[ it shouldn't come as a surprise, and yet for a wound as gruesome as that β it does. he tries to imagine the violence that must have transpired between them, somehow diverging into a bond so deep he can't understand it. there's that pull he always gets β auguste, damen, the unforgivable blood spilled, a force of nature chained like a lion beside him β then an uncomfortable tightening in his throat at how sasuke feels the very same, like an untamed creature that needs a leash. laurent looks down at him, unmoving, as sasuke wades closer. ]
It's unsightly. [ the red is a shade off from the richness of akielon royalty. it's the regent's color. he doesn't know if the sudden heat that fills him is from this knowledge or because of the casual way that sasuke commands him.
laurent doesn't move, imagining his booted foot grinding into the soft flesh of sasuke's face. after a weighted moment, he flicks the back of the cloak out of the way and crouches, one pale hand reaching out to ghost his fingers along the line of sasuke's jaw, lifting his chin so that his sharingan catches the light, a bloody gem. ]
You take liberties. [ a soft murmur. laurent's face has only the shadow of bruising along the sharp line of his cheekbone, otherwise fine-boned and elegant like a prince from the pages of a weathered storybook. his thumb travels along sasuke's cheek, stroking tenderly beneath his red eye in rapt examination, his fingers cool and soft.
he removes his hand quickly, one fingernail sharply nicking at sasuke's cheekbone. the thinnest line of red appears, slowly welling with a drop of blood. laurent sets his wrist primly on his knee, his hand somehow clean. ] How clumsy of me. You look so much like a slave I thought you might want to play the part.
[ he unclasps the golden pin, letting the cloak slide from his shoulders. his white shirt and pale skin seem to glow beneath the moonlight, his hair like threads of yellow gold. setting the clasp down atop the fallen cloak, he holds a hand out, wrist up, to reveal a complicated line of tight laces. ] Attend me. Then you can share your memory.
[In the pool, submerged nearly to his throat, a lassitude claims him after weeks of volatile struggle. He shows no reaction to the criticism; in fact, he finds it intuitive of Laurent to say so when he is still ignorant of the Sharingan's history and extent of capability. If there is context behind the remark, Sasuke doesn't know it.
What shocks him back to rigidity is the touch. It skims the tender skin beneath his eye, perilously close to delicate eyelids and dark lashes, which flicker in reflex to the proximity. Fear ribbons through him, soon calmed β a learned response he's forced to control with effort. He is so rarely touched, and even rarer there, that it leaves a knot in his throat. The sharp sting of a cut is almost relieving, as a distraction, and he lifts his hand to wipe it clean with cold water.
His heart continues its quickened pace, an uptick of surprise not so easily schooled. Now more prominently conscious of Laurent before him, given what he is asked moments later; he has no thoughts for slaves, but he remembers what he was told of an alien world.]
You won't find me so obedient. Anything I choose to do is of my own will, whether or not it disappoints you. [With this he reaches out to grasp Laurent's slender wrist, wet fingers dampening cream fabric. The hold is strong. A tug pulls Laurent closer until he is pressed to the marble edge of the pool, as if imprisoned to it.] How many slaves did you keep?
[His head bends at the question, and white teeth find the knot of the laces, bypassing the difficulty of using only one hand as he had their first meeting. Tugging at string until it becomes loose, dexterous fingertips begin their unraveling and soon reveal the pale stripe of Laurent's skin.]
Give me your other wrist.
Edited (sorry i wanted to add smth i forgotβ¦.) 2023-01-01 22:11 (UTC)
[ his expression remains blank, coolly impassive, his fronded gaze watching sasuke's movements with disinterest β but the touch betrays him, his pulse fluttering as rapidly as a bird trying to escape a cage. a cascade of warm breath ghosts along the delicate skin of his wrist, bones freshly healed as if sasuke hadn't brutally injured him in this very spot. his fingers give the barest twitch before settling. ]
None. [ a truthful answer, a flicker in his gaze accompanying the response. laurent's restraint had been famous in the palace β no slaves, no pets, none of the gaudy golden opulence of vere. he's always worked to define himself against such things, and a single glimpse of his golden hair in a crowd was always enough for the citizens to identify their prince. ] Well, there was one gifted to me, though I didn't ask or want for him.
[ laurent, similarly, is so rarely ever touched β only by the servants who attend him, and damen when he performed the same tasks less efficiently. he imagines that's all this is now, a servant relieving him of his attire so that he might bathe. somehow, the thought does not stop the pounding of his heart, a frustrating inconvenience.
the fine fabric of his sleeve opens up to reveal even finer skin, pristine as a statue. the moment grows heavy, as if laurent might put a stop to it, but once his loosened laces trail dangerously close to the water's surface, he retracts his wrist and offers the other. with his now free hand, he reaches up to his throat, slowly plucking open the laces at his collar to expose the column of his neck, then his collarbones, then a finely sculpted chest. one sleeve slips down his shoulder, his form muscular despite his trim stature. ]
He touched me, once. [ laurent pulls his wrist away, feeling a touch of contempt toward the strength of sasuke's grip. laurent had trained for years to defeat one man, only to discover that he couldn't. now, two. something vengeful flares up inside of him, bitter like poison on the tongue. his loosened shirt falls easily away, pooling against the cloak, and laurent undoes his trousers without modesty, pulling off his boots and then stripping himself bare, sitting primly on the marble with his legs pulled up, awash in moonlight. ] I asked him to attend me in the baths, and he... took liberties. Step back.
[ he slips into the pool, the water submerging him in a moment of instant clarity β his eyes widen and the tension bleeds from his expression, leaving him looking momentarily capable of something beyond bitterness. he blinks away water droplets, settling on sasuke's gaze. ]
Show me. [ his brow pinches again, his voice strained. ] Now.
[Without the veil of the Shadow, it feels as though he is seeing Laurent for the first time, freshly bare in light of all that has happened and become known. Sasuke is less prepared for it than he expects. Laces and fabric fall like so much burdensome weight, tossed to the marble to join his own clothes, and those slim legs fold over the rim of the pool to bring Laurent into the water, as elegantly placed as a porcelain doll. Hair like a sheet of gold, eyes vivid blue, there's a sharp-edged masculinity to Laurent's figure that is arresting.
His own nudity aside, he has never been joined by another β could never have imagined it would be someone like this, where the word beautiful seems to pale in comparison. He is awake enough to realize it now. It has taken weeks of denial in his attraction to Naruto, unforgivably real and goaded by every encounter between them, by the voice in his own mind, by Naruto's abrupt absence, by sickness. And always Laurent's crude, cutting tongue.
Rather than timidity, he drifts reflexively back from Laurent's entrance into the reflection pool because of a jolt of awe, swallowing hard. There are lines not to cross.]
I won't touch you. [Solemnly vowed.] You didn't need to join me. [Quieter, his words are touched by a tone of incredulity as if he can't fathom that Laurent has done this, even if peace from maddening thoughts is as good a reason as any.]
I'll begin. Try to remain focused on me.
[He holds Laurent's gaze, cannot seem to look away from it β in this context, perhaps the most intimacy he's shared with another person that was not violence β and activates the Sharingan's inner ability. The effect is immediate; he can put the memory into Laurent's mind without struggle, no barriers in place to protect against the surge of chakra because Laurent has never lived in a world where it was necessary. The memory will be witnessed as it happened β but this time, for Laurent, it is the wrong point of view. He will see himself in the snow, fragile and bitter, protecting himself with savagery; he will see the pain being inflicted upon his own body, will feel Sasuke's immense power and bloodlust as it's done; he will hear the words he'd uttered in that broken, mindless state of derangement. Prince-killer. Uncle.Brother. I hate you, I miss you. Then Laurent will see himself crumple, and the deep quiet after, until he's scooped from the snow and carried back to the tent unmolested.
Something goes wrong after that.
It should be the end, but instead the scene completely changes, incomprehension surging as one of Laurent's own memories is pulled from the magic of the water bathing their skin.]
[ it fills him with something unnamed, that sasuke would voice such a thing. i won't touch you. because he knows. he knows the truth of how laurent has been touched in the past, stained, tarnished, besmirched. disgraced. even in vere, with all of its wild debauchery and excess of lechery on display, incest is looked upon as a reprehensible act. the court is made uncomfortable enough knowing his uncle's choices in fucking children, but to fuck his nephew is a foul blemish laurent will never recover from.
even damen hadn't known. laurent had made sure never to speak of it, never to even hint at it, but in a moment of weakness, sasuke had unearthed the truth. he sees it all now, staring, transfixed, into sasuke's blood-red gaze, watching himself in the most pitiable form. he remembers none of it, but can't deny the reality before him, the truths spilled out unbidden. this is how sasuke knows damen's name. damen's crimes. the confusion of laurent's own feelings. and his uncle.
the vulnerability feels like an open wound, an intimacy uncovered too soon, but before he can react to the rage pooling inside of him, he's gripped with something else entirely, pulled into an old memory he's long wished to forget. the glittering walls of arles, opulent, luxurious β and lonely in laurent's eyes, younger here, and beautiful in a way that only youth can give. he stands before a pair of lavish doors, the halls quiet and empty, and after a weighted moment, knocks. a man answers, older, bearded, and laurent looks up at him with a mixture of trepidation, longing, and grief in his eyes. ]
Uncle. [ laurent remembers this moment, remembers how many times he was the one to seek his uncle out when his loneliness grew too vast, afraid of the things happening between them, but foolishly hoping still for some measure of comfort. he had been such a stupid child. all his intelligence had come from stories and none from reality, because auguste had shielded him from these terrors in the palace his entire life β until he was gone, and laurent was alone in the viper's pit, seeking solace from the worst of the monsters within.
he can't blame his uncle alone for this. and sasuke will see that, another dirty secret dredged up and exposed to the light. the memory begins to fade with his uncle's hands dropping heavy on his shoulder. laurent's knees nearly buckle beneath the ghost of the sensation, watching his younger self enter his uncle's chambers and knowing exactly what will happen β he will cry, red-faced and childish, and later, he'll kneel for his uncle, eyes closed and mouth open. in an act of mercy, the image fades away before those events can transpire.
he comes back to the present, and this time there is no containing his rage β not his shadow, simply him. he moves without thinking, striking like a viper, the back of his hand cracking across sasuke's cheek as he surges forward to cage him against the rounded edge of the pool. he has not been so close to a naked man since β damen. ]
You try to kill me. [ his voice drops dangerously low, quietly silken. ] And then you steal from me, truths you haven't earned, that I would never share with a dog like you. What would you like next? Would you like to fuck me, too? [ he draws in a breath and grasps a fistful of sasuke's hair, yanking sharply. every instinct fights him as he brings his mouth close to sasuke's pulse, his breath unsteady across wet skin as he's unable to bridge the distance to touch. ] Would you pretend that I'm Naruto? It would be easier to do if you fucked me from behind.
[The memory that seizes his mind, in its disorientation, allows Laurent advantage enough to strike. His cheek glows a wet stinging red. Barely has he had time to process what he's seen, the loneliness and violation, such that only a sick weight in his gut lives to tell of it as he's trapped against the pool edge. Then Laurent is there, too close, almost in contact with the front of his bare body β hand snarled into black hair, warm breath fanning skin, words drawling in volatile expression of rage. Sasuke's pulse jumps, and it is attraction he can sense in himself because he's felt this before even if he dismissed it away. Violence is second nature, learned well, the only expression of physicality he was ever allowed or ever taught. And Laurent has colored it with thick brushstrokes of desire as he's never known.
He can't possibly imagine it β Naruto as Laurent, Laurent as Naruto β but the blond hair, satin tone, blue eyes...
His own reaction is physical too, shoving Laurent away from him with only his right arm in a powerful surge that may knock him off his feet into the pool. But he chases, grappling for Laurent, uncaring of the slippery collision of limbs as he tries to get that same arm around him, tries to wrestle him into submission with his whole body, legs and arm and the solid bulk of muscle everywhere else. It isn't overtly sexual, he does not try to kiss or touch Laurent in the way a lover would; he doesn't know how. Yet it's desperately bent on the hinge of what he's just seen and what Laurent has just said.
Water splashes the marble walls of the pool in waves. Then it stops, and another memory seizes them both, grainy and abrupt: a young boy so much like Laurent, but dark-eyed and dark-headed, witnessing the death of his parents at the hand of his brother. Screaming hysterically, begging until there's nothing but blood and two bodies on the ground. Then, running to escape the pursuit of that brother, stumbling over tiny feet, pathetic and weak and barely able to breathe through fear. The panic and disorientation that eclipsed into darkness at such a betrayal, knowing that it was not just his parents but every person with the name Uchiha.
Out of the haze, he surfaces in the tangle of Laurent's limbs β there is long, wet, blond hair plastered across his shoulders and face. He extracts himself and reaches for the edge of the pool, trying to climb out but slipping on the marble one-handed and falling back into cold water.]
[ he doesn't know who has the upper hand. laurent is stinging with rage, a small explosion of panic and hysteria threatening to burst within the cage of his ribs. he can't seem to get himself under control as he always does, and when he doesn't, someone suffers for it β but sasuke is too strong. with the help of the water and sasuke's own blundering unease, there might have been hope. but pain ignites through laurent's unhealed body at the struggle, fighting off sasuke's grip in the sheer panic of survival, then clinging to him for the very same reason. it hurts to breathe and hurts to hold his breath. to drown in this pool is suddenly of concern of him.
he doesn't have more than a few seconds to dwell on the sheer ridiculousness of this notion, because he's pulled into another memory, this time not his own. it's jarring in its violence, visceral and harrowing. laurent knows right away this is the brother, the spitting image of the man before him, and realizes abruptly the reason for his murder. his heart seizes, every limb going still as he takes in the image of the child sasuke, and even when he returns to the present, the memory burns in his mind.
acutely aware of the press of their bodies, laurent grows rigid with sudden tension. then sasuke moves, sliding away and leaving laurent adrift, though he grows unsteady when sasuke splashes back into the water, rushing to the edge and gripping the pale marble as he throws an accusatory glance over his shoulder. ]
Stay where you are. [ laurent feels breathless, his chest rising shallowly. ] In this state, your Shadow will overtake you and you'll kill me if you leave the water right now.
[ and for some reason, he knows sasuke will stay. he doesn't feel fear β not for his life, anyway. the trepidation squawking inside of him, undignified, is for the close proximity of another body, the familiar yet foreign sensation of being touched, his skin burning in the places sasuke's heat feverishly occupied. he quietly places a lid on his confusion and forces himself to turn, setting his back to the marble, his hand pressed gently to his side as pain lingers. ]
You said I wouldn't understand what happened with your brother. [ and β he doesn't. neither does he expect sasuke to explain. ] You don't need to understand what happened in my past, either. We should agree on this.
[Laurent is assured β he obeys that command, relinquishing the desire to free himself from the pool. The water begins to settle, rippling like glass at their elbows, body now adjusted to the frigid cold though it still aches in his toes. Slowly Sasuke wades forward, maintaining a handspan between them as he puts his back to the marble embankment in turn. It seals to his skin. Then with so much defeat, he sinks beside Laurent until water touches his chin.]
Yet another agreement by your terms. [A stupid, childish statement. He is too aware of Laurent at his side. The heat of another body, the promising entangle of limbs before. He keeps his cheek, still bright red, turned away.] You're asking me if I never want to understand you.
[Settled, he's more aware of the throb of his own pulse in his throat, in his head, calming back down to equilibrium. He feels guilt for the way he has behaved, but that is more familiar. It hurts less than this rejection, however anticipated.]
That I shouldn't even try. Is that it? [He swallows tightly.] Did I hurt you? Just now. I didn't ask whether you were still injured.
[ he stays perfectly still as sasuke bridges the distance, almost coming close enough to touch but stopping just shy of it. this is both disappointing and endlessly relieving. ]
My terms. It's irritating how I always seem to get my way, isn't it? [ to pretend to be above every situation comes second nature to him, but he finds himself struggling with it now, wondering if he's doing a convincing enough job. he's never had such a thought before. ] And why do you want to try so badly? So that you can use this information for your gain? Thank you, but I'd rather not do this with you.
[ he means to say more, but stops, caught off guard by the question. he can't remember the last time anyone sincerely asked that β the last time anyone cared that they'd hurt him. tightness wells in his throat, and he's suddenly too aware of their closeness once more. he raises his eyes defiantly, water dripping from the point of his chin. ]
What does it matter? [ he extends an arm, drifting through the water before his hand rises in front of sasuke. ] My wrist is healed. Your friend Sakura did that for me even though I called her a whore. Feel free to break it again if that angers you. That's all she healed. The rest will take time.
[Words spoken darkly to the water, eyes studying the scatter of light from moon and stars above. He can see Laurent's reflection like this, silver on the surface like a mirror, angles shadowed, pretty even warped by liquid ripples. The movement at his side reflexively draws him to upright tension; he finds himself staring at the offered hand.]
Sakura will handle herself. [If she is to know Laurent, she will have to.] I think you enjoy having names to call people.
[Against his own judgment β and he does not even have the Shadow to blame β Sasuke reaches for that wrist, encircling it loosely with his own fingers as if to test the weight, to remember the crack of bone. Then he lowers it into the water, plunged into cold, still holding long past a companionable touch.]
I accept that you despise me. You have reason to. But anything I learn about you, I'll never share with someone else. [His grasp finally slackens and drifts away.] And I'll always want to know who you are, even if you never let me.
[ sasuke is a liar. he has been through this before, these quietly deceptive moments of ill-defined clarity. it is laurent's own desperation getting the better of him, the loss of something he's never truly known. if he'd stayed with damen, it would have been the same. laurent had not been weaned off his capacity for trust β it had been taken from him with swift brutality, petals ripped from a flower barely open. even to have sasuke's fingers around his wrist now, a touch as innocent as this, comes at a high cost, his pulse quivering beneath the press of sasuke's thumb. ]
I've already shared your secrets. [ he speaks only when sasuke relinquishes his grip, turning to face him. he regrets it, now, after what he's seen, the image of the little boy running from his brother seared into his mind. some things should not be spoken aloud. ] Now you hold mine.
[ it should have been enough to deter sasuke, to disgust and revile. to put an end to all of this. and yet he says he wants to know more, and it stirs something in laurent, something beyond his expression, sitting just outside the range of his grasp. ]
You do know. [ bitterly β ] I fucked my uncle. And I miss the man who killed my brother. You are the only man alive who knows these two truths.
[ he lets that sit between them, lingering, then lifts a hand and touches sasuke's cheek once more, the one reddened from the strike of his hand. his touch is the mockery of a lover's caress. ]
I do despise you. [ his thumb moves to the bow of sasuke's lips, gently stroking, his gaze icy, revulsion reflecting his eyes. his heart feels unsteady, the air too thin for breath. ] You have no idea how much, but I promise you, you'll soon learn.
[ he retracts his hand and turns away, hoisting himself over the edge of the pool to walk immodestly to the table of clean towels, shaking one out and carefully drying himself off. he retrieves his clothes, taking care to fetch the pin from the pile first, and slips on his linen shirt, leaving the laces loose and trailing as he walks to one of the lounge seats and perches there, pulling his legs up and settling sasuke's cloak beside him. the moonlight hits him like a glistening statue, wrathful. ]
[The words, all of them, are spoken with malice at the end of a hammer. Laurent exposing the raw and hurting center of his two truths is so savage even he can tell that injury isn't meant for him. It's self-inflicted, a knife turned the other way around, tearing the fragile air between them. So Sasuke is the guardian of these two secrets; perhaps he won't be the only one to ever know or learn about Laurent, but it won't come willingly off his own tongue.
His cheek is sore when touched, throat working around a swallow at that pretend affection. There's anger in him, growing hot and sooty, but Sasuke doesn't chase it β and with the Shadow far from his mind, it is easier to retain control. He climbs out of the bath as if obeying the order, but his movements are unhurried, economical as he dresses, pulling on trousers and shoes first. His upper body remains wet and bare to the winter cold.]
'I'll soon learn'. What are you going to do? [Prowling closer, he looms above Laurent's perch.] If you're going to continue telling others what you know about me, to use it against me as you suspected I'd do to you, then you should know I've endured that all before. I don't care if people hate me.
[He can sense it better now β that he is attracted to Laurent. That is what he's feeling. The moment in the bath, skin to skin, had cemented it in a way he might have once repressed. Everything about Laurent feels sensual, and brutal, and somehow volatile; it's no wonder. Yet it's not something he can act on when the space between them is so littered with glass.]
I know what happened in your past. Your uncle raped you. [A common enough occurrence in the shinobi world; he isn't stupid.] What you feel toward your brother's killer is complicated, but I understand that too. Do you want me to suffer for this?
If it's violence you mean to return, do it now. Then we'll be even.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It's unsightly. [ the red is a shade off from the richness of akielon royalty. it's the regent's color. he doesn't know if the sudden heat that fills him is from this knowledge or because of the casual way that sasuke commands him.
laurent doesn't move, imagining his booted foot grinding into the soft flesh of sasuke's face. after a weighted moment, he flicks the back of the cloak out of the way and crouches, one pale hand reaching out to ghost his fingers along the line of sasuke's jaw, lifting his chin so that his sharingan catches the light, a bloody gem. ]
You take liberties. [ a soft murmur. laurent's face has only the shadow of bruising along the sharp line of his cheekbone, otherwise fine-boned and elegant like a prince from the pages of a weathered storybook. his thumb travels along sasuke's cheek, stroking tenderly beneath his red eye in rapt examination, his fingers cool and soft.
he removes his hand quickly, one fingernail sharply nicking at sasuke's cheekbone. the thinnest line of red appears, slowly welling with a drop of blood. laurent sets his wrist primly on his knee, his hand somehow clean. ] How clumsy of me. You look so much like a slave I thought you might want to play the part.
[ he unclasps the golden pin, letting the cloak slide from his shoulders. his white shirt and pale skin seem to glow beneath the moonlight, his hair like threads of yellow gold. setting the clasp down atop the fallen cloak, he holds a hand out, wrist up, to reveal a complicated line of tight laces. ] Attend me. Then you can share your memory.
no subject
What shocks him back to rigidity is the touch. It skims the tender skin beneath his eye, perilously close to delicate eyelids and dark lashes, which flicker in reflex to the proximity. Fear ribbons through him, soon calmed β a learned response he's forced to control with effort. He is so rarely touched, and even rarer there, that it leaves a knot in his throat. The sharp sting of a cut is almost relieving, as a distraction, and he lifts his hand to wipe it clean with cold water.
His heart continues its quickened pace, an uptick of surprise not so easily schooled. Now more prominently conscious of Laurent before him, given what he is asked moments later; he has no thoughts for slaves, but he remembers what he was told of an alien world.]
You won't find me so obedient. Anything I choose to do is of my own will, whether or not it disappoints you. [With this he reaches out to grasp Laurent's slender wrist, wet fingers dampening cream fabric. The hold is strong. A tug pulls Laurent closer until he is pressed to the marble edge of the pool, as if imprisoned to it.] How many slaves did you keep?
[His head bends at the question, and white teeth find the knot of the laces, bypassing the difficulty of using only one hand as he had their first meeting. Tugging at string until it becomes loose, dexterous fingertips begin their unraveling and soon reveal the pale stripe of Laurent's skin.]
Give me your other wrist.
no subject
None. [ a truthful answer, a flicker in his gaze accompanying the response. laurent's restraint had been famous in the palace β no slaves, no pets, none of the gaudy golden opulence of vere. he's always worked to define himself against such things, and a single glimpse of his golden hair in a crowd was always enough for the citizens to identify their prince. ] Well, there was one gifted to me, though I didn't ask or want for him.
[ laurent, similarly, is so rarely ever touched β only by the servants who attend him, and damen when he performed the same tasks less efficiently. he imagines that's all this is now, a servant relieving him of his attire so that he might bathe. somehow, the thought does not stop the pounding of his heart, a frustrating inconvenience.
the fine fabric of his sleeve opens up to reveal even finer skin, pristine as a statue. the moment grows heavy, as if laurent might put a stop to it, but once his loosened laces trail dangerously close to the water's surface, he retracts his wrist and offers the other. with his now free hand, he reaches up to his throat, slowly plucking open the laces at his collar to expose the column of his neck, then his collarbones, then a finely sculpted chest. one sleeve slips down his shoulder, his form muscular despite his trim stature. ]
He touched me, once. [ laurent pulls his wrist away, feeling a touch of contempt toward the strength of sasuke's grip. laurent had trained for years to defeat one man, only to discover that he couldn't. now, two. something vengeful flares up inside of him, bitter like poison on the tongue. his loosened shirt falls easily away, pooling against the cloak, and laurent undoes his trousers without modesty, pulling off his boots and then stripping himself bare, sitting primly on the marble with his legs pulled up, awash in moonlight. ] I asked him to attend me in the baths, and he... took liberties. Step back.
[ he slips into the pool, the water submerging him in a moment of instant clarity β his eyes widen and the tension bleeds from his expression, leaving him looking momentarily capable of something beyond bitterness. he blinks away water droplets, settling on sasuke's gaze. ]
Show me. [ his brow pinches again, his voice strained. ] Now.
no subject
His own nudity aside, he has never been joined by another β could never have imagined it would be someone like this, where the word beautiful seems to pale in comparison. He is awake enough to realize it now. It has taken weeks of denial in his attraction to Naruto, unforgivably real and goaded by every encounter between them, by the voice in his own mind, by Naruto's abrupt absence, by sickness. And always Laurent's crude, cutting tongue.
Rather than timidity, he drifts reflexively back from Laurent's entrance into the reflection pool because of a jolt of awe, swallowing hard. There are lines not to cross.]
I won't touch you. [Solemnly vowed.] You didn't need to join me. [Quieter, his words are touched by a tone of incredulity as if he can't fathom that Laurent has done this, even if peace from maddening thoughts is as good a reason as any.]
I'll begin. Try to remain focused on me.
[He holds Laurent's gaze, cannot seem to look away from it β in this context, perhaps the most intimacy he's shared with another person that was not violence β and activates the Sharingan's inner ability. The effect is immediate; he can put the memory into Laurent's mind without struggle, no barriers in place to protect against the surge of chakra because Laurent has never lived in a world where it was necessary. The memory will be witnessed as it happened β but this time, for Laurent, it is the wrong point of view. He will see himself in the snow, fragile and bitter, protecting himself with savagery; he will see the pain being inflicted upon his own body, will feel Sasuke's immense power and bloodlust as it's done; he will hear the words he'd uttered in that broken, mindless state of derangement. Prince-killer. Uncle. Brother. I hate you, I miss you. Then Laurent will see himself crumple, and the deep quiet after, until he's scooped from the snow and carried back to the tent unmolested.
Something goes wrong after that.
It should be the end, but instead the scene completely changes, incomprehension surging as one of Laurent's own memories is pulled from the magic of the water bathing their skin.]
Laurentβ [A half-choked warning.]
no subject
even damen hadn't known. laurent had made sure never to speak of it, never to even hint at it, but in a moment of weakness, sasuke had unearthed the truth. he sees it all now, staring, transfixed, into sasuke's blood-red gaze, watching himself in the most pitiable form. he remembers none of it, but can't deny the reality before him, the truths spilled out unbidden. this is how sasuke knows damen's name. damen's crimes. the confusion of laurent's own feelings. and his uncle.
the vulnerability feels like an open wound, an intimacy uncovered too soon, but before he can react to the rage pooling inside of him, he's gripped with something else entirely, pulled into an old memory he's long wished to forget. the glittering walls of arles, opulent, luxurious β and lonely in laurent's eyes, younger here, and beautiful in a way that only youth can give. he stands before a pair of lavish doors, the halls quiet and empty, and after a weighted moment, knocks. a man answers, older, bearded, and laurent looks up at him with a mixture of trepidation, longing, and grief in his eyes. ]
Uncle. [ laurent remembers this moment, remembers how many times he was the one to seek his uncle out when his loneliness grew too vast, afraid of the things happening between them, but foolishly hoping still for some measure of comfort. he had been such a stupid child. all his intelligence had come from stories and none from reality, because auguste had shielded him from these terrors in the palace his entire life β until he was gone, and laurent was alone in the viper's pit, seeking solace from the worst of the monsters within.
he can't blame his uncle alone for this. and sasuke will see that, another dirty secret dredged up and exposed to the light. the memory begins to fade with his uncle's hands dropping heavy on his shoulder. laurent's knees nearly buckle beneath the ghost of the sensation, watching his younger self enter his uncle's chambers and knowing exactly what will happen β he will cry, red-faced and childish, and later, he'll kneel for his uncle, eyes closed and mouth open. in an act of mercy, the image fades away before those events can transpire.
he comes back to the present, and this time there is no containing his rage β not his shadow, simply him. he moves without thinking, striking like a viper, the back of his hand cracking across sasuke's cheek as he surges forward to cage him against the rounded edge of the pool. he has not been so close to a naked man since β damen. ]
You try to kill me. [ his voice drops dangerously low, quietly silken. ] And then you steal from me, truths you haven't earned, that I would never share with a dog like you. What would you like next? Would you like to fuck me, too? [ he draws in a breath and grasps a fistful of sasuke's hair, yanking sharply. every instinct fights him as he brings his mouth close to sasuke's pulse, his breath unsteady across wet skin as he's unable to bridge the distance to touch. ] Would you pretend that I'm Naruto? It would be easier to do if you fucked me from behind.
no subject
He can't possibly imagine it β Naruto as Laurent, Laurent as Naruto β but the blond hair, satin tone, blue eyes...
His own reaction is physical too, shoving Laurent away from him with only his right arm in a powerful surge that may knock him off his feet into the pool. But he chases, grappling for Laurent, uncaring of the slippery collision of limbs as he tries to get that same arm around him, tries to wrestle him into submission with his whole body, legs and arm and the solid bulk of muscle everywhere else. It isn't overtly sexual, he does not try to kiss or touch Laurent in the way a lover would; he doesn't know how. Yet it's desperately bent on the hinge of what he's just seen and what Laurent has just said.
Water splashes the marble walls of the pool in waves. Then it stops, and another memory seizes them both, grainy and abrupt: a young boy so much like Laurent, but dark-eyed and dark-headed, witnessing the death of his parents at the hand of his brother. Screaming hysterically, begging until there's nothing but blood and two bodies on the ground. Then, running to escape the pursuit of that brother, stumbling over tiny feet, pathetic and weak and barely able to breathe through fear. The panic and disorientation that eclipsed into darkness at such a betrayal, knowing that it was not just his parents but every person with the name Uchiha.
Out of the haze, he surfaces in the tangle of Laurent's limbs β there is long, wet, blond hair plastered across his shoulders and face. He extracts himself and reaches for the edge of the pool, trying to climb out but slipping on the marble one-handed and falling back into cold water.]
no subject
he doesn't have more than a few seconds to dwell on the sheer ridiculousness of this notion, because he's pulled into another memory, this time not his own. it's jarring in its violence, visceral and harrowing. laurent knows right away this is the brother, the spitting image of the man before him, and realizes abruptly the reason for his murder. his heart seizes, every limb going still as he takes in the image of the child sasuke, and even when he returns to the present, the memory burns in his mind.
acutely aware of the press of their bodies, laurent grows rigid with sudden tension. then sasuke moves, sliding away and leaving laurent adrift, though he grows unsteady when sasuke splashes back into the water, rushing to the edge and gripping the pale marble as he throws an accusatory glance over his shoulder. ]
Stay where you are. [ laurent feels breathless, his chest rising shallowly. ] In this state, your Shadow will overtake you and you'll kill me if you leave the water right now.
[ and for some reason, he knows sasuke will stay. he doesn't feel fear β not for his life, anyway. the trepidation squawking inside of him, undignified, is for the close proximity of another body, the familiar yet foreign sensation of being touched, his skin burning in the places sasuke's heat feverishly occupied. he quietly places a lid on his confusion and forces himself to turn, setting his back to the marble, his hand pressed gently to his side as pain lingers. ]
You said I wouldn't understand what happened with your brother. [ and β he doesn't. neither does he expect sasuke to explain. ] You don't need to understand what happened in my past, either. We should agree on this.
no subject
Yet another agreement by your terms. [A stupid, childish statement. He is too aware of Laurent at his side. The heat of another body, the promising entangle of limbs before. He keeps his cheek, still bright red, turned away.] You're asking me if I never want to understand you.
[Settled, he's more aware of the throb of his own pulse in his throat, in his head, calming back down to equilibrium. He feels guilt for the way he has behaved, but that is more familiar. It hurts less than this rejection, however anticipated.]
That I shouldn't even try. Is that it? [He swallows tightly.] Did I hurt you? Just now. I didn't ask whether you were still injured.
no subject
My terms. It's irritating how I always seem to get my way, isn't it? [ to pretend to be above every situation comes second nature to him, but he finds himself struggling with it now, wondering if he's doing a convincing enough job. he's never had such a thought before. ] And why do you want to try so badly? So that you can use this information for your gain? Thank you, but I'd rather not do this with you.
[ he means to say more, but stops, caught off guard by the question. he can't remember the last time anyone sincerely asked that β the last time anyone cared that they'd hurt him. tightness wells in his throat, and he's suddenly too aware of their closeness once more. he raises his eyes defiantly, water dripping from the point of his chin. ]
What does it matter? [ he extends an arm, drifting through the water before his hand rises in front of sasuke. ] My wrist is healed. Your friend Sakura did that for me even though I called her a whore. Feel free to break it again if that angers you. That's all she healed. The rest will take time.
no subject
[Words spoken darkly to the water, eyes studying the scatter of light from moon and stars above. He can see Laurent's reflection like this, silver on the surface like a mirror, angles shadowed, pretty even warped by liquid ripples. The movement at his side reflexively draws him to upright tension; he finds himself staring at the offered hand.]
Sakura will handle herself. [If she is to know Laurent, she will have to.] I think you enjoy having names to call people.
[Against his own judgment β and he does not even have the Shadow to blame β Sasuke reaches for that wrist, encircling it loosely with his own fingers as if to test the weight, to remember the crack of bone. Then he lowers it into the water, plunged into cold, still holding long past a companionable touch.]
I accept that you despise me. You have reason to. But anything I learn about you, I'll never share with someone else. [His grasp finally slackens and drifts away.] And I'll always want to know who you are, even if you never let me.
no subject
I've already shared your secrets. [ he speaks only when sasuke relinquishes his grip, turning to face him. he regrets it, now, after what he's seen, the image of the little boy running from his brother seared into his mind. some things should not be spoken aloud. ] Now you hold mine.
[ it should have been enough to deter sasuke, to disgust and revile. to put an end to all of this. and yet he says he wants to know more, and it stirs something in laurent, something beyond his expression, sitting just outside the range of his grasp. ]
You do know. [ bitterly β ] I fucked my uncle. And I miss the man who killed my brother. You are the only man alive who knows these two truths.
[ he lets that sit between them, lingering, then lifts a hand and touches sasuke's cheek once more, the one reddened from the strike of his hand. his touch is the mockery of a lover's caress. ]
I do despise you. [ his thumb moves to the bow of sasuke's lips, gently stroking, his gaze icy, revulsion reflecting his eyes. his heart feels unsteady, the air too thin for breath. ] You have no idea how much, but I promise you, you'll soon learn.
[ he retracts his hand and turns away, hoisting himself over the edge of the pool to walk immodestly to the table of clean towels, shaking one out and carefully drying himself off. he retrieves his clothes, taking care to fetch the pin from the pile first, and slips on his linen shirt, leaving the laces loose and trailing as he walks to one of the lounge seats and perches there, pulling his legs up and settling sasuke's cloak beside him. the moonlight hits him like a glistening statue, wrathful. ]
Get out.
no subject
His cheek is sore when touched, throat working around a swallow at that pretend affection. There's anger in him, growing hot and sooty, but Sasuke doesn't chase it β and with the Shadow far from his mind, it is easier to retain control. He climbs out of the bath as if obeying the order, but his movements are unhurried, economical as he dresses, pulling on trousers and shoes first. His upper body remains wet and bare to the winter cold.]
'I'll soon learn'. What are you going to do? [Prowling closer, he looms above Laurent's perch.] If you're going to continue telling others what you know about me, to use it against me as you suspected I'd do to you, then you should know I've endured that all before. I don't care if people hate me.
[He can sense it better now β that he is attracted to Laurent. That is what he's feeling. The moment in the bath, skin to skin, had cemented it in a way he might have once repressed. Everything about Laurent feels sensual, and brutal, and somehow volatile; it's no wonder. Yet it's not something he can act on when the space between them is so littered with glass.]
I know what happened in your past. Your uncle raped you. [A common enough occurrence in the shinobi world; he isn't stupid.] What you feel toward your brother's killer is complicated, but I understand that too. Do you want me to suffer for this?
If it's violence you mean to return, do it now. Then we'll be even.