Just This

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Notes:

This piece is experimental and uses a voice I write in – first person limited narrator. I rather like it – it was refreshing to write. I don't think of this as the most literate thing I've ever written, but it's at least readable. All criticism accepted (and I do mean this seriously; don't be afraid of ripping me apart).

I've really had a shitty day. No pun intended. I hate, hate the way everyone looks so bloody cheerful when I feel like cracking a couple of bones and breaking a rib or two. But I wouldn't get paid for that.

Whatever it is, I hate doing D-ranked missions that remind of my genin days – or to be more exact, doing all of Tsunade's paperwork. It seems that, being formally accepted as the next in line, I'm lumbered with this. I'll have to put up with her crap – including the paperwork nonsense.

It's not that bad, actually: I kind of like doing the accounting stuff. As much as people won't believe me, I'm good with numbers, have always been good with 'em because, well, it was necessary. I didn't have an endless supply of money, unlike certain lucky bastards and had to keep my savings in check. So, I'd like to think that I know a thing or two about this sort of stuff. Yeah, I like paperwork; it's rather good for the brain cells.

It's just not quite as "good" anymore after doing it for, say, the hundredth fucking time. The seat I'm forced to endure this tremendous torture in is very, very hard and a bit too high for my tastes. So that when I'm writing, I'm always forced to lean down and nearly arch over the table – my necks aches like a bitch after sitting like this for hours. I bet Tsunade does it on purpose, so I'll whine her ears raw about it and she can roar at me in return. Yeah, yeah...it's strange, but I think we both express our adoration for each this way. Whatever.

Sasuke, that bastard: he's lucky that he's off scavenging around the landscape and fighting – at least, he gets to move his limbs, while my arse hurts precious much. Plus, my fingers feel numb – dead and heavy; I hate that feeling.

Stupid paperwork; stupid old witch for being so damned lazy and stupid ol' me for falling into this spider's web.

I'd like to say that coming home makes me feel all relieved and happy. Only that it doesn't: I know that I've got a hundred and one things to get done before that damnable Sasuke comes back. He hates mess and I'm messy by nature. No, I'm not a slob: I don't breed insects in my closet or leave stinkin' garbage piling around the doorway. I'm just not, err, organised and orderly ... whatever that is. According to Sasuke, a speck of dust on the floor is mess. Sometimes I wonder whether he's been hit on the head too much. That kind of paranoia just isn't normal, if you ask me.

It makes me cringe to think how Sasuke would react, if he saw the mess which in this case, is just a couple of unwashed dishes and an unmade bed... but he's, as I've already said, a bit batty when it comes to these things.

Before I can rummage my stuffed pockets – filled with notes, pens and lottery tickets – the door opens and I can only stare dumbly. Right. He's at home. Sasuke's actually arrived.

Damn.

"You're finally here," Sasuke's drawling, annoyingly self-satisfied voice tells me. He always sound like he's "oh-so much better than me".

"Sasuke...? Wh—hhy are you here?" I manage to sputter out idiotically, not only sounding like a moron, but giving off the impression that I'm nervous.

I'm not nervous. Fucking hell, that would be ridiculous. I've got nothing to be nervous about: he won't rip my manhood off nor will I bite the eternal dust. I know and trust Sasuke not to do anything crazy.

"Come on in and stop gaping at me."

I do come in, letting the jacket slip from my shoulders and, feeling suddenly very aware of propriety and that shit, I hang it on the intended place. Normally, I'd just have left it on the couch, but Sasuke wouldn't appreciate that.

Now, that I'm in the apartment again, I sneak a peak at him – he's leaning against the wall and, as expected, looks gorgeous, even though he's probably covered in scratches and bruises. Whoever thinks that missions are all about glory and kicking ass is insanely stupid and naïve. Yes, they are about rising the adrenaline, but also bloody hurt: so much, at times, that you'd wish you weren't a ninja or dead. Even I've had days like these: being in pain isn't nice, kids.

"So, how did it go? Did you have... umm... fun?" I ask, not because I'm really curious, but because the silence is killing me. I hate it when no one talks and, having spent the good part of the day alone, I need to use my vocal chords.

It's just before I finish the question that I understand it wasn't the right thing to ask: Sasuke never views anything as fun and, judging from the darkening expression on his face, the mission was anything but fun.

"Shut up."

Fantastic. He's resorting to insulting me again, which confirms my suspicions: the mission must have sucked rats' ass. Oh, I'd love to say something equally nasty in return, like "you asshole" or something along the lines. Yet, I won't rub salt into the wound – it's not necessary. 'Sides, I'm in no mood to cause a large argument. Aren't I a considerate person?

No, perhaps not: I'm just too fucking tired myself.

"Sasuke, if you want to talk about-"

"I don't want to talk," he interrupts me fiercely. Again, I have to fight off the "you're such a bitch" comment. Man, I'll probably get a cramp because I'm restraining my facial muscles so much.

And off he goes, into the kitchen where he is sure to start washing the dishes – and sooner than I can tell, I hear the water tap running. Sasuke's rather predictable or I just know him too well.

I don't really care to stay up any longer and stroll over to the bedroom. I'll go to bed; there's nothing else left for me do, seeing that Sasuke is in that distant "don't touch me or screw with me" mood.

Of course, no sooner I've screwed my eyes shut, he walks into the bedroom. He's quiet, but still loud enough for me to hear his footsteps. I don't pay much attention to Sasuke, though: he's probably just as wasted as I am.

"Naruto, don't tell me that you've gone to bed with clothes you've had on today."

"Yes, I have. It's not like it matters. The sheets are dirty, anyway."

It's the truth: I didn't bother changing the sheets. I just didn't feel like it.

"Get out of the bed," he repeats and the tone in his voice is enough to make me want to scream. Self-righteous, obsessive bastard.

"No, fuck, I won't! Let me sleep."

"No."

"Sasuke..." I tell him warningly. He's touching a soft spot of mine: no one tells me what to do. And I won't be forced into anything. So, he can go fuck off, for all I care. I'm not his damned slave to obey him. And he's not my mother, damnit.

Unfortunately, before I have the chance to do anything, he lashes out on me and we end up toppling and wrestling on the bed like two kids. It's silly, completely moronic and petty, but we're arguing and struggling over this. I refuse to get out though and this angers him. Well, too bad – it's a hopeless case. The bed creaks and he's heavy; I'd like to wriggle out of the position, but he's grabbed hold of my hands and I can't escape.

What a retarded situation. Of course, it's nothing unusual: dumb things always happen to me. Or I let them happen to me, but it's more of a challenge like that – and, now, thing is I don't want to break free. The position is rather ... nice.

It's rather nice to feel him that close (I'm such a sentimental fool). Still, I'm not going to admit this right now.
"Sasuke, just get off me," I say in a mock tone of anger, gritting my teeth and trying to look threatening...but I doubt it's actually working.

He doesn't answer. It seems that he has discovered the advantages of the position. Sasuke isn't easy to read, but he isn't as stoic as he'd like to be, either. I've learnt through experience that when he pouts his lips like this and – ever so slightly – widens his eyes that he is excited. And I'm excited as well.

Well, fuck. We've certainly gotten overself into a compromising situation.

It's strange and it's weird, but instead of fighting, we're kissing the living shit out of each other now. Sasuke's soft, but slightly dry lips are demandingly pressed against mine and he's pushing his tongue into my mouth. It's a hasty action with something volatile and explosive about it, but I really don't mind. He's not a girl. I'm not a girl. Neither of us need to be treated like fucking daises. A little bit of roughness never harmed anyone.

I'm complying, not to do him a favour, but because – hell – I want this; I've missed this so much it hurts, even if it makes a sap to admit it. But, it's not like anyone can hear me – so give me a break.

Both of his hands have released hold over my wrists and I'm free to grab him by his hair, feeling that it's inhumanly soft and thick. It's revolting yet appealing for a guy to have hair like that – it makes me wonder what Sasuke would be like with long hair.

"You be on top."

Sasuke looks a tad bit disappointed, but, damn, I'm tired and fed up of always taking the initiative. Let him do some work for once; it's my turn to have some fun. I do like being on top and all, love to hear Sasuke moan out my name in pleasure and to have him sprawled under me, flushed and panting heavily. That alone is enough to make me ... well, you know.

Sasuke kisses me again and I immediately know he's fine with it. It's not like he has got another choice, unless he wants to get any at all tonight. And I'm sure he's too frustrated to care right now.

I grind up against him, enjoying how warm and familiar his weight is against mine. He's an excellent kisser – no wonder, considering that he's picked it up from me. Still, I – fucking – adore the way he makes me moan into the kiss, love the the way he puts his everything into that kiss; I feel on fire, gasping for breath and drowning, falling and drowning again. He's very passionate, so much that it still makes me wonder why he bothers pretending to be otherwise. He ain't got me fooled.

It's cliché to be thinking this, but who cares? It feels good and that's the only important thing in the long run. I wouldn't be doing this, if didn't feel this way.

There's just one problem: he's taking too long. He's not much of a teaser usually and this is starting to get nerve-wracking.

"Sasuke...fuck, hurry up. Stop teasing me. Or I'll..."

"Do what?"

I'd like to say "jerk off in the bathroom", but that would be too mean, wouldn't it? And I don't want to die yet.

"Forget it."

He's finally pulled the blasted pants over my legs and the only thing left to do is to kick the offensive material off the bed. See, I told you I'm messy. He's working on his own pants as well and I'm busy with tearing his shirt off – it's ugly and smelly, anyway. With each rip, my hands get shakier and it gets so bad that I nearly can't finish. But I do; soon the remnants of the shirt fall down somewhere and he's shirtless – and I see that he's really covered in scratches and bruises.

"Where have you got the lube?"

"Don't need it," I tell him gruffly. I really don't want to wait anymore – I'm sure that spit – as gross as it sounds – will get the work done as well. I'm not a whiner like Sasuke. I'll manage.

He doesn't listen, of course, and decides to search the shelves for it. It makes me wonder whether this is part of his "teasing" strategy or whether he really cares for my welfare that much.

"Sasuke...you fucking prig-"

"I've found it."

Thankfully. I'd thought I'd explode or burst from the anticipation. I'm an impulsive person – and waiting makes me all nervous and frustrated. I don't know why I'm like this, why I feel so restless.

Maybe it's because I've missed him. I don't know; I'm not really good at figuring this kind of stuff out.

This time, I'm the one who kisses Sasuke, just attacking his lips with mine very sloppily, like we're running out of time and the world is gonna crumble at any given moment.

He's so warm, much warmer than I'd expected him to be – it still fazes me how warm Sasuke is. I'd always thought that an ice-block like him would be cool, cool as ice. But he's warm instead. Weird.

I realise this, just when he's finally inside and I feel – here we go with the pansy stuff again – that it feels awesome, nearly too good to be true (and I'm such a sap). Then he moves, starts thrusting in this frantic way that confirms he has missed this as much as I did; he is as whipped as I am. We're in the same boat.

There's nothing humiliating about this position: I'm not degrading myself and even though I'm the one who's heaving, writhing and panting beneath him, I'm not his bitch or anything like that. I'm nobody's bitch. I'm his partner, yes, but not his cute little lover. I'd beat anyone to a pulp, if they called me "cute" or "little".

Sasuke smells good, too – he smells of earth, fighting and something else, something that's uniquely him. I can't define the smell, but he's the only who smells like that. And I like that – a lot because I'm the only one who knows him like this; it's a fucking privilege.

It's not only that, it's everything. Just this, being with Sasuke, is everything.

I feel sated. It's another dumb thing to say, but I really do. Sasuke has already fallen asleep, but I don't mind. It's just the silence that bothers me. Perhaps he isn't asleep; let's check it out. I know I shouldn't be doing this, especially if he is really sleeping, but I'm bored and I just hate not having anyone to talk to. I'm being selfish, but there is no such thing as an unselfish human-being. We're all egoists deep down.

"Sasuke...?"

"What?"

He isn't asleep. He's just so quiet that I'd assumed he was: it's bothersome that he won't talk, unless spoken to. Oh well; that's just him.

"I'm glad you've come back. I missed you."

He doesn't answer again, but smiles that shy, nearly non-smile of his and it's totally fine. Being with him just like this is more than just fine. It's fantastic.

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