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May. 10th, 2006 11:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
luchiaTHIS IS A POST CREATED SIMPLY TO SAY THAT FINALS SUCK AND I WANT TO MURDER THE CONCEPT IN ITS SLEEP OR SOMETHING EQUALLY VIOLENT, BLOODY AND SATISFYING THAT POTENTIALLY INVOLVES HEARING IT DIE AND KNOWING THAT I WAS THE CAUSE.
[EDIT, cuz I like 'em] Packing sucks too. And so does college in general. But, on the other hand, I get to go HOME finally, which is awesome, so yay. OPTIMISM.
AND, since this is basically a "Shannon trying to calm down before her final final" edit, here. Have something I wrote last week or so.
TITLE: Monsters
RATING: Non-sisty, since...yeah. Think that sums it up well enough.
FANDOM: Naruto, 'cuz of THIS. To the uneducated, yeah, that's pretty swanky to us helpless fangirls.
A GENERALIZATION OF THIS FIC: Ninjas are badass. So's second person.
Monsters
----------------------------------
“Great men are almost always bad men.”
- Lord Acton
----------------------------------
At first you always blamed it on the weather.
“It’s cold,” you grumble generically into his shirt, trying not to let out that breath of relief when his arms curl around you, rubbing up and down in a way he can’t pass off as anything but helpful or, if you’re lucky, caring.
He doesn’t say anything, of course. It’s not like he needs to, anyway. Besides, you’re already getting more than you expected from him tonight, and it’s always so much better than you’d thought, so much warmer, so much more comfortable.
Or maybe he did say something, and you were too stupid and asleep to hear it. It seems like something you’d end up doing – it seems like your luck, after all.
The next morning, he’s already gone, out of the tent and fully dressed and training and glaring and insulting and downright prickly towards you and Sakura-chan. Not like you’d thought it would change anything.
But just for good measure, just to see him TWITCH, you keep rubbing your torso. Because it IS cold out. And if your hands happen to just glide over your sides a bit more deftly, or manage to make buckles and zippers jingle and tap downright suggestively, well, you can’t be blamed for that, can you?
If Sakura notices, as she’s prone to doing, she isn’t surprised like it. Or even bothered by it. You don’t blame her, either, because really, she’s been dating Ino for two years now and while neither of them seem to think that ruins any claim to Sasuke she’s never done anything to prevent anyone she likes from doing whatever the hell they want.
So you all move on, escorting the scroll all the way up to Snow Country, fighting the Mist-nin that swarm the road like you’re swatting mosquitoes on your arm. There’s a reason you’re called the next generation of sannin, and if they missed that bit of the briefing it’s their own fault.
She punches holes into the snow-covered ground, punches skulls into bloody fragments that stain the virgin snow, and kicks ribs through lungs and leaves them to die, and manages to do it all in a skirt and high-heeled sandals, never even messing her makeup.
He lops off heads and arms and stabs kunai all the way through eyes and into the brain and sticks his hand through people and kicks corpses and is poetry in motion, a swift, elegant death.
You just beat the shit out of them. Doesn’t matter how, when, or even what anymore, so long as they’re down, dead, or decapitated. You’re brutal, and fast, and downright monstrous when you need to be.
You remember that, just once, Tsunade managed to see you three fighting all-out, united against one enemy. She called it ‘terrifying’. And you know she was being nice.
When the battles are over and you see the red-stained fields and severed limbs and crushed bodies strewn across the snow like trash accidentally tipped out of a bin, you wonder if you should care about how all you’re concerned with is how Sakura’s so distraught that someone managed to put a cut her skort, and how you even know what a skort is.
You comment about how maybe it should be shorter. You like things that are shorter.
Sasuke tries very hard to ignore that he’ll be an inch (maybe even two) shorter than you at his eighteenth birthday physical.
Sakura punches you, of course, with some comment about how Jiraiya’s still affecting your brain. And when you pick yourself back out of the crater to mope adorably at her, everything’s forgiven.
You travel for a few hours more before Sasuke notes it’s about time to stop, just to stay on schedule for the rendezvous without having to loiter around and be bored.
There’s no guard shift because, by now, nobody can sneak up on you. A mile away, you can sense a rabbit getting its ears ripped off by a fox. You can hear birds sleeping in distant trees, feel snow crunching under the stress of more snow, taste the flavors of the pure winter wind, and sense only the fluttering chakra of innocent animals not even worth killing for dinner.
So you pitch two tents, as usual- the small one for Sakura, the bigger-but-still-small one for you and Sasuke. You’ve always shared a tent, since back in your genin days it saved room in everyone’s packs while being socially acceptable (then again, most everything that couldn’t result in unplanned babies or pedophilia was) and neither of you seemed particularly inclined to change anything about it anytime soon.
Especially since Sasuke doesn’t even seem to need an excuse tonight, considering the formality of separate bedding is nonexistent when you clamber into the tent.
Sure, you know neither of you really believe the excuses. It’s too cold, so you need to curl up together – for survival, of course. It’s too warm, so you strip down to your boxers and end up with your legs tangled together – for comfort, obviously. And when it’s neither, well, sometimes it’s safer, and let’s face it, you’re just a touching kind of guy in your sleep, right?
Ignoring the fact you don’t sleep in any sort of close proximity with anyone other than him because in reality you get twitchy, the twitchy that usually leads to missing fingers and amputations and wondering why your pillow smells like blood and why your mouth feels so gritty and why the kunai from your pillow’s missing.
Sasuke probably knows that. He probably knows everything. He’s smart like that – a genius, even, according to most of the village. Coulda fooled you, though, since he tends to do some of the most STUPID things you’ve ever heard of.
Like jumping in front of Haku’s deadly needles for you.
Like trying to kill Uchiha Itachi, S-class missing-nin, when he was 12.
Like going to Sound, and Orochimaru.
Like actually trying to not come back.
Like taking the risk that sleeping with the Kyuubi no gaki could mean.
“You’re an idiot, Sasuke,” you snort, unzipping your vest and flinging it into the unused side of the tent. It really does look bigger with everything condensed into one side. Nice, even. Plus, hey, extra storage space.
“You’re one to talk, dobe,” Sasuke snaps back routinely, slipping off his sandals. Even now, you have no clue why he always starts undressing bottom up. Probably something to do with his curse seal, but even now there are some questions you Just Don’t Ask. It keeps the peace between you, and the piece of land whole. Yes, you’ve learned many lessons about life with him, and one of them was a very memorable one about property damage and health insurance that has never left you the same.
Off go your hitai-ate and shuriken holder, the fabric sliding off like some fine ribbon of satin, falling in a perfectly folded pile for the morning or some late night attack that would just be really annoying.
“Do you love me, Naruto?” Sasuke asked.
You slip out of your shirt- yeah, it’s cold, but your shirt has blood on it still, and blood starts to chafe when you’re sleeping.
“I guess so,” you shrug, glancing back to see if he’s finally got his vest off. Sasuke likes to take his sweet, annoying time with the buckles on his. You shouldn’t envy him his VEST, of all things, but face it, the thing’s cooler than yours. “Yeah, I’m in love with you, I think.” You frown back at him. “Why?”
“No reason,” he says, and pulls off his elbow-length, fingerless gloves that you’ve always been fascinated by. And god, what they do to his muscles. Sasuke may be pretty, but he’s also very, very strong, and his body shows it.
But, now is not the time to fall for this very, very old trick. It worked when you were fifteen, but that was almost three years ago, and you’re not THAT much of a hormonal idiot anymore. “Who said something to get you freaked, bastard?” you growl out.
In your conversations, getting to the point is always the best way to cut through all Sasuke’s shit. Too many people trying to fuck with his mind or something; questioning it’s never really been your style. It works, and that’s all that matters.
“Orochimaru said that to be a sannin is to be a monster,” he says simply. “He was trying to get me to give him a day off training me, warning me off trying to get too much power- ” (appropriately, you snicker at the thought) “ – but it makes me wonder.”
“It makes you mope,” you correct, just because you can.
“Shut up,” Sasuke retaliates automatically, and you both end up sliding under the covers at the same time. Not that it’s a problem, but it just sounds kind of cool as the fabric hisses at you both.
He’s got that look in his eyes, that glinty thing that means if it were Sakura she’d be a hysterical mess needing lots of Ino time and if it was Kakashi he’d need a wheelbarrow full of porn and if it was Tsunade she’d need a good sit-down and a chat about Jiraiya and Orochimaru and the good old days. Which meant Sasuke either need a fuck, a fight, or (if he’d let you) a good cuddle.
And considering that you started in the same bed, it’d probably be the cuddling, which you actually prefer. Fucking on a mission usually just got Sakura moody in the morning from the inevitable chakra release, and got one of them a bit too sore to be fighting all-out in the morning, and plus it was always a privilege to know you were the ONLY one that really gets to touch him without getting killed.
“Are we monsters?” he asks, sounding about as whimsical as Uchiha Sasuke can get. In anyone else it would have sounded almost like some accusatory pout, but you know better.
You laugh, a good, amused laugh, because it’s funny, dammit. “Well, yeah! I’ve got a monster locked in my intestines, Sakura-chan’s got that monstrous strength, and you’re just…you know…scary!”
Without even asking for permission, or any sort of warning glance or any of that mushy wish-wash Sakura and Ino do like flowers and chocolates and goopy love poems, you kiss him hard, a hand grabbing his bushy hair and smashing your lips together, jamming your tongue in his mouth just for that little shudder down his spine you can feel you’re so close together. He tastes like salt and sweat and painfully sharp mint from toothpaste and you must be a bit masochistic because you almost miss the days when you got a punch to the face JUST so he could climb on top of you.
But then again, things are different for him right now. Apparently he’s not as used to being a monster as you are, so you just keep on kissing him, practically smashing his hand into the pillow. And, since you’re also a bit sadistic, the minute he responds you pull away, grinning like…well, a fox down at him.
“…you don’t look like a monster,” he states, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You’d blink and laugh at the almost-compliment if you didn’t know he was actually trying to be nice.
“You don’t either, you know,” you grin. “You’re REALLY pretty.”
He rolls his eyes. You still don’t know where he picked up that habit (but suspect Kabuto, the sneaky bastard), but you like it. Especially because, like now, it’s occasionally followed by him grabbing the back of your neck and kissing you.
“Kissing” seems like a weak, delicate word for what you do together, though. It’s more like fighting with pleasure instead of pain; whoever gets the other to moan the loudest wins. And it’s not just sparring, because you fight all out, and it’s not a duel because that implies honor is somehow involved, and it’s not a match because that sounds like someone planned it, so you just settle for “kissing” as inappropriate as it sounds and feels and tastes.
But now is not the time for kissing, because your kind of kissing will definitely lead to sex, and that’s not a good thing to do on a mission. So, you pull back and curl around him, putting your chin on his curse seal and loving the hiss you get from it.
“Aww, come on, bastard,” you joke, yawning just a bit. You can’t help it; he’s just so comfortable. “Being a monster isn’t that bad, is it? I’ve been doing it for years!”
“Mm,” Sasuke responds, and starts doing that spiral-drawing thing on your back that just feels good. “I think I love you too, dobe.”
“That’s nice,” you yawn again, dammit. Stupid sleep getting in the way of valuable cuddle-time. “We should move in together or something, huh.”
He snorts, and smacks the back of your head, only to shudder when it makes your chin press against his curse seal again. “Go to sleep, dobe. We’ll talk about it when we get back.”
“Night, Sasuke,” you mumble, already getting drowsy.
“…goodnight, Naruto.”
And with a smile on your face, you fall asleep to dream of poinsettias and losing something a long time ago.
---
And I'm off! Byeeee!
[EDIT, cuz I like 'em] Packing sucks too. And so does college in general. But, on the other hand, I get to go HOME finally, which is awesome, so yay. OPTIMISM.
AND, since this is basically a "Shannon trying to calm down before her final final" edit, here. Have something I wrote last week or so.
TITLE: Monsters
RATING: Non-sisty, since...yeah. Think that sums it up well enough.
FANDOM: Naruto, 'cuz of THIS. To the uneducated, yeah, that's pretty swanky to us helpless fangirls.
A GENERALIZATION OF THIS FIC: Ninjas are badass. So's second person.
Monsters
----------------------------------
“Great men are almost always bad men.”
- Lord Acton
----------------------------------
At first you always blamed it on the weather.
“It’s cold,” you grumble generically into his shirt, trying not to let out that breath of relief when his arms curl around you, rubbing up and down in a way he can’t pass off as anything but helpful or, if you’re lucky, caring.
He doesn’t say anything, of course. It’s not like he needs to, anyway. Besides, you’re already getting more than you expected from him tonight, and it’s always so much better than you’d thought, so much warmer, so much more comfortable.
Or maybe he did say something, and you were too stupid and asleep to hear it. It seems like something you’d end up doing – it seems like your luck, after all.
The next morning, he’s already gone, out of the tent and fully dressed and training and glaring and insulting and downright prickly towards you and Sakura-chan. Not like you’d thought it would change anything.
But just for good measure, just to see him TWITCH, you keep rubbing your torso. Because it IS cold out. And if your hands happen to just glide over your sides a bit more deftly, or manage to make buckles and zippers jingle and tap downright suggestively, well, you can’t be blamed for that, can you?
If Sakura notices, as she’s prone to doing, she isn’t surprised like it. Or even bothered by it. You don’t blame her, either, because really, she’s been dating Ino for two years now and while neither of them seem to think that ruins any claim to Sasuke she’s never done anything to prevent anyone she likes from doing whatever the hell they want.
So you all move on, escorting the scroll all the way up to Snow Country, fighting the Mist-nin that swarm the road like you’re swatting mosquitoes on your arm. There’s a reason you’re called the next generation of sannin, and if they missed that bit of the briefing it’s their own fault.
She punches holes into the snow-covered ground, punches skulls into bloody fragments that stain the virgin snow, and kicks ribs through lungs and leaves them to die, and manages to do it all in a skirt and high-heeled sandals, never even messing her makeup.
He lops off heads and arms and stabs kunai all the way through eyes and into the brain and sticks his hand through people and kicks corpses and is poetry in motion, a swift, elegant death.
You just beat the shit out of them. Doesn’t matter how, when, or even what anymore, so long as they’re down, dead, or decapitated. You’re brutal, and fast, and downright monstrous when you need to be.
You remember that, just once, Tsunade managed to see you three fighting all-out, united against one enemy. She called it ‘terrifying’. And you know she was being nice.
When the battles are over and you see the red-stained fields and severed limbs and crushed bodies strewn across the snow like trash accidentally tipped out of a bin, you wonder if you should care about how all you’re concerned with is how Sakura’s so distraught that someone managed to put a cut her skort, and how you even know what a skort is.
You comment about how maybe it should be shorter. You like things that are shorter.
Sasuke tries very hard to ignore that he’ll be an inch (maybe even two) shorter than you at his eighteenth birthday physical.
Sakura punches you, of course, with some comment about how Jiraiya’s still affecting your brain. And when you pick yourself back out of the crater to mope adorably at her, everything’s forgiven.
You travel for a few hours more before Sasuke notes it’s about time to stop, just to stay on schedule for the rendezvous without having to loiter around and be bored.
There’s no guard shift because, by now, nobody can sneak up on you. A mile away, you can sense a rabbit getting its ears ripped off by a fox. You can hear birds sleeping in distant trees, feel snow crunching under the stress of more snow, taste the flavors of the pure winter wind, and sense only the fluttering chakra of innocent animals not even worth killing for dinner.
So you pitch two tents, as usual- the small one for Sakura, the bigger-but-still-small one for you and Sasuke. You’ve always shared a tent, since back in your genin days it saved room in everyone’s packs while being socially acceptable (then again, most everything that couldn’t result in unplanned babies or pedophilia was) and neither of you seemed particularly inclined to change anything about it anytime soon.
Especially since Sasuke doesn’t even seem to need an excuse tonight, considering the formality of separate bedding is nonexistent when you clamber into the tent.
Sure, you know neither of you really believe the excuses. It’s too cold, so you need to curl up together – for survival, of course. It’s too warm, so you strip down to your boxers and end up with your legs tangled together – for comfort, obviously. And when it’s neither, well, sometimes it’s safer, and let’s face it, you’re just a touching kind of guy in your sleep, right?
Ignoring the fact you don’t sleep in any sort of close proximity with anyone other than him because in reality you get twitchy, the twitchy that usually leads to missing fingers and amputations and wondering why your pillow smells like blood and why your mouth feels so gritty and why the kunai from your pillow’s missing.
Sasuke probably knows that. He probably knows everything. He’s smart like that – a genius, even, according to most of the village. Coulda fooled you, though, since he tends to do some of the most STUPID things you’ve ever heard of.
Like jumping in front of Haku’s deadly needles for you.
Like trying to kill Uchiha Itachi, S-class missing-nin, when he was 12.
Like going to Sound, and Orochimaru.
Like actually trying to not come back.
Like taking the risk that sleeping with the Kyuubi no gaki could mean.
“You’re an idiot, Sasuke,” you snort, unzipping your vest and flinging it into the unused side of the tent. It really does look bigger with everything condensed into one side. Nice, even. Plus, hey, extra storage space.
“You’re one to talk, dobe,” Sasuke snaps back routinely, slipping off his sandals. Even now, you have no clue why he always starts undressing bottom up. Probably something to do with his curse seal, but even now there are some questions you Just Don’t Ask. It keeps the peace between you, and the piece of land whole. Yes, you’ve learned many lessons about life with him, and one of them was a very memorable one about property damage and health insurance that has never left you the same.
Off go your hitai-ate and shuriken holder, the fabric sliding off like some fine ribbon of satin, falling in a perfectly folded pile for the morning or some late night attack that would just be really annoying.
“Do you love me, Naruto?” Sasuke asked.
You slip out of your shirt- yeah, it’s cold, but your shirt has blood on it still, and blood starts to chafe when you’re sleeping.
“I guess so,” you shrug, glancing back to see if he’s finally got his vest off. Sasuke likes to take his sweet, annoying time with the buckles on his. You shouldn’t envy him his VEST, of all things, but face it, the thing’s cooler than yours. “Yeah, I’m in love with you, I think.” You frown back at him. “Why?”
“No reason,” he says, and pulls off his elbow-length, fingerless gloves that you’ve always been fascinated by. And god, what they do to his muscles. Sasuke may be pretty, but he’s also very, very strong, and his body shows it.
But, now is not the time to fall for this very, very old trick. It worked when you were fifteen, but that was almost three years ago, and you’re not THAT much of a hormonal idiot anymore. “Who said something to get you freaked, bastard?” you growl out.
In your conversations, getting to the point is always the best way to cut through all Sasuke’s shit. Too many people trying to fuck with his mind or something; questioning it’s never really been your style. It works, and that’s all that matters.
“Orochimaru said that to be a sannin is to be a monster,” he says simply. “He was trying to get me to give him a day off training me, warning me off trying to get too much power- ” (appropriately, you snicker at the thought) “ – but it makes me wonder.”
“It makes you mope,” you correct, just because you can.
“Shut up,” Sasuke retaliates automatically, and you both end up sliding under the covers at the same time. Not that it’s a problem, but it just sounds kind of cool as the fabric hisses at you both.
He’s got that look in his eyes, that glinty thing that means if it were Sakura she’d be a hysterical mess needing lots of Ino time and if it was Kakashi he’d need a wheelbarrow full of porn and if it was Tsunade she’d need a good sit-down and a chat about Jiraiya and Orochimaru and the good old days. Which meant Sasuke either need a fuck, a fight, or (if he’d let you) a good cuddle.
And considering that you started in the same bed, it’d probably be the cuddling, which you actually prefer. Fucking on a mission usually just got Sakura moody in the morning from the inevitable chakra release, and got one of them a bit too sore to be fighting all-out in the morning, and plus it was always a privilege to know you were the ONLY one that really gets to touch him without getting killed.
“Are we monsters?” he asks, sounding about as whimsical as Uchiha Sasuke can get. In anyone else it would have sounded almost like some accusatory pout, but you know better.
You laugh, a good, amused laugh, because it’s funny, dammit. “Well, yeah! I’ve got a monster locked in my intestines, Sakura-chan’s got that monstrous strength, and you’re just…you know…scary!”
Without even asking for permission, or any sort of warning glance or any of that mushy wish-wash Sakura and Ino do like flowers and chocolates and goopy love poems, you kiss him hard, a hand grabbing his bushy hair and smashing your lips together, jamming your tongue in his mouth just for that little shudder down his spine you can feel you’re so close together. He tastes like salt and sweat and painfully sharp mint from toothpaste and you must be a bit masochistic because you almost miss the days when you got a punch to the face JUST so he could climb on top of you.
But then again, things are different for him right now. Apparently he’s not as used to being a monster as you are, so you just keep on kissing him, practically smashing his hand into the pillow. And, since you’re also a bit sadistic, the minute he responds you pull away, grinning like…well, a fox down at him.
“…you don’t look like a monster,” he states, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You’d blink and laugh at the almost-compliment if you didn’t know he was actually trying to be nice.
“You don’t either, you know,” you grin. “You’re REALLY pretty.”
He rolls his eyes. You still don’t know where he picked up that habit (but suspect Kabuto, the sneaky bastard), but you like it. Especially because, like now, it’s occasionally followed by him grabbing the back of your neck and kissing you.
“Kissing” seems like a weak, delicate word for what you do together, though. It’s more like fighting with pleasure instead of pain; whoever gets the other to moan the loudest wins. And it’s not just sparring, because you fight all out, and it’s not a duel because that implies honor is somehow involved, and it’s not a match because that sounds like someone planned it, so you just settle for “kissing” as inappropriate as it sounds and feels and tastes.
But now is not the time for kissing, because your kind of kissing will definitely lead to sex, and that’s not a good thing to do on a mission. So, you pull back and curl around him, putting your chin on his curse seal and loving the hiss you get from it.
“Aww, come on, bastard,” you joke, yawning just a bit. You can’t help it; he’s just so comfortable. “Being a monster isn’t that bad, is it? I’ve been doing it for years!”
“Mm,” Sasuke responds, and starts doing that spiral-drawing thing on your back that just feels good. “I think I love you too, dobe.”
“That’s nice,” you yawn again, dammit. Stupid sleep getting in the way of valuable cuddle-time. “We should move in together or something, huh.”
He snorts, and smacks the back of your head, only to shudder when it makes your chin press against his curse seal again. “Go to sleep, dobe. We’ll talk about it when we get back.”
“Night, Sasuke,” you mumble, already getting drowsy.
“…goodnight, Naruto.”
And with a smile on your face, you fall asleep to dream of poinsettias and losing something a long time ago.
---
And I'm off! Byeeee!
