Itachi & Sasuke with hints of Naru/SasuWord Count:
Language, incest, violence, horror imagery, masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, drug use, angst.Spoilers:
Itachi... treats... himself with a visit to see his brother.
A/N: I wrote this for the Reader Appreciation Community on Y!Gallery. It was for their current challenge, "Emotional Senses." My prompt was, "Jealousy and Touch."
...but really it was because I promised I'd text a friend porn, this is her favorite pairing, and well...
Yeah. No excuses. For the sheer WTF-ery. ♥
Beyond the splattered glass of the one-way mirror, a door opened and a young man walked into the sparsely appointed den of sin. He wore street clothes: a shirt with long sleeves that he tugged, a pair of ratty jeans that hung on his hips, a set of sneakers that had seen better days. His hair was unkempt and the color of witchcraft midnight, and his skin was highlighted and hued in shades of moonstone. The boy was barely nineteen, and Itachi knew that because he remembered the day his little brother had been born with the kind of clarity usually reserved for doomed men of the church reciting prayers of penitence without hope of redemption.
"So," Sasuke said, turning and facing the mirror running along the entirety of one wall. "You're back, hm?"
Any innocence that lesser, hopeful men would attribute to Itachi's baby brother vanished in the slow blink of eyes that were alight with a knowing, understanding gaze. It screamed seduction, that look, that stare. It whispered that Sasuke knew why people paid cold cash to sit on a metal chair in what amounted to a closet carpeted with the baser fluids of humanity. It demanded attention. It hissed for more. And with a graceful, practiced rock and roll of pelvis, Sasuke spread his legs, palmed his cock, and started to stroke through his jeans. "C'mon... talk to me..." Sasuke bit his lip, tilted back his head, and eyed the mirror from beneath fluttering lashes. "I know you wanna do more than just
That sentiment, at least, was true. Itachi wanted to do much, much more than watch his brother jerk off alone in a whorehouse. He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, felt the scruff of two days gone without a razor. His tie was undone around his neck, and his shirt was half unbuttoned. His handmade slacks and shiny shoes were at odds with the concrete blocks and the dimly-lit, claustrophobic quarters that smelled of stale sweat, sex, and the cursory spritz of air freshener to make the experience more... comfortable... for the consumer. There was a panel affixed to a row of metal along the bottom of the mirror. Itachi reached for the button that would open the speaker line between them, stopped, and put his head in his hands.
The first time he'd agreed to talk instead of letting Sasuke do whatever his brother wanted on the far side of the glass, Itachi had steeled himself for recognition. And even when he'd cobbled words together, managed a few halting syllables, and had heard how distortion morphed him into someone else, he had expected Sasuke's expression to change, rage to rise, and had thought this house of cards would finally come toppling down.
So when Sasuke hadn't changed, acted any differently, or given indication that he knew who was breathing in heavy, fast, watery heaves... Itachi had felt momentary relief followed by sundering grief.
"Shy tonight?" Sasuke whispered, and Itachi flinched when the familiar inflection was closer. He sat up and saw Sasuke practically at the window. Itachi jerked his chin in a negative, even though Sasuke couldn't see it. Sasuke was beautiful, though too thin and too tired. There were rings in Sasuke's ears, too many to count, and a stud in his tongue.
Itachi wanted to kiss Sasuke until their lips cracked and bled, and he wanted to lick, lash, and taste the collision of metal and blood until he drowned in it.
"Or you just playing it different this time?" Sasuke asked, a whisper, and Itachi was fascinated by the way Sasuke's eyes didn't bother roving over the mirror. They were empty of search, almost devoid of curiosity or self. Distant, lost and lonely.
Or maybe that was just him.
"You buy my sweet ass for a whole hour, and not a word, huh? Need a little something? Want me to tell you what I'd do if you were on this side of the wall?"
Itachi's pulse fired into overdrive and sweat broke out beneath his arms and across his forehead. God, fuck, no
, he didn't want Sasuke to do that. This was bad enough, this particular brand of misery. He was already going to join their father in a special place in the lowest circle of hell. Itachi and dear old dad could steam in caldrons of fire and commiserate over the time Fugaku had caught Sasuke sucking another boy's dick. They could get their bellies cut open and intestines drawn out on slow-turning spits and discuss how Fugaku had beaten Sasuke bloody, had broken the blond boy's arm when the kid had gotten in the way. They could have their eyelids removed with dull knives and relive how Itachi had scrambled into the hallway in pajamas, already begging their father to understand and pleading with Sasuke not to go. They'd be slowly skewered on pikes rammed up their assholes and debate over which came first: Sasuke leaving or Fugaku disowning his youngest son as a fag who would never be allowed to shame their house again.
And just before the devils came to carve out their tongues and watch them bleed to death yet again, Itachi could turn gaping holes to his father, smile around oozing gums, and confess at long last that he'd been in his own room listening to his baby brother be good at blow jobs and jerking off to the sounds the blond made when the kid got close. Itachi could cackle while his father screamed and explain that his were the sins of true cowardice, because he was horrified at the idea of going after Sasuke. If Itachi's brother knew what he was, if Sasuke suspected or, worse, Itachi inadvertently told the whole tale in an effort to get Sasuke home again...
Because he'd try, wouldn't he? Try to catalogue needs and rationalize immorality if it meant Sasuke would take pity, put up with their father, get off the streets. Try though he knew he'd fail, just like he knew Sasuke would kill him for what he couldn't help but feel.
Itachi told himself he stayed, finished college, and tolerated their father to get access to his trust fund. Itachi kept tabs on his little brother through rumors, gossip, and threadbare leads. He heard the sordid tales of relationships failed, of drugs taken, of last whereabouts known. Theirs was a huge city where a boy could find money for food and substances to numb the pain in any back alley, subway station bathroom, or rented hotel room. Itachi suspected Sasuke was punishing himself or thinking that he somehow deserved to be on the path to ultimate destruction. For surely, Sasuke wasn't being coerced into working in this hellhole. Absolutely Sasuke could have found a better arrangement. It must have been pride that kept him circling the lowest hemispheres, for there had to be a willing sugar daddy, a decent caretaker, a concerned friend...
...an older brother with a few million in his bank account and a few thousand fantasies of his sibling naked, kneeling, moaning, keening, sucking, and begging.
"I'd start with your mouth." Sasuke licked his lips, reddened from teeth, and he ran both hands through his hair. "I'd let you tongue me. Fuck me with a kiss."
Itachi groaned, reaching again for the intercom but stopping short when Sasuke's palms slid across the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and stopped at his chest. His head rolled to one shoulder, exposing corded tendon ripe for the biting. "I want your hands on me. I want it rough. I want it soft. I want it any way you like it." He reached and yanked off his shirt, tossing it aside and baring his torso for Itachi's sight to drink. Sasuke rubbed at his skin, aimless and with more and more pressure until pink swaths started to bloom. "C'mon... I know you're there. You know you're my favorite. You know I've been waiting for you to come back. Tell me what you'd do. Tell me what you want me
With a stifled curse, Itachi undid his pants and flicked the com's switch. A green light burst to life, and all systems of evil were ready to go. Itachi braced against the wall, leaning forward in the chair with breath blowing fog against the glass. Sasuke waited, but Itachi couldn't find his voice. He was too busy dragging silk boxers over the shaft of his dick and hating Sasuke's fingers and hands. Irrational, other-worldly, and all-consuming jealousy raged through his bloodstream. It should be him
caressing those lean muscles, those hipbones, those scars from a bike wreck. It should be him
pinching those nipples with far more deliberate intent than Sasuke's teasing little flicks. Itachi would be cruel and unforgiving until Sasuke gasped and writhed and pleaded. The separation was goddamned maddening, the purest form of torment, and Itachi moaned beneath the weight of anger and want and denial.
"God yeah..." Sasuke backed up until his legs met the edge of the mattress and box springs situated on the floor. He was mere feet away. Tear down the wall and five strides would have Itachi pressed against Sasuke.
"Should... should be me..." Itachi's mouth was dry and sticky.
"Should be you, what?" Sasuke asked, breathy but with a ghost of a smile. "Doing this?" Sasuke undid his fly and with terrific slowness began to push the denim down his legs. He wasn't wearing anything beneath the jeans, and at the sight of his half-erect cock, Itachi swallowed.
"I wouldn't undress you until your prick was iron against my leg," Itachi rumbled, dizzy with greed and adrenaline.
Sasuke paused, unsure for just the tiniest sliver of an instant, but it was still plenty of time to pierce and wound Itachi's heart. "Yeah?" Sasuke encouraged and wrapped his hand around himself, pulling. "How'd you get me like that?"
"I started with your mouth." Itachi clenched his teeth in a grin when Sasuke huffed a chuckle. "I kissed you, and I touched you everywhere through your clothes. Kneaded your ass. Pressed between your cheeks. Then I moved on to your throat and ringed your neck in a collar of sucked bruises."
Sasuke grunted, breathing faster now, erection growing. "I liked that."
"I know you did. You rubbed against my leg like a needy bitch in heat."
... yeah... I did. Stroked you through your pants."
Itachi chuckled and leaned closer to the speaker. "What makes you think I'd let you?"
"What makes you think you could stop me?"
The defiance and the sneer forced Itachi's hand into his underwear. He encircled his dick in a snug fist and shove-swirl-squeezed foreskin around the head. "I didn't stop you. But the leather cuffs I used to bind you to the headboard did."
"Ooh..." Sasuke's shoulders rose and fell, and he pressed the heel of his hand to one nipple, rubbing while the other hand kept jerking off. "Kinky fucker... you've never done that before..."
Sasuke's fist flew faster. "Hell yeah, I do."
... Came into some money... been a good couple of weeks..."
"Thought you'd come by and get me off to celebrate?"
Itachi had to stop or he'd get too near the edge. He was slick with pre-come and his balls were already tight. Sorrow and guilt tried to claw him to shreds, and he growled into the intercom. "Yeah. I did. Now strip." Sasuke had the jeans off in less than a second. "Lay on your back. Spread your legs. No touching until I say."
"Shit." Sasuke practically fell onto the bed, knees bent and thighs splaying wide. He grabbed a thin pillow without a case and shoved it under his head to prop himself up and stare down his own body.
"Spread your ass cheeks," Itachi ordered.
Sasuke did as asked, clenching so his entrance spasmed. "Like seeing that little fuckhole?"
Itachi shuddered. "Not as much as I'd like to taste it."
The breath left Sasuke's lungs in a rattling, quick exhale. "And not as much as I want you to."
Even though Itachi knew it was artifice, he supplemented Sasuke's words with honesty he was sure didn't actually exist. His guts churned with heat and pain, and it was distracting enough that he could touch himself again: solid pulls from balls to crown. "You like getting rimmed?"
"Yeah..." Sasuke's fingers dug into his thighs, and Itachi chewed a groan of frustration and envy into pieces.
"Like getting your hole eaten? Sucked? Licked?" Itachi barely recognized the gravelly voice of hell as his own, and he shoved aside the visions and the hatred of how many others had done Sasuke the service.
"Christ..." Sasuke's toes flexed, and his cock bobbed.
"I'd bend you in half, use spit and my tongue to soften you up, and fuck you with my fingers 'til you were gaping for me."
... yeah... shit..."
"I'd watch you dance and yank at the cuffs. I'd hear you beg for my cock before I had any thought about mercy."
Sasuke whimpered, and it sounded entirely too real. "Fuck... let me jerk off?"
"Go to hell." Sasuke started to reach for his dick but stopped, making a fist that shook, instead, and Itachi discovered all new levels of personal torture and surging power. He told himself that Sasuke never listened to anyone other than him. He let himself have three seconds of pure fantasy wherein this was all a game: he and Sasuke were lovers, this was a dirty mind trick they loved to indulge, and there'd been no other hands or lips or love in Sasuke's existence but Itachi's.
"Oooh..." The chair scraped the floor, and Itachi wiped his forehead off on his sleeve, tossing his long hair back over one shoulder.
"I have to," Sasuke said, and Itachi focused beyond the unsanctified hallways of his own mind. Sasuke was stroking again, lower body rolling in waves.
"Don't come, yet..." Itachi slurred.
"What you gonna do... come over here and stop me...?"
Itachi imagined the hope in those words. He knew
he did. But he still stood up, one hand on the mirror and hips jerking into the rhythm he put to his dick. "Would... but too close. Want to see you finger-fuck yourself. Know you like it."
Sasuke cried out, but stifled the noise by sucking fingers into his mouth. Wet slick sounds reached Itachi's ears, sent ripples of impending release along his spine, and Sasuke flailed to comply with Itachi's request. Sasuke loved ass play, loved getting filled. If it wasn't something Itachi had learned from these illicit encounters, it was definitely something he remembered from the days of pressing his ear against the wall and listening to his brother get rammed by snuck-in secret boyfriends.
Itachi had always gotten off in sync to thundering storms of fearful loathing and tainted jealousy when Sasuke had started to make the exact same broken whine that he did now while Itachi got to watch. Sasuke stuffed his entrance with glistening fingers, other hand flying in an erratic pattern that Itachi matched.
... gonna come..." Sasuke warned, eyes closed, face and neck and chest flushed, and mouth falling open in a soundless cry as ropes of release flew to coat his stomach.
"It should be... me..." Itachi gritted, struggling for a minute longer before orgasm swept over him and rendered his knees weak. He staggered with the force of it, jerking through the weakening sensations and collapsing into the chair when it was done. He rested an elbow on a knee, soiled hand dangling, and when the bliss abated, he sat stock still, not knowing if he was going to scream, cry, or pass out.
"Thanks," Sasuke said, and Itachi flinched. Again, Sasuke was at the mirror, head resting against it. He gave a crooked smile and a flimsy shrug, as though he thought Itachi would believe it strange to be thanked for getting used like a whore, but didn't care.
"You what?" Sasuke didn't know it, but he met Itachi's eyes.
Sasuke sighed and grabbed a towel off a rickety wooden seat. "Whatever. Always nice to have regulars in my booth. If you get the urge again, you know where I am." He wiped off semen in perfunctory clean up.
"Yes... I do."
"And you know..." The sly, coy expression was back, and Itachi despised it -- wanted to eradicate the muscle memory from Sasuke's lips, chin, jaw, and mind. "Little more of that money you just stumbled upon would get you a key to this room."
Itachi was going to be sick. A hundred images of sweat-sopping strangers frantically working atop the brother who used to find Itachi during lightning storms, who would ask him to read bedtime stories instead of Father, and who had told Itachi about being gay over a stolen bottle of wine and through an endless barrage of tears, assaulted Itachi. He couldn't stop it or fix it or cure it without damning himself, and in this eternal suffering, he was both the polluted petitioner and the intolerant intercessor.
"You okay?" Sasuke asked, mildly alarmed.
Itachi clapped a hand over his mouth to stop any further, unintentional noises. "Fine," he rasped when he regained basic speech ability.
Sasuke studied the wall between them. "I get it, you know."
"You like watching. Talking." Sasuke shrugged. "Whatever."
"I... there's... more than that. More to it. More I... like." Itachi choked on bile and waited for the righteous hammer of discovery to smite him. It would only be fitting that he'd be caught like this, tense and trembling in a whorehouse with his spent, flaccid, damp penis hanging uselessly out of his pants.
"Oh yeah?" Sasuke asked, interest clearly sparked, though he was also and as clearly exhausted.
"Of... of course."
When Itachi could offer nothing more, Sasuke huffed a low syllable of the consummately unimpressed. "Whatever." He smiled, and its insincerity was Itachi's most painful horror to endure.
"You know me," Sasuke said, grabbing his clothes and heading for the door that led into the wretched bowels of universes far beyond where Itachi could reach. "I'm always what you
Itachi stood in the booth until a knock signaled that his time was done. He put himself together, paid a tip on top of his dues, and he walked to a cab with his head down and body slumped in a thorough reprisal of defeat.~*~