Naruto, Itachi/Sasuke, dreams
On most nights, when Sasuke went to sleep in the dark, frigid chamber assigned to him in the labyrinthine Sound compound, Sasuke dreamed.
He'd always had a tendency to suffer from recurring dreams. And had also always been afflicted by nightmares. He'd long since given up on trying to avoid it, coming eventually to simply consider it part of being Sasuke. In fact, considering the kind of life he'd chosen to lead, it seemed almost fitting.
When he was very small, it had been missed targets and disapproving stares, and his big brother's disappearing back, too far ahead to catch up.
Then it had been blood, and the corpses of his family. For years he had awakened every morning with his lip hurting from biting it to keep quiet, and his hands trembling, and sheets soaked with sweat. He had spent years alternately running from that dream and chasing it, unable to face his memories, but trying to draw strength from the fear and hatred that they engendered.
After that, it was sterile metal surfaces, and needles, and the glint of light on glasses. It was darkness and the things that moved within it. It was the slow, cool, slip-slide of snakes over your skin, and the wetness of a tongue too long to be natural.
And even though he'd willingly embraced them in a way, those dreams were, hands down, the worst.
Bad enough that another dream that he'd always run from the hardest, somehow became a refuge for him instead.
He wasn't sure exactly when this dream had started, but he suspected it dated back to that horrible day when he'd seen Itachi again; when Itachi had come for Naruto, and had ultimately fled Jiraiya's power - but not before beating Sasuke to a bloody pulp and forcing him to relive the worst night of his life a thousand more times, and more vividly than his dreams could ever have managed.
It always started similarly, though not exactly the same.
Sunlight filtering through shifting leaves, or between the blinds, the softness of a down comforter, and the smell of breakfast wafting through the house. Sasuke rose from the bed, moved to the kitchen, greeted his brother warmly and received a ruffle to his hair in return.
His father and mother were never there, not even in the beginning. Even in his dreams, they were dead, he supposed.
In the early days Sasuke would go to school, or on a mission, would come home to find Itachi there, or get home before his brother and have dinner ready by the time Itachi returned. Sometimes Itachi was wearing ANBU clothes, and sometimes the red clouds of Akatsuki. That never mattered, in the dream.
Later Sasuke was always on missions, and Itachi was always there when he returned. They would share dinner and talk about their day. Sometimes Sasuke talked about Orochimaru's latest training exercises. Usually, he didn't really want to talk about that, and Itachi accepted his silence with understanding.
After dinner, Sasuke would do the washing, and Itachi would come up behind him and there would be the warmth of arms around him, of sun-warmed black hair spilling over his shoulder and down his front. Sometimes Sasuke would complain that he was distracting.
Usually, he didn't mind, and it was just an excuse to turn and slide soapy hands under Itachi's shirt.
They'd kiss, and Itachi tasted of curried beef and potstickers, of passion and love. They'd kiss and Itachi's hands would run over him, push away the phantoms of other hands.
Sometimes they made it to the bedroom. Usually not.
Sasuke always woke up when he came, his sheets sticky and his cheeks wet. He'd turn his face into the pillow and rage silently, but nothing could drive that particular dream away. Nothing could unseat it from his subconscious and make it go some other way.
It was the worst nightmare of all, because of how deeply he craved it.
~ ~ ~
Itachi opened his eyes with a soft sigh, the dream fading from vivid reality into memory as it always did with the morning light.
I'm sorry, Sasuke.
He hadn't been able to resist. Each time they dreamed that dream together, for a few short moments, Itachi was at peace.