Aha! I'm back! I've been on quite a long hiatus, and I'm sure that most of my previous readers have dropped me. ;_;

"Sauces" started out in my head as a quick "Wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am" kind of story, but I guess my magic touch makes everything squeaky clean and pristine. *cue collective groan* Yeah, I know. You all want lemons. It's coming; just not this chapter. So be patient!

Prologue

The Homeless Boy in Ichiraku's

It was the third time that Sasuke visited Ichiraku's for dinner when he noticed the boy who stood next to the condiment stand. His hair was matted and greasy and his cheekbones dangerously prominent - he was one of those faceless street urchins who would be escorted out of a gourmet restaurant before his bodily odors offended the delicate noses of the rich. But Ichiraku's was a fast food joint, and a large one at that - the boy easily slipped into the streaming urban crowds of Konoha without making the slightest ripple.

It was Tenten, Sasuke's girlfriend, who insisted that they meet up at Ichiraku's every Friday after her extensive hours of training. It was a low-key and informal get-together, in part because she hated the pomp and pretension of "haute cuisine" and its immediate relatives. Tenten was a no-frills woman, and certainly not one to be scoffed at. She was a strong, spirited athlete who sought to prove her worth to the world, building her career entirely by her own merit. Her name had finally surfaced in the international sports scene earlier that year when she participated in Hi no Kuni's national pole-vaulting conference and ascended the podium with a gold medal around her neck. Sasuke loved her.

He was unquestionably, undoubtedly in love with her. He loved the way her phone beeped every thirty minutes with a message from her badgering coach, loved the way she pestered him to visit the gym every day of the week, loved how she tied her hair in a puerile parody of Mickey Mouse. Yes, love was that feeling he simply could not put into words.

So it was inevitable that his attention to his girlfriend would derail that Friday night when he noticed the familiar figure near the condiment stand. The boy's eyes did not rest longingly on the cash register, where fresh hamburgers and fries were being wrapped - instead, he stared at the tub of sauces in front of him. With a flicker of mild interest Sasuke watched the boy slide his fingers into the pile of ketchup packets and withdraw one at random. He ripped open the packet and brought his mouth to the opening, moving deliberately and with delicate restraint. The boy's cheeks hollowed slightly as he sipped at the ketchup packet, his eyes closed blissfully. When the precious fluid was gone, he split the packet open at the seams with a desperate urgency and began to lick at the remains.

"Sasuke?" Tenten asked hesitantly. Sasuke had not realized that his mouth was hanging open.

"I'm with you," Sasuke responded smoothly and snapped his jaw shut, forcing the boy out of his mind.

During the next few trips to Ichiraku's Sasuke allowed himself fleeting glances at that homeless boy while he listened to his girlfriend, piecing together the bizarre ritual that the boy followed. Without fail, he would pick up three packets of a different kind and deconstruct them in this order: ketchup, mustard, and barbeque sauce. Sasuke found himself eagerly anticipating the finishing stages of the boy's ritual as he lapped at the insides of the packets with a nearly shameless animalism. The boy's pink tongue especially intrigued him as it flicked in and out of his thin lips to savor the sauces, a bright blur of color against the pallor of his face. When the boy had finished, he seemed to awaken to the crowd moving around him and furtively tossed the packets into the garbage.

Sasuke was not the only person who noticed the malnourished boy at the condiment stand. A sympathetic mother with twin sons once approached the boy, holding a cheeseburger with thick slices of bacon and mushrooms squeezed between two beef patties. The boy stared at the burger, ignoring the mother, and prodded between the buns. A look of disappointment crossed his face, and Sasuke instinctively knew what the boy was looking for: ketchup, a dash of mustard, perhaps mayo. The boy took the hamburger between his thin hands, split the buns down the middle, and then proceeded to give each half to the twins. He turned back to his precious condiments.

On his weekly trips to the grocery store, Sasuke often thought of the boy as he passed the condiments aisle. He imagined himself approaching the boy with a giant squeeze bottle of ketchup and chuckled lowly. The boy would probably die from a sodium-induced death, if not from the sheer ecstasy of owning a bottle of sauce for himself. Perhaps the meal-sized packets were for the best.

But some nagging voice in his head prompted him to buy a small bottle of balsamic vinaigrette, which he left in his coat pocket for the next time he visited Ichiraku's. He arrived a few minutes early, filling a small dipping cup with the vinaigrette and leaving it on the condiment stand. When the boy arrived at his usual haunt, he reached for a ketchup packet and froze when he saw the mysterious brown liquid in the cup. The boy hesitated, and Sasuke's lips quirked up at the boy's palpable struggle with curiosity. Slowly the boy leaned over the cup and sniffed it, then deeming it was safe, dipped his tongue into the sauce. Sasuke felt a shiver of pleasure brush down his spine as the boy's tongue slid around the rim of the cup, savoring the residue that the vinaigrette left on his tongue. He was sure the boy had never tasted anything like it and was committing it to memory.

Upon leaving the restaurant that night Tenten noticed that Sasuke looked faintly flushed, a strange gleam in his normally impassive eyes. Perhaps he was sick; he needed to build up his immune system by going to the gym more often, she suggested. He nodded and told her that he would keep that in mind.

It became a dangerous ritual for Sasuke, going on weekly trips to the supermarket and buying sauces of all kinds in a sick eagerness to watch the boy lap up his gifts like his own little pet dog. Chili sauce, wine vinegar, chutney – a few dollars out of Sasuke's pocket, but another new experience for a boy who treated every cup of sauce like a pot of gold. He would not call it charity, for he did not believe in such an effort. It was sheer curiosity, perhaps tinged with a flavor of its own. He could not pinpoint what emotion, what feeling, prompted the hair on his arms to stand at attention every time the boy's candy-pink tongue slid into a condiment cup.

One night something extraordinary happened. Sasuke had made a decision the day before to prepare his very own sauce for the boy. For the past few weeks he had resisted the impulse, knowing that his voyeurism could not pass beyond an understood line of impersonality. Buying a bottle of mayonnaise on a whim was one thing; standing at the stove and sautéing plums for a homeless boy was another. But that night his semblance of control was already cracking due to Tenten's incessant nagging, and it steadily began to flake off as he pictured the boy huddling over his precious paper cups.

On Friday Tenten made plans to eat dinner with her coach, so Sasuke sat at a booth in Ichiraku's alone. He left his homemade sauce on the condiment stand and waited patiently. The boy arrived on time, making a beeline for the condiment stand - or rather, for the cup that sat expectantly on top of it. A look of contentment seemed to settle on his face as he bent down to give the sauce his customary salutations. He dipped his tongue into the cup - and frowned. A thread of panicked thoughts fed through Sasuke's mind: What did I do wrong? Did I put in too much salt? Were the plums not ripe?

Suddenly he realized that the boy's eyes were trained directly on him.

Sasuke swallowed audibly.

The boy began to walk over to him, the cup dangling from his fingers.

"You made this, didn't you?" the boy asked. His voice was low and hoarse, as if he had not spoken recently.

"How did you know?"

"You have been watching me. I could tell." The boy's cobalt eyes narrowed.

"So you've realized," Sasuke responded in wonder. An amused half-smile settled on his lips. "You are quite the interesting creature."

"I'm not an animal."

"I never implied that."

"Your gifts do."

"And what of my latest 'gift', as you say?"

"I don't understand it," the boy responded, his brow knit in frustration. His eyes dropped to the frayed hem of his sweater. "But I…want more."

"What would you like, exactly?" Sasuke murmured, his voice dropping to the husky timbre reserved for less-than-public exchanges. The conversation was moving into dangerous territory, and it was against Sasuke's better judgment to continue it. Yet instead of quickly excusing himself he leaned in to watch the conflicting expressions that played on the boy's face.

"I want," the boy seemed to roll his words experimentally around his tongue, "you to take me to LaSalle's."

There it was – the outstretched hand, the chain that would tangle itself impossibly around him from if he took hold of it – "And what exactly do I get out of it?" Sasuke asked, his voice teasing.

"A maid, a garbage boy for a day. Whatever you want."

Sasuke's eyebrows arched questioningly. "Really? You would stoop so low just to eat at a small restaurant? It's not even the city's finest Italian."

The boy laughed harshly. "Stoop so low? I think you forget who I am."

Sasuke looked appropriately contrite. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to offend you."

"Don't start," the boy said dismissively. "Besides, it has what I want." He turned away, signaling the end of the conversation.

Sasuke couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of irritation at the boy's attempts to brush him off. He stood up, his manner suddenly detached and businesslike. "Right, then. LaSalle's it is. For the sake of formalities, we should treat this as an agreement between two consenting parties. Shall we?"

"Sure," Naruto agreed curtly.

"Good. Meet me at around 3:00 at Shandy's Wharf tomorrow. My house is on the waterfront."

"I can wait in front of the restaurant," the boy interjected.

"Not in those clothes," Sasuke retorted, brushing the front of the boy's grimy sweater with a flippant sweep of his hand. "The maitre'd would sooner lick the ground than wait on a boy who looks as if hasn't showered in years."

The boy self-consciously jerked away from Sasuke's touch and readjusted his hood. "Fine. I'll be there." He turned to leave.

"You won't tell me your name?" Sasuke called behind him. The boy pointedly ignored him and continued to walk towards the door. "Or should I just settle with "dirty blonde"?"

The boy stiffened at Sasuke's chuckles and whirled around. "It's Naruto, jackass," he venomously spat, and ducked out the door.