
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11020818.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Naruto
  Relationship:
      Uchiha_Itachi/Uchiha_Sasuke
  Character:
      Uchiha_Itachi, Uchiha_Sasuke
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Emotional/Psychological_Abuse, Rape/Non-con_Elements,
      Hurt_No_Comfort, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon, Extended_Scene, Self-Hatred,
      Desperation, Emotional_Sex
  Collections:
      All_In_The_Family_2017
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-12 Words: 8745
****** For the Peaceful Dawn ******
by Kisuru
Summary
     Itachi reaped their clan to extinction on the night of the Uchiha
     massacre. Now, there is one last thing he must strip Sasuke of before
     he officially abandons him. Sasuke thinks he is being forced to
     submit to a brazen murderer—but trusting perception on the surface of
     the truth may be unwise around Itachi.
Stiffening and cold corpses littered the streets of the Uchiha compound in
rows; the rank stench of thick blood wafted, swirled, intermingled in the brisk
air like a cloying monstrosity vowing vengeance.

To be the harbinger of this immense misery…

Itachi had endured missions before with bloodshed on an impressive scale,
obviously—he had seen atrocities. But nothing outweighed the battering of his
heartbeat against his ribcage begging why.

Of course Itachi had steeled himself for it. He had embraced the consequences
heaped upon his shoulders and actions that would ensue. But he still held
conviction, just like his iron fist upon this night’s massacre.

One day, everything would align. The square peg of the plan would fit into the
future’s circle. The deed, the surreal pain of this bruising moment, would find
solace. The light of redemption would never befall him. He neither wanted to
reminisce or dwell on it.

Yet… After shattering his personal ideals…

Muscles tensed in his lower legs and bit into his ankles. Itachi willed his
legs to move before Sasuke found him red-handed, but he hovered there in his
unrehearsed but perfect stance (how does one truly “practice” slaughtering
family?) for an eternity of a second too long to not be staged, face stoic but
thoughts latched on peaceful days now corrupted. He was a looming shadow
visible under the midnight blue sky seeping in through the far right window.

Sentimentality. How foolish such an unreasonable emotion was to cleanse from
the system. And he—

The glaringly obvious pattern of steps he had heard countless times while
playing with his younger brother neared. Frantic in their haste yet careful as
an underlying precaution, bewildered as if he anticipated Itachi’s ambush from
any angle.

At least, he should feel panic.

Sasuke must mask himself better than that.

Futilely, he wished…
 
Sasuke could run, but never hide. His vision on this day would be imprinted as
a fetching, tied-in-a-bow necessity. And that was all there should be to it.

Lies and frustration and disgrace—

Sasuke was strong, or he could be. Itachi couldn’t help but feel a swell at the
reminder. That was what he was taking advantage of; his weakness.

A bravery he had rarely, if ever, helped nurture.

None of these battling emotions crossed his face as Sasuke slid open the door
and approached him from behind. Itachi’s eyebrows knitted, expression trained
and unfazed, lips pressed into a grim, fierce line.

Itachi bit back a hasty laugh. A hysterical laugh and a choking sob both
threatened to escape, because he barely registered how pleadingly hopeful that
sounded originating from his own muddled mind.

Sasuke will be strong.

But for strength, he must know hatred.

A protective twinge reared from its slumber and roared in the back of his head.
The clan that had touted him a prodigy would have seen his fledgling
aspirations asinine while stooping to these methods. But selfishness for
insuring Sasuke’s well-being had always taken precedence as the one feral beast
Itachi had never fully tamed from himself.

(How does one cleanse “truth” from the heart?)

“Big brother,” Sasuke puffed, fearful. Eyes scanned their lifeless parents’
bloodless bodies. Eyes wide, he froze. “The clan… and m—mother and father. Who
would…“

Itachi forced himself not to tune that voice out. That voice judged him, and he
must accept it directly.

Raw terror encased in agitation and trepidation.

Sasuke’s puppy dog eyes shot lasers of concern at him, begging for quick
answers. He shook under the building stress. His lips trembled, slack-jawed.

Killing Sasuke was mandatory.

Logic said Itachi should.

Predatory eyes boring into Itachi’s soul years into the future made a shiver
race down Itachi’s spine.

“I truly,” Itachi responded while turning slowly on his heel, “have a very
foolish younger brother.”

Sasuke frowned. His mouth rounded, but Itachi was too quick, stepping close in
a few deliberate strides.

He was woefully unprepared and too trusting under the impression of
defenselessness, not shielding himself from the blur that appeared behind him.

Itachi’s hand darted towards Sasuke’s arm and gripped him by the elbow roughly
enough to leave a handprint. He twisted his arm painfully to the side.

The bones rattled under his skin and, in succession, the resulting gruesome
creak of a snap shattered the silence. Sasuke yelped and doubled over. He
breathed in shallowly, rapidly. He cried out and collapsed against Itachi’s
side without another force to lean on. His face twisted, and his expression
struggled to comprehend his body’s staggering.

“I—Itachi?” Sasuke asked nervously. He obviously knew something was amiss, but
he teetered on the precipice of uncertainty and wakefulness, a sluggish
decision that would put him the verge of death with any ninja. Any other
opponent ninja, at any rate.

As if to add insult to injury, Sasuke’s hand found leverage on his shirt and
held on out of reflex.

In his memories, Sasuke threw his arms around him and buried his face in his
shirt. Sasuke bridged the gap frequently, and Itachi never failed to feel awe
and a bit flustered when he did as he pleased.

Love and happiness….

Such fragile emotions.

Itachi hesitated for a fraction of a second that felt more like he might be
dying himself. It didn’t show in his motions or a delay but the chill slithered
down his limbs. Hesitating here because of a little pain would not be worthy of
so many deaths of the ones he had called family—he needed to dive into the
fray.

No turning back.

He had already tripped the red lever, and Itachi would hammer that into his
skull permanently.

Relief for Itachi switched from true fear in Sasuke’s brain. The unwavering red
glow of his eyes intently watched him. Instead of questioning him like he had
expected, Sasuke backed up on his heel and fled the way he had come in,
footfalls pounding.

At least, that was what Sasuke intended to do in his frenzy. Itachi jerked
Sasuke’s arm towards him as his foot dropped over the threshold. He forced him
off-balance backwards towards the room’s middle.

Itachi kicked Sasuke’s legs right out from under him. Caught off-guard he
tumbled to the ground, elbows hitting the edge of the puddle of blood closest
to their father’s leg. Itachi ignored his pitiful groan and knelt, shoving
Sasuke down by the shoulders.

Sasuke defiantly squirmed under him. He fought, but it was a weak effort, and
he got absolutely nowhere.

“I don’t…” Sasuke wheezed. The hazy wheel of confusion turned in his voice. He
resorted to pleading instead of negotiations. “Why are you… how are you…? What
happened to you!?”

Fantasy and reality. Both were intertwined.

“For you to have neglected noticing until now shows the difference in our
power.” Itachi’s face hovered above Sasuke’s. His eyes flashed crimson and
hardened like stone, face firm and poised. Overconfidence. “I only played the
role of your gentle older brother to test your strength.”

Sasuke’s body went slack. Hollow breath cascaded Itachi’s cheek. He resisted
the urge to ignore common sense and follow instinct, the need to have that
breath against his neck while he hugged Sasuke and cried about duties out of
his control.

Sasuke shook his head vigorously.

“You never played a role,” Sasuke told him. He sounded so acutely sure of this
simple fact. “You’re the greatest big brother in the world! So… you…”

Denying it when the evidence was in plain sight…

“I will hurt you,” Itachi said with an expression so void of emotion it burned.
And to prove it, he lazily pulled Sasuke’s arm back by the forearm.

The reaction was instant. Sasuke gasped, Panicked, tears welled up in his eyes.
“You’ve never hurt me. When we trained, or fought...” His face brightened a a
little bit from a past happy memory. “I...!”

A hot and cold assessment of the ages.

Blame and hate him blamehateblamehatehim.

Itachi’s hand encircled his throat. He applied enough pressure to choke him and
secure a decent bruise.

Sasuke’s eyes bulged as a wild cough choked him, fighting desperately to refill
his lungs with sweet air. The muscles in his neck tenses, jugular pulsing.

The me you knew is dead as of tonight, Itachi willed more for his own closure
than Sasuke’s benefit. He swallowed thickly. A racing heartbeat proved he was
alive and warm to the touch, but he felt discarded, icy skin on the back of his
neck prickling. Never forgive me. Despise me with every single breath.

Yes, he never had taken any moment for granted despite that their time had been
cut so short. Itachi had taken his mantle as big brother seriously.

(One must walk solely down the black tunnel of darkness—the path light and
truth cannot follow.)

“You were my pain, Sasuke. I ignored you. Lied.”

Itachi’s long nails sunk into the pliant skin through Sasuke’s shirt. He teared
up at the pain raking at his skin, pooling up blood against the surface.

“You never suspected the truth; you hung onto my image in vain.” Itachi tuned
out Sasuke’s garbled response. He shrugged flippantly. “Pathetic, little
brother. Believing in flimsy promises. Wasting the scraps of potential you may
have possessed, and that’s why I never made time to help you.”

Sasuke flinched. Pain dizzily flittered across his face. The words caught in
his throat were unforthcoming. Imperceptibly, Itachi released his windpipe in
the right way to let him inhale slightly easier.

Itachi needed him to stay awake. His company.

Stay longer together. Just a bit. Even if it hurt...

Sasuke winced while stringing together a sentence. His teeth chattered and he
clutched his aching arm close. “You were with me when it mattered!”

And he was there now making the situation worse.

And in the future he would be an obstacle to destroy.

Would their suffering truly usher in a peaceful dawn?

“No,” Itachi clarified. “I can’t stand to look at you.”

Sasuke shrunk back as if Itachi had socked him. His cheek brushed the floor,
eyes watery under the lids.

Itachi may as well have also pierced his own chest.

His memories were powerful counterattacks to his declarations. He recalled calm
summer evenings bathed in steamy heat and chirping cicadas. Back then, he would
have homework for the academy, or scarce moments of relaxation from strenuous
strategizing. Like clockwork, Sasuke had always pranced around him, prattling
about improvements he needed help with. He listened at those intervals while
being fascinated Sasuke’s thirst for knowledge extended from him. Itachi had
quietly delighted in Sasuke binding himself to his limited wisdom.

At least, he had never given himself too much credit.

But Sasuke wasn’t little enough anymore to tug at his shirt sleeve like a
toddler and practically beg Itachi with a disarming grin to please notice me.

And now he could no longer notice him anyway.

Itachi growled. It was low and ruthless, but the flare of anger he had resigned
to forge down pushed its way from confines of his core. He slammed Sasuke back
against the ground. The wind beaten out of his lungs at this, Sasuke hissed and
wheezed. He reached up and grabbed Itachi’s hand to force him away but Itachi’s
hand was firmly planted.

Despite Sasuke’s pain, he resisted.

Physically maiming Sasuke would accomplish his goal. Seething rage would be the
only acceptable result, and Itachi did not leave things halfhearted.

But it was not the necessary adhesive that would bind Sasuke to Itachi’s trail
for the years to come.

In this world, there was another way to break the spirit beyond mortal flesh
wounds and bones.

Itachi blinked, rendered momentarily awestruck.

He must scrap the idea. Immediately.

His astonishment with himself outweighed all else.

Unequivocally repulsive.

Wrong not just for conforming to morals or the remaining slivers in their
brotherly bond. Because… Leaving behind bruises would be impersonal—but
performing such an act would seal a profound, irreversible darkness within the
both of them.

And yet… itachi wondered deep down somewhere like the fragile ripples of the
water after combing fingers over the mirror of his own reflection…

(How far does this darkened tunnel lead?)

Itachi released his throat. He traced a path from the red marks on Sasuke’s
throat to his chin and cheek. He caressed the soft skin. In any other context,
his movements would be affectionate, but the lifeless resolution in his red
eyes spoke volumes

Sasuke panted and stared at him. Even enduring this, skepticism danced in his
eyes. As if transfixed in their proximity Itachi watched the way in which his
lips parted and his slender tongue flicker over small chapped, pink lips. It
was a rush of observation that enveloped Itachi’s focus and caused him a brief,
overwhelming second of dizziness rivaling Saskue’s bewilderment at being
attacked and downright betrayed. Meanwhile, Sasuke drank in his perfectly
apathetic, icy simper and grit his teeth.

False hope rectified nothing.

“You are transparent—you lack insight for the big picture.” He poured copious
flat, mocking boredom into his tone. “Struggle against the tides of where your
pitiful power has steered you.” In a certifiably disturbed way this was
praise—let this teach him a lesson. In any way possible, he had to provoke the
tiny flame that would explode into raging spite.

Sasuke finally looked like the last shred of freedom had been snipped from his
heartstrings. He locked eyes with Itachi. His body seized up, shocked. For his
brother to outclass him when the odds were stacked against him would take a
miracle.

Not that Sasuke was doing much to disarm Itachi. And that in itself was an
impossibility (Itachi did not become fazed, he was ever alert) but he was
enraptured with the feel of Sasuke’s smooth skin.

Itachi snatched his wrists. He squeezed and pinned them down to the ground,
fully immobilizing him from hitting him, holding down his pressure points.
Itachi’s shirt sleeve dipped in the pool of blood draining from their parents.
The reminder made him march onward even more critically than before, blood
boiling

This was indeed a sore spot. He believed Sasuke would someday shatter those
imposing sha

Itachi’s fingers dug into Sasuke’s wrists. The warmth of his skin begged for
touch, cool yet inviting.

Once again, he homed in on Sasuke’s lips. Teeth pointed over his tongue. Sasuke
mouthed the words he could not pronounce, face suspended in ambivalent abandon.
Itachi’s breath hitched.

It was sinful to make him feel loathed and abused. But it was the bitter potion
Itachi could not help but swallow, hyperaware to each and every detail.

Maybe if he brought Sasuke a small bit of pleasure amidst the mountain of pain
he might be able to justify it. It was faulty logic. Itachi was fully aware he
was grasping at straws to make amends in his own mind and appraise his cruelty.
But he… just…

At any rate, they would suffer together.

Itachi hovered above the juncture of Sasuke’s neck. Smoldering eyes trained on
the stretch of his neck and dip of his collarbone. The impending taste of skin
was hypnotizing to a fault, though thankfully not as enticing as Sasuke’s lips.
Itachi found comfort in that little bit of knowledge no matter how depraved it
was. Still, he could claim this new territory easily.

Head lowering, his teeth scraped Sasuke’s skin. The bite was sharp and so hard
it drew a bead of blood. He licked a trail down the reddened skin. The pit in
his stomach heaved at what his actions entailed—out of sickness or allure, he
could not tell which and why should he feel entranced by it—and he savored the
taste of tender sweaty skin despite himself.

Accusation burned in Sasuke’s eyes. Fueled by that, Itachi bit harder on reflex
and just because. He didn’t understand it, but it enveloped his body in waves.

Even with his hand held down to the floor, Sasuke Sasuke bunched a fist into
Itachi’s shirt. Pure disbelief crossed his face. His twisting suddenly became
erratic to match his discomfiture. He dug his nails into the fabric of Itachi’s
shirt, and he kicked him in the shin. Minor pain shot through Itachi’s side and
leg to minimal effect other than him noticing it.

Itachi crushed Sasuke’s arms into the ground. He placed both legs on the side
of Sasuke’s and trapped him under his total weight, straddling him to make his
point absolutely clear. Maybe he should do something to keep his hands tied,
but having them free would enforce that he was powerless.

Either way, Itachi welcomed his rebellion rather than feel the need to impede
on it. This should not be easy, or fair. In fact, Sasuke acting like a natural
brat was a deserving comfort over his admiring smiles.

Even at his age, it was haunting how Sasuke evoked feelings he never knew he
had possessed. Sasuke refused to stop conveying hope and love, and Itachi
didn’t understand, but Sasuke was with him and that was about as much as he
really wanted to know.

Soon, he would extinguish those feelings, but…

For now, he would embrace it.

Losing sight of the massacre would provide the distraction he desperately
craved; stuff the creeping pain in its cramped box and assuage the anxiety.

He never would erase it all, but it was as a full-proof plan as amy. Shaky,
tepid ambitions were cast aside. Whatever he decided for the betterment of
Sasuke’s future, he would not abandon him.

“Stop,” Sasuke manqged in small voice.

Why did Itachi get a chill at hearing his voice, yet he couldn’t stand the
weakness in it at the same time?

Itachi shifted and licked the shell of Sasuke’s ear.

“You’re making me feel like you don’t want me here,” Itachi told him, feigning
rejection. “Isn’t this what you always wanted from me? To make you feel
special?”

Sasuke may have taken the bait on the grounds of old wounds that Itachi
reopened with that statement. His expression flickered from anger to doubt.

“I—I’m not…” Fuzzily, Sasuke blinked at the notion he may want Itachi gone,
mind quite not processing. Nonetheless he seemed all too aware Itachi was so
close and personal. “I don’t want anything special! All I ever… I wanted from
you… I really, really…”

Sasuke trailed off, dazed. His face screwed up.

Itachi didn’t want to hear another word. He genuinely didn’t want to, because
the impulse to grant Sasuke whatever he wanted would eat him alive if he knew.

Heart beating out of sync with his body, he released one of Sasuke’s hands.
Elbow pinning his arm, he shifted to unsheathe a kunai from its hiding place on
his foot. It glinted in the faint light from outside.

Sasuke’s eyes widened.

Itachi clawed at Sasuke’s turtleneck of his shirt and clasped the fabric up in
his hand. Sasuke choked, startled, but it was more out reflex for fear of what
Itachi would do with a blade at his disposal. He lazily grazed the skin right
above the edge of the collar.

“Your feelings don’t matter in the slightest,” Itachi assured confidently,
deceptively soothing. His skin crawled at how unabashedly flawless he sounded
without hours of practice poured into the endeavor. He hated himself for it.
“I’ll tell you what you wanted. You wanted me to look at you. For me to care.”

Despite himself, the faintest red tinge lit up Sasuke’s cheeks. He didn’t
outwardly confirm accuracy of it .

Itachi impassively watched, tgough chuckled. He expertly pressed the blade
deeper into Sasuke’s skin without soliciting a scratch. “Perhaps you have
gotten your wish. You don’t deserve it, but I am looking at you right now.” He
waited for Sasuke’s hope to rise before squashing it into pinpricks of despair,
and he swore he may have seen relief quirk the corner of his mouth. “But you
aren’t worth killing in battle, so I’ll look at you in a different way.”

He pulled the collar towards him. Hypnotized by the way Itachi’s eyes shone
quite brightly at their close angle, Sasuke’s body lifted and followed the
motion.

As if the shirt fabric were shredding paper, the kunai pushed downwards and
sliced directly through.

The shirt ripped under his long nails. The thin shirt tore in a straight line
from the top to the bottom. Both sides of Sasuke’s shirt fell to his sides like
dark butterfly wings, frayed and identically unwoven.

Itachi wondered now if he were the dizzy one. Something about this was as
intimate as he had foreseen, and he couldn’t help but replay his
fierce repulsive chant over and over.

Would this have been right if Sasuke had given him proper permission and wasn’t
being forced into it?

The thought stabbedhim. Even his eyes throbbed, and the reason was no
overactivated sharingan.

He wanted to correct himself and affirm you aren’t worth killing because you
don’t deserve to die, all I do is care about your happiness and safety but
those words should never risk reaching the brilliant bars of silvery moonlight
falling across his back

Sasuke’s thrashing weakened. Once again, he tried to hook a finger along
Itachi’s sleeve hem, or make him lose balance, but he barely moved. He peered
sideways, cheek pressed against the floor.

He carelessly tossed the kunai off to the side and inspected the spoils of his
venture. While he was appalled, he was equally curious now that he had taken
the plunge this far into murky waters. In any case, he supposed that was a deep
step forward.

A plane of unblemished, pale skin met his gaze. His chest rose and fell above a
flat, smooth stomach.

Itachi’s throat went dry; he dug a nail into the plushy pad of his palm to wake
himself out of his reverie.

A rough hand inched along the plane of his stomach. The line of Itachi’s hand
rubbed the contours of his stomach and navel, the dip of his ribcage, the
tender undeveloped pink nipples that responsively rose.

The pure electricity that surged up his fingers from brushing the quivering
skin was overwhelming. For years he had touched Sasuke’s bare flesh countless
times without thinking about it like this, or thinking such a thing. He had
never known a feeling akin to the tightness constricting his throat or the feel
of Sasuke’s heat drawing out his impulses.

No, it should not be like this, but it was futile to change his mind on the
matter, and he didn’t know how to block the dazed white flashes in front of his
eyes and the mix of thrill and distaste at once.

Itachi heartbeat pounded in his ears. He must. It was inexcusable to divert
from his chosen path.

His ring finger latched onto Sasuke’s nipple. Sauke screamed and automatically
squirmed underneath him, but this awoke something else within him.

Itachi’s middle and ring finger found leverage and tweaked the nipple
forcefully, painfully, the once unblemished skin reddening in pain. The nipple
went shamefully erect under his coaxing and pinching.

Sasuke’s eyes widened, a slight whine in his voice. “You can’t…’ He did not
know how to curb his body’s reaction. He knew he should not react to something
like that if he didn’t want it in the first place, and Sasuke seemed to get
Itachi truly was in control.

Itachi simply ignored him.

Staring down through half-lidded eyes, Itachi’s hand decisively gripped the
waistband of Sasuke’s pants. Itachi’s eyes darkened and grew fiercely cold. 

Sasuke kicked him directly in the back of the knee. Itachi used his movement to
shove his knee in between Sasuke’s legs, pushing them apart.

Yes, logic. Logical steps were the way he operates through slashing a lifelong
gash in Sasuke’s heart.

But the walls of that narrow focus crushed him in…

The world blurred Sasuke’s expression out of focus. Itachi’s hands shook under
and he faltered.

Itachi… just… couldn’t breach that far…

He had dedicated so much, and prepared himself psychologically, but
accordingly faced with it… He had the ability to do it. After all, his hands
were right there pn Sasuke’s thigh.

Itachi could not do this him. Not with his bloody hands. Would he be able to
live knowing it?

The curse on his tongue was inaudible. His limbs outright spurned his logic and
refused to move, nor did his body budge according to Itachi’s will.

Itachi must finish what he started.

If he couldn’t commit himself to it, then how?

(He was now submerged in that darkness; he had become one with it, reaching out
of his own self.)

… Warp reality into an illusion.

“You stopped looking at me,” Itachi observed quietly, cupping Sasuke’s cheek.
He forced him to look up directly at him. Two sets of black eyes clashed like
magnets, attracted yet pushing each other like polar opposites. “What happened
to adoring me? Don’t you love me, little brother?  Don’t ignore me.”

Anger reignited aplenty, Sasuke bristled. Itachi had never sincerely seen
Sasuke so provoked. Not even when he had so often rejected his company.

“S—Shut up.” Sasuke’s voice adopted a low quality. Energy briefly replenished,
nails redug into Itachi’s arm as Sasuke flinched at the venom in his own
frightened words. He shouldn’t channel anger at his beloved brother, but there
he was underneath him, in a position without a direction out. “I can’t… Why!?“

Such a simple question did not have an answer.

Itachi did not dignify it a second’s thought.

The world shifted into the realm of genjutsu. The room remained largely the
same because Sasuke would easily catch wind of a location switch. Being
violated in front of their mother and father’s dripping and heatless bodies
would burn Sasuke enough.

Indeed, he was Sasuke’s protector.

Itachi shakily stood to his feet and allowed the genjutsu to took over.
Normally, he was more composed, but fire blazed through his veins.

Sasuke writhed underneath the illusion of himself. The illusion of Itachi had
yet to follow his instructions like a puppet waiting for the strings to be
raised.

An explicable… anger… stirred inside of him. Why would he go to so many lengths
to make sure no one hurt Sasuke if his own illusion did? But he had just failed
touching him with his own hands. Nothing honestly made sense… Despite it, this
must be it.

Itachi did not know where he should be, where his feet should be while they
remained steady but threatened to tip over. He felt displaced in the tiny room
and everything was hot and suffocating, moreso than him performing this
genjutsu routinely. It was normal, and should be normal, but Sasuke was never
simply something “normal” for him that he cast to the side. And this… He was
too close, and entirely too far for comfort, but his feet carried him. He
sidestepped backwards until he wandered towards the corner.

He did not want to look. Itachi bit lip, averting his eyes.

Looking would shatter the resolve he had. He was a better trained shinobi than
that. The Anbu had taught him that as well as father. This would save his last
kin, the one little brother he would never feel like it was a waste to put
himself on the sacrificial table for. He was doing the duty of a shinobi and he
must embrace it.

Don’t look back.

Itachi was able to direct his illusion without looking.

Never look back. Shinobi worth their weight in salt never became amassed in the
what-ifs. They looked forward to brighter days.

I am… was… I want to be…

He blinked and cupped his fists.

The magnetic pull on his eyes to look back at Sasuke almost made Itachi believe
his eyes were bleeding from trying to cycle and tumble around in their sockets.
The liquid was sense and heavy and a stray droplet skirted the bottom of his
chin.

Blood was thicker than water, they say. His hands were coated in blood but he
was nonetheless no closer to it and the water proved forbidden words that he
could never tell the holder of said blood.

Each time he took a step his feet reacted as though he had been struck by an
electric jutsu—the muscles in his ankle threatened to waver. Regardless, he was
esteemed Uchiha Itachi and he never bowed to such weak emotional human impulses
that forced—

Sasuke screamed.

Itachi faltered mid-step. His rebellious eyes defied him.

The genjustsu Itachi pushed Sasuke down at the bare chest. Sasuke valiantly
tried to fight back despite his injury and overtaxed mind, but he was too
shaken too function, and the illusion overtook his small and innocent body
easily.

Illusion Itachi’s fingers wrapped around the waistband of Sasuke’s pants. He
shifted a bit from straddling him and pulled the fabric down his legs despite
the restless kicks that wildly flew at him, exposing creamy and smooth coltish
legs as he did so.

Itachi lapped a trail down Sasuke’s chest, down to the flat of his stomach and
navel. He dipped his tongue inside and swirled his tongue around before
returning to the tender skin of his chest.

Itachi could taste the vile and sweet taste across his tongue like Sasuke was
branded there in the center; skin and pinpricks of sweat and the vibrations of
an overworked and frayed heart.

Sasuke shivered under him. The illusion was neither hot nor cold, but the
additional shock of his imagined warm breath against his skin sent him into
overdrive. It was brutal like the intensity of a bonfire, the bite of cold
night’s air seeming more inviting.

“I can tie your hands to the ground. Do you remember when we used to hunt
animals in the forest?” Itachi heard himself mocking all too earnestly, pinning
Sasuke’s arms down to the floor. He allowed the meaning of those words to sink
in for Sasuke.

Emotion welled up in Sasuke’s eyes, and he looked as though he was about to
spit out something that he just could formulate into proper words. To his
dismay, he moaned in pain or frustration Itachi’s ministrations over one of his
pert, pink nipples. Shame and fear instead crisscrossed his face and he looked
horrified. The noise was strange and foreign to a seven year old; why would he
make that noise, and for his brother hurting him?

Itachi’s stomach did a lurch. He should wonder. He should hate.

The illusion of himself looked far too self-satisfied. He lowered his head and
bit the same nipple, and Sasuke yelped, clawing at Itachi’s arms. Itachi did
not show being ruffled or annoyed in the least. “However,” Itachi continued,
“this is the true difference in our power. You can’t break free from me and
that is your truth.”

If Sasuke had bindings, this whole moment would ruin the plan.

Doing this in the most intimate way possible was important.

Sasuke needed to see he could not protect himself with Itachi using nothing to
restrict his movements. He was that useless.

That sweet pale face swam in the background of Itachi’s mind. He always looked
out for Sasuke’s well-being and everything that made him happy or angry. The
way Sasuke craned his neck to glance over Itachi’s shoulder made him notice his
flawless skin grow whiter and bloodless. Unnvervingly, he locked eyes with the
real him made Itachi want him to be forced away from him.

The illusion shifted off of Sasuke but gave him no time to recover. He yanked
on the shirt scraps at Sasuke’s side and pulled him upwards. Itachi gripped him
by the side and flipped Sasuke off the ground until he was wobbling on his
skinny knees, head close to the cold floor, back inclined in an arch, ass hiked
up in the air.

For a second the vision from his illusion poured into Itachi’s mind. Itachi’s
insides melted. He was lost, so terribly lost himself.

Itachi sidestepped backwards. He bumped the wall behind him.

The image of Sasuke sprawled under him even made Itachi’s jaw slack. It looked
monstrous. Most of all, it looked like something no one other than him should
ever see in Sasuke’s lifetime.

(His light is in front of him, but he can’t reach out his hand to touch it,
because if he does it will reject him and stab him.)
Itachi dug into his side so hard he drew an unbroken scar across his abdomen.
Anger and astonishment boiled in his veins.

No one else should be like this with Sasuke, ever. Not himself.  Destroying his
own illusion would be upmost pleasure right then. None of it was real—but the
shirt on his back imitated the prison bars which isolated the sticky heat glued
to his traitorous skin.

“I—Ita—ta—“ Sasuke could barely speak. He sputtered, hanging onto the one word
he understood. Glistening looked back. Trying to squirm away he tried to crawl
forwards; the pants at his ankles stopped him from moving quickly and he
managed only a little.

Itachi’s impassive face revealed not one thing Sasuke wanted to know. He
scooted forward and wrapped an arm around Sasuke’s neck, pulling his head
higher. Sasuke’s eyes bulged as the arm around his neck tightened and he
choked, breathing rapidly.

Itachi put his mouth next to Sasuke’s ear and nibbled it. He breathed slowly to
prove he had the upperhand, plastering a thoughtful expression on his face. He
chuckled as he struggled under him and gagged each time his windpipe hit his
arm.

Snaking his arms around his precious little brother, he made him turn in the
direction of their parents. “Perhaps I’m not totally heartless.” Reflexively,
Sasuke visibly relaxed at the bit of reassurance he was given that sounded
sincere, but this did not last long. “I’ll let you say goodbye to them—goodbye
while I fuck you raw, Sasuke. Look at them and remember what I did.”

Sasuke went rigid. He leaned into Itachi’s arm, but only gagged harder, black
hair splayed out over his eyes and neck.

“No!” Shutting his eyes tightly, Sasuke whimpered helplessly. Sasuke may not
have known what Itachi meant by that, but he knew that anything with their
parents was off-limits. His graceful body twisted and lashed out for escape but
he found himself only further locked into Itachi’s grip. “I don’t want—don’t
make me—“

The stone in the pit of Itachi’s stomach fused into a lead weight. Conviction
to not stop cajoled him to keep going for perhaps a wild reason beyond the one
he had originally started this. Why he even think that. But instinct drove his
motions involuntarily.

“Perhaps that’s why you were always weaker than me and could never catch up
with me,” Itachi told him, leaning over him. His whisper was downright cruel.
“You never took anything seriously. How can anyone, including me, love you if
you can’t accept it?”

The sound deep in Sasuke’s throat was a groan and a screech that never made it
out as he clamped his lips closed.

Smirking against the curve of Sasuke’s neck, Itachi’s hand reached around his
thin frame and wrapped around his cock. He stroked and squeezed him while
Sasuke’s hips parted. Sasuke dropped both hands to the ground, back arcing
higher, on all fours without Itachi even having to force him. The anger shook
in his body but he was powerless to move Itachi’s hands away.  The stirrings in
Sasuke’s body bounderline made him come far too early, the precome beginning to
weep out of his slit.

Swiping across Sasuke’s shaft, Itachi licked at his fingers. Sasuke watched him
wearily at the corner of his eye, quaking under the heat and power Itachi had
forcing him into such a position. He was hot, and the core of his body coiled
just a little. Sasuke stifled a sob and clutched at the floor files as an
anchor lever.

Itachi faked a nauseated grimace. Once again, the look was to convey Sasuke was
not good enough to even pleasure him.

“It isn’t enough to satisfy me,” Itachi said anyway, gripping onto his hips and
holding him tightly there. “I’ll take everything I want from you, Sasuke. You
should be grateful I’m this close to you.”

The taste of salt echoed in Itachi’s mouth. The feeling of it rang in his whole
being, his mind. He could only pant a bit, thoroughly disgusted and wondering
of the taste at the same time.

It was not sweet. Not by a long shot. But it was Sasuke.

Sasuke, his little brother.

The brother Itachi more than anything would be hammered by the guilt and sin
for if it made Sasuke live a happier, beautiful life.

He barely believed he was imagining this for Sasuke’s sake but the actions
poured out him more quickly than he understood himself. Dizziness made him
nearly lose his balance and he had to hold onto the wall. He was out of
control. Bizarre goosebumps went up his arms, hot, every contour of his body in
a blaze.

Only Sasuke was supposed to feel this. Not him.

By that point the illusion of himself reflected this in the excitement in his
posture, groin rubbing against Sasuke’s ass shamelessly. With his free hand,
the illusion Itachi unzipped himself and pulled himself out, the hardened flesh
pressing against Sasuke’s leg and making him jump out of confusion and another
dash of fear.

Itachi was well-hidden in his illusion. But he was exposed.

The private flesh he only knew, exposed to this brother. Of course he had seen
Sasuke naked before in baths, and Sasuke had seen him before, but Sasuke had
never actually seen him hard.

“I don’t want to look at them,” Sasuke said softly, far too softly. He did not
even know what he was saying anymore. He just didn’t.

“Then think about this as your punishment,” Itachi replied.

Itachi lifted apart his thighs and moved his hips, watching the way his ass
spread and genitals dangled through his legs.

Either because Itachi did not think of it, or really think it mattered if it
was an illusion (Sasuke would not remember anyway most likely), he did not
bother preparing him for the size of his own genitals. Sasuke was unable to
move, and he already firmly had him completely in his grasp. He shoved into
Sasuke’s tight entrance until he reached the furthest point he could in his
small body, pushing in and out of him roughly, erratically, forcing Sasuke to
submit to him without waiting for him to argue.

Itachi staggered on the spot.

It was true that he could keep the amount of damage to Sasuke at a minimum, but
such a comfort did nothing for him.

Penetrating him without mercy, Itachi sunk his hands into Sasuke’s hips hard
enough to bruise him and forced him to ride him without rest. Sasuke cried out
and keened each time he went too far into him too suddenly, pushing himself up
to the hilt, taking advantage in Sasuke’s resistence and stretching him. The
illusion of Itachi—or was it him?—relished in the pleasure of it as Sasuke
writhed and opened up to him with each deliberate, hard and fast thrust, Sasuke
glistening from the sweat and pre-come between his legs.

Sasuke’s body shuddered underneath him until he came undone and semen spilled
out of his young and untrained body, jerking shakily and. His eyes rolled down
back in his head and he fell into a sprawl at Itachi’s feet. Sasuke’s hips
bucked, betraying pain or pleasure. The illusion of himself climaxed after him,
pounding his hips into Sasuke in an irregular rhythm, waves of ecstasy hitting
him as he rolled his hips and slammed into him one last time.

Predictably, Itachi was certain Sasuke meant to close his eyes, but he stared
at the bodies of their parents with wide, terrified eyes the whole time. His
face reddened at the realization he was doing it, and he tried to look away
from them, but he just couldn’t.

Itachi’s mind went blank. Was the illusion getting that much out of its role,
or was it him trying not to care? Yet, he was acutely aware of his surroundings
in heightened arousal that he loathed, and he find himself far more immersed
than he wished to admit.

Sasuke’s nails dug into his palms. Itachi felt no pain from it, but he could
feel the hatred in Sasuke’s eyes burn a whole into the wall.

Sasuke being reduced to such a miserable state was enough to stab him through
the heart like a hot iron fresh out of pit.

And, his shinobi pride shattered into a thousand unrepairable pieces, Itachi
collapsed to his knees, entire body weak even though he was not the one who had
any part of a release.

The wind was knocked out of him, and he wheezed.

Everything in his body was hard and far too tight, and he wanted to relieve
himself from it, but that would mean he would

Itachi panted and heaved for air, willingly the hardness in his body to stop
please. Everything hurt, and he needed to let go as well, but he buried his
head into his shoulder and focused on what he had to do next. He silently
accepted the reality of his truth.

(Shinobi did not give in. He who did was not a true shinobi.)

Itachi stared at Sasuke’s crumpled form. For the first time in his life, he
wondered if he could be put back together. He was supposed to be the statue of
hope for the Uchiha clan, the pillar that reigned over the legacy that now rode
on his shoulders.

Every piece of his soul had been crushed. Sasuke was boneless, and nothing in
his body immediately tensed, moved, responded.

Itachi wondered, did he look as horrible as Sasuke?

The illusion of himself disappeared in a white puff of smoke and left
absolutely nothing behind him. Spent, Sasuke glared up at him through glossy
eyes. Then, grey eyes shut after seeking out Itachi’s face, and his head lolled
to the side as he fainted. 

Not a particularly unheard of expectation. He was young and lacked much
experience or stamina.

So was he equally exhausted, but nonetheless… Sasuke would not remember the
difference. If luck would have it, he would remember the hatred the most out of
what they had done.

Similarly, Itachi panted heavily. Drained physically and emotionally in a
myriad of ways, he stared at Sasuke’s stripped form. For some reason he needed
closeness himself, and he crawled closer albeit wobbly, relaxing against
Sasuke’s side.

He needed to leave without delay.

Lingering would be toxic; the voice in the back of his head hollered at him to
leave now or else he would stall and make excuses. Still, Itachi had to put
down his shields for a short while and collect himself. Even Uchiha Itachi had
to be human once and a while.

Catching sight of Sasuke’s lips again did the trick, and his plan to escape
shut down automatically. His throat grew unbearably parched, unbelievably more
than the first time he had caught sight of them.

Yes, Sasuke’s warmth trumped the cold darkness.

The same sort of hunger filled his chest like earlier, but this time it was a
quiet hum racing through his veins. Itachi suddenly understood the feeling.

Prolonging the inevitable did not change fate.

Though he would adopt a stoic expression going forward, and he was not positive
he had effectively communicated it (to himself, to his vows), but he had been
desperate to show any emotion. He was not flashy, yet he had needed to
say something about the cacophony of regrets he had encompassed. For years he
had harbored them: the expectation, the admiration, the drive to accomplish a
goal.

Itachi had failed to meet the raised bar, hadn’t he?

Staying here...

Itachi’s fingers carded through Sasuke’s hair. He played with the spiky, silken
strands while gathering his thoughts. Idly, he smoothed out Sasuke’s hair to
flawlessly frame his forehead and face and admired the way the strands seemed
so quintessentially beautiful in its black shade compared to the rest of the
clan—some the egotistical and self-centered clan members he had outright
contradicted.

Time passed and the moonlight scaled the wall.

Blood smudges on the tatami soaked Into the straw.

He brushed Sasuke’s forehead.

Blinking out of his trance, Itachi realized his overtly neat handiwork. He
sighed in disappointment—too much affection, he had to focus on the real
goal—and threaded fingers further in Sasuke’s hair to ruffle the strands into
disarray. Even in this moment of unearned peace, Itachi was irked at doing this
on purpose. But this additional detail would set the scene. Evidence was
essential for believability.

He noted Sasuke’s chest rapidly rise and fall. His cheeks meanwhile puffed in
and out as he inhaled coarse breaths. Itachi zoned in on those swollen, parted
lips, and he licked his own out of natural reflex, the bogged down floodgates
on Itachi’s endurance excruciatingly difficult to maintain.

Until now admitting it was too shameful.

Those lips were practically driving him insane.

Itachi had to be a good big brother; he had already settled hurting Sasuke was
out of the equation.

Pushing away what he wanted came effortlessly, but the conflict once more hit
like a whirlwind of razors.

When he left, he had no idea when he would grab a glimpse of Sasuke again. It
could take endless months to years. Maybe he would only see him once or twice,
and one of those days would count as the paramount occasion of Itachi’s own
death.

It would be poetic justice to see Sasuke’s ripened abilities without Itachi’s
influential stamp on it.

Itachi may run out of luck after this. After today, Sasuke will never let him
get this extremely close.

Above that, he wanted to give Sasuke one thing.

Or was he selfishly taking it? Did it matter?

Nevertheless, it would be to the point.

Itachi’s temptation exceeded common sense. One physical reminder of their last
time together might stitch him over. He apologized with a brush to his little
brother’s hairline and wrapped one arm around his upper back. Itachi lifted
him. His eyelids went halflidded, examining Saskue’s exhausted (but faintly
peaceful) face before letting the tsunami wash out his entire built up strength
and sensibilities.

The warmth of Sasuke’s lips filled Itachi with a blast of desire he had never
experienced in his life.

Sasuke’s lips were moist from screaming, and he tasted the traces of saliva and
a tasteless dinner of rice he probably snapped up on the way home.

Itachi preferred a tangier taste. All the same.

Scrumptious and divine.

The sweetest taste in the whole world.

The kiss entirely skipped being chaste and tentative in experiment; he could
not stop himself from the seething desire once he started. It descended into a
ravenous craving for an indescribable secret he had been longing for in the
obligations he was mixed up in. Sasuke knew nothing. He was innocent. But
Itachi begged for clarity, clues, disapproval as he searched Sasuke’s blank
face for his meaning.

Itachi’s shivered from the jolt of pleasure.

Maybe he was alive and not a shell.

Stealing this from Sasuke was unforgivable…

Sasuke’s mouth was hot and succulent and open only for him in that moment. He
could only feel the ice of bottled up anger from his body trying to tug him
back to the reality, but he pushed that to the side like so many other things.
Reality was wrong. He wanted fantasy, because Sasuke was there.

Sasuke’s breath cascaded through his lips, and Itachi sought that as the
lifeline that would keep him attached longer in his thorough intensity, tongue
slipping through the barriers of Sasuke’s lips.

The skin under his lips was sensitive and rich, but most all intoxicating. His
tongue slid over the crooks in his teeth and reached far back enough to catch
the curl of Sasuke’s smaller tongue and ensnare it. 

Itachi panted. He couldn’t breathe, and he cared not in the slightest. Dying
like this in happiness would be fine. Itachi could not imagine stopping, and he
let go of his sense of time and place completely.

The lips underneath his twitched and parted.

Sasuke’s eyes flew open. He stared back, gaze dull.

Itachi caught sight of him, uncomprehending for a heartbeat. A film of water
swam in front of his field of vision, and he felt something prickle
relentlessly at the corner of his eye, but he just noticed Sasuke.

Without warning Sasuke bit Itachi’s upper lip. Hard.

Itachi tasted the metallic taste of blood. A trail of blood oozed between his
lips and splashed on his tongue. Surprised, he carefully licked the blood off,
his lip throbbing from the harsh impact of teeth.

The pain was violent. It was the first pain he had felt that entire night
besides the anger and sadness.

And Itachi was stunned at his the swell of pride spreading from everywhere in
his body at once.

Sasuke was a fighter while cornered like this. He felt so much gratification at
this—knowing Sasuke would not stand for that. To see this potential was proof
Itachi needed to make Sasuke succeed later in life.

“Hn,” he simply remarked. Anything else would have been more coherent, but
Itachi was in no fresh state of mind to come up with something suitable.

Sasuke’s eyes shifted in and out of spotting him. He settled on Itachi’s face.
The sky outside the window and moonlight captured his attention long enough for
him to weakly shake his head. Then, he glanced back to Itachi. Eyelids drifted
shut again.

Only gentle breathing grazed his cheek.

Itachi admired Sasuke this time without feeling as trapped. The kiss in itself
had changed something strange he was unable to correctly identify.

From the start he had taunted Sasuke with the fact he would never match him.
But Itachi had used his power and Sasuke had retaliated. He had been reluctant
but strummed the instrumentals for perseverance.

Contemplatively, Itachi smiled the slightest bit. “I will wait to see what you
will someday be capable of.”

For the last time Itachi brushed the dried tears from the corner of Saskue’s
eyes. With those dark eyes, Sasuke had seen the destruction of their clan. The
water in Itachi’s eyes swam double the amount. He would see a new future not
for Itachi not to behold.

Pressure built up in the bridge of his nose.

I’ll be waiting. Until you foster your hatred for me, I’ll hate myself twice
the limit for you.

Itachi stood to his feet and dusted himself off.

Reducing his brother’s pride to this sorry state invited pangs of weariness.
The aftermath he had envisioned was not this, because every frazzled nerve in
his body itched and ached horrendously.

Special, he had called it. Their bonding time.

Itachi’s shoulders twitched but did not slump.

Was it pure, indisputable selfishness?

To want things as a part of his self-made legacy that not a failure like
himself could accomplish.

Moat glaringly, give into desires when he had chained up all the others in
barless cages.

Yet a shred of hopeswayed in the wind…

Ruefully, Itachi spared Sasuke one last look over. Sasuke lay limp and filthy,
tatami mats still blotched in dark red under his huddled form. Broken mentality
and thrown physically like a ragdoll. In the blinding moonlight, Sasuke’s
sorrow and fear had melted into the precipice of a dark, fitful slumber.

If the stars granted Itachi one last request; Sasuke will find one last
peaceful dream before sunrise.

His sigh was lost to the foggy darkness. The heady scent of death accompanied
him on his uneventful journey out of the compound. Blood stained the bottoms of
his sandals, but the heavy thoughts stewing at the back of his mind fended off
noticing the puddles even with his eyes downcast.

He had to hurry as though his feet were ready to burn in a bonfire, but he did
not deserve the luxury of it. Failing to mourn his clan (failing to reminisce
over what he just did) would be his truest crime and disgrace, and he could
only accomplish that for each person in the final minutes he passed them.

Face lifting towards the sky, he planned for next time.
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