, hard-working people who made contributions to society. It was eighteen, blind and stumbling and shaking on a high from someone else's weed.

And Kiba sat on driftwood in the midst of it all, smoking a cigarette and watching the waves. Trapped in hazy warmth and sunshine, he glanced over his best friend.

"Idiots," Sasuke muttered.

Kiba laughed, soft and smoky and low. It was a husky sound, meant only for Sasuke's ears—everyone else was too busy getting drunk to have heard it, anyway. And no one else would understand.

"They're not so bad, 'n you know it."

"Shut the fuck up, Kiba," Sasuke sighed, and flopped down beside him. His hands caught only the seams of Kiba's jeans, tangling fingers through fingers, palm against palm for the briefest of seconds. No one was looking.

"S'no wonder my girlfriends hate you," Kiba chuckled.

Sasuke moved away, and if not for the lingering warmth, Kiba might have thought he was starting to feel things.

But of course not.

Sasuke had never played games.

That was Kiba's thing.

Except that Kiba's girlfriends did all hate Sasuke, if only for the mere fact that there was no question who came first in his life. He dragged on his cigarette and waited for the world to turn to a disaster. It wouldn't take long, in this gold-flecked late summer evening where the heat stuck to his skin like a silver lining of some thunder-cloud; half-prickly with static and the general potential energy—the almost there but not.

"Want it?" Kiba asked around the cigarette hanging between his lips.

"Hn." Sasuke grabbed it and pressed it to his mouth and breathed in then out, pale smoke gone paler gold in the sunlight and Kiba thought—indirect kiss.

And Kiba would have kissed him.

And it wouldn't have been the first time.

But no one would have understood.

And so he heaved himself away from his makeshift driftwood bench, and ambled down towards the water with his hands stuck in his pockets. He heard Sasuke make a low noise in his throat and Kiba turned and looked over his shoulder—everything that was right was upside down—and smirked.

Because it was easier this way.

There was rage and grief. The emotions were at odds with the golden summertime bearing down on the back of his neck. The ghost feeling of warm appendages knotting with his own for the faintest of seconds lingered, lips and promises sweet as sin, and Kiba—god, Kiba couldn't.

He walked down to the water, and didn't look back again.