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naruto sighs from his perch atop the chalky roof of the mud hut as the winds whipped about him, sprinkling sand over the soft crevasses of his clothing. the world seemed like a haze of stinging ghosts swirling about him, ravaging the landscape, clawing it bare with their sharp talons. it had been a year since he had fled the lusty greens of his village, from the dual pairs of silky red eyes that peered upon him through the dark of the night.
occasionally, naruto wonders about how things are going back home, but usually stops before the nostalgia carries him beyond rescue. tonight, though, he does not bother pretending. he dearly misses everything that is konoha. the longing is persuasive enough that he is almost willing to go back to the triangular suffocation. even so, it's only almost.
but things are linear here. just two points and a line, a spear that's shoved between hearts, connecting them but still keeping them still so far apart. here it's just killing and ramen and sandpaper-rough kisses on his collarbone. staring up with darkrimmed eyes, veins bruised from insomnia and khol at the starless sky on sleepless nights.
he does not remember when black grew attractive, nor whether it was the kazekage's influence or simply a representation of the inner turmoil. either way, naruto would surprise his old teammates. the orange jumpsuit had been replaced with dark fishnet and a plain shirt. of course, if asked, he has already decided to resort to nighttime camouflage as an excuse.
he barely notices the sand twisting its way about his waist, too concentrated to be natural, until it grinds against the exposed holes of flesh that are revealed through his shirt. he was long used to it now, the callous touch of inanimation turning quickly into the cold and stoney contact of fingers and nails. turning, he gives a small smile made feral by the dancing moonlight, blue meeting green.
the smile is not returned yet no offense is taken. a complex understanding exists making niceties unnecessary and forgotten. the velvet sky has disappeared, the wind ceased. suddenly the world is just the two of them, enclosed by an impenetrable layer of sand. the first time this happened, suspicion simmered on the surface that perhaps it was a ploy, but naruto had woken up not only breathing but sore.
insistent lips latch upon the tender space between the rigid back of naruto's ears and the boney ridge of his jawline. tongue, rough and desperate, lick circles on soft and supple flesh while hands, calloused and bloodstained, ran through the hurdles of his ribs. the blonde mewls brokenly, pitches misaligned, as his breath hitchs, trying to sound docile and content but ending up only sounding desperate and untamed.
fingers in a fit of passion, expecting to grapple grass, harshly collide with rough clay. behind closed eyes, a tornado of green and tan whirls and is forgotten. biting kisses vicious enough to make virgins blush drag across sensitive skin, eliciting moans full of unsatisfied needs. hands intertwine, and colors fly back, this time black and red and vying for dominance. the black begins with an upper hand, overpowering its opponent through sheer mass. not to be outdone, the red retaliates. mesh meets mesh, exposed skin worshipping each other, and the red flares overshadowing the black.
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