Warnings: This fic contains material that may not be appropriate for children under the legal age of consent. Also, some material may not be enjoyable for certain readers who do not approve of homosexual relationships. There will be sexual content, considered NC-17 material, and also mentions of pedophilia-oriented sexual abuse. This work of fiction will also include sex scenes between an adult male and a minor who is above the age of fifteen. Any suggestion of sexual behavior with a minor under the age of fifteen will not be written in detail or portrayed as erotically pleasing.
A/N: Damn this thing has a lot of fucking warnings... The idea for this hit me pretty hard today and I just had to write it.
"All things truly wicked start from innocence."
I don't know his name. I never really do. Sometimes, they tell me to call them Daddy, but usually it's Sir, or Master. In front of other people, it's always just Dad, but they don't tend to let me out with other people.
According to my birth certificate, my name is Sasuke Uchiha. I have a mother, Mikoto Uchiha, and a father, Fugaku Uchiha. That's all fine and swell, especially because Fugaku Uchiha is the most famous actor in this beautiful country of Japan, and Mikoto is his supermodel wife.
I have no memory of them aside from their pictures in magazines, and even those are hard to come by.
Sometimes, I wonder if the media even knows that their favorite celebrities have a son. I highly doubt it. I was in the Hopeful Souls Orphanage for the first six months of my life. Or at least that's what my papers say. After that, I was adopted by a nice couple that told me to call them Auntie and Uncle. I lived with them for nearly six years, but they ran into financial trouble just before my sixth birthday.
That's when I met my first Daddy. I asked him if he had adopted me, like my Auntie and Uncle, but he said no – that he had chosen me, and being chosen was a lot more special than being adopted. He told me that just any little kid can get adopted if they stick in the "system" long enough, but that to be chosen you had to be beautiful. He said that I was a "real little beauty" and that the first time he saw me he knew I was worth more than his whole bank account, but could be bought for less.
My first Daddy settled Auntie and Uncle's financial trouble in exchange for me, and I guess I'm glad he did so, at least for their sake. Daddy liked cameras, and he had them in every room. He had one in the bathroom, that looked rather imposing. It was always aimed at my boy-parts, and it took me several tries to be able to pee without blushing.
At night, he would let one of the other boys, or sometimes a man, come in and touch me all sorts of weird places. He would let them put their boy things in my mouth, and spank me if I gagged. Even getting spanked had to be on video, and you have no idea how humiliating that is. Can you imagine that? Getting in trouble for something you can't even help and having no idea how many thousands of people watched you get punished for it? It's horrid.
Child Protective Services got hold of one of those videos when I was exactly seven and a half. I asked the nice lady which one they saw, and I told her that I hoped it wasn't one of the peeing ones, cus those are just gross. She never answered my questions. She just held me and cried on me, until I couldn't help but cry right back on her, even though I'm sure neither of us really knew what was wrong.
Next, I had a Mom and Pop. Mom and Pop were paid each month to look after me, so they didn't run into any of those financial issues that Auntie and Uncle had to endure. Mom explained that this was because I was no longer in the orphanage system, I was now in something called foster care – so instead of people having to pay to have me, now they got paid to have me.
Mom seemed to like me a lot. For the first time, I was in school, and I met lots of little boys and girls my age with similar interests. I was quickly accepted by many of the students throughout the upper school as well as my elementary class, and I got special permission to join the swim team even though I was too young.
One day, while I was changing out of my trunks, I saw two older boys doing the same. They were comparing themselves in the mirror, and one was teasing the other for having a smaller boy thing than he did. The one with the smaller thing insisted that his could grow a full three inches more if it was hard, and somehow their friendly competition turned into both of them wanking in order to compare properly.
It reminded me of my first Daddy, and I couldn't help but creep out of my hiding space and get a better look. I sort of missed the feeling of a man's meat down my throat. It was an easy way to get attention, I guess. Usually they would stroke my cheeks and my hair while I was sucking it for them, so it was a fun way to be touched. Especially by the ones who wanted to kiss me afterwords.
When I asked the older boys if I could suck their things, only one of them agreed. The other one was rather disgusted by the idea, and quickly exited the locker-room.
What I didn't realize, was that the uninterested boy was not satisfied by simply not receiving oral pleasure – he had to go so far as to ruin it for us. He called a teacher into the locker room and we got caught.
The boy who I was sucking is now a registered pedophile, which I think is rather unfair, but the judge didn't care one way or the other what I thought. Mom and Pop didn't want me after that.
I went to a group home for a while, and bounced around a few families. It's all the same, really, now that I've "grown into my features,"
A man comes in with a woman claiming to be his wife. We get home and I never see her again. Sometimes they want sex the first night. Sometimes they try to ease me into it. I'll be eleven years old in July, and I haven't gone a single month without being fucked since I was eight.
But I'm sick of it. My body isn't just some rental car for men of all shapes and sizes to climb in and out of as they see fit. So I've run away from my newest "Master", and as I'm explaining this whole situation to the woman who calls herself my social worker, the only thing she seems to be interested in is the name of my last legal parent or guardian.
But like I said, I don't know his name. I never really do.
"Fuck... oh... oh... oh just a little harder... harder!"
Madara sighed at the sounds coming from his house as he opened up the front door to let himself in. He cleared his throat carefully and ignored the scene on his living room sofa for the time being, as there were more pressing issues at hand.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," He said in monotone, kicking his shoes off and hanging up his keys by the door.
He was completely ignored by both of the men on the couch, as he watched one of them – his lover, impale himself repeatedly on what had often been described as "sixteen glorious years of cock" in such a way that encouraged the idea that these two men had never fucked before, and would never be able to fuck again. Which was, on both counts, highly untrue.
"Okay, actually now I'd like to be interrupting something..." His words were wasted on naught but moan-filled air.
Rolling his eyes, Madara stepped to the kitchen of his home, glaring angrily at the package of Top Ramen Instant Noodles that his partner had clearly intended to prepare for dinner. Bad enough what the meal plan was – lazy bastard couldn't even be bothered to cook the junk in the first place.
Dismissing the instant ramen, Madara got started shredding some cheese for broccoli casserole, and mentally considered what he should serve as protein and starch. He heard a high keening moan in the living room just as he started washing some chicken legs, and pointedly ignored the sound of two people joining him in his dinner-making. One of them was especially difficult to ignore – due to the fact that he had latched himself to Madara's back, and was insistently lapping at Madara's neck.
"Don't be mean, Mada... We were only having a little fun..." His lover muttered, nipping playfully at his ear. "You know I love you most..."
"Izuna, this is the third time this week that I've come home to find you in a compromising position with Itachi." Madara said, turning to his younger brother and crossing his arms. It was hard enough being in love with one of your relatives – especially in America – and especially if it was a gay relationship. On top of that, he now had to deal with his insatiable younger nephew sneaking into their bed for reasons other than nightmares.
What could he possibly tell the kid? Sleeping with your uncles is wrong? So is sleeping with your brother. Your uncle Izuna is already in a committed relationship? Then why does Izuna spread his legs oh-so-very-willingly?
It was a lose-lose argument, and he had already given up on having it with either of them. If they wanted to fuck, then so be it, but the foyer was a bit too conspicuous.
"I can hear you two from outside before I open the door. What if I was someone else? We adopted Itachi, Izuna. If he gets taken from us he goes to the foster care system, and don't think that it's really that much better here than it was back in Japan. He's lucky to be adopted by relatives, don't put him in a situation where he gets taken from us, okay?"
Izuna nodded shamefully, and gloomily walked upstairs to acquire some pants. Itachi was already re-dressed, and he shrugged in response to Madara's concern.
"It's not like anyone actually comes here anyway,"
Of course, because the world works in beautifully ironic ways, the doorbell chose that exact moment to ring.
Madara instructed Itachi to turn the oven off in two minutes, then went to get it.
"Yes?" He asked, opening the door to admit a young woman who looked to be in her late forties.
"Mr. Madara Uchiha?" She questioned, looking down at a clipboard and not at his face.
With a slight frown, Madara confirmed his name, and escorted her to the sitting room.
"Roughly eleven years ago, the Japanese government received custody of a young boy named Sasuke Uchiha," She explained, "He's the son of Mikoto and Fugaku Uchiha, and we here in America have recently been made aware of the fact that you've legally adopted his elder brother, Itachi." At this point, she peered up over her glasses, looking for another confirmation. Madara nodded slowly.
"Since being entered in the adoptive and foster care system, Sasuke Uchiha has gone through several … unfit, homes," She grimaced as she looked down at her clipboard, and Madara could only imagine what 'unfit' might mean for a little boy with good looks in the Japanese foster care system. He shivered uncomfortably at the thought.
"His social worker has recently spoken to his biological father – your brother – about any relatives that might be willing to take in Sasuke, because at this point, so many people have become aware of his … unfortunate upbringing … in Japan, that it's highly unlikely for him to find a stable family. It would be hard enough for an eleven year old boy to find a decent home even if he didn't have Sasuke's, er- reputation."
Madara raised an eyebrow. An eleven year old with a "reputation" and this kind of life story could really only mean one thing: Kiddie Porn. Without even knowing his nephew, Madara felt his nails digging into his palms in anger for the treatment the poor child had undoubtedly received.
"Give me whatever paperwork I have to sign, and have him here as soon as possible." Madara said, without needing another single word of persuasion. This was his nephew, his own flesh and blood just as much as Itachi was. Of course he'd take him. What else would he possibly do?
After much talk with Sasuke's Japanese social worker, and his new American one, it was decided that he could move in within the next week, but first – Madara needed to discuss this with the family he already had. Which was how he ended up having a little pow-wow with Izuna and Itachi on he and Izuna's bed
"Okay, what's up?" Izuna asked, only half paying attention to the other two men in the room as he carefully applied polish to his nails in a color that he identified as 'flesh' although any regular human being would call it pink.
"I've agreed to adopt another child," Madara said in a very straightforward manor.
Izuna ceased his fingernail painting and gaped openly at his brother. "You what?" He hissed, bringing Madara back to the day he'd announced his plan to adopt Itachi.
"As it turns out, Mikoto and Fugaku had another son, who has been enduring a lot of hardship in Japan and needs a stable place to live."
That calmed Izuna some. He absolutely adored Itachi, so the fact that another child made up almost entirely of the same DNA was coming didn't upset him as much as some stranger's kid would have.
"I have a brother?" Itachi asked, smiling lightly in that quiet way of his.
"Yes, he's eleven years old and his name is Sasuke."
"Wow," Itachi whispered, looking rather speechless but happy.
"Eleven?" Izuna whined, pouting in a way that Madara thought was somehow obnoxious and delectable at the same time, "What the hell can we do with an eleven year old?"
"Absolutely nothing. That's why this talk is so important," Madara said coldly. "It is very, very likely that Sasuke has been sexually abused by most – if not all – of the people he's lived with so far. You cannot begin to understand how imperative it is that he not be pushed into anything sexual with yet another parental figure in his life." Madara looked very deliberately at Izuna as he spoke. "Even if he comes on to you," He said carefully, "You have to kindly tell him that you are not open to being his sexual partner."
"Why?" Itachi asked out of sheer curiosity.
"Because it's important for him to learn how to have healthy relationships. It's important for him to understand that not everyone who wants him around wants him for his body."
Itachi nodded, always quick to understand things the first time they were explained. "What makes you think he might come on to Uncle Izuna?"
"I expect him to seek sexuality from both me and Izuna, actually. He's used to men agreeing to take care of him because they want to have sex with him, so naturally the only way he knows to show appreciation for someone is through sexual favors." Madara clarified.
"I bet he gives a lovely blow job..."
"Izuna!" Madara scolded, frowning at his brother.
"Hey, I'm not saying that I'll ever know for sure – but I bet he does."
I don't think I've ever been in a car this nice before. When the glasses lady picked me up from the airport, she said we still have a long way to drive, but I've decided not to mind because her car is so comfortable. Besides, she says we're almost there.
I'm not sure exactly where "there" is, but from what I've been told, I'll be staying with two of my uncles and my brother. That's pretty interesting, I guess, but only because I didn't know that I had any family. I wonder what my uncles want me for. Probably the same thing everyone else does, but maybe that won't be so bad.
I've been staying for a long while at that group home lately, and the boys there are fun and all, but most of the ones who wanna fool around are my age or younger. The older ones all seem interested in girls, and the men in charge of stuff don't seem open to sleeping around with us kids. I saw one of them do a double take when he saw me though, so I'd bet that he's at least had a good wank or two over some kids and come across one of my videos. It wouldn't surprise me, they seem to be everywhere.
My first thought when we step out of the really nice car, is that my uncles have a house that's even nicer than the car. Miss Glasses walks me up to the front door and rings the bell, then looks down at her clipboard as someone comes to answer it.
It's a boy, a few years older than I. He looks at me, and I look at him, and then he smiles at me and pulls me in for this super tight hug, and somehow I know in my soul that he's my brother. It's a weird feeling, just being able to know that you have a connection with someone that's deeper than anything else you've ever comprehended. I find my head filled with incredulous thoughts about how the blood running through my veins is near identical to his. We have the same mother and father who didn't want us, and now we have the same uncles who do.
That's the weird thing about family. There's so much that you have in common already from the moment you're born that it's hard to imagine not knowing everything else about each other. How could I be wrapped up in this boys arms and not even know his favorite color when I already know a great deal of his life story by default?
He tugs me into his – our – living room and lets me sit next to him, lacing our fingers together, as if he's afraid that if he lets go of me I'll disappear.
"You must be Itachi," The glasses lady says, looking at her clipboard as if it would answer her question rather than the boy sitting across from her.
"Yes, I am," Itachi responds, even though he's looking at me, not the lady. Maybe looking at someone while you're talking to them is rude in America.
"My uncle Madara should be down in just a minute," Itachi says to her, just in time for another man to be heard coming down the stairs and into the living room with us.
The couch that Itachi and I are sitting on smells like sex. I wonder if the lady is choosing to ignore that, or if maybe I'm the only one who's so familiar with the scent. It's not strong, no. Not that "Just got done fucking" smell. But it's a deeper one, a lingering that stays for a long long time when you get semen on the same object repeatedly. It's the way my sheets always smell, no matter where I go, and I'm somewhat comforted by it against my will.
The man who's just come into the living room seems to radiate kindness with his every movement, and again I get that strange clinging in my chest that tells me we're connected beyond repair. Family. It's kind of cool. He speaks softly to the lady for a little while and then she shakes everyone's hand and leaves.
"Itachi, could you go wake Izuna and tell him that Sasuke is here, please?" My uncle Madara asks, and with a nod my brother's gone.
"Do I have to sit on your lap now?" I haven't been with many families that have other people living full time with us, but I'm used to the man of the house getting excuses to get us alone when we do live with other people.
"No," Madara responded softly, and I can't help but wonder what I've said that's already upset him enough for him to sound so sad.
"Well... can I?" I find myself asking, uncomfortable with his distance. The farther they are from you, the less you expect it when their hands start groping.
"It would probably be best if you didn't, Sasuke." Madara answered with a little frown. It looked like he was genuinely confused about whether or not I should be allowed to sit on his lap, but that thought was quickly perished as my other uncle entered the room and placed himself there instead.
"Who's been fucking on this couch?" I asked curiously, earning a giggle from my newest discovered relative, Izuna.
"That would be me, deary." The man confirmed with a proud grin, "How could you tell?"
I shrugged. "It smells cum and Lysol,"
There was an awkward silence after that, in which everyone seemed to be pretending not to smell the couch. Then, just as suddenly as the first time, Itachi was hugging me again.
"I'm gonna take care of you now," He whispered into my hair, "I know neither of us have really had a brother before, but I'll try my best if you try yours."
Madara looked skeptical about our close contact but said nothing, even as my new brother lightly kissed my forehead.
"Everything's gonna be okay, Otouto," Itachi said, sounding very sure of himself.
I liked being called that. Otouto. I'd heard boys calling their little brother's that back home a lot, but it had never really applied to me. I'd been called a lot of things by a lot of people, but never that.
I hugged my brother back fiercely and for the first time in my life allowed myself to think that perhaps, everything really would be okay.
A/N: I hope you liked this first chapter. Honestly, I'm not sure when I'll update this again, because I have so many other things in progress. It depends on how much people like it, so if you DO like it, please tell me so, or else I won't know to work on it :/
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I love you for reading,