Archive of Our Own

There’s a pit in his stomach, and each foot feels heavy as he ascends the stairs. The creak of the floorboards bending under Sasuke's feet rang in his ears. He doesn’t know why he feels this way, why the dread that swirls in his stomach is so strong. Overbearing and suffocating. There’s something wrong, and he drags the pads of his fingertips along the walls, nails scratching the paint uncomfortably in an attempt to ground him back in this world. Sasuke tries to breathe properly, sucking in huge lungfuls of acrid air to bring more oxygen to his brain to clear his mind of this. 

He reaches his brother's door, grabs the brass knob and lets his hand rest there heavily. The feeling grows stronger, chewing away at him like a ravenous beast. Something is wrong. He doesn’t know why it feels so strong; what about this is tripping the alarm bells in his head. He turns the knob, doesn’t bother to knock. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knows he doesn’t need to, even though Itachi has yelled at him for it countless times. 

The door creaks open, and the sight he’s met with is simultaneously sobering and disorienting. His brother is lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His long dark hair fanned out like an angel, arms resting just slightly extended from his body, crimson dripping from pale skin and soaking up into the grey comforter that their mother had bought from last Boxing Day sale. Sasuke's feet are heavy, glued to the spot he stands, mouth suddenly parched and tongue tacky against the bottom of his mouth. 

Itachi moves slowly (or is everything in slow motion?), head tilting from its supine position to gaze at him. There is resentment in those dark grey eyes, the skin of his forehead wrinkling as his brows push together. There’s something else there, harder yet softer, but Sasuke is too shell shocked to undertake the dissection of what that might be. He can't ever recall a time Itachi has looked at him with such eyes.

“Mom!” Is that Sasuke speaking? He can feel his mouth moving, feel the air leaving and vibrating through his chest, but it doesn’t feel like he’s the one speaking.

He watches Itachi sigh, watches the way his fists clench and blood bubbles from the gashes in his arms. Sasuke’s stomach wrenches, and bile emerges from his belly to scratch at his throat, threatening to claw its way up and soil the cream carpet in front of him. 

And then Sasuke is being thrust aside, with enough force that he's knocked hard enough to fall flat on his ass, head bumping into the wall of the hallway behind him as his mother enters his brother's room in a frenzy. He hears his mother clamouring, but he can’t hear the words. It’s nothing but fuzz, like when the TV is set to the wrong channel. His dad is barreling up the stairs, catching himself on the walls as he bursts into Itachi’s room, the cordless phone grasped in his fists.

He thinks he hears his name being shouted, thinks that someone is trying to speak to him, but he can’t seem to break himself from this trance. 

Sasuke doesn’t often think about that day— tries not to. He still wakes up with a start on occasion, ensnared on the floor with his hands scraping the rough cream carpet as he stares at the gaping slits on Itachi’s wrists. Maybe it's not a feeling that he will ever wholly shake off, but those dreams aren't as frequent as before.

Even his worry about Itachi eventually dwindled. The dread that licked up his spine with its barbed tongue dampened into a more muted feeling each time he passed Itachi's room to see his brother still alive. If his parents felt the same way, Sasuke had no idea. Nobody talks about that day. Or the fact that he was gone for two whole weeks after the fact, or that the knife drawer had been locked up following that day. It remained for two whole years— one year shy of when Itachi had left home. He supposes the two-year mark was when his parents deemed Itachi had become trustworthy enough to access the knives freely again.

Not that much needs to be said. The extra shifts their parents pick up at their respective jobs say it all. Sasuke doesn't blame them, he's just as bad for throwing himself headfirst into activities away from home to distract himself from the discomfort that haunts their family home. But having Itachi back at home has all those ugly thoughts rearing their head once more. The fear and anxiety coalesce into one big hideous emotion that takes root like an invasive species outcompeting his natural state of nonchalance.

Logically, Sasuke knows something must have happened. A dip in his mental health that brought Itachi back to the family residencewith his tail between his legs and a scowl on his face. It troubles him, but the Uchiha don’t speak of these things. He knows his brother would only berate him for asking.

It’s been about a week since Itachi returned, taking up space in his childhood bedroom. Nothing has changed in the room since he left. The same posters are there, plastered over the eggshell white walls, closet full of clothing that didn’t make the cut for joining him away at college.

Even if there is a part of Sasuke that resents Itachi for coming home, for making him feel all these emotions that make him only one wrong glance away from exploding in a fit of misplaced fury, it is nice to have his brother back.

The two brothers take up space in the living room together, lying on opposite ends of the couch in the dark. The only thing lighting up the room is the large plasma TV that sits on the mantle, displaying images of Halo 2 as Itachi plays on the family X-Box 360. Above the mantle is a framed family photo. Itachi and him stood in front of their parents—everyone is smiling, eyes crinkled, and the lines of his father's jowls deeper than at rest. It reminds him of how things were before all this happened when they would stay up into the early hours of the morning playing games together, eating junk food as they bickered aimlessly.

The wave of nostalgia soothes the sour feeling in Sasuke's stomach.

“How’s school?” Itachi asks, not redirecting his attention to Sasuke. It catches him a bit off guard, he hadn’t expected the man to speak to him, both too enthralled in the game on the screen with no room for conversation.

“School?”

“That’s what I said. Are you deaf?” Sasuke has grown used to the curt way Itachi speaks, very succinct and to the point. Not quite harsh, but not dripping with any kind of warmth. At least things haven't changed. “It’s your last year of high school, you must be looking into university, right?”

It's unsaid about what Itachi is asking, asking about the pressures of their parents who were stringent in their speaking of university when Itachi was slogging his way towards adulthood. Sasuke had heard those talks more times than he could count, directed at Itachi. Talks about how perhaps he should think about going to Konoha U like Shisui, so he would be around family and close by— A ruse to keep close tabs on him, a safety net. As if Itachi couldn't be trusted to be alone. Itachi had moved across the country, and Sasuke didn't blame him one bit.

So he knows that's what Itachi is asking about, fishing to see how their experiences contradict.

“It’s fine.” Sasuke shrugs. If he’s being honest, while he’s given it some thought, there wasn’t as much pressure on him as there was on Itachi. Maybe their parents were afraid of recreating the scene all those years ago, or maybe it was the privilege of being the baby. He tries not to speculate and certainly won’t share that fact with Itachi. Doesn’t want to see the way his face would either distort or remain eerily tepid to this news. “I’ve sent off a few applications, but I don’t know where I’m going to go yet.” 

He peeks at Itachi and is a bit put off when their eyes meet, but he holds his stare. Sasuke’s lips curl slightly, the subtle hint of a mirthless smile gracing his face.

“I guess school didn’t go so well for you, hm?”

Itachi chuckles at that, the sound soft and barely there, gentle but not without a cutting edge. “No, not so good.”

They fall into silence after that. Conversation isn't the easiest between them, as if they were strangers despite having spent their lives together. When Itachi was away at school, they hardly spoke. A few messages through Skype here and there, but for the most part, they stayed out of each other's lives. Both consumed in their separate worlds. But there is and probably always will be an Itachi shaped hole within his world. One he desperately wants to fill, to have things like they used to be.

A part of Sasuke, perhaps a callow part, wishes that the time Itachi is home is enough to mend the fissure that has developed between them. He turns to glance at Itachi, to take in his brother's weary state and unbrushed, long, dark hair. He catches the way the faded Nine Inch Nails t-shirt is rucked up, exposing a patch of pale skin on his midriff. Sees the thin uniform array of red lines that are stark against the skin.

Aimless words bubble up within him, but he swallows them down. There wasn't much to say. Please stop for me? If Sasuke were in Itachi's shoes and heard that, he might laugh in their face. Even if seeing them made him feel nauseous, made his worry gnaw at his insides ravenously, made him feel like he was ten years old all over again, he doesn't say a goddamn thing about them.

Itachi must sense his staring because he looks at Sasuke, maintains his focus until Sasuke is the one breaking it out of discomfort, in a fucked up show of dominance before adjusting his shirt so that the marks are out of sight.

"I'm fine."

"I never said you weren't."

Itachi smiles.

Later that evening, Sasuke awakens, struck with the need to use the washroom immediately. Bladder uncomfortably full, rousing him from his dreamless sleep. He knows that, try as he might, there isn't a hope in Hell he would be able to go back to sleep like this. So half awake, he begrudgingly hauls his sorry ass out of bed and blunders out of his room and through the dark hall, hand trailing along the wall to act as a guide to keep him from bumping into the wall.

When he passes by Itachi’s room, there's a sound that wakes him more from his sleep. Like flint being struck, sparks of fear fly within him, and he can't help but think it might be happening again; that if he peers through the crack in the door, he’ll be met with the sight of Itachi bleeding out into the sheets again. With the urge to piss suddenly forgotten, he plods slowly towards Itachi’s door.

It’s scarcely ajar. Anytime the door is closed, the air around their parents is tense, implicit fears wafting through the air like noxious fumes. They never say not to, but it doesn’t need to be said for them to all know. After the first attempt, Itachi had lost the entire door for nearly half a year, replaced with a simple curtain. And locks? Forget about it. 

What he sees when he peers through the door is much more jarring. Worse is subjective. He doesn’t think this is worse than witnessing his brother slitting his wrists open, but catching him with his hand wrapped around his cock, not even bothering to slip beneath the sheets? It might be worse, but then it doesn't leave him thoroughly fear stricken, so maybe it isn't too bad.

Itachi's shirt is bunched up, distorting the Nine Inch Nails logo, the hem of it caught between his teeth, exposing the plane of toned, pale and scarred skin. Pink, white and red lines mark the skin, and if it weren't for the way he strokes his hand with tight, controlled movements, he might be more concerned with a litany of cuts that are far more numerous than Sasuke had presumed. But he doesn't care about that presently. It still wasn't really his business, and he was just so invested in the way his brother looked, caught in such an intimate position.

Beads of sweat accumulate at his hairline, the long black locks mused. Strands falling in his face, his brows knit together as his hand moves in an unhurried, steady rhythm, thumb snaring along the swollen head and smearing precum that shimmers in the low blue LCD laptop light that illuminates the small space. 

Sasuke watches with bated breath, the air trapped in his lungs scorching. He feels like he's suffocating under the mounting pressure within him, and yet, he can’t tear his eyes away. A fire ignited, and the flames licking at his innards at the sight that sends heat through his body, and a steady flow of blood down south. It’s appalling, and he knows he should avert his ogling, but he can’t. Feet sinking into the carpet and keeping him captive, so locked in on seeing how Itachi brings himself pleasure.

A side of Itachi that Sasuke is not familiar with; he can't remember a time when Itachi has looked so at peace, his lips parted as his hips roll up into his fist, chasing this high with a blissed out expression. He only tears himself away the moment he sees the way Itachi is careening towards the edge. When the movements of his hips stutter and the muscles in his thighs tense and ripple. Knows he needs to make himself scarce before Itachi peels open his eyes to see Sasuke staring like a sordid voyeur.

It's Tuesday, the air is starting to turn crisp, and the colors of the leaves begin to transform. Greens shifting to reds and oranges, painting the neatly kept lawns only to be made into neat mounds. Shisui is sitting on the front steps of the porch.

Sasuke knows something is amiss long before his cousin raises his sights to bore up at him. He sees the discomfort and pity all over Shisui's face. Knows the words that will likely tumble past his lips, and all Sasuke can do is hope it's something inconsequential and not grave. Figures it can't be that terrible, otherwise he'd have been pulled from class, he's sure. His parents aren't that deep in their denial to keep Sasuke in class without sharing the news that his brother finally went ahead and offed himself.

"Hey Sasuke," Shisui speaks slowly, a weight to his words that Sasuke knows is associated with Itachi's mental health. He communicates like Sasuke is still ten years old and not seventeen— he's a child who must be harboured from the world's atrocities.

As if it wasn't Sasuke who found Itachi, wrists flayed. As if he hadn't seen the neat kit with razors, band-aids and rubbing alcohol when he had been scouring through his brother's room for some belonging he can't even remember or how his gaze always slipped to the scars on Itachi’s wrists, white and fibrous and hauled him back to that night. Sometimes his mind plays tricks on him, and he thinks the wounds are open, just for a split second, he sees the yellow fatty tissue of cleaved skin.

“Itachi?”

Shisui’s dark eyes dilate fractionally, lips pressed thin, and he nods. “Your parents asked me to come by, it’s um,” He hesitates, hand rubbing at the nape of his neck before moving to smooth out the wrinkles of his jeans uncomfortably. “Not good in there, they didn’t want you to come home and see all that.”

Everyone always got uneasy around Itachi these days. Shisui wasn't the worst among his family, and maybe he was better around Itachi than he was around Sasuke.

Sasuke proceeds past Shisui, climbing up the creaking stairs. The wood is beginning to rot, and his father keeps making declarations of getting them redone. It's been two years since that claim was first made. How was he supposed to do that if he was never here? “Is he okay?”

“Yeah. He’s going to be fine.” Shisui’s head turns to stare at Sasuke. Eyes critical as if trying to discern why Sasuke seems so at peace with this. Why wasn't this tearing up his world?

The truth of it was, Sasuke was tired of it tearing up his world. Tired of the looks of pity he gets from their extended family. Because all of Itachi's shortcomings seemed to draw back to Sasuke, the poor baby brother living in the shade of his fucked up older brother.

He puts the key in the lock and starts to turn it, pins clicking into place.

Shisui shoots up, clambering to his feet and rushing towards Sasuke to lean his body weight against the door. “I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to go in there. Why don’t you come over to mine?”

Sasuke lets out a deep breath, eyes closing as he collects himself before he levels a stern eye at Shisui. He feels unpleasant and knows that his cousin is only trying to be considerate. “Shisui, you know I was the one who found him last time, right?” Shisui doesn’t say anything, just gapes at him, lips parting with an uneven puff, “If he’s not dead, then it doesn’t really matter. I appreciate what you’re offering, thank you, really, but I just want to go home.” 

Shisui blinks slowly at him, taking in his words and rolling them around in his head before he pushes himself off the door and straightens himself up but his shoulders sag. “I don’t think Itachi would want you to see this, too.”

What a fucking joke. What a low fucking blow.

Sasuke laughs at Shisui, staring at him with a mean tight-lipped smile. Doesn’t feel bad when his older cousin wilts under his gaze uncomfortably. “Then he should have thought about that before doing something so fucking stupid.” He snaps through clenched teeth turning the lock in the door, pulls his key out with more force than necessary and begins to open the door. His shoulders drop with a sigh, any anger towards the other draining from him. It's not Suisui's fault. “I’ll be fine, okay, Shisui? Now go home. I should clean up, I don’t want to watch my mother do that again.”

An understanding seems to click in Shisui's eyes at that last part. An understanding that he didn't have before entering this minefield of a conversation. He nods slowly, swallows a lump in his throat and takes a step backwards. He watches Sasuke enter the home, watches the way the darkness of the foyer envelops him and lets the door be closed in his face.

Shisui stays there for a few minutes, and Sasuke knows it because it takes a while before he hears the creaking of the rotting staircase as his cousin leaves.

Sasuke stays there only a moment longer, amassing himself for the inevitable carnage he’s about to face. He throws his backpack onto the ground, toes off his shoes and starts to climb the stairs. He doesn’t have that gut-wrenching fear holding him captive, and doesn't feel scared like a child. Perhaps that's only because he knows Itachi is fine, knows he won't walk up the stairs and see his brother at the start of rigor. Even still, there’s a squeamishness that fills him, moulding along his insides like a balloon.

There’s a bloody rag on the floor in the hallway, a streak of blood on the walls in the shape of fingerprints. He moves towards Itachi’s room and flicks the switch to light up the room. There are stains on the bed, droplets and pools stark against the navy blue bedding. A macabre pattern that he knows will torment his dreams, too. In the light, he sees a gleam of metal shine.

This is what paralyzes him, assails him with such power that he regresses into that rotten childlike feeling once again. Stuck in place and incapable of tearing his sights away from the small razor carefully perched in the nest of blankets, it was stained with blood that had begun to dry and flake.

Was this how his mother felt? Did she have cold beads of sweat that formed on her hair and rolled down the side of her face uncomfortably when she stared at the sight before her? Did she feel paralyzed with disgusted fear? Did she cry? Sasuke felt like he might, but the tears were trapped, making him feel like he would burst at the seams with repressed emotions. He exhales sharply, forces himself to move, forces his feet to move past where they’re stuck and crosses the barrier into Itachi's room.

The process becomes robotic. He grabs the razor first, puts it on the bedside table next to the half-empty orange pill bottle and grabs the comforter, careful not to put his hand in the pool of drying blood. He takes it to the bathroom, throws it in the tub and runs the water cold and scours the material clean with a bar of white soap. Attempts not to think about how the exterior layer of the soap begins to dye pink with his brother's blood or how it stains Sasuke’s skin and collects beneath his nails. 

Once it’s sufficiently scrubbed, he takes the blanket and throws it into the wash. Stays for a moment to get lost in the window of the front-loading machine, which fills with water and suds and commences a rhythmic spin, with the mechanical whirring soothing him before he’s clambering the stairs again. He scrubs out the blood stains that have penetrated the fibres of the carpet and the paint on the wall, does his best, but only gets it mostly out. A light rusted burgundy forever marks the cream carpet with a scathing reminder. He throws the bloody rag and the razor into the garbage.

By the time Sasuke is done, he’s tired. Physically and mentally. Limbs heavy and mind sluggish. He sits down on Itachi’s bed, falls back and stares up at the stucco ceiling.

He wonders what it feels like to do what Itachi does; to slit his skin to ribbons and watch the blood bead up and stain his pale skin, to watch it split apart as honed stainless steel cuts through flesh like butter, to see himself from within in such an intimate fashion. What kind of gratification does he get from it? He doesn’t understand; the thought alone makes his gut wriggle.

He sits up again, strips off his shirt that’s become tacky and uncomfortable with drying sweat and goes to Itachi’s closet, grabs one of his shirts, a baggy faded grey Slipknot shirt and pulls it on, and then he goes to crawl back into the bed. He’s enveloped by the smell of his brother, and it brings him some comfort. Makes the feeling of discomfort and the heaviness lift from his bones if only slightly. 

Sasuke awakes much later when he feels a blanket being draped over him, warming his cold, exposed skin. And he's only half awake, caught in that liminal space of wakefulness that doesn't feel quite right as your body fights the residual adenosine. He doesn’t open his eyes, keeps his breathing consistent to feign he’s still fully asleep. The bed dips with the weight of another body, and a hand rests on his calf, gently caressing him over the blanket.

“Shisui said he wouldn’t go with him,” His mother's voice is faint and melancholy, a weightiness to her words that has not left since it arrived more than six years ago, around the time Itachi’s problems first cropped up with such intensity.

“He isn’t a kid anymore, Mikoto. He’s not naive to what’s going on.” His dad sounds exhausted; he doesn’t have the same heaviness his mother's voice has. More detached, checked out from the problems that rear their ugly heads constantly. It nearly makes him mad, but Sasuke can’t blame him. 

It’s weird to see Itachi have someone at the house. He’s typically a recluse, but with how often he’s heard the ping of a new message on Skype from Itachi’s laptop, he supposes it makes sense that he has some form of a social life.

“I didn’t think you had any friends,” Sasuke teases, walking into the kitchen and catching Itachi leaning on the counter with a much taller man. Itachi is practically dwarfed by him. His friend has broad shoulders and thick, corded muscles. Sasuke stares for a little too long. He isn't someone Sasuke expects to see Itachi hanging out with. Itachi’s weird, alternative appearance is not quite befitting of the jock he's standing with. “Thought you were too cool to need friends.”

“Fuck you.” Itachi flips him the bird and smiles at him good naturedly. He wonders if the new medication he’s on is working. “My therapist insisted I need to actually see some of my friends. Called it a condition of my release, so I asked Kisame to come visit.”

It’s one of the first times that Sasuke has actually heard him speak about his therapist. Or the fact that he even goes to therapy or that he's even been institutionalized. It takes him off guard, eyes widened slightly then returning to a more neutral expression.

“Yeah, crazy over here is quite popular, kid.” Kisame shoots him a grin that's all teeth, it unnerves him to see it and to hear him speak like that about his brother. Itachi doesn't seem bothered about being called crazy, only playfully shoulder checking the taller man with the barest whisper of a quirked lip. So Sasuke refrains from making a biting comment about the name.

Sasuke nods his head slowly, grabs an apple from the counter and leaves the kitchen.

"Yes, Naruto." Sasuke sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as his friend rambles on. He thinks he hears Shikamaru in the background, too, but can't be too sure. He thought this was supposed to be a smaller get together, just him, Naruto and Sakura. "I'm not the one who runs late. You always show up ten minutes after the time you're supposed to pick me up. Don't make me wait, loser."

He hangs up the phone while Naruto sputters with feigned indignation, given away by the mirth he can hear lurking in the words. The phone gets tossed on his bed, and he moves to grab a black hoodie to wear. It's getting too cold to go out without a jacket or, at the very least, a sweater.

Leaving his room, he walks down the hallway, and as he passes by Itachi's room, he stops just before the crack in the door where he hears a soft, breathy moan travel through the gap. He feels a chill run up his spine, and images of the night a few weeks ago where Itachi's hands wrapped around his cock, the pleasure sprawled across his face play in his mind. When he peeks inside, it's so much worse.

A part of Sasuke wishes he would walk in on Itachi cutting himself, knowing that the inner turmoil would be less than this. It's easier to cope with his brother's instability than to view him as a sexual object. Easier to see his skin splitting and bubbling with blood than to see him lost in the throes of pleasure. And worse yet, he feels a stirring lower in his belly as he grows aroused at the sight.

The two men are pressed against the wall, Itachi’s back, plastered to the Linkin Park poster, obscuring the Minutes To Midnight album art and Kisame's broad body bracketing him in as if he were just another wall. In this position, he's distinctly aware of the size disparity between the two men. Itachi's slender legs are wrapped around Kisame's waist, his heel digging into the small of his back. One of the man's hands hooks in the pit of Itachi's knee while the other is placed on the wall, fingers splayed and holding them steady as he fucks into Sasuke's brother.

If Sasuke's going to focus on anyone, he knows it should be Kisame, his brother's friend and not his brother. He's an attractive man, with chiselled features and a strong body. Muscles that are thick and corded, ripping with each movement, yet his body still retained a healthy layer of fat. He should focus on the way beads of sweat have formed along Kisame’s hairline, should wonder what the sweat that drips down his flushed neck would taste like against the flat of his tongue, but that's not what he's focused on. All he can think about is how Itachi looks being fucked against this wall. 

Kisame's soft grunts are merely white noise to him, too locked in on the ragged gasps that are fucked out of Itachi. How his head tips back against the wall with a thud, how he squirms and moans when Kisame’s teeth sink into his pulse point. Kisame is an afterthought, a vessel and an excuse for him to stay and watch. An easy justification to say Kisame was the focal point and not the twisted truth. 

Itachi’s eyes open briefly, hands scrambling at the broad shoulders of his friend, black lacquered nails digging into the thick muscles. He catches Sasuke’s ogling, and something flits there, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. It pins Sasuke in place and flays him alive, makes his cock throb and a feeling of repugnance scrape along his inside like a rusted scrap of metal. He watches the way Itachi’s lips quirk into a smirk, mouth pressing close to his ear with a filthy moan. The tip of his tongue traces the shell of Kisame's ear, all without breaking eye contact with Sasuke. It's deliberate. Confusing and arousing all at once.

Sasuke’s cheeks flush dark, his pulse hammering in his ear with each pump of his heart, and he can’t help but glower at his brother before choosing to storm past the room and down the stairs in a flurry. He closes the door quietly behind him and swallows a lungful of cool autumn air. Tries to let the crisp air cool him down, wills himself to lose the painfully hard cock he’s sporting because of his brother. And God, why did Itachi leer at him like that? Why did it feel as if he was being eye fucked by his fucking brother? An unwilling participant in some fucked up three-way that Kisame wasn't even cognizant of. There were a lot of things he expected from Itachi, some things he just accepted as part of him, but this? His mind swims with a barrage of emotions. His stomach twists, and his mind races. 

Is he supposed to like it? Because he did, and that opened up a whole new can of worms. Not because Itachi was a boy, well, a little bit because he is a boy (what a strange thing to be worrying about in a time like this), but because it's his brother. Is he gay? Does this make him gay? What the fuck. What the fuck. 

He thinks about Kisame again, knowing logically that he liked seeing the other man. Liked the distinct masculine features, far more than he's ever liked the feminine form. Does he even like the feminine form? Maybe he needed to finally give in to Sakura's advances, or maybe Ino. Pick one, fuck them and get some clarity. The thought makes his skin crawl. Okay. So maybe he likes boys, and that was fine. Sasuke could deal with that, but his brother? He feels bile creep up his throat at the thought, thinking about his parents walking in on them if this even went somewhere. But then they hardly were home to begin with, too absorbed in their work to focus on children who were so clearly fucked up and what if he is misreading what Itachi has done. He gags, mouth watering aggressively as if he's about to puke. It never comes.

The honk of Naruto's shitty forest green Sierra pick up with rusted wheel wells breaks him from his gay panic, and he's never been more grateful to get in that barely street legal truck. Silently, Sasuke apologizes for ever saying it shouldn't have made it out of 1995.

The kitchen is illuminated by the fridge, bright light spilling from the door that's swung wide open as Itachi bends over, rummaging through its contents for an acceptable midnight snack. Sasuke is used to himself behaving in such ways; he's a teenager with a sleep schedule that was disorganized at best, staying up far too late every night of the week and sitting in front of his PlayStation. But it sometimes catches him off guard to see Itachi lurking around at the same hours. Although he supposes it made sense that his mentally unstable, unemployed older brother would follow similar routines.

Sasuke leans back along the island countertop, fingers tracing the grey speckled pattern of the plastic laminate, nail catching at the corner where it began to chip and peel away. “Itachi,” Sasuke initiates, watching the way Itachi’s body stiffens and then straightens up and glances over at his brother without closing the fridge door. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can try.” 

Sasuke rolls his eyes. “When did you know you were gay?” 

Itachi actually appears taken aback by the question, brows rising before a neutrality returns as his eyes rove over Sasuke’s face critically. He stays silent, and Sasuke doesn’t break their eye contact. Waits patiently for Itachi to reply. “When I was a kid, there was this girl who had a crush on me. I remember when she kissed me on the swings. I was filled with disgust. I told Shisui about it and asked him if he thought kissing girls was gross, too. I never forgot the confusion on his face. That’s when I knew I was different.”

He leers at Sasuke knowingly, and his eyes narrow like a predator. But he doesn’t speak, lets his story sink into Sasuke’s mind, then he starts speaking again. “Why do you ask?”

Sasuke swallows a lump in his throat, gaze breaking from Itachi’s intense stare. Words lodged and trapped in his throat as discomfort swallows him whole.

“Did you see something that makes you think you’re gay?” Itachi asks, almost innocently, but Sasuke knows him well enough to know that isn’t it. Sasuke feels trapped, feels a foreign emotion build up within him that he can’t quite articulate.

“Don’t be coy, Sasuke.” Itachi sneers, stalking towards him. There’s a feeling Sasuke guesses is fear filling his chest, but he can’t run, he feels pinned in place by the wildness in Itachi’s eyes. “I know you watched me. I know you watched me jack off. I felt your eyes on me.” Itachi declares, voice low and quiet as he steps in front of Sasuke. “I know you watched Kisame fuck me. You always stay longer than you should have. If it was an accident, you would’ve looked away far sooner.”

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” Itachi leans in close, close enough that he’s certain his older brother can hear his heart hammering in his chest. The blood thrums in his ears. He can feel the warm puffs of Itachi’s breath against his lips, and he can’t even help the way he surges forward and kisses the other in a sloppy, uncoordinated mash of lips.

It's not his first kiss, but it's the first time he’s kissed another boy, and it's the first time he's kissed with such fervour and zeal. For what he lacks in experience, he's sure it is made up for in how charged this situation is. He feels the way Itachi is startled by it, the way his body jolts like he’s been shocked. It lasts for only a moment and then he’s kissing back, just as messily, matching the off kilter pace that Sasuke has set.

“Is that what made you realize you’re gay?” Itachi hisses between kisses, hands roughly shooting up to yank at Sasuke’s hair, chipped black nails scraping his scalp. Pain shoots along Sasuke’s scalp, he hisses, and his eyes squint shut at the feeling, electricity shooting down his spine. He feels that disgust forming in his stomach as Itachi’s lips move against his, but he can't bring himself to stop because there's more to it. Something that overrides the disgust. Something he wants to stubbornly see through until the end. His hands fly to the other's hips, grab him hard and let his teeth sink into Itachi’s lower lip, biting down hard enough he thinks he might taste copper. A punishment perhaps for all that Itachi has put him through. He holds on as if the intense grip he has would lead to Itachi dispersing like a flock of startled birds.

The sound that leaves Itachi’s lips is breathy, a quiet moan that goes straight to Sasuke’s cock. It makes him acutely aware that this is wrong. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be enjoying himself. He shouldn’t be filling out his briefs with a painful erection for his brother. Maybe he does like boys, maybe that was true, but God, it shouldn’t be his brother. That much Sasuke knew. Why is Itachi allowing him? Why hasn’t he shoved Sasuke away the minute their lips made contact?

He pushes himself closer to Itachi, flips them to pin him to the counter. Sasuke knows the edge is probably digging uncomfortably into Itachi’s lower back, but he doesn't care. He ruts into him like a fucking mutt, presses his hard cock against Itachi’s hip, feels that his brother is just as hard on his thigh, a sick zing of satisfaction courses through him just as Itachi's hips move, seeking a similar friction. And in the blink of an eye, Itachi is shoving him backwards with startling abruptness. Sasuke stumbles for a second, sock clad feet sliding along the grey checkerboard linoleum before gaining his footing again, panting as he stares wildly at Itachi. Heart thumping, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face.

“Fucking disgusting. Does this get you off? You fucking faggot.” Itachi needles, eyes narrowed cruelly. His sharp cheekbones are dusted in a deep blush, chest rising and falling rapidly. His chest swells as if growing with rage, shoulders widening and lip pulling back in a snarl. Sasuke remains, wordlessly staring at Itachi. Lets the words and glower cut into him, lets them drag over the parts of Sasuke that are still tender, and leave those uncomfortable feelings in their wake. Maybe he deserves it for pulling such a stunt. Maybe he deserves more than a slur because yeah, Sasuke thinks Itachi is right. He is disgusting. “Are you really that sick in the head?”

Are you like me? That's what Sasuke thinks he’s really asking. Itachi won't bring himself to say it. How could he? How could one vocalize that? It was easier to tiptoe around this subject. To dance precariously and wait for the other to snap. He wonders if they'll do this again, if this was it. Was it wrong that Sasuke hoped it wasn't it? 

Since they kissed in the kitchen, things have been tense. Not quite like they used to be. Itachi is cold, which is typical, but his words have a harder edge than they usually do. Their interactions border on mean, and it reminds Sasuke of when they were young boys, constantly at each other's throats and squabbling violently until their father pinched each other's ears and made them apologize to one another. It's not as if it particularly bothers Sasuke, it confuses him more than anything, but he chalks it up to Itachi being crazy. Going through one of his mood swings that everyone knows to steer clear of.

Sasuke is sitting on his bed, back ramrod straight against the wall, while Naruto sits next to him, curled over like a shrimp as they stare at the small combination VCR and TV that displays Ashrah played by Sasuke kicking Naruto's Sub Zero ass.

Naruto has never been too good at Mortal Kombat. His approach is akin to throwing spaghetti at the wall rather than honing in on any actual skill. Though the sheer chaos of his play style did occasionally manage to topple Sasuke's skill, earning him a baffling victory. Today was not one of those days.

“You know, I kind of forgot you had a brother.” Naruto notes absently, more focused on mashing buttons haphazardly, “How long has he been back for?”

“About three months now?” 

“Is it weird? Do you guys fight a lot?”

“No, not really. We're not kids anymore.” Sasuke shrugs, 'I just watch him in sexual situations like I'm some kind of creep.'

“You're so lucky, coming from a big family.” Naruto's voice takes on a rather introspective tone, words laced with a sort of melancholy that Sasuke typically hears from him. He's not sure what to say. How could you say ‘it actually kind of sucks' to a kid who's a ward of the state? He has no one, and Sasuke grew up close with his brother and is loved by the swaths of his aunts, uncles and cousins.

“I guess.” Sasuke shrugs, hoping that his non-answer is enough for Naruto to drop it. 

“Aw man! What the fuck!” Naruto cries as his character collapses on the ground, health bar depleted. “How do you always kick my ass at this?”

“Maybe if you weren't such a loser, you could beat me.” Sasuke teases, knocking his elbow with Naruto's with a laugh as he watches the boy put the controller down with some obscenities directed at Sasuke being grumbled under his breath. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Huh? Oh yeah, what's up, Sasuke?” Naruto blinks at him, turning to study his face. He watches his friend carefully, dissecting the uncomfortable look on his face, definitely noting the way colour has begun to rise in Sasuke's cheeks. He wonders if Naruto can hear the way his heart has sped up. His eyes fall to the boy's backpack, the front pouch littered in pins, some comic book characters, a few raunchy slogans and then the bi pride flag.

“When did you know you were bisexual?” Sasuke can't meet the others' eyes. Keeps them fixed on his hands in his lap, still clutching the PS2 controller as if it could keep him tethered to this moment and not aimlessly floating around the room. 

Naruto stays silent for a moment, letting out a small humming noise of contemplation, “Hockey practice.” He offers, voice dropping into a deeper rasp with a sort of finality that he isn't sure that he's even going to elaborate on that fact. “You know how it goes, the locker rooms, the boys, the sweat.” He trails off almost wistfully, and Sasuke think if he turns his head, he'd see his friend drooling. “Why? Are you?”

“No!” Sasuke answers abruptly, eyes darting to his friend, who appears as stunned as he feels for that outburst. He blushes. “I mean, not… bisexual.. maybe gay?”

“Oh man,” Naruto starts laughing, and Sasuke flushes a deeper red, shame welling up within him. He shouldn't have said anything. How could he have expected Naruto to have any sense of emotional maturity about this? “No, hey, I didn't mean to laugh at you!” Naruto quickly blurts, stumbling over his words with the remnants of a giggle, hand coming to rest assuredly on Sasuke's forearm, he squeezes, “I was just thinking how Sakura is going to be so pissed.”

Oh. The relief he feels is only minimal. The body was too worked up to let go of any significant amount of the built up stress.

“Yeah.” Feeling lousy about the way Naruto still looks at him with guilty eyes, Sasuke decides to try to lighten the mood. “I think my family has a gay gene.”

It works because Naruto laughs, and in turn, Sasuke laughs with him. Naruto has always had that sort of infectious laugh that even Sasuke, sullen as he is, is unable to stave off the occasional laugh from the boy's antics. “You sound like some conservative pamphlet.”

“No, I'm serious. My brother is gay, I have a gay cousin. And now I think I might be too.” 

“Okay, maybe you have a point. But what is it? 1 in 5 people are gay? Statistically, coming from a big family, there has to be even more that you just don't know about yet.” Sasuke doesn't think that statistic is correct, but he decides not to let it go. He just smiles. “Have you ever kissed a boy?” Naruto suddenly asks, with a faint pink dusting his cheeks. 

Sasuke has indeed kissed a boy. The boy just happened to be his brother. What did that say about him? Nothing good. He shakes his head no, watches Naruto's bright blue eyes flicker down to Sasuke's lips. Subtle, Naruto.

“Do you want to try?” His words are quiet, shy, and so unlike the obnoxious boy he's grown up with. The sputtering that comes next is more what he expects from Naruto. “I mean, just to get it out of the way. You know, someone you're comfortable with, and it doesn't mean anything, you know? Just two bros—”

Sasuke cuts him off, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Naruto's. He feels the boy lurch, words dying on lips that remain motionless against his own. He doesn't think much of it, knows Naruto well enough to know his brain is just trying to catch up with his bodily experience. He's proven right when Naruto kisses him back with a gentle slide of the lips. 

He shivers at the feeling of Naruto's hand sliding up to rest on the back of his neck, cradling the base of his skull and pulling him closer. Sasuke isn't so sure what to do with his hands. He's kissed girls before, but he's always been the one taking the lead and now? Kissing his best friend, who has decided to take the lead, he's not sure what to do with his hands other than keep them balled and clammy in his lap.

As if physically aware of Sasuke's predicament, Naruto, without breaking the kiss, grabs one of Sasuke's hands, moves it to rest on his shoulder, before his hand rests on Sasuke's hip. He's grateful for the guidance. Grateful he used his actions instead of words. He didn't need a verbal lesson in how to kiss from Naruto. His eyes fall shut as his body melts into the kiss, hand unfurling to curl into the soft material of Naruto's bright orange pullover. He uses his grip to pull Naruto closer, his other arm wrapping around Naruto's neck to secure their position.

Slowly, they lean back until the knobs of Sasuke's spine are pressed into the ridges of his unmade bed, the rolls in the fabric pressing into him while Naruto is crawling over him, a thick thigh sliding between Sasuke's legs. With their bodies pressed so close, Sasuke can feel the heat rolling off his body.

He can feel the stirring of arousal in his belly, knows for certain he's never felt anything remotely close to this anytime that he's kissed girls. The answer that, yeah, he's gay, is easier to swallow when he's kissing Naruto. 

Gently, he bites down on Naruto's lower lip, revels in the way the boy gasps, taking that opportunity to slide his tongue in and curiously brush against Naruto's. He knows he's doing something right when Naruto's body shifts closer, his thigh applying pressure to Sasuke's growing arousal. 

There's a knock on the door that has both boys bolting with shock, moving with sudden abruptness. The door swings open before they have time to fully disconnect from each other. Naruto's body is still half draped over Sasuke's body for a brief moment, caught like a deer in the headlights before he's shooting upwards, nearly toppling off the bed as Sasuke is struggling to sit up straight. They're both flushed, chest heaving as they shyly stare at Itachi.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sasuke sputters, staring wide-eyed at his brother, who at least has the decency to be a little embarrassed for just bursting in. “You don't just knock and immediately enter.”

“Sorry,” Itachi mumbled, eyes bouncing towards the blonde. He watches Itachi's eyes narrow slightly, a sharp glare that seethes with unspoken malice. A hardening of his expression that could be passed off as a protective older brother, but that was too good for someone like him; the reason was far more lecherous. He watches Naruto wilt under the gaze. 

“Get the fuck out!” Sasuke yells, feeling more like Itachi’s kid brother than anything else. Itachi nods and closes the door. Sasuke's head falls back against his bed with a bounce. 

From the other side, he hears Itachi’s muffled voice from behind the door, “Mom wants to know if Naruto is staying for dinner.”

He doesn't answer, just turns to Naruto, who gapes at him with a sheepish smile. Uncomfortable with this turn of events.

“Sorry about that.” Sasuke frowns, but Naruto waves him off, coming back to sit at the foot of the bed.

“Nah, don't worry about that.” Naruto shrugs and laughs softly, “I guess that's one bonus to not having a family, I don't really have to worry about that.” The words are spoken with a lightness that Sasuke knows is practiced, knows is a thin veil hiding his true emotions on the sentiment. “So, do you think you like boys?”

“Yeah. Yeah I think I do.” Sasuke smiles almost dreamily and stares up at the ceiling. He might start kicking his feet soon at this rate. “Is it supposed to feel like that when you kiss a girl?”

Naruto laughs at him, “Sasuke, I know you're like, really smart and all, but has anyone ever told you you're also kind of… stupid..”

“Yeah, mostly you.” Sasuke chuckles, “So, did you want to stay for dinner?”

Something changed after Itachi had walked in on Naruto and Sasuke. There's always been some tension in their relationship, attribute it to the five year age gap, or the fact that Itachi was teeming with mental illness that exploded at the drop of a hat or the fact that in recent times, he was like a jealous ex-boyfriend. It doesn't matter what it's called, and Sasuke isn't even certain it can be so succinctly put into a neat little box.

Even so, Itachi's words have become cruel— more so now than any other period of their lives, worse than before seeing Naruto and him making out. He's avoidant of even seeing Sasuke outside of the times they passed in the kitchen or the rare occasion their dysfunctional little family sat down at the wobbly wooden dinner table. It's tense. Sasuke knew why, he knew Itachi knew why, but he wasn't certain where to go from here. If he should even go anywhere.

Sasuke's sitting on the couch, MTV playing quietly on the TV. Bam Magera's voice drones through the screen as he hosts this week's Headbangers Ball, introducing the next track, Divinations by Mastodon. He thinks it would be better if he could listen to it louder, blare the heavy chords loud and rattling within his eardrums, but he doesn't want to wake his parents up by having the TV too loud. Both having pulled a long shift and with single-tracked intentions, they retired to their bedroom to sleep it off.

Sasuke wonders if they take those shifts to get away from their children. It wasn't off the table. It was just another way Itachi's shortcomings punished him. Even his mother, doting as she is, seems unable to meet either of her sons' gazes. Afraid of what Itachi has become and what Sasuke might. Too wrapped up in that to stop and think that this behaviour is only worsening their condition. Something in this house died many years ago and continues to fester and rot, making them all insipid and sick.

He hears a key in the door, the lock turns, and the pins click. Sasuke doesn’t drag his eyes away from the TV. Even if he wasn't terribly interested in the music video playing on the TV, he never cared for Mastodon. The door opens, squealing on its hinges, closes with a gentle thud and the lock flicks. There’s a shuffle of shoes, and he listens carefully to see if it’s one set or two. If Itachi has brought home a friend. Which hadn’t happened since Kisame, but he knows that Itachi had been going out more frequently to see him, or whoever else occupied Itachi’s time.

Maybe Shisui as well, though since Itachi’s subsequent breakdowns their relationship wasn’t quite the same as it had once been. Sasuke isn't even sure if they really talk much anymore. Even if they do, he wouldn't know with the way Itachi holds information under lock and key.

Wordlessly, he passes him, doesn’t spare Sasuke a glance as he ascends the stairs. He clicks the mute button on the TV as Itachi moves, the bright neon mute symbol blinking in the corner of the screen. He listens as Itachi goes, and when he hears the door click softly, he turns the TV off.

Getting up, Sasuke finds his way in the dark towards the stairs, climbs them and comes to stand in front of Itachi’s door. He stays there momentarily, working up some courage before he lets himself in. 

The room is mostly dark, lit up by the small desk lamp that washes the room in a warm yellow and casts long shadows.

Itachi is standing at his dresser, turns his head and stares at Sasuke with furrowed brows. “What do you want?”

Sasuke shrugs, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him. He watches Itachi’s gaze dart from the door to Sasuke. His brother's glare is hard and penetrating, an attempt to deter him without lifting a finger. If Sasuke moves fast, he'll maintain his nerve; if he wavers, he will lose under the scrutiny of his eyes. He crosses the room in three quick strides, watches about fifty emotions cross over Itachi's face in the time it takes for him to reach the other.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Sasuke murmurs, they’re face to face, and Sasuke has to tip his head up slightly to glower at Itachi; a fact that still pisses him off. “I can’t get you out of my fucking head.”

Itachi sneers, lip curling up over his upper canines.“What? That Naruto kid didn’t do the trick?”

“Did Kisame?”

Itachi blinks at him slowly and stares at him vacantly, as if he isn’t quite here and present. Was he ever? He distantly remembered Itachi complaining about one of the new medications he was on. It made his head feel like it was full of cotton, permanently stuck in this dream-like state.

With no real protest, Sasuke tentatively grasps Itachi’s hips. Press their bodies close. Itachi’s eyes fall shut, but he doesn’t shove Sasuke off, dares to let his hands wander up Sasuke’s arms to play with the hem on the arm hole of Sasuke’s shirt. A worn, faded System of a Down t-shirt that had come from Itachi’s closet. Stolen or given, he can’t remember. 

“No, he didn’t.” Itachi murmurs, leans in close enough that their lips brush together. He doesn’t push further, though, keeping a distance that allows their breath to mingle. “Did you fuck him?”

“Naruto?” Sasuke leans forward, catches Itachi in a brief kiss that only lasts a moment before Itachi reels back. As far as he can when he’s pinned to his dresser. Does he tell Itachi that he is a virgin? That he has only recently come to accept that he likes men and not women? And that he hadn’t done more than a few chaste kisses. Would it turn him on? Or drag this to a screeching, halting stop. “No.”

Sasuke takes that moment to spin Itachi, to roughly press him into his dresser. There's something intimate about the location of having Itachi bent at the hips and pushed into the sides of his dresser. If it weren't a room he'd also grown up in, he thinks it would be some sort of relationship milestone.

Itachi's hair, undone from his usual low ponytail, reaches just halfway down his back. Hair glossy and maintained, and one day, Sasuke wants nothing more than to sink his hands in at the base, feel the soft tresses before tugging and watching Itachi's face screw up in pain. For now, he leans forward, nosing the back of Itachi's neck where it meets his skull and inhales. Itachi smells of soft floral soaps, his hair silky smooth against the bridge of Sasuke's nose.

Although Itachi is taller than him, they're similarly built. Lithe with muscles that are more practical and understated than the thick visible muscles Kisame and Naruto carried. There is some leniency towards Sasuke in terms of strength and build in the tail ends of puberty that adds a boost of testosterone which tips the scales in his favour. It leaves Itachi utterly pinned, the curve of his ass pressed flush to Sasuke's front. Sasuke's hands pin Itachi’s to the stained wooden surface. He leans forward, lips dragging up the curve of his neck and towards the shell of his ear. 

He revels in the shiver that wracks Itachi’s body, goosebumps rising along his brother's skin. 

“You've been so cold lately, ‘Tachi, did seeing Naruto and me make you jealous?” Sasuke whispers, a feral feeling simmering below the surface. A part of him that he loathes and that only his brother can drag out of him. A part of his being that Naruto could never awaken. He can hear the way Itachi’s jaw clenches, molars gnashing against each other. He knows he has a finite amount of time before Itachi begins to squirm, to try and break free from the pin in cowardice to see this through. “Did you like being a voyeur? Make you feel good seeing another man on top of your brother?"

Itachi remains silent, but his back dips in an almost imperceivable arch. "Were you mad about him touching me? Because it's him? Or because it wasn't you?"

His brother's breath hitches and Sasuke grins. He can't help it. The blood from his brain that propels any reasonable thought shoots down south to fill out his cock and removes any rationality from his mind. Sasuke releases one of Itachi’s hands, squirms it between the dresser and Itachi, hand cupping his cock through the dark denim he wore. He laughs softly, a malicious sound, over the fact that Itachi is rock hard, certain that his cock is pressed uncomfortably against the zipper. 

“Did you touch yourself after?” Sasuke whispers, palming the other with a rough, uncaring hand. The sound of Itachi’s gasps and moans filtered unwillingly through teeth that latch onto his lower lip. He wants to hear more of those sounds, needs to. “Hm? Big brother?”

“Sasuke..” Itachi quivers, a sound he doesn't think he's ever heard. A sound dripping in shame, but the twitch of his cock was unmistakable. He likes this. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” Sasuke murmurs, hips rocking forward in a slow, dirty grind. Even if Itachi was hard enough to burst at the seams, Sasuke wasn’t much better. Doesn't have much of a leg up on him, not with how hard he is. His hands wander, catching on the metal pull of his fly, and he drags it down, slowly. The teeth are separating and ringing through the air, mixing with the sounds of laboured breathing. Overworked without having worked at all, so strung along on this. 

He lifts his eyes to stare at their reflection in the mirror in front of them. Dark bangs falling into his face, hiding the way his pupils are blown wide. Showcasing the blush on both their faces, lips parted with ragged breaths. Itachi is staring down at the wooden surface, fixated on the arching cathedrals of the grain pattern. He knows the other can't bring himself to look at the reflection.

Itachi stays stubbornly silent, and with how his body trembles, Sasuke knows all his energy and concentration are going into remaining as impassive as he possibly can. His body was caught between opening up and rejecting Sasuke's ministrations. Sasuke's fingertips dance along Itachi’s abdomen, sliding upwards, the pads of his fingers catching on a rough patch of skin, thin scabs that suture his skin together. He dares to press on them, tentatively, curiously. Itachi makes a noise that Sasuke genuinely cannot tell if it is of pleasure or pain, a contorted whimper that goes straight to his cock. 

“Yeah, I did,” Itachi whispers it, as if willing the words to get swallowed whole by the oppressive air that suffocates them. Sasuke’s fingers trail downwards, beginning to dip past the waistband of Itachi’s briefs, fingers dragging through the wiry, kept hair. He feels Itachi go taut, air sucked in shakily. But he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell him to stop, doesn’t push him away. Itachi just leans there, stuck between Sasuke and the dresser. His body shakes.

Sasuke’s hand dips below, fist grasping the base of Itachi’s cock in a tight hold. He feels it throb in his palm, and finally, Itachi moans. The sound was low and drawn out, a desperate release. His head bows, some hair falling to curtain his face.

“Oh fuck, Sasuke.” It’s said like a prayer.

He works his hand slowly, a teasing crawl of a pace that has Itachi’s breathing coming in sharp and ragged. He draws back, removes his hand from Itachi’s pants and presses his lips to Itachi’s ear, “That’s how you make me feel,” and takes a step back. That sinking feeling returns as he watches Itachi's shoulders draw in on themselves. He leaves the room.

Things have remained more or less the same. Itachi is his usual self, hot and cold, unpredictable, and Sasuke thinks he’s much the same. It’s hard to balance this. Was there any balancing something like this? At what point did Sasuke and his desires end, and Itachi begin? Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Itachi. Hears the sound of him moaning his name, the sound etched permanently into his head. Can nearly feel the weight of Itachi’s cock in his palm. He wonders what Itachi’s hand would feel like wrapped around his own cock, what his mouth would feel like, what it would be like to fuck him or even be fucked by him.

Sasuke's thinks he's jealous of Kisame. Jealous of the way he's been able to have his brother in all these intimate ways. Visions of Itachi on his knees for the other, mouth stretched wide over Kisame's monster cock drift through his mind. A vicious, possessive feeling worms it's way through his body like maggots through an apple core. Sasuke knows that he holds all the cards here, and he can get exactly what he wants— it makes him feel powerful. Itachi would bend to his whims with the right words. Fall to his knees and serve Sasuke the world on a silver platter as he bleeds out from his wounds. Sasuke knows that he could hurt Itachi the way Itachi hurts him with a few pointed words.

Is it weird that the thought turned him on?

The lights from the tall street lamps seep through his window, basking his room in their warm amber glow. Long shadows dance over the small room, flickering when the odd car flies through the sleepy residential street. The window is cracked slightly, cold winter air nipping at his skin as it pervades his room. Despite the chill, his body runs hot even in his state of undress.

Lying on his bed, he wears nothing, clothes strewn around his otherwise neat room. In his hand, he clutches a stolen Nine Inch Nail's shirt and presses it to his face. Inhaling deeply, he's met with the remnants of Itachi's scent that saturates the fabric. It makes his cock throb in his hand, tip weeping clear fluid as warmth slugs through his veins. He drags his fist, grip tight on his cock, lube aiding the slide. His head tips back towards the pillow as he breaths shakily. Sasuke conjures images of Itachi to the forefront of his mind. His hand speeds up, thumb swiping over the flushed head and smearing precum with a groan.

It's comical timing when the door creeks open on it's hinges. If it were any other night Sasuke might start sputtering thinking it was his mother opening his door, but his father is in another city for work and his mother is visiting at her sister's for the weekend. Sasuke is left in charge, a heavy burden. He knows exactly who is at his door.

“Tch, not even knocking at all anymore?” Sasuke doesn’t bother to hide himself, to make himself decent or feel shame for the fact that Itachi is standing there, leaning back against the closed door and staring at Sasuke with sweeping dark eyes. The sallow light washes over Itachi, and all Sasuke finds himself admiring his brother. “Are you just going to stare?”

"Is that where all my shirts run off to?" Itachi scoffs, color rising on his cheeks. His eyes traipse over Sasuke's body, taking in the sight of his unmarked skin, the stolen article of clothing that partially obscures Sasuke's face before zeroing in on the length of his cock. "Am I going to have to worry about my dirty briefs next?"

Now isn't that a thought.

Sasuke watches the way Itachi shifts on his feet, throat bobbing as he swallows, his words were all bark with little nerve behind them. Teasingly, he moves his fist, and laughs at how Itachi's eyes track the movement. He tosses the shirt aside and flashes his brother a toothy grin. Power surging through his veins over being the one to cause the other this degree of discomfort. It serves Itachi right. Power is something Sasuke has always craved, chasing it recklessly in a feeble attempt to feel adept. Here with Itachi, Sasuke feels drunk on the control he has over their situation. It makes Sasuke feel alive for the first time in, well, Sasuke isn't sure how long it's been since he's felt so alive.

“This is wrong,” Itachi stifles, eyes darting wildly to Sasuke’s like a nervous beast. He can nearly see the quarrel that Itachi is having with himself. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Coward.

“Do you want to stop?” Sasuke's hand stills, resting at the base of his cock, squeezing himself with enough pressure to stave off any inclination towards release. Even if he revels in Itachi's unease, he won't let this go forward if this isn't what his brother wants. Above all else, Sasuke wants to be wanted, aches for it even.

Itachi stares at him, tongue peaking out to swipe along his lower lip. Sasuke can pinpoint the exact moment Itachi's resolve fractures. “No.” He confesses and steps forward with a sudden rush of confidence. “I need to know.” He joins Sasuke on the bed, his hips swaying as he crawls over top of him like a predatory animal, stopping so that he's sitting on Sasuke's thighs.

Sasuke's hands abandon his cock, coming to rest on Itachi's thighs. His fingers toy with the stitching of the leg hole on tartan patterned briefs. Feeling the soft cotton makes him acutely aware of the fact he's naked compared to Itachi. He wonders if it's normal to feel shy around a partner; he doesn't really have any frame of reference for this. But being laid out on his bed, bare with his cock brushing against his abdomen, the tip leaking in the wiry dark hair, feels far more vulnerable than he could've anticipated. Does Itachi feel the same way? He won't dare to ask, unwilling to tempt his brother's guilt.

The only reference to any residual nervousness is the way Itachi’s movements are almost mechanical as if any emotions that bleed into his touch will ruin this all. As if he rehearsed this scene before coming in, how many times has Itachi fantasized about this? He leans forward, the ends of his hair tickling the sides of Sasuke's ears as he captures his lips in a shockingly soft kiss. One that Sasuke eagerly returns, perhaps a false sense of confidence at Itachi's nonchalant disposition. 

Their lips move against each other in a sloppy, wet kiss, softness bleeding into raw need. He feels like a live wire as jolts of electricity shoot through his synapses and his veins as they kiss. Itachi's teeth nip at Sasuke's lower lip, the hint of a smirk splitting his mouth when it has him gasping, he utilizes it to slide his tongue in.

They hardly break their kiss as Sasuke's trembling hands hastily grasp at the hem of Itachi’s shirt. They break apart with huge lungfuls of air as Sasuke drags it over Itachi's head, only to meet in another barbaric kiss. His hands traverse up Itachi’s torso, feeling the hard juts of his ribcage.

Sasuke breaks the kiss, leans back to track the movements of his hands as they explore Itachi’s torso, it's the first time he thinks he's seen his bare chest since they were children. No longer perfect. It's a shame that the bedside lamp wasn't turned on so he could see better. Still he's grateful that in this position, the warm light from outside cascades over Itachi's body providing enough glow that he can clearly make out his brothers features. The rough pads of his fingertips run atop a particularly jagged scar. Most of the ones on his chest (save for the scabs) are faded and white, but this one is pink around the edges, lustrous and a few inches wide. His eyes dart up to meet his brother's, noticing the sheer discomfort on his face as his scars are felt. Something flits in his eyes, a rare glimpse of the raw, vulnerable and fragile Itachi.

If his hands wandered to Itachi's wrists, Sasuke thinks he might shatter. He doesn't touch them, doesn't even allow his eyes to wander to the deep vertical scars that mend his skin. It's just too much.

Sasuke drags his hands up, the pads of his thumbs dragging roughly up the length of his brother's torso until they brush along pebbled nipples. When his finger makes contact, he's rewarded with a rasping moan, a reflexive rock of Itachi’s hips against his tensed thighs. A deep ache within him flares and undoes him slowly, pulling at his seams.

A part of Sasuke wants to tease, but he's unsure of what to say, trepidation impeding any words that form in his mouth and having them dissolve into saliva. 

He leans forward, flicks the flat of his tongue over the nipple and smiles at the immediate response. The way Itachi grinds down with no warning, a sharp keening noise lodged in his throat. Sasuke's lips wrap around the bud, and Itachi’s hands fly to Sasuke's dark hair, spindly fingers tangling in thick locks and pulling. Pain needles along his scalp, a pleasant buzz that sends warmth coursing through his veins. He's reminded of his achingly hard cock as it throbs.

Sasuke switches sides, dragging his lips across Itachi's pectorals to give the other nipple the same treatment. Hands clutch at Itachi’s waist loosely, pulling him forward and gently guiding the movement of Itachi’s hips in a gyrating motion as he squirms in Sasuke's lap. 

“S-Sasuke,” his voice is quiet, the sound caught between a rasp, far breathier than before. “Please.”

He knows this was the next logical step. Knew this was inevitable before they had even fallen into bed together. This is where it was always heading, wasn't it? And maybe Sasuke thought that in the moment, he would be able to rise to the occasion, swallowing all his insecurities. That the knowledge and years of watching porn would've paid off.

“I’ve never done this before,” Sasuke murmurs into Itachi’s skin. He feels the way his brother constricts. Sasuke seizes his hips tighter, refusing to allow him to flee when they've come so far.

The silence is deafening, tension coiling around them like a boa constrictor preparing to feast. He doesn't want it to end like this. Can't stand the idea that his brother might toss him aside, and call up Kisame to finish what he started. 

“Wait, at all?” Itachi chokes on the words slowly, carefully. He remains unnaturally still, but his muscles flutter under Sasuke's firm grip as if gearing up to flee. Maybe if Itachi had been a better brother, Sasuke would have shared his laments with him over his admittedly dismal dating life.

“I’ve never even kissed a boy before you.” Sasuke admits, forehead resting on the hard protrusion of Itachi’s collarbone. He exhales softly along the skin, watches goosebumps rise.

"You and Naruto?" He's surprised Itachi remembers his name.

"I needed to know."

“Oh, Sasuke.” His tone is reluctant, and Sasuke dares a peak upwards, stares up at his brother, who returns his gaze with a sorrow in his eyes that makes Sasuke incensed.

“Don’t you dare stop.” Sasuke snaps, jaw clenching as his nails dig into the exposed skin just above the elastic band of Itachi's briefs. He bucks his hips upwards, satisfied with the way it disarms Itachi and makes his mouth fall open with a startled noise. “You owe me this.”

“Excuse me?” 

“For everything you’ve fucking put me through.” Sasuke's hand slides up from where it rests, pressing down on some of the cuts on Itachi’s stomach, sneering as Itachi gasps, back arching into the touch, “For always making me worry about you.” He begins to press kisses into Itachi's chest, drags filthy kisses up Itachi’s sternum, and kisses his neck. “Don’t you want to take care of me, big brother?”

“You’re fucking disgusting.” Itachi laughs breathlessly, presses closer, pulling sharply at Sasuke's hair to hold him flush to his chest. Sasuke feels the way Itachi's heart hammers, pressed so close. His skin is slick with a sheen of sweat. “Do you want to fuck me? Was that what you were thinking about when you were sniffing my shirt? Then let me make you feel good.”

It takes him by a whirlwind watching Itachi move; he feels marginally disconnected from his body as he observes. Watches the older man shimmy out of his briefs, cock bobbing without the fabric restraining it. His cock is hard, flushed at he tip and curving upwards to knock against his belly, while precum leaks profusely from the tip. Itachi leans over him, reaching for the lube on the bedside table. In the movement, Itachi's cock sags, brushing against Sasuke's.

They're about the same size, and Sasuke can't tear his eyes away. Some unconscious part deep within his addled brain propels him forward, leads his hand to wrap around their cocks, and press them together. The sensation of Itachi's heated flesh against his own is what sends him hurtling back into his body with a gasp. Like this, the tips of his fingers don't quite close around their combined girth. A moan tumbles past lips in unison over the contact, Itachi's body bowing and back arching at the sensation. He doesn't keep reaching for the bottle, just braces himself against the bed, steeling himself against Sasuke's actions. Experimentally, Sasuke moves his fist, gasping wetly as searing heat erupts from deep within him. Watching his hand move is nearly as pleasurable as the feeling.

"Do you like it, Itachi?" Sasuke pants, squeezing gently on the down stroke. Itachi's arm bends with a shake that he barely recovers from. He nods his head eagerly while retrieving the bottle of lube that's three-quarters full.

Itachi sits back on his heels, drops his gaze to watch Sasuke's hand move over their lengths. His mouth falls open, eyes enraptured with the sight. Clearly as enthralled by it as Sasuke has been but that attention fades rather quickly. Itachi swats gently at Sasuke's hand to get him to let go. He pops open the cap of the lube, pours a dollop into his palm.

Itachi is strokes Sasuke's cock, fingers dancing along the pulsing vein as he smears the cold lube, over the heated skin. His head tips back into the lumpy pillow with a groan, and all he can think about is how he's going to bust the minute his cock is in Itachi like some kind of abject virgin.

"If I hadn't already stretched myself, I would've put a show on for you. Since you like to watch so much." Itachi comments as he leans back, grabbing Sasuke's leaking cock and lining it up with his entrance. He lets out a low sigh as he sinks on Sasuke's cock, stretched open enough that he's able to sink all the way to the base in one smooth movement with hardly any resistance. Itachi's brows pinch, and his eyes nearly roll back in his head as he settles on Sasuke's lap, mouth falling open with a hoarse whimper.

It's better than Sasuke could've imagined, and he wonders how he's gone this long without having ever done this. The tight heat of Itachi's hole gripping his cock, has him feeling delirious with overwhelming pleasure, like maybe God is real and that everything he'd been through with Itachi had been worth it if it got them to this moment, right here.

"Shit— Don't, don't move." Sasuke grits, nails digging into Itachi's hip as his heels dig into the bed. He looks anywhere but at Itachi, fixes his attention on the popcorn stucco ceiling as his chest rises and falls erratically. So desperately trying not to blow his load immediately. He doesn't want this to end, unsure if he'll ever get the chance to experience this again.

"Yeah," Itachi shudders sounding equally as fucked out, his hands resting on Sasuke's chest, leaning his weight on his torso, nails cutting into his skin. Sasuke steals a glance, the sight ripping a groan from his chest. Itachi's hair is mused with beads of sweat having begun to collect at his hairline, and the blush on his face plunges down his torso. Goosebumps prickle over his skin as he lets out harsh huffs of breath with each minute shift of his hips. "Fuck."

Itachi is so tight and warm around him that Sasuke can't help but grind his hips upward, desperate to seek out more friction and chase this pleasurable feeling, the movement guided by his animalistic hindbrain seeking a more base desire. It's worth it when Itachi's lips fall open on a choked gasp.

He needs more, Sasuke decides.

Experimentally, he rocks his hips upwards, groaning at the drag of his cock against Itachi's walls. There is no care for if Itachi was adjusted to the size he's being stretched to around Sasuke’s cock by the way Itachi lets out a pornographic moan. He knows Itachi doesn't care either.

Itachi lifts his hips before sinking back down, setting a stuttering rhythm. The muscles in his thighs flex with each movement. A part of Sasuke wants to do nothing, to have his brother do all the work, but he just can't help but chase after the soft, tight heat of Itachi’s hole, his hips connecting with Itachi’s ass with a resounding slap with each rock.

Each time Itachi lowers himself onto Sasuke, an electric wave of pleasure rolls through his body, sending a tingling sensation through all his extremities. His entire focus is on Itachi's pale, scarred skin. His impossibly dark eyes swirl with a devious excitement that is stitched with shameful anger. His hair falls past his shoulders and sticks to his slick skin. His cock bounces with each jostle, smearing precum along his abdomen as it bounces uselessly against his stomach, the pearlescent fluid catching in the neatly kept dark wiry hair that leads from his navel towards the base of his cock.

One of Itachi's hands slid up Sasuke’s chest, coming to cradle the column of his throat. For a second, it just rests there. Sasuke tips his head back against the pillow, groaning as Itachi begins to apply pressure to his carotid artery, finger tips dipping into the taut skin of his neck.

It makes the heat low in his belly simmer with gentle rolls, to coil dangerously as his muscles become tense with impending release, as all the sensations wreak havoc on his body. He wonders what he looks like to Itachi if his hair sticks up wildly against the pillow. If his skin is red and blotchy, muscles rippling with each movement and eyes ripping him apart with unbridled lust.

As if sensing that Sasuke was close, Itachi speaks, low and strained, his already deep voice becoming gravely as his arousal rises, "Take what you need. Use me."

Planting his feet on the bed more securely, Sasuke pushes himself up into Itachi, trying to strike the spot that no doubt will have Itachi seeing stars. His fingers dig into the skin of Itachi's hips, anchoring the man in place as he thrusts and grinds into the man above him. Which evidently was the right move. Sasuke felt it when he hit that spot in Itachi, the strength of the hand on Sasuke's neck wanes, the muscles in his thighs quivering as he cried out pathetically.

Sasuke repeated it, dragging Itachi’s hips in a dirty grind tandem to his thrusts, holding him steady as he writhes. The grip on his neck is forgotten, favoured for frantic passes of his hands over Sasuke's body, mapping out the pale flesh with unbridled attention. Clutching at his flexing biceps, his chest, the sheets below. Anything Itachi could possibly get his hands on to ground himself.

"Does he fuck you this good?" Sasuke rasps, staring up at Itachi, who can't seem to hide the debauched expression on his face. Mouth hanging open as strangled 'ah, ah ah's are freely fucked out of his kiss bitten lips, he thinks he catches tears glistening in the corners of Itachi's eyes. "Do you think of me when he fucks you?"

"Christ— Sasuke!" Itachi's voice wavers, voice pitched high, hole tightening around Sasuke's cock at the filth that he spews. With a few more pumps, he's coming untouched with a wail, back snapping in a sharp arch as his cock pulses, cum splattering against Sasuke's abdomen in spurts before it oozes lazily from the tip.

Moving a hand from Itachi's hips, he swipes two fingers through the warm fluid on his stomach. It's tacky and viscous, dripping down between the digits. He brings them to his mouth, makes a point to ensure that his brother's glassy gaze is trained on him before letting his fingers dip into the warmth of his mouth. The point of his tongue drags along his fingers, cleaning the cum from them and allowing the salty taste to bloom along his taste buds. He can't help but moan as Itachi tightens around his cock, eyes wide with astonishment. Another time, Sasuke thinks he'll ask Itachi to fuck his mouth. The idea of being able to lave his tongue over his brother's cock, and let him finish down his throat too good to pass up.

Itachi's body sags, hands pressing more firmly against Sasuke's chest to maintain his balance. His body recoils as he's fucked into overstimulation, but he doesn't draw back, moans through it and continues to ride him ardently. Wills his body to take it, to let the salty tears spring from his eyes as the pleasure begins to border on pain, and the clear desperation over his desire to be filled by his brother is what sends Sasuke over the edge.

It only takes Sasuke a few more moments before he's spilling inside Itachi. His movements become single tracked and erratic as he chases his release. His hands are pulling Itachi down hard as he grinds deep in him, fucking his spend deep into his brother, who takes it with whimpering breaths.

“This is so fucked up.” Sasuke breaths, wincing as Itachi lifts himself off of Sasuke's cock. Cum oozes out of his hole, catching in the sparse hair on his inner thigh. He watches the way Itachi's face contorts in disgust as he rolls over to lie next to Sasuke on the small twin-sized mattress.

They no longer fit perfectly, like when they were children. It's tight and bordering on not enough space, keeping their bodies nestled close, sweat-slicked skin sliding together uncomfortably.

“Yeah.” Itachi acknowledges. Eyes falling shut as his chest deflates with a heavy sigh.

“You know I don’t hate you.” Sasuke murmurs after a moment, turning on his side to stare at Itachi's face. He watches the way Itachi's chest rises and falls, watches the way his brows pinch before smoothing out once more.

Itachi turns his head, dark eyes cumbered and brow quirked before tentatively asking, “Even after this?” 

Sasuke smiles, thin-lipped and without reaching his eyes. “Yeah, even after this.”

“One day you might.” Itachi sighs, eyes falling shut again. “You should.”