Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this story. They, Sasuke and Naruto, are the property of Kishi-sama and I am not making any money off of this work.

Warning: This chapter contain extreme yaoi content, meaning boyxboy situations of a sexual, mature nature. This chapter also contains mentions of bloodshed and copious amounts of gore that implicate darker themes. So, proceed with caution if either of these topics makes your stomach turn. If not...

Enjoy!

Patterned Paper Moon

Chapter 4

Meeting bloodshed with a kiss

There's a loose thread on the very edge of the comforter. I can't help but pick at it as the seconds tick by slower than the creeping of an old, ready-to-drop-dead tortoise. How long have I been in here by myself? And why exactly am I still here just wasting my sweet time doing absolutely nothing because they told me to "wait here"?

Wait for what, you ask. Sasuke, of course. That's more of a who, isn't it?

Whatever.

They dropped me off almost three hours ago. I've paced. I've meditated. I've even snooped around a bit in hopes of finding something out, but the room is completely bare of all of Sasuke's belongings other than a few meaningless changes of clothes and blank scrolls. I suspect he's off carrying out Kumar's objective. It's certainly been long enough for them to have finalized any agreements.

It's been three days and two nights since I found myself unceremoniously thrown into the plaster after going through with my bright idea of trying to give the ice prince a bit of a blow. This makes night number five since I've become Sasuke's room service provider. The last two nights passed by in much the same manner as the last one I told you about - without the whole head being banged into a wall fiasco recurring. And, no I'm not complaining. So far, Sasuke has asked me only to sing, dance or tell a story of some sort for him. He's allowed me to perform for him, entertain him, but never to accost him in a sexual manner, and personally after being flung across the room that first time, I'm not willing to try it again.

He has asked me to touch him, not there, but I'll massage his back from time to time. He really likes it when I pay special attention to the muscles of his arms and legs. His shoulders are usually hard as rocks by the end of the day. I found a knot there the other day. Holy damn, that had been a bitch to get out. Seriously, the guy is as stiff as he is crazy, and depending on the what day of the week it is, he can be pretty crazy, and I don't just mean in a murderous bastard sense, either. Don't tell Sakura I said that. Don't ask me why.

Thankfully, he hasn't called me anything other than Yoshi. Of course, that's if he even bothers to name me anything other than 'you'. At least, he doesn't just call me slave. I don't think I could refrain from punching the life out of him if he did. But I'm starting to believe that he legitimately has no knowledge of my true identity, or if I'm wrong, I get the feeling that he has no intention of revealing that little tidbit of information to any of Kumar's guards any time soon.

The thought calms my nerves just a little

What isn't so soothing is the fact that I have yet to find out anything substantial about the deal Kumar and Sasuke are striking, and it's frustrating as all hell. I haven't even managed so much as a glimpse of the scroll. The teme never leaves it unattended, and if by some chance he does put it down, it's never out of his line of sight. He never freaking relaxes. Heck, I was giving him a massage just last night. He was on his stomach and I was straddling his waist for easier access to his neck, and I could have sworn he fell asleep after thirty minutes. Like, seriously, I mean dead to the world asleep. Well, me being me, I thought I'd see if I could snatch the damn thing off the table, so I decided to reach over. I got pretty close. My fingers actually touched the scroll, but then I had the crap scared out of me when a certain somebody decided to open his eyes right at that exact moment.

I just about fell off the bed when he spoke. (My head even hit the bloody table. I have the bump to prove it.) Next thing I know, Sasuke is looking at me like I've lost my mind. Yes, that had been fun to cover up. And the story I came up with ended up getting me kicked out for the remainder of the evening; I told him I was looking for the, umm, oil. Yeah, you know massage oil. Okay, that might not have been what I actually said at the time, but it was all I could think of.

Leave me alone. I didn't know he would react so badly to it.

I don't even know if it ticked him off. I mean, sure, I got thrown out onto my ass, but I'm still here, aren't I? He didn't tell Kumar or anything so he has to have some interest in me yet, otherwise, I would be back in the harem asleep under a pile of comfy pillows and blankets, not stuck waiting all by myself in an empty room. Then again maybe I did piss him off, and that's why he's still notably absent?

"Where the hell is he?" I growl, throwing myself onto the mattress.

The sun set hours ago, and the candle burning all alone from its place on the mantel is at the cusp of burning itself out of wax and wick. It's almost hypnotizing to watch the tiny flame flicker and fight to stay alive just little while longer. I silently root for it even though I know its chances are bleak. My eyes burn, and I exhale softly as my eyelids grow heavier and heavier…

I wake up with a sharp exhale.

Shit, I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep.

I sit up, carefully. It's completely dark outside. I can hear the rain pelting down against the windows. Is that what woke me up? I doubt it. I sleep through storms easy. A thunderclap, maybe? The room is so dark I can't even see an inch in front of my face as I peer into the darkness. Something's here. I can feel a fresh chakra signature on the air, one that I know very well.

I jolt a bit when the thunder crashes loudly outside. The lightning illuminates the room in a blinding flash, and that's when I see him, standing tall and proud in the darkest corner of the room. Then the light is gone leaving only an afterimage, coupled with the burning leftover shine of deep, black eyes.

I reach over quickly and snap on the floor light, eyes wide as I look back in the figure's direction.

Sasuke stands there, covered in the crimson cloak of freshly spilt blood.

I don't move. He doesn't move. He doesn't speak. He doesn't even blink. We are still as a held breath on the air. His expression vacant and unreadable. It's eerie.

"Uchiha-sama?"

My question seems to pull the man out of his daze. He nods his head. A hand, the one not gripping a blood soaked katana, gestures for me to approach him. That's all the reaction I get though. I slide carefully off the bed and onto the floor. God, he's covered in gore. A chunk of it drips off his sword hilt to glob itself on the floor. I ignore the bile that rises in my throat.

I know the feeling. I too have had my hands covered in blood. It's a part of the life you lead as a shinobi. They say you're supposed to get used to it, but personally, I hope I never get accustomed the feel of someone else's life fluid being anywhere on my body.

My shinobi instincts kick in. I need to check for injury, but to do that I'll need to wash him. The idea of asking him to bathe himself pops into my head only fleetingly. It seems entirely too absurd to even ask. He still hasn't move an inch in any direction, let alone said anything since I spotted him in the dark. The idea of me washing him is even more absurd, but we can take this one step at a time. Maybe, he'll snap out of whatever the hell this is (Uchiha-angsty time?) in a couple of minutes.

I reach forward slowly, the way one approaches a wounded animal, and take the katana out of his hand. He doesn't fight me. Neither does he push me away when I take his hand and pull him in the direction of the wash room.

He just stares blankly ahead of him as I fill a basin with water, grabbing a small wash cloth on my way back to him. He is resolutely still, though is eyes slide in my general direction when I kneel in front of him. I vaguely wonder if he can even see me. I heard somewhere that overuse of the Sharingan can cause temporary blindness as well as permenant, but then I remember that he has the eternal now. Such maladies will never affect him.

His gloved hands seem to float up of their own accord to hover in front of my face. The message is clear enough.

My fingers tremor only a little when I pull the gloves and guards from his arms, depositing on the nearby countertop. My hands don't really start to shake until I work the fabric of his haori loose and away from his body. I'm unsure about proceeding to his pants, but he lifts one foot and then the other so I can remove his boots, and by that point were past the returning point, aren't we. I don't dare remove his under garments, a pair of plain boxer briefs, but I'm careful to avoid touching him as much as possible as I guide his trousers to his ankles; at which point, he steps out of them easily.

I breathe a small sigh of relief as I move back behind him to where I left the water basin.

With his clothes stripped off, he doesn't look nearly as bloody, devil may cry as before. There are still splashes of the liquid on his skin, but I can tell none of it is his own.

He rolls his shoulders back as his neck arches to look back at me for a moment. His eyes docile, open and closed in that way only Sasuke can pull off when he's looking at you with any sort of non-divulged meaning on his face. His right arm raises toward me, forearm turned skyward, palm up, a silent askance for me to continue my ministrations.

I swallow thickly, keeping my eyes downcast as I dip the cloth and rise to meet him. It seems fitting to wash that hand first. So I drag the cloth over his skin, scraping off the congealed mess of blood spattered about everywhere. He groans slightly as my fingers press into a sore spot on his back. The corded muscles twitch and jolt as though they've recently been harshly over used. I can only imagine.

So I proceed with mechanical organization, trying not to think about what I'm doing and who I'm doing it to. Wet the cloth, squeeze out excess water, scrub one patch of bare flesh at a time, try not to be too rough when the muscles tense or the bones give a little too easily, watch carefully for any indication that I might need to run away quickly, rinse, and repeat.

He even lets me wash his face and neck, and he sits so I can quickly lather his hair with soapy water before carefully rinsing away the suds. I think I imagined him making some sort of moaning noise, because it definitely seemed like a farfetched concept. I work across his chest and abdomen, dip into the subtle curve of his lower back, and glide over the contours of his legs, peeling off crusty red flakes until I'm completely satisfied with the Uchiha's appearance and his skin gleams pale but healthy in the low lamplight.

I towel him dry with a fresh linen.

He doesn't move as I gather the soiled clothes and return to the bedroom to scavenge for something he might not be completely opposed to wearing. Maybe I should think about wiping down the puddle of clotted mess at the doorway, too. I throw him a cursory glance over my shoulder as I leave.

I haven't the slightest idea what wrong with the bastard. What the hell did he just finish doing that the result would put him in this catatonic state? I shudder to ask. I don't want to know. It must be bad; this is the man who laughed out a yes when Kakashi asked him if he'd killed Danzou. That is one side of Sasuke. The avenger. The criminal driven to insanity by the lies and betrayals that fester at the very heart of the shinobi existence. It's the side I've been exposed to the most as of late, far out numbering the quiet moments our battles tend to have when a chirping Chidori meets the whirring of a Rasengan. But it's in those silence that I always remember what I used to see in him, what I can still see in him when they happen.

It's that side that I see now.

The wounded child. The broken heart. The man who grew up knowing his entire family had died for some unclear and unjust reason. I always wondered what would happened when he finally reached his initial endgame. What did he do after he killed Itachi? Did he laugh like he had with Danzou? Somehow, I doubt that. Even without knowing what the truth was at the time, I can't imagine Sasuke actually relishing in ending his brother – che, if you want to talk about hollow victories, there's one.

No… I imagined he cried. I'm sure he cried. He probably screamed, too.

I hear the soft scraping of fabric against the skin from where I'm hunched over a dresser looking for clothing and feet smack against the floor behind me. I look back.

I can't believe I didn't notice him come in.

Sasuke stares back at me from the bathroom doorway. Apparently, he's already found himself a pair of clean pants because only the skin of his naked chest greets me. I keep an eye on him as I slide the drawer shut wary of not slamming it too hard.

He staring at me openly now, and I realize it's the first time since he came in for the night that he's actually looked at me rather than the wall or a piece of toiletry. My own gaze greets his, curious about the sudden eye contact. He's oddly open, right now. I can practically visualize the wheels turning in his head as we stare back at each other, the sound of falling rain the only soundtrack to the pregnant silence. It's like he's trying to come to terms with a decision, rolling it over in his head, weighing it, deciding whether he wants to toss it or not, but then… he blinks. The Sharingan smolders, and my breath hitches. The simple look sends tendrils of heat coursing through my limbs.

Suddenly, I've very aware of his half-nakedness. Suddenly, I've very aware of my own garb, revealing as it is as is custom, the harem pants from four nights ago. My tongue flicks out over my now too dry lips. His eyes trace the movement, embedding the small action into his retina, and strangely, he mimics movement, albeit so slowly it draws my attention. My pulse rises, and I notice my jaw slacken just as the pink appendage disappears behind too pale lips.

A lightning bolt startles me out of my revere.

I mentally smack myself. I let my thoughts run away with me.

I visibly shake myself, looking back to the ninja standing across from me. Sasuke still eyes me, some unknown intention shimmering bright as daylight in his eyes, but he still hasn't so much as moved a muscle in my direction.

"Uchiha-sama? Is there anything-"

I choke on the sentence. My world tilts, lightning blinds my vision, and I find myself thrown sloppily on the bed. Blurred hands all but rip out the tie keeping my pants around my hips. He captures my flailing hands in his own and promptly uses the tie to bind them above my head. Oh, God. Oh, God! Oh, God!

I push the panic button.

"Uchiha-sama-!"

Another mouth shuts me up in a bruising kiss. Cold fingers grip at my jaw, holding me in place and forcing my lips to part. The rush of blood burns my cheeks when I moan, loudly, shamelessly. The nails of his free hand dig into my clothed thigh, and he shoves a knee between my legs before violently wrenching away his lips.

"I thought I told you not to call me that," he growls into my ear.

His lips are hot against my throat. My head spins when he bites down at my pulse. I screech (In a very manly way… oh who am I kidding?). And then his teeth are gone, tongue laving at the tender flesh before he moves on to repeat the process on a new patch of untouched flesh. Kami, I think I'm getting hard!

I pant through the mixed pain and pleasure, trying desperately to get a word in edgewise.

"For-forgive me, but, hah…, ah… I don't know what to call y-you?"

He lifts himself from his place at my collarbone to look into my face, the Sharingan spinning wildly. The digits of his right hand tangle in my hair and yank backwards forcing me to arch into his chest. A little pained/pleasured noise escapes the back of my throat, and he returns his attention to my throat.

"You will call me Sasuke," he growls out between nips. "Just Sasuke, nothing more, nothing less. Understand?"

"Yes…"

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Sa-Sasuke," I bite out through the arduous angle.

"Good," he grunts, and he kisses a path to my chest. My former panic burns to ash underneath his ministrations. His hands, his, tongue, his lips, his teeth, they're everywhere and nowhere at the same time. And his nails scraping down my sides all the way to the dip of my hip is enough to heighten my ardor. His tongue, that wicked appendage, dips in to the center of my navel. I can feel him smile into my belly when his hand comes in contact with the evidence of my arousal and rubs.

I can't hold back the moan. My muscles tense and release as he paws me through the fabric. I screw my eyes shut. I can do this. It's too much. I can't watch him watching me.

And, before I can even think of being ashamed of the fact that I'm responding to Sasuke of all people those hands tear the remaining fabric from my body. The flimsy material never stood a fucking chance. My eyes fly open.

"Sasuke!"

I hiss at the rush of cold air on my sensitive flesh. I try to reach down to do something. Grab the pants, cover myself, close my legs, pull up my knees, do anything to hide myself and the weapon I'd hidden from my view because he is looking, and he is memorizing, but Sasuke doesn't let me. His hand catches my wrists and pulls me, struggling, down into his body, his parted knees keeping my legs from finding each other. My eyes snap around to watch him toss the clothing clear across the room to land in with a dull thud on the floor. I wince. That would have been the kunai.

Did he notice it? Of course, he did.

He leans forward until his face is but mere millimeters from my own.

"Don't be so tense," he whispers. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The way he purrs the words into my ear, and all thoughts of missions, kunai, enemies, and sex slaves are abandoned, replaced by the haze my rapidly plummeting imagination fight desperately to figure out just how many different things he could possibly mean by that sentence.

"So, tell me, Yoshi," (I shiver at how slowly, carefully, almost sarcastically he pronounces the foreign name.) "Have you ever touched yourself?"

He leans into me putting pressure right over my groin. It's all I can do to nod my head yes, an ache starting to build in my lower abdominals.

Sasuke hums in acknowledgement.

"Kumar, tells me you're entirely untouched, but I want to hear it from you. Have you ever let anyone else touch you?"

I close my eyes and shake my head, turning my head until my cheek brushes the soft silk of the bedding. Sasuke's hand is gentle under my chin when he lifts and angles me back toward him. A few soft words and phantom kisses across either side of my jaw line and temples coax me to open my eyes once more. I've never had such a personal view of the Sharingan. I've never noticed how the red in it isn't so much a dye that engulfs the normal eye but more of a swirling mass of mist that has pervaded the formerly existing ebony. It's no wonder the Uchiha clan was always proficient at genjutsu. Simply looking into their eyes can hypnotize. I blink slowly when Sasuke's lips part against mine. He breathes out one word.

"Good."

And it hits me hard as an anvil that I know exactly what he's going to do as his face slides away from my own, and he snakes his way down the length of my body, and I don't know if I truly am completely defenseless to stop it or if my desire to halt this skewed up rollercoaster is just lacking. Either way I do nothing.

The muscles of my inner thighs quiver with anticipation as his fingers trace ghostly circles at the juncture of my thigh and hip.

(The following content has been removed to fit the guidelines of . If you are of age and would like to read the mature content, please see below.)

I don't believe this.

I can barely move from where I lie prone on my belly, ass still slightly arched into the air at the will of his hands and limbs falling limp as jelly in my post climax bliss. My awareness tunes itself acutely to the fluids seeping steadily from my body, the saliva trailing down the backs of my thighs and out of my most intimate place, and probably most of all the hand still nestled between my legs soaked with the evidence of my previous frenzy. The frenzy the owner of said appendage had incited and brought to full flame in what felt like the longest and shortest moment of my entire existence.

Sasuke's tongue languorously laves at the bite mark on my shoulder a moment longer before urging me to roll over as he sits back on his hunches. I feel more naked now, covered in hickies courtesy of the Uchiha now looking back at me between long uneven osculation of his tongue as it laps the dripping semen off the digits of his right hand. The blood rushes straight to my head at the sight. Oh, lord, I think I'm going to faint. Fainting sounds like a good idea right now. I don't know if I can manage it but being unconscious rather than in this unreal reality is far more appealing to me at the moment.

"You should sleep here tonight. Your company would not be entirely unwelcome."

I'm tempted to fall to my knees and start praising the first god that comes to mind the second the nin decides to stop lapping at his hand like a cream enamored feline and leaves the room in the direction of the bathroom.

"Oh God…" I breathe, drawing a hand over my face and trying to bury myself into the pillow. Everything feels leaded, lazy, and loathe to move.

I peel my eyes open only a little when a damp cloth graces my thigh to find Sasuke cleaning me. His eyes are back to their normal black, stoic selves, and he looks wholly unlike the way I would expect a man, or woman for that matter, to look after having just rubbed and licked an orgasm out of me. I seek out his eyes, but for some reason or another he refuses to meet my gaze – feeling shy all of the sudden, bastard?

Fine by me, I think as the feeling of the towel disappears from my skin to be replaced by the cool linen of the bed sheet. When did he pull it out from under me... I can't bring myself to care. I'm so sleepy. I only dully listen to Sasuke speak.

"Tomorrow will be our last night together. I hope you're ready."

His hand brushes the stray hair from my forehead, and the darkness closes in around me as my eyelids droop shut.

But as I fade from reality, I could swear his fingertips trace the outlines of my whisker marks, or at least where my whisker marks would be if I were Naruto. But I pay it no mind. Th genjutsu is still in place if the brown hair floating in my sleep laden eyes is any indication, and I'm so tired I must be imagining things.

So I let myself drift off to sleep.

TBC

Author's Note: Sooo... What do you think? Was it drool worthy or not? Do let me know. For the full unedited version of this chapter, visit my livejournal page. The link will be up on my profile page.

So the million dollar question: Does Sasuke know it's Naruto or not? Let me know your take on the situation.

Drop me a review if you have any questions or comments.