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Title: Breathe
Author: Evandar (yamievandar / hikarievandar)
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: R
Pairing: Kakuzu/Madara, Shodai/Madara
Genre: Angst
Warnings: Mild smut, timeline twisting
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Senju Hashirama lies dying after the fight at The Valley of the End, Madara doesn't know how to say goodbye, and Kakuzu is just there.
AN: This was written for the Anonymous Naruto Kink Meme. It was much delayed in being written, but oh well. It was weird writing Kakuzu with someone who wasn't Hidan. >.>;
He was dying; he could feel it. He laid, eyes closed, on top of the cliff they’d just created, and tried to focus on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. He tried to work past the pain. Was it even pain anymore? He couldn’t feel his fingers or his toes. He was going numb. He could hear Madara laughing softly, almost silently; chuckles bubbling out bloodstained lips. He’d broken some of Madara’s ribs; not enough to kill him. Would anything be enough?
He sensed chakra approaching, and turned his head to look in that direction. It was familiar chakra, but he couldn’t place it. He opened his eyes, and his gaze fell on Madara; beautiful and bloody, one hand pressing against a wound he’d delivered to his side. Madara had sensed it too, he knew, but didn’t look towards the intruder. He looked relaxed, euphoric. It would be so easy to move behind him and slit his throat, stretching his neck taught by gripping wild, silky black hair.
On the other side of Madara, the bushes parted. He felt his eyes narrow at the sight of that young Taki-nin he’d fought just months before. The brat wore a slash through his hitae-ate now, and a mask over his lower face. He paused at the sight of them; Madara still laughing, and his broken body lying on the ground, blood pooling around him. Green eyes glowed and fixed on Madara. He knew when he’d been dismissed, but couldn’t tear his eyes away. Would the boy try to finish Madara now?
The boy approached slowly. What was his name? Ka-something. Kazuma? Kankurou? Did it matter now? Really? Ah! Kakuzu. He saw the first black tendrils unfurl smoke-like around Kakuzu’s hands and wrists. He knew how dangerous those could be, but couldn’t find the energy to cry out at the sight of them. And why should he? Would Madara save him now, after all of this? And should he try to warn Madara? He was so far gone into madness it would be a blessing to…
In. Out. In. Out.
Black tentacles snaked over the scorched, bloody earth, burrowing into it only to resurface. Madara looked up at Kakuzu then, his laughter finally silent. For a moment, he seemed to study the boy, before he lay back on the ground and the fine threads that wove through it. Madara smiled slowly, wickedly.
It was a smile that had been meant only for him, once. Back when they were still building Konoha, when his wife and child were asleep in their beds or busy with housekeeping and playing. It was a smile of warm summer nights and the acrid smell of festival fireworks and now, now it wasn’t aimed at him, but rather a boy who’d been sent to kill him.
Madara held out a hand, his long fingers stained with blood. It dripped from his fingertips and nails onto the earth. Spat. Spat. Spat. Spat. It stopped. Kakuzu had taken that hand, though there was a certain wariness to his gaze that said he was surprised by his own actions. He looked even more surprised when he was yanked off his feet. Kakuzu’s knees hit the ground, and even as he steadied himself, a kunai appeared in his free hand. He pressed it to Madara’s throat.
Madara tilted his head back just enough to make the blade rasp over his skin, drawing blood. Even though Madara wasn’t looking at him, he could almost see the mad glint in Sharingan eyes. Apparently Kakuzu could too, but apparently Kakuzu didn’t care.
In. Out. In. Out.
Madara’s free hand rose up, and his fingers curled over the thick cloth of Kakuzu’s mask. He tugged it down, revealing a pretty mouth made ugly by gashes on either side, held closed by more black threads. Madara’s thumb swiped across the full lower lip before he guided the boy down into a kiss that made his heart hurt. Only Madara would dare to kiss someone holding a kunai to his throat.
He saw Madara watching him from the corner of his eye; Sharingan burning the moment into Madara’s mind forever. He closed his eyes and turned his head away. The numb feeling was spreading up his arms and legs now, and what had been searing agony in his chest and abdomen had dulled to a low throb. He was truly dying.
In. Out. In. Out.
Madara moaned loudly. Fighting always got him this way. Many of their spars had ended with Madara on his back; demanding rather than defeated. He heard the rustle of clothing and the hiss of whispered words. He couldn’t bring himself to look. Madara would want him to watch.
He tried not to listen to the heavy breathing; the cries of pleasure. Madara had to be in pain. His wounds were too severe for him not to be, not that it would matter to him. The pain made it better, Madara had always told him, demanding cuts and tugs at his hair.
The squelching from the bloody mud and the movement of flesh on flesh was obscene. Funny how he’d never minded before.
In. Out. In. Out.
The numb feeling had reached his thighs and shoulders. He wondered if his heart would stop when it reached his chest.
In. Out. In. Out.
He could sense more chakra signatures approaching. Ten, no, twelve of them. One of them was his brother. He grimaced. He didn’t want Tobirama to see him broken like this. Dying in the mud; exhausted.
He coughed and, as blood spattered over his lips, he felt his broken ribs grate against each other. He heard Madara cry out, and their movements stopped. He listened as they separated; both of them no doubt sensing the approaching Konoha-nin.
“Go,” he heard Madara growl. He wondered if Madara knew how much he sounded like the Kyuubi – that infernal demon he’d brought to the battle field. When had Madara learned to control such a monster? No doubt it had been roughly around the same time that he’d lost his mind.
He heard footsteps. Some healthy, heading away; some staggering. He opened his eyes and watched as Madara approached him. Madara’s face was still flushed, and his lips were swollen and red. Blood oozed sluggishly down his neck, covering the chain of his necklace.
In. Out. In. Out.
“You will fail, Hashirama. You’ll help to destroy the village we worked so hard on.”
Mad. He was dying. He opened his mouth to say so, but couldn’t find the words. Madara sounded tired. He sounded…
In. Out. In. Out.
Madara reached up and twisted long fingers around the chain of his necklace; he yanked at it, and the chain snapped. He caught a glimmer of blue as Madara crouched down next to him and folded the necklace into his hand with bloody fingers.
Madara reeked of sex and mud and blood and pure, raw chakra. He tried to turn his head away, but Madara caught his jaw and crushed their lips together. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. Then Madara pulled away and licked his lips, tasting his blood on his mouth.
In. Out. In. Out.
The other chakra signatures were close. Too close. They were so close to being found. Madara looked up, towards the trees, and frowned. He watched as Madara’s hands flashed through seals for a jutsu he didn’t recognise. Would Madara destroy them all, just like he’d destroyed him?
He opened his mouth to protest, only for Madara’s body to vanish before his very eyes. His chakra vanished too.
In. Out. In. Out.
Senju Hashirama let his eyes close and his body relax. He could hear someone screaming for him. Tobirama?
In. Out. In. Out. In.
Author: Evandar (yamievandar / hikarievandar)
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: R
Pairing: Kakuzu/Madara, Shodai/Madara
Genre: Angst
Warnings: Mild smut, timeline twisting
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Senju Hashirama lies dying after the fight at The Valley of the End, Madara doesn't know how to say goodbye, and Kakuzu is just there.
AN: This was written for the Anonymous Naruto Kink Meme. It was much delayed in being written, but oh well. It was weird writing Kakuzu with someone who wasn't Hidan. >.>;
He was dying; he could feel it. He laid, eyes closed, on top of the cliff they’d just created, and tried to focus on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. He tried to work past the pain. Was it even pain anymore? He couldn’t feel his fingers or his toes. He was going numb. He could hear Madara laughing softly, almost silently; chuckles bubbling out bloodstained lips. He’d broken some of Madara’s ribs; not enough to kill him. Would anything be enough?
He sensed chakra approaching, and turned his head to look in that direction. It was familiar chakra, but he couldn’t place it. He opened his eyes, and his gaze fell on Madara; beautiful and bloody, one hand pressing against a wound he’d delivered to his side. Madara had sensed it too, he knew, but didn’t look towards the intruder. He looked relaxed, euphoric. It would be so easy to move behind him and slit his throat, stretching his neck taught by gripping wild, silky black hair.
On the other side of Madara, the bushes parted. He felt his eyes narrow at the sight of that young Taki-nin he’d fought just months before. The brat wore a slash through his hitae-ate now, and a mask over his lower face. He paused at the sight of them; Madara still laughing, and his broken body lying on the ground, blood pooling around him. Green eyes glowed and fixed on Madara. He knew when he’d been dismissed, but couldn’t tear his eyes away. Would the boy try to finish Madara now?
The boy approached slowly. What was his name? Ka-something. Kazuma? Kankurou? Did it matter now? Really? Ah! Kakuzu. He saw the first black tendrils unfurl smoke-like around Kakuzu’s hands and wrists. He knew how dangerous those could be, but couldn’t find the energy to cry out at the sight of them. And why should he? Would Madara save him now, after all of this? And should he try to warn Madara? He was so far gone into madness it would be a blessing to…
In. Out. In. Out.
Black tentacles snaked over the scorched, bloody earth, burrowing into it only to resurface. Madara looked up at Kakuzu then, his laughter finally silent. For a moment, he seemed to study the boy, before he lay back on the ground and the fine threads that wove through it. Madara smiled slowly, wickedly.
It was a smile that had been meant only for him, once. Back when they were still building Konoha, when his wife and child were asleep in their beds or busy with housekeeping and playing. It was a smile of warm summer nights and the acrid smell of festival fireworks and now, now it wasn’t aimed at him, but rather a boy who’d been sent to kill him.
Madara held out a hand, his long fingers stained with blood. It dripped from his fingertips and nails onto the earth. Spat. Spat. Spat. Spat. It stopped. Kakuzu had taken that hand, though there was a certain wariness to his gaze that said he was surprised by his own actions. He looked even more surprised when he was yanked off his feet. Kakuzu’s knees hit the ground, and even as he steadied himself, a kunai appeared in his free hand. He pressed it to Madara’s throat.
Madara tilted his head back just enough to make the blade rasp over his skin, drawing blood. Even though Madara wasn’t looking at him, he could almost see the mad glint in Sharingan eyes. Apparently Kakuzu could too, but apparently Kakuzu didn’t care.
In. Out. In. Out.
Madara’s free hand rose up, and his fingers curled over the thick cloth of Kakuzu’s mask. He tugged it down, revealing a pretty mouth made ugly by gashes on either side, held closed by more black threads. Madara’s thumb swiped across the full lower lip before he guided the boy down into a kiss that made his heart hurt. Only Madara would dare to kiss someone holding a kunai to his throat.
He saw Madara watching him from the corner of his eye; Sharingan burning the moment into Madara’s mind forever. He closed his eyes and turned his head away. The numb feeling was spreading up his arms and legs now, and what had been searing agony in his chest and abdomen had dulled to a low throb. He was truly dying.
In. Out. In. Out.
Madara moaned loudly. Fighting always got him this way. Many of their spars had ended with Madara on his back; demanding rather than defeated. He heard the rustle of clothing and the hiss of whispered words. He couldn’t bring himself to look. Madara would want him to watch.
He tried not to listen to the heavy breathing; the cries of pleasure. Madara had to be in pain. His wounds were too severe for him not to be, not that it would matter to him. The pain made it better, Madara had always told him, demanding cuts and tugs at his hair.
The squelching from the bloody mud and the movement of flesh on flesh was obscene. Funny how he’d never minded before.
In. Out. In. Out.
The numb feeling had reached his thighs and shoulders. He wondered if his heart would stop when it reached his chest.
In. Out. In. Out.
He could sense more chakra signatures approaching. Ten, no, twelve of them. One of them was his brother. He grimaced. He didn’t want Tobirama to see him broken like this. Dying in the mud; exhausted.
He coughed and, as blood spattered over his lips, he felt his broken ribs grate against each other. He heard Madara cry out, and their movements stopped. He listened as they separated; both of them no doubt sensing the approaching Konoha-nin.
“Go,” he heard Madara growl. He wondered if Madara knew how much he sounded like the Kyuubi – that infernal demon he’d brought to the battle field. When had Madara learned to control such a monster? No doubt it had been roughly around the same time that he’d lost his mind.
He heard footsteps. Some healthy, heading away; some staggering. He opened his eyes and watched as Madara approached him. Madara’s face was still flushed, and his lips were swollen and red. Blood oozed sluggishly down his neck, covering the chain of his necklace.
In. Out. In. Out.
“You will fail, Hashirama. You’ll help to destroy the village we worked so hard on.”
Mad. He was dying. He opened his mouth to say so, but couldn’t find the words. Madara sounded tired. He sounded…
In. Out. In. Out.
Madara reached up and twisted long fingers around the chain of his necklace; he yanked at it, and the chain snapped. He caught a glimmer of blue as Madara crouched down next to him and folded the necklace into his hand with bloody fingers.
Madara reeked of sex and mud and blood and pure, raw chakra. He tried to turn his head away, but Madara caught his jaw and crushed their lips together. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. Then Madara pulled away and licked his lips, tasting his blood on his mouth.
In. Out. In. Out.
The other chakra signatures were close. Too close. They were so close to being found. Madara looked up, towards the trees, and frowned. He watched as Madara’s hands flashed through seals for a jutsu he didn’t recognise. Would Madara destroy them all, just like he’d destroyed him?
He opened his mouth to protest, only for Madara’s body to vanish before his very eyes. His chakra vanished too.
In. Out. In. Out.
Senju Hashirama let his eyes close and his body relax. He could hear someone screaming for him. Tobirama?
In. Out. In. Out. In.
