1Static Apnea - 1034

It was something he'd practiced since childhood.

As the youngest in a rather cold family (but he knew iconic tales of childhood woe had been sold a million times and decided not to go into detail) he had often wailed and cried for his wants. The first time, his mother had held and coddled him, whispering sweet things until he'd stopped. The second time, his father had slapped him upside the head, and said if he wanted to be a useless cry baby he could sleep with the woman (his mother, for those who didn't speak Fugaku). Itachi had stared at him in that piercing, disappointed way that had Sasuke choking back the pieces of his heart, and he'd determined not to do it again.

He'd discovered holding his breath made the tears go away.

The longer his lungs starved for air, the whiter the world around him, the faster his sadness or frustration would melt away (because if he made himself realize the simplicity of his body, he forgot the reason for his sobs). He'd begun to practice holding his breath in earnest. Each new minute, or second was a quiet victory for a child who's usual victories pertained to the look of respect or at the very least affection on his father's face. Nii-san was a picture (twisted and sick) all on his own.

He'd count one, two, three, every time he faced silent meals and the peaceful suffocation afforded his mother (as he'd later found out, she had never wanted his father and Itachi was the misfortune of a broken contraceptive. Sasuke thought it ironic now) and waited for the tell-tale tingling in his fingertips. In the bathtub, training at the river, he'd sink his head under the glassy coolness and mark the seconds on the back of his eyelids.

By the time the massacre rolled around he could hold his breath for up to five minutes.

Sasuke remembered (with not a little amusement) how the third had brought him to a local swimming hole in the weeks following, and the way he'd frightened every one for staying under so long. He supposed they all figured he'd gone and killed himself (though the thought was slightly insulting).

No one could know how he'd practiced and how enduring his fire blasts were because of it.

When his fist met Naruto's, squealing and screaming with the burn of visible chakra, no one could know how he'd held his breath for eight minutes. His lungs had nearly burst from his chest, pumping desperately for air.

Thinking back, perhaps it'd been his heart that burst from his chest, the instant his rival's had.

An indefinable amount of time had passed as he watched his childhood melt away from him (if he ever really had one) and color and sound and air returned, blinding, but ultimately changed. His friend had held forth his hand and Sasuke had brushed it aside, because he saw something else before him, something more enticing.

After that he knew nothing of tears and frustration, because he knew each step brought him closer to his goal and further away from his dreams, so there was no need to count seconds and hold breaths. For five years he'd breathed each breath measured and slow (with not a hitch or a change if he could help it).

When he'd first seen Naruto in the tail end of that self-imposed exile, he'd held his breath for ten minutes, angry and frustrated his body betrayed him still. He hated the fact his throat pinched after so many years, automatically reverting to childhood defenses. The same ten minutes had followed when he was tucked under a warm body, pinned in an unflattering position. He remembered glaring at the grass as a rumble of laughter rolled across his back, shocking him to the bone and making his stomach clench in anticipation.

Sasuke had turned the tables with ease (which often made him wonder if Naruto had simply wanted him bad enough not to argue about it) holding the blonde's arms above his head and trapping his hips between his thighs. He'd changed so much, Sasuke had to take a moment just to note the differences. Taller and broader, hair even shaggier if that was possible, but the same smile that made his lungs close in protest. He had to force them open by sheer will alone.

After so much time practicing self restraint, he'd found himself rubbing up against Naruto like a sorely missed owner. Naruto had only smiled (a little sad, a little angry) and tasted as much bared skin as possible, licking and nipping at his chest while Sasuke moved his hips. By the time Sasuke had considered having a rational thought, they set a frantic pace, rocking and touching and kissing all the places they'd secretly missed.

He'd never say it out loud but when Naruto slipped inside him, tearing a little with animal impatience and biting his shoulder perhaps harder than necessary in reprimand for ever leaving him, Sasuke had held his breath for twelve minutes. The pleasure Naruto had wrought with his hand, and harsh insistent thrusts heightened with each second the world faded in and out, melting into dull grays, over bright blues that pained his heart.

He thought perhaps Naruto could hear it, and had almost swallowed his tongue when a voice brushed his ear.

"...Sasuke, I -"

Then he felt the most intense pleasure spiral up his back bone and had angled himself so Naruto could shove deeper, brushing against it again. He'd managed to mangle the blonde's name before coming and promptly blacking out.

He'd dreamt of his childhood, and that little lake by his house. He'd dreamt of floating there under the waves, wiggling his toes and fingers as bubble after bubble drifted slowly toward the surface. Blue coated everything in its relaxing frequency, calming his pain filled lungs and racing heart.

He'd dreamt of drowning and dying, and living and holding his breath.

Perhaps he'd dreamt of love.

I love you, Sasuke.

He remembered smiling in his sleep.

A/N - Review plz. I kinda got emotional writing this towards the end. I like the title though.