Title: Turning from the light, IV

Rating: M for language, lime

Characters: Sasuke, Naruto, Sakura

Pairings: NaruSaku, SasuSaku

Setting: Shippuden. Manga spoilers 385+ like whoa.

Description: He wanted to bring her pleasure or pain or whatever it took to narrow her world until there was only him again.

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Sometimes, love isn't enough.
And other times, it is far, far too much.

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No one would have blinked had he spent a well-earned, restful night in the inn after he completed his mission. In point of fact, his team had moaned irritably at his 'itchy feet', but none of them had been so drained for him to feel guilty about driving towards home the instant it was possible. They were tired, they whined, they needed rest…

He was too, though he was scarce to admit it. And moreover, he needed something more than rest, and so, he put his way of the ninja to good use. Realizing that he wasn't going to give up until he succeeded, the others had wearily satisfied themselves with changing clothes and cold water to the face.

By the time he slipped inside her window, it was hard to put up a front and act like he, too, wasn't bone-tired and more than ready to just curl up and sleep it off for a week. Even so, he couldn't help but to pause and smile fondly from the window.

Moonlight was becoming on her.

"Honey, I'm home…" he breathed, meaning it as a joke, but something deep inside him shifted and settled with the words. All at once his throat constricted, and for a disconcerting moment, he thought he might cry (and had no idea why).

He thought she was asleep, and was sure she couldn't have noticed his momentary lapse, but Naruto laughed with breathless reassurance anyway to cover it up. When he reached to gently stroke her hair, he was surprised when her hand snatched out and caught him by the wrist – pulled him towards her.

"I miss you so much…" Sakura sighed.

"I'm right here," Naruto murmured into her hair. When she shivered slightly and huddled further into her covers, he was reminded of a movie scene, and couldn't suppress the grin. "Is this the part that the ring falls to the ground and I realize I've really been dead all along?" She tried to disappear into the covers, but he followed dutifully after (as he always has – always will). Impishly, he nosed her ear, was perversely pleased by the way she writhed and gasped at the innocuous gesture.

She wrapped her hand around the back of his head and pulled him in closer. The feather-light tickle becomes a forced (albeit none too begrudging) kiss on her cheek, and Sakura laughed breathlessly, "I should be so lucky…"

She's teasing, and he knows it, but the insecure, unwanted, unloved orphan that will always have a foothold in the corner of his soul cringed a little anyway. As always, he covers it with a too-bright smile, a too-loud laugh – but maybe she saw underneath the underneath, because abruptly she turned her head and pressed a soft kiss of her own to his cheekbone, just below his eye, then trailed along his whisker-marks, his jaw…

"You'd know if you were gone, Naruto," she whispered, referring back to his original joke. When he only made a questioning noise, she pulled back, still holding the base of his skull so he couldn't look away. "I'd be lost," she finished.

And though she said it as if it was the most truthful thing she had ever spoken (and though he believes her – he'll always believe her, his Sakura-chan, his partner, his love), that little corner of himself needled anyway. 'But would she really?'

Resolutely shoving that morose little voice into a distant corner, Naruto slipped beneath her covers and twined his legs with hers. He didn't bother stripping off his ANBU gear, and for whatever reason, she didn't see fit to scold him for it, even when she felt his sandals scratching at the backs of her legs.

It's only when her breathing had evened out and he realized she was asleep in his arms that he finally allowed himself to exhale.

'No…' he concluded at length. In a strange mix of unfathomable sorrow and happiness, he pressed his lips into her hair, and knew that if they somehow were separated – if he somehow lost her –

'I'd be the one lost.' And he wondered if that was his strength or his weakness.

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Sasuke didn't know why he even bothered coming to the ramen stand. He sat on the stool, glaring hatefully at the noodles, refusing to choke them down. He hadn't much appetite, these days, his stomach churned so.

Sakura was conspicuously absent. Naruto had rambled on about late shifts at the hospital and the woes of being such a successful doctor. Sasuke rather suspected something else – but if her avoiding him also kept her from Naruto, he would come here dutifully every day.

He came here under the façade of friendship, hoping his presence contributed to the ruin of something precious to that so-called friend. The irony was not lost on him.

"You're just going to have to take it easy for a week or two," Naruto announced loudly, clapping Sasuke on the back; if he noticed him flinch, he did a good job of pretending he didn't. "I'm going on a mission, and no one else seems to want to spar with you these days. But don't get too rusty while I'm gone, or I'll kick your ass once and for all, believe it!"

Sasuke twirled his chopsticks into the noodles thoughtfully. "You're leaving tomorrow morning?" he deadpanned, and Naruto nodded vigorously, taking the minute bit of interest and running with it like only a child bereft of attention and care his entire life could. He didn't even have any idea that Sasuke could care less about the mission, but rather, his mind was on something else entirely.

If he had a heart, Sasuke might have felt guilty.

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Naruto was to leave at the break of dawn like shinobi usually did. Sakura was exhausted from pulling a late night at the hospital (because though they left at dawn, they always seemed to come back bloodied at night for some reason), nothing would keep her from seeing him off.

To her credit, she stumbled only for a moment when she saw the dark shadow leaning against the wall beside the team.

Naruto might be immune to it, but Sakura most certainly wasn't. It was all she could do to resolutely ignore the seething waves rolling off the Uchiha – and not for the first time, she wondered how Naruto could be so dense. Couldn't he feel the malevolence from the Uchiha?

But she wouldn't let him drive her away – this was her home, and it was her right to see Naruto off on his mission. She kissed the blonde chastely on his whisker marks just as she would seeing him off on any other morning. She stood on tip toes to lick any nip at his lips, and ignored the twinge of indeterminate excitement and nervousness that accompanied it this time.

She stood there and watched Naruto until the last flash of blonde disappeared over the horizon – and then, just for spite, she stood a little longer.

Sasuke stood as well – and though he had nodded solemnly to Naruto's bubbling enthusiasm, the moment the other boys back was turned, he had eyes only for her. It was all she could do to ignore the way his eyes hatefully trailed after her when she finally decided to leave.

Her eyes tried to trail to him as well – meant to lock in like magnets to their mate – but with force of will, she kept her gaze straight ahead, her head high, and gingerly, she stepped around him when he did not move from her path. When she drew abreast of him, he finally spoke – quietly, calmly – seethingly.

"You fucking hypocrite."

And all at once, the cool, collected high road didn't appeal to her so much anymore. White hot anger exploded in her chest, and whirling towards him, she snarled with more vindication than she thought she possessed. "What did you expect Sasuke – a parade? A key to the backdoor? Hugs and kisses and cards telling you how much you were missed? Konoha moved on." Angrily, she gestured at the empty streets of the city just beyond his shoulder. "We moved on. What did you expect?" She tilted her chin and caught his eyes, his dark gray smoldering threateningly like a thunderstorm about to break. "Do you even know?"

Hate rolled off him in waves, and though his jaw twitched, he made no motion to reply. "Yeah. I didn't think so." She snorted disgustedly and shook her head, trying to swallow the bitterness souring her mouth even as she turned from him in every sense of the word.

She made it two more steps before she heard his hiss, "More."

She froze, shoulders stiffening as she turned to regard him coolly over her shoulder. "What?"

"I expected more."

He lunged.

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When she stiffened in his arms, something inside him bristled, affronted, and he gripped his fingers harder into the back of her neck, harder into the curve of her ass. He was being too rough – his fingers would leave bruises in their wake, he knew – but the realization only made him clutch harder.

He waited for her to fracture. Break, splinter – weep. He waited for the uncertainty – her uncertainty – that crippling weakness that defined her as a little girl, that crippling weakness that made her need him – that crippling needy fault that he was waiting even now to manifest.

He wanted her to cry – and then he would turn his back and walk away. The tables would tip, control would be his again, and she would be wanting. Everything would be… in order again.

It started just about her and her reaction – but then, like a match dropped on kerosene soaked tinder, the spark exploded, and suddenly he was thrown in, and it was about him, too. And it wasn't enough. Unrepentantly, he bit her lips – harder, then, when he realized he would not be satisfied until he tasted blood, and even then maybe not. He hooked his hand under her knee and ground into her, crashing her into him, jarring them both in a way that was more painful than pleasurable. When she gasped, he jammed his tongue into her mouth, and suddenly it was less about subversion and more about need – everything about possession.

And then, abruptly, he was stumbling back, white and black dancing across his eyes and red pain throbbing from his chin. She stood there, the picture of frozen fury, fist frozen in the air where it had connected with his jaw, chest heaving with each shaky pant.

She looked breathless, flushed – but only for a fleeting moment. And then, she looked mostly nonplussed and entirely angry. "Where do you come off with that fucking sense of entitlement?" she snarled. Something swam behind her flinty jade glare, something just enough like hate that it may have given pause to anyone but him.

She couldn't hate him if she tried. He knew it. He knew it.

He tensed, waiting for her to come at him– wanting her to come at him. Wanting any excuse to touch her, even if it was in violence. It was like a dam broke in him, and all he wanted in that moment was to devour her – swallow her whole, lock her away, keep her all for himself. He wanted to bring her pleasure or pain or whatever it took to narrow her world until there was only him again.

But this was not Sound, where he was doted upon with free reign to do as he would, and he knew that if he raised hand again as heated as he felt, it would no doubt be taken as an attack upon a Konoha kunoichi. So instead, as the first Konoha citizens began to stir in the city behind her, began to cast quizzical glances in their direction with prying eyes, he froze – waited. Waited for that break, those tears –those signs that he burned beneath her skin as badly as she did beneath his…

Neither of them moved – but then, she took a deep, calming breath, and the distance between them seemed to multiply.

It infuriated him.

"You're the fucking hypocrite," she hissed. When she turned back to the city and walked away, it took everything in him not to physically lash out at her retreating form.

He hoped his hands had bruised her skin. He hoped he marked her, and he hoped the marks burned like brands. He hoped she laid awake that night, aching from his touch, tortured and restless and angry. He hoped he infected her – her mind, her heart, her very soul. He meant to saturate her life, her very existence – taint her with need until things were back as they were meant to be.

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And isn't destructive love the truest form of all?
To love in spite all the very worst?

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Author's Notes: Ruh roh. This can't possibly end happily.