Tobirama

He was but a whisper in the complete darkness...

One of the things I truly loved about this place was that even if the nights were tropically warm, it got well and truly dark, so much so that you couldn't even discern the silhouettes of the palms against the sky when you looked directly at them.

And it enabled me and Madara to fuck in complete darkness.

I loved fucking in the darkness. Don't get me wrong; I loved fucking in broad daylight as well. I loved seeing him beneath me, his strong, lean body moving like waves on the ocean. I loved seeing myself fucking him in the mirror I had in my bedroom for the soul purpose of seeing myself fucking him, my size engulfing him, my dick going into him and out.

But there was something special about taking him in the dark. It enhanced every hint of a sound. I would hear every little moan that could otherwise escape me if my brain was too distracted by all visual input it got bombarded with during sex. It enabled my senses to become hyper-alert, to feel him dig his long, usually painted nails into the skin of my back, his pearly teeth against my skin, the caresses of his thighs against my loin.

I was fucking him in the dark now. I grunted as I thrusted, his legs on my shoulders. He moaned with each thrust, and that sound made me mad, or madder than I already was. It was provocative to me, how lewd the sounds he made were, and I had to remind myself, over and over, that he made them for me, that I had nothing to be angry about. But God, sometimes I felt such an anger towards him that I just wanted to sink my teeth into his flesh, rip off a part of him and eat him. It was an anger that I knew wasn't directed at him, but at the world and at myself, and both of our shortcomings.

Mine and the world's, that is, not mine and Madara's; Madara was a sweetheart.

"God..." I murmured into his ear.

"Tobirama!" he whined.

He tried to clamber up then, but I pushed him down harshly with a palm to his chest.

"Down", I commanded.

"Tobirama..." In the dark, I couldn't see him, and I considered myself lucky as I thought I would have died by the mere expression on his face. "Please... Let me ride you."

I frowned in the darkness. Madara had never asked anything of me in bed before. My first instinct was to say no, absolutely not, to refuse him any form of control in this situation whatsoever. But somehow, I found myself leaning back on my elbows, and Madara followed me, sat on my lap. I could feel his light hands on my shoulders, his breath on my forehead. He planted his lips there; a rare showcase of affection from him as he knew I wasn't much for it.

At least, I don't think I am...

"Sweetheart..." I said softly.

And he started riding my dick.

Slowly, carefully at first. Then, as he got more confident, he increased the pace, the intensity, the ferociousness and he started to moan. His long, black hair, always loose when we fucked, brushed my shoulders, slapped my face as he threw his head back in pure ecstasy. He was wild now, and I couldn't help but grunt, it was so pleasant to me. My hands went to his taut waist, feeling tension there from his obliques playing, and I helped him jump me.

"Tobirama... I'm going to come..."

"Come for me", I demanded.

"Ohh..." he sighed.

"I said, come for me!!"

And Madara started screaming as he came, leaning his head back, and I put one hand in his hair and forced his mouth to mine, kissed the scream away until his orgasm ebbed out.

Then, I forced him over on all four, put my tip to him, pushed in and started taking him from behind again. To my great pleasure, Madara kept moaning, enjoying it still, and I came quickly, not having to hold back anymore now I'd made my lover come before me.

As I released him from me, both of us completely spent, he lay down and rolled over on his back. I couldn't see him in the dark, but I guessed he was looking at me lovingly. I wanted to see him, so I turned on my bedside lamp. He was beautiful then. He always was, but now unusually so. He lifted his hand, put it to my cheek. To my great surprise, I took his hand that held my face, looked down on him.

"Tobirama..."

It was a way of self-harm, I knew, what I was about to do. Every time it happened, I told myself I would stop. But I never could. Because it felt so good, so, so good to treat Madara badly because it punished me to the core. The fact that I knew, I knew I could behave like this and he would still come back to me, and not just that, but be kind to me, cut straight through my heart.

But I did it anyway.

I got out of my bed in the little apartment I was renting.

"Get out", I said.

Madara didn't ask why, or why not. He stayed put for a while, trying to take in my change of heart.

Then, Madara just stood up, got dressed, went to my door.

And left. 

Izuna

It was raining again.

I knew I needed to find shelter. I needed to find shelter because I had caught a cold, and I wouldn't be able to stand a night with a fever when I was wet.

I was already wet.

I ploughed through the puddles in the city centre, my socks wet through my old Converse that were the only pair of shoes I owned, trying to find food. I wasn't entirely sure what I was looking for; I had no money, and thus could not buy any, and I had never stolen before. How hungry did a tiny ex-ballerina need to be before he broke his morals?

As I was walking through a more quiet part of the city, something caught my ear and I stopped. In the gloomy evening rain, there was music. I frowned, trying to figure out where the sound came from. It was a beautiful piano piece, clearly played not on any old piano, but on an actual wing; years of ballet dancing had taught me to know the difference. I followed the sound through the rain until I reached a side alley. It was dark, but further ahead, a door stood ajar, a soft, orange glow emitting from it.

It was the source of the music.

Without thinking, I went in, the orange glow matched by the warmth of indoors, and I thanked my lucky star. I was in a small concrete entrance, a steel spiral staircase leading up several stories. I climbed all the way up.

I believe a part of me knew what was going on. Knew what I was going to see. My mind tried to tell me to turn, to go back, that it would hurt too much, but my soul was searching, searching for what it had been thirsting for, for so long.

I reached the top, a small, dark room with a tiny opening on the bottom of one of the walls like a glass-less window. I lay on my stomach and crawled to that opening, and through it I saw the most marvellous thing I had ever seen.

My city was known for housing one of the most famous ballet companies in the world. It was the only ballet company in the country I hadn't applied for; their skill level was beyond my wildest dreams. Getting a ticket to their performances was close to impossible, and rich and famous people from all over the planet came to our city just to see them perform in their home theatre.

And they were here, performing, right before my very eyes.

The theatre was enormous, decorated in polished, dark walnut wood and wine-red velvets and golden stucco works. There was room for hundreds of people, all turned to the stage, big and black and polished with beautiful lightning.

And on it were the most skilled ballet dancers I had ever seen.

The company did perform classics such as The Nutcracker and Swan Lake, but were more famous for their original works that were quite unconventional, but not enough to provoke havoc in the world of classical ballet. I saw one of their original works now, a large group of ten-or-so pairs of dancers on stage, the men leading the women in graceful, delicate twists and turns that were absolutely perfect. They were all equally flexible, and incredibly so, and the dancers all had the exact same body constitution, which made the entire spectacle enormously pleasant to the eye.

Suddenly, the light changed, and a single blue spotlight came on stage.

And in came a man, taller than the rest but equally strong. He had long, black hair put up in a complicated knot in his neck, and he danced beautifully to a violin solo that sounded a bit Asian. He danced beautifully, his movements strong and powerful yet gracile and precise, and his face showed so much expression despite being completely unmoving, it was as if he had clenched my heart with his bare fist.

I lay there, wet, poor, feeling worthless as I saw the man before me live out all of my wildest dreams at once. I didn't know for how long he danced; it could have been one second, it could have been an eternity but suddenly, it was over, and the blue spotlight was exchanged for darkness.

The audience was dead silent before it broke out in a roar.

"Madara!!" someone in the audience screamed.

Madara... I had heard his name.

And I felt my soul starting to tremble.

My heart ached of jealousy. I heard someone cry; it took me a while to realise it was me. Tears were streaming down my face as I crawled away from the little opening in the wall, crawled away from my biggest dream and worst nightmare. I felt my face crumble up. I was trembling as I stood up and staggered down the stairs, falling several times. I came out onto the street, still staggering and fell, head-first, into a brick wall. Stars swam before my eyes. Couldn't I have hit the wall harder so that I could have died?

I cried as I staggered through the rain, in the dark, the little warmth the theatre had provided me now completely gone. I went into a supermarket, put a piece of bread in my pocket before anyone could notice and went out, still crying.

And then I staggered on, through the night, through the nightmare, through my life. Time lost its grip on me as I tried to find a place to curl up. I started full-on shaking, my body letting me know my fever was blowing right back up.

No... Please, no... I can't take it tonight. Please. Please, anything, but not this, not tonight!

I heard the sound of the ocean now, and walked to it. I daydreamed about getting into the ocean, just walking into it and drown. Oh, how good would that feel, I thought as I felt sand beneath my Converse, to finally be able to rest, once and for all. How good would that be to my soul and to the world, who would have one less beggar.

I was shaking violently now, and I realised I had forgotten to measure my insulin. In front of me I saw a big tent, and couldn't quite believe my luck. Was it an oasis? I staggered to it, found it was blissfully real. I practically fell through the opening, and didn't even try to get up from the hard flooring covered in sand. I took a needle out, pinched my finger, drew some blood, measured my glucose. I ate the bread, took only a little insulin as my blood sugar was dangerously low.

Then, I fell into a deep, heavy sleep, lined with fever and the fantasy of drowning myself and all of my dreams in the ocean.