![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Fic for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
64damn_prompts
Title: Stretto
Author: Gatty
Rating: R
Parings/Characters: Sasuke, Naruto, Sakura
Warnings: Um, grossness, creepiness, ick. Penetration. Of a sort.
Summary: After the battle wind has blown.
Theme: #16 rip
The forest was dead. There wasn’t a sound in the tall lumbering trees, no wind, no air, no light. No sound under Sasuke’s feet as he stumbled between the trunks. Each footfall sunk into a bed of mulch and rotting detritus, encasing him, and sipping wetly against his bare skin before releasing him for his next awkward step.
He recognised nothing. The trees, the plants all looked alien and cold, their colours odd and their shapes an unnatural contortion of nature.
He marked his progress in his own ragged breaths and in the growing sharpness of the pain that radiated from his left shoulder. It burnt in him and on his skin, and he welcomed the brush of a branch, a vine, to bring some new sensation. With no light to change, he did not know how long he had been wandering from the battle. It was all but over when he fell from it into the forest. The dead lay twisted on the ground, the living hunched and shaking. He left them, the blood burning on his hands, the bodies knocking against his legs.
He thought he might be looking for something in amongst the leaves. Everything felt missing. There must be something to find.
And sure enough, through the next cluster of trees he found a flash of gold on the ground and he walked to it, feeling each step sink his bloodied feet into the soft earth.
The flash of gold was tall like a man. Sprawled in the dirt and pulled round wrong, so his limbs all fell where they shouldn’t and his face was pushed into the bed of leaves.
Sasuke let himself drop to his knees then sink further until he sat close by. Reaching one hand out, he saw the dried blood, dark and flaking, and thought what an odd contrast it made to the ashen skin of this thing.
He ran his hand down an arm, scratching slightly at the thinness of the wrist, but with no response. Watching carefully, he pulled on the arm, rolling the body over till it lay nestled up against him, the arm held in his lap, and he could see the face sweet and blank. There were eyes still staring up above his shoulder, pale and blue and glassy. The cheeks were thin, but lined in three careful stripes each, as familiar as the blood on his hands. He ran his nails along those lines, counting them slowly with his breaths, before sliding his fingertips across the cold skin, down, cupping the throat, before coming to rest on the edge of a violently ripped jacket.
There was a hole where some of the chest should have been. It was a tangled ripped wound, the flesh hanging in odd ripped threads and slivers around the jagged circle. There were splinters of bone mixed with still pink wet flesh, drying in the forest air. The mangled jacket slipped past his wrist as he slid his hand into the wound, pushing it in till his fingers scraped the ribs far beneath. He clenched and unclenched his fist, feeling the muscle and bone and lung and heart move around his skin, slipping and sticking, torn pieces catching between his fingers as he flexed them. His hand fit so perfectly and neatly, fingers slotting in between the ribs so well, the dead flesh so accommodating.
As he pulled the body further into his lap, his hand still buried comfortingly in its chest, Sasuke realised noise was beginning to flood into his forest. Shouts were clattering through the trees, shattering the leaves and branches and rending the trunks in two.
There were people plunging down from the heights and scurrying out from the bushes. He blinked slowly, unable to focus on them. He felt his heart still slow and thudding in his chest, and twitched his fingers in response in the still one in his lap.
He thought they might be shouting at him, but they never seemed to get close enough for him to hear properly. One with pink in her hair flung herself on him, her arms wrapping round his chest and she was whispering his name into his neck. She was reaching down, feeling along his arm, to pull at his buried hand. He let her half tug it out, watching as is came out slickly, before intertwining his fingers with hers. She shuddered and held onto him tighter. Then he pushed both their hands back into the chest, feeling the twin sensations of struggling heat of her hand and the cold passivity of the dead flesh. She scrabbled and scratched and spat, twisting away from him. He could feel other hands pulling at him but he kept them buried together, his free arm holding the body in his lap, hunching them all together.
64damn_promptsTitle: Stretto
Author: Gatty
Rating: R
Parings/Characters: Sasuke, Naruto, Sakura
Warnings: Um, grossness, creepiness, ick. Penetration. Of a sort.
Summary: After the battle wind has blown.
Theme: #16 rip
The forest was dead. There wasn’t a sound in the tall lumbering trees, no wind, no air, no light. No sound under Sasuke’s feet as he stumbled between the trunks. Each footfall sunk into a bed of mulch and rotting detritus, encasing him, and sipping wetly against his bare skin before releasing him for his next awkward step.
He recognised nothing. The trees, the plants all looked alien and cold, their colours odd and their shapes an unnatural contortion of nature.
He marked his progress in his own ragged breaths and in the growing sharpness of the pain that radiated from his left shoulder. It burnt in him and on his skin, and he welcomed the brush of a branch, a vine, to bring some new sensation. With no light to change, he did not know how long he had been wandering from the battle. It was all but over when he fell from it into the forest. The dead lay twisted on the ground, the living hunched and shaking. He left them, the blood burning on his hands, the bodies knocking against his legs.
He thought he might be looking for something in amongst the leaves. Everything felt missing. There must be something to find.
And sure enough, through the next cluster of trees he found a flash of gold on the ground and he walked to it, feeling each step sink his bloodied feet into the soft earth.
The flash of gold was tall like a man. Sprawled in the dirt and pulled round wrong, so his limbs all fell where they shouldn’t and his face was pushed into the bed of leaves.
Sasuke let himself drop to his knees then sink further until he sat close by. Reaching one hand out, he saw the dried blood, dark and flaking, and thought what an odd contrast it made to the ashen skin of this thing.
He ran his hand down an arm, scratching slightly at the thinness of the wrist, but with no response. Watching carefully, he pulled on the arm, rolling the body over till it lay nestled up against him, the arm held in his lap, and he could see the face sweet and blank. There were eyes still staring up above his shoulder, pale and blue and glassy. The cheeks were thin, but lined in three careful stripes each, as familiar as the blood on his hands. He ran his nails along those lines, counting them slowly with his breaths, before sliding his fingertips across the cold skin, down, cupping the throat, before coming to rest on the edge of a violently ripped jacket.
There was a hole where some of the chest should have been. It was a tangled ripped wound, the flesh hanging in odd ripped threads and slivers around the jagged circle. There were splinters of bone mixed with still pink wet flesh, drying in the forest air. The mangled jacket slipped past his wrist as he slid his hand into the wound, pushing it in till his fingers scraped the ribs far beneath. He clenched and unclenched his fist, feeling the muscle and bone and lung and heart move around his skin, slipping and sticking, torn pieces catching between his fingers as he flexed them. His hand fit so perfectly and neatly, fingers slotting in between the ribs so well, the dead flesh so accommodating.
As he pulled the body further into his lap, his hand still buried comfortingly in its chest, Sasuke realised noise was beginning to flood into his forest. Shouts were clattering through the trees, shattering the leaves and branches and rending the trunks in two.
There were people plunging down from the heights and scurrying out from the bushes. He blinked slowly, unable to focus on them. He felt his heart still slow and thudding in his chest, and twitched his fingers in response in the still one in his lap.
He thought they might be shouting at him, but they never seemed to get close enough for him to hear properly. One with pink in her hair flung herself on him, her arms wrapping round his chest and she was whispering his name into his neck. She was reaching down, feeling along his arm, to pull at his buried hand. He let her half tug it out, watching as is came out slickly, before intertwining his fingers with hers. She shuddered and held onto him tighter. Then he pushed both their hands back into the chest, feeling the twin sensations of struggling heat of her hand and the cold passivity of the dead flesh. She scrabbled and scratched and spat, twisting away from him. He could feel other hands pulling at him but he kept them buried together, his free arm holding the body in his lap, hunching them all together.