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Birthright	By : sadfascist Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 3578 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own NARUTO, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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BIRTHRIGHT
CHAPTER TWO: “The Fox Hunt”
The dead General’s bedsheets were dark red, stained with blood.
The sheets have more blood in them than the people, Naruto thought, looking at the pale, ashen faces around him. Half of them seemed more dead than alive, though whether out of grief or fear the boy couldn’t say. Maybe both. Their lives had been bound to Nara Kakashi’s life, and Kakashi was dead, assassinated by the Kitsune. If they are blamed, my master will have their heads.
They knew it, too. And did not like it when Naruto showed up to remind them.
“What are you doing here, slave?” one of the samurai growled.
“Samurai-dono,” Naruto said, bowing low. “I am here on behalf of my master, the Warlord Itachi. The Warlord is most disturbed by news of this tragic murder. He does not understand how it happened. May I ask who was guarding the General last night?”
“You—you—it was not—” the samurai sputtered. He had been one of Kakashi’s bodyguards, of course.
A woman giggled by the window. Decked in jewels and blushing like a maid, she was the only one in the room who did not look a ghost. No one would ever guess she was the dead General’s wife. “The Warlord has indulged you too much, little slave. You act more a lordling than a slaveboy.”
And you act more a newlywed than a new-made widow. If you weren’t such an old hag, I’d suspect you of doing the deed yourself. Naruto bit his tongue, with difficulty. “I apologize if my words are too rash, Lady Rin-dono. I live only to serve my master… and he is most displeased.”
The woman Misain Rin laughed and fanned herself with some sort of thing made of peacock feathers. “Is he now? Well, boy, it’s simple. My late husband sleeps alone. He’s such a dreadful snorer, no one dares be in the same room with him come sundown. Around midnight there was a scream from his bedchamber. I didn’t think much of it. He often screams at night, the poor thing. So I rolled over and went back to sleep. Later they woke me up again and told me the Demon Fox had driven a dagger through his heart.” Rin giggled again.
“My master grieves for your loss,” Naruto said.
An old, wrinkled samurai coughed. “Yes, well… in any case, there were bodyguards posted at all the entrances and approaches into the mansion. The Kitsune killed two of the rooftop guards and then climbed in through the window of the bedchamber. He must have had inside knowledge, otherwise he could not have so easily located General-sama.”
Rin laughed. “Perhaps he followed the sound of my husband’s snores.”
“Eh, um… perhaps, Lady Rin-sama. As I was saying, General-sama heard the Kitsune at the last second and cried out, but it was too late. As we rushed into the room the Demon Fox was already fleeing. We gave chase across the city, but he escaped.”
“How?” Naruto asked.
“The Kitsune, he… he can use magic. I would not have believed it if I did not see it with mine own eyes.”
Naruto frowned. Can the tales be true? Ninja from across the sea, masked fighters who make fire and wind with their hands? “Have you proof?”
“We had him cornered in one of the squares along Market Street. Or so we thought. The Kitsune was there… ten of us will testify to it. I was close enough to see his green eyes, his silver hair. But when we attacked, he broke apart into a puff of smoke. One moment he was a man… the next he was smoke. And then he was gone.”
“A trick of the light,” Naruto said.
“It was no trick, slaveboy.”
“So you say. Men are made of flesh and blood, not magic smoke. If you speak the truth, then the Demon Fox cannot be caught. So let us hope, samurai-dono, that you do not.”
Naruto turned to go, but the old samurai called after him. “Please, slaveboy… you have influence with the Warlord. You know it was not our fault. I beg you… tell him. We will be in your debt.”
You mean you’ll owe me your heads. Naruto bowed, and his face was cold as ice. “Groveling does not become you, samurai-dono. I’ll do what I can.”
The boy left the General’s mansion in a foul mood. Outside, the streets of Sawara were jammed full with people. Naruto soon tired of pushing his way past them, and of their prying glances as well. It wasn’t everyday they saw a slave who dressed in silk robes, nor one who carried a sword. Slaves could not wield weapons, as a rule, but rules did not apply to the Warlord. Master gave me this katana himself. I am his right arm, I am by his side always. I will not fail him.
Instead of staying in the streets, Naruto took to the rooftops. The wooden houses of Sawara were built very close, and their sloping tiled roofs hung down over the walls until they touched in the street. It was easy to jump from one roof to another, his sandaled feet soft and quick on the brick tiles. From this height the boy could see all the way to the harbor, choked with red-sailed warships, and to Sawara Bridge at the river’s mouth where traders hawked their wares, and even to the ruins of Uchiha Castle in the east, half-hidden by the mansions and temples of the High District. The roofs of Sawara were a world all their own, one rarely seen by men, of lost secrets and hidden passages. Naruto knew them all. The Kitsune must have come this way as well, to get away.
Suddenly the boy thought of a fox hunt he had gone on with his master, years ago, in the forests of the Ash Valleys far to the east. They had won the war a week before, in a great battle so bloody the ground turned red. After that there was nothing left to do but hunt. They loosed the bloodhounds and rode out into the forest together. It had been Naruto that had found the den of red-furred foxes, it had been him that notched his bow and made the first kill. The foxes ran, shrieking and yelping, but not fast enough. The old fell first, the young and strong the last, and by sundown they were all as dead as the rest of the Warlord’s enemies.
That night, when they returned to the Warlord’s tent, they made love in the usual way, kissing and touching and sucking. But as Naruto went to pleasure his master’s penis, the man stopped him. “It is not your mouth I want, boy,” he had said, “it is your maidenhood. You are old enough. It is time.” The man parted the boy’s legs, slid a hand up his thigh, into the crack of the boy’s ass. Naruto felt a long, thick finger push inside him, and then more fingers, so tight the boy felt as if they were ripping apart his gut. He cried out in pain. “Are you ready?” his master asked. “Yes,” the boy gasped. “Yes, yes. I live only for you. Let your will be done.” The master pressed his slaveboy down on his stomach. For a moment that seemed to stretch on forever the boy waited, his tiny body quivering with fear, with thrill and desire. And then his master entered him. Naruto screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed, and somewhere along the way the screams became something else, cries of sheer ecstasy that shook the world. He did not know it was over until he somehow found himself in Master Itachi’s arms. Then the boy looked down and stared at his master’s manhood, covered in seed and blood. My blood, the boy knew, my virgin blood. His master had taken it all.
Naruto grew hard with the memory. He had been nine years old then, half a boy still, and unbearably naïve. Everything had seemed so simple, so clean: the war, the night in the tent, the fox hunt. Not like now. Were I hunting real foxes now, instead of demon ones. Foxes do not murder generals, nor do they turn into smoke.
That was when Naruto heard the sound.
At first he thought it was the wind. But the wind whispered, it formed into words he could not quite make out, and he realized the wind was a human voice. The voice was singing.
The song was coming from somewhere near him. Naruto ran from rooftop to rooftop, and on the height of the great Shinjukame Temple which adjoined the residence of Lord Hyuuga Hiashi, he peered around a corner, and he saw the other boy.
The boy was sitting on the corner of a golden roof, leaning back against a stone sculpture of some many-armed god. His eyes were closed and it almost seemed like he was sleeping, except that his mouth moved, and music came out. Now Naruto could hear the words. It was a ballad, strange, haunting:
As ye came from the holy land
Of Shinjukame,
Met you not with my true love
By the way as you came?
How should I know your true love
That have met many anon
As I came from the holy land,
That have come, that have gone?
Know my true love hath my heart
And I have his own,
But what conscience has love,
Which is too young to know?
The boy’s voice was raw, unpolished. Some of the notes were too low, others too high. Yet at the same time his voice had a sort of innocence about it, an unawareness of its own strength, which made it seem impossible to change anything without soiling it. It was beautiful, and, in some strange way, perfect.
Just then the boy turned and looked straight at Naruto.
And Naruto saw the brand pressed into the boy’s forehead, a black twisted cross, the symbol of the Blood Country. A slaveseal. The brand given to every slave, to mark them as what they were. He’s a slave, like me.
No. Not like me. Naruto’s master was the Warlord himself, while this slave… the boy’s clothes were rags, his face was caked with dust. His wild, scruffy hair was black as coal and likely as clean, and his body was so thin the bones had started to show. But pretty enough, Naruto had to admit, with large gleaming eyes like a cat’s, green as jade. A slave whore, most like. The city Pleasure District was crawling with them.
“Watcha’ looking at?” the boy asked. “Ain’t anyone tell you peepin’ is no manners? Unless you pay for it. And I bloody reckon you can’t afford me tonight.”
Naruto was a little taken aback. “Are you trying to proposition me?”
The boy laughed. “Ya mean, do I see the slaveseal on ya’ forehead? Well, I ain’t blind, it’s bigger than your nose. And I see your silk robes, and your shiny sword, too. Which means your master is so bloody rich even his slaves got coin enough to spend on someone to warm their bed, or am I wrong? But you’re outta luck, I ain’t a whore today. It’s my day off. I was singing, that’s all, when ya started your peepin’ at me.”
Naruto did not like the way the boy talked. This whore dares far too much. “You mistake me. I heard a noise, horrible and frightening, and feared some crime was taking place. At once I rushed to the rescue, only to find it was you sitting here, and the noise was coming from your mouth. My apologies.”
The boy laughed again, light and ringing. He jumped to his feet and walked toward Naruto. “That so? So ya didn’t like my song?”
I did, but I’m not bloody well going to tell you that. “A word of advice. Stick to your day job.”
“Haha. You’re funny. And pretty, too. Ya’d be more pretty if ya smiled, once in a bit, instead of looking like you swallowed a bug or somethin’.”
The boy was close enough now that Naruto could smell his breath. To his surprise, the whore was not as dirty as he seemed. His skin was white and smooth, his hair carefully washed. A whore with no lice. Imagine that. The two boys were almost the same height, the same age. Why is he so close? Naruto wanted to move away, but he didn’t.
Instead he found himself asking, “Who are you?”
The boy grinned. “Who’m I? A sometime whore, a sometime singer, a sometime other things. And as for masters, I got plenty of ‘em, too. Master Zabuza’s the one you want.”
“Is that your pimp?”
“He prefers ta’ be styled the proprietor of the House of Brotherly Love. The finest erotic establishment this side of Sawara.” The boy’s jade eyes flashed, and when he smiled dimples formed at the corner of his mouth. “My name’s Sasuke, by the way. What’s yours? Do you even have a name?”
Who doesn’t have a name? “If a whore can have one, why can’t I?”
“Most slaves don’t, ya’know. They have names their masters give them… but not true names. Not their own names. Sasuke is my name.”
Which means you made it up yourself, I expect. “My name is Naruto, and my master is the Warlord Uchiha Itachi. You would do well to remember it.”
“Oh! The Warlord. So you’re his slave.” Sasuke giggled, his eyes wide. “Please tell him I said hello.”
Naruto was dumbfounded. “That I shall not. You edge toward blasphemy, whore. Think before you speak, or you’ll soon lose your tongue.” Master’s name means nothing to him, he dares to make a jape of it. I’ve wasted enough time here. I should be hunting the Kitsune. He turned to go.
He was halfway across the temple roof when Sasuke called out after him. “I’ll see you again, Naruto.”
Naruto could not help but retort. “Really? I wonder at the occasion. Will you be invited to dinner at the imperial palace, or will I be joining you in the whorehouse of brotherly love?”
The other boy shrugged, grinning. “It’s a surprise. ‘Till then…”
Naruto jumped off the temple roof and did not look back. Behind him, Sasuke began to sing again.
Won’t that damn whore shut up? Naruto tried to block it out, but even after he was far away somehow he could still hear the sound. He could still see the boy leaning against the stone statue, eyes closed, singing. That song. Why would he sing that song? Why would a slave whore sing of love?
Next: CHAPTER THREE: “Kindness At All Cost”
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Birthright