When Sasuke reached puberty—and Itachi entered his own personal Hell occupied by an angry teenager whose body produced too much testosterone to cope with without resorting to unnecessary violence—he learned early on that he could physically manipulate his older brother with virtually no consequence. No doubt it was satisfying to control someone who so easily overpowered him.
Words earned him stoicism or no outward reaction at all, and physical violence, depending on the degree of it, earned an unbreakable defense that left him even more furious than before or a swift reminder of who was the more skilled martial artist, a punishment that added embarrassment to his uncontained rage. A push, though, was never resisted. Itachi could be forced about like a ragdoll until the manipulation went too far and caused him harm.
A push or shove was the least damaging weapon in the youth’s arsenal, so Itachi had learned to just let it happen, to allow his brother to release some frustration through his harmless actions. It was what came with the minor assault that really hurt. With a tongue like a bullwhip, the younger Uchiha knew how to lash out with his words in a way that left the elder’s chest aching, fighting back a lump in his throat with a hard, stony expression. He endured it, though. He had no right not to endure it.
Along with the pushes came the occasional pull, and, again, Itachi moved with it. Whether by his hair, his arm, or his shirt, his otouto had a nasty habit of jerking him around and squeezing too hard or twisting what was in his grip, but it was the least the boy’s guardian could do to suffer through it.
Pale flesh burned red around the unrelenting grip as Sasuke squeezed Itachi’s wrists so hard his fingers tingled with impending numbness. Blue-black strands tickled the older Uchiha’s cheeks as Sasuke tried to close the distance between them to force him to hear his taunts, to react to them. However, Itachi’s main concern was the knee that was dangerously close to his groin, so close it had pinched his inner thigh when his assailant had climbed onto the bed with him.
Early that morning, a one-sided verbal altercation had pushed the boy to push back, physically, toppling the source of his anger back onto his bed. Being ignored seemed to be Sasuke’s most tender trigger, but what else was Itachi supposed to do when that tongue was mercilessly cutting into his heart? Was he supposed to strike him? Offer his own insults? What?
Nothing satisfied his brother.
Hoping the teen would find some satisfaction in hurting him just that tiny bit, Itachi rolled his head to the side and submitted to him.
—Like a dog with his throat bared to the alpha male. There was no mistaking who was truly the dominant force between the two.
Seemingly trying to calm himself, his otouto took several deep breaths that traced hot puffs of air from beneath his jaw to his ear. Itachi did his best to ignore the sensation that sparked the nerves in his neck, which, in turn, sent the pleasant signal straight to the organ he feared was in the most danger. Then, that controlled breathing turned into the venomous laughter that was often a precursor to a viper-like strike. Truly, Sasuke needed to spend less time with that slimy serpent, Orochimaru.
Calling him such a name. Whatever he planned to say, that was a dead giveaway of how painful it was going to be. That pesky lump swelled against the back of his throat, and Itachi swallowed it back down. “Mn,” he grunted, waiting. If he hadn’t responded, it would have only exacerbated the situation.
“Do you remember the time I caught our cousin molesting you?” that sultry voice cooed, his choice of words causing the elder sibling’s nostrils to flare and his lips to twitch in resistance of a snarl.
“…Mn.” Another grunt without intonation. He would not agree to that fallacious wording. If he had been old enough to take a life at the time, Itachi had been old enough to have consensual sex with someone he loved and valued over his own life.
Sasuke had caught his reaction, read it, and found it too amusing not to chuckle. “Do you remember what you said to me?” he asked, but gave him no time to answer. “”We were making love.“ That’s what you said.”
Yes, he could remember that conversation like it had happened the day before. His precious little brother had smiled and chirped out the most adorable reply.
“And I said, ”We should make love too, nii-san! Like you and Shisui!“ Do you remember that?”
Shaking under the weight of grief of having lost that sweet little boy years ago, he finally spoke. “Yes…” It was barely a whisper, a single word that didn’t seem to be as comical as Sasuke appeared to think it was.
“You told me we couldn’t make love, and you gave me an excuse. Do you remember what it was?”
He did. That day, Itachi had gently poked his brother’s forehead, smiled at the crease that formed between his pinched brows and the pout that puckered his lips, and told him, “We don’t have to make love, Sasuke…” Sorrow weighed his eyelids down, and he paused to will back the growing warmth behind his eyes, the urge to cry. “…We already have all the love in the world between us.”
The tip of Sasuke’s nose traced the curve of Itachi’s ear before he brushed his lips teasingly over his lobe, a tender act of affection in any other situation. “Mhm. Well, I don’t love you anymore, nii-san.”
There it was, a punishment worse than the lifelong guilt of killing the people he loved, who had loved him. Now, no one would love him. White hot pain shot through his chest, and Itachi pushed against the hold on his wrists. He could have taken a knife to his heart, but not that. Sasuke had to love him…He was all he had left. He was his reason, his reason for living, the reason for what he had done…to make him hate him so much.
Face contorted into a snarl, Sasuke forced his brother’s wrists back onto the mattress and gave them a warning squeeze. “I guess we’ll just have to make love, won’t we, Itachi?” he spat, releasing his wrists only to drag his nails down his forearms, leaving crimson streaks over the alabaster flesh.
As his pants were yanked down his thighs and his knees were bent towards his chest, Itachi did what he always did, he grit his teeth and let his brother move him. Maybe that would satisfy him.
After a push that tore him open and left a dark stain on his sheets he would never be able to remove, much like the stain that marred their once special relationship, his little brother let out a shuddering breath and held Itachi still while he moved.
Was that all it took? Well, then, it seemed Itachi would have to make another sacrifice for his otouto. A blood sacrifice. A bodily sacrifice. And he would welcome the pain with a concealed smile.
A growl sounded over him, and a hand bruised his jaw as it grabbed it and rolled his head to face his attacker. “You don’t love me, Itachi?” Obsidian hues reflected the same pain that had throbbed in the elder brother’s chest only a moment before.
Was that what he thought? What was he doing wrong? Why had his treasured brother’s relief turned into such torment?
Itachi’s hips arched up slowly and rolled back against the brutal thrusts, welcoming the invasion and treating his brother to what he’d asked for years before, what he and Shisui had shared. Reaching out, he sighed out the raven’s name. “Sasuke…”
His beautiful face twisted in pleasure, and Sasuke leaned into his brother’s waiting arms, simultaneously spreading his powerful legs around his torso. “Ita–…Nnh…N-nii-san,” he moaned against the lips that spread against his own, parting for the tongue that he eagerly slid between them.
Said “nii-san” watched him through hooded eyes, mesmerized by the arousal that reddened his cold, fair complexion. He looked gorgeous, as always, but especially so. He looked like the angel he remembered. “I love you…Sasuke, I love you more than you’ll ever know…”
—And, as he raked his nails down Itachi’s sides, splitting open skin, and warmth pooled deep inside the older Uchiha’s body, for once, Sasuke looked satisfied.
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