Adult-FanFiction.org : Naruto

Never Let Me Go	By : akitotsubaki Category: Naruto AU/AR > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1181 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: The Naruto franchise does not belong to me. I make no money from this fanfic.

Chapter List
- 1-Never Let Me Go
- 2-Chapter II
- 1
- 2
A/N: Latex-fruit syndrome. It's a thing. (Also, I cleared formatting because for some reason background colors/fonts from y!gal were showing up. Sorry for any errors I didn't catch; I don't feel like going through the whole thing for italics at the moment.
*Trigger warning for rape, vomiting, alcohol and aftermaths of abuse.*
He’s fourteen and sitting on the piano bench in the empty band room, eating a bento his brother made for him. Kakashi is there, too, sitting on the bench with him. This is the first indication that he’s dreaming--Kakashi always maintained distance in real life, usually with his feet propped up on a desk. The smell is right, though. Spicy and stronger than Sasuke’s smelled it before. He takes a last bite of rice. The second indication that he’s dreaming comes in the form of calloused fingertips touching his cheek, tilting him to look into burning gray eyes, one bisected with scar tissue.
“This is anachronistic,” he whispers, but allows the touch. This part is familiar--he’s had this fantasy for years. He knows the whole script by now.

Kakashi, true to form, chuckles softly and lays a kiss on Sasuke’s neck, like always. “It’s your dream.”

And that’s where things start to warp.

The room darkens, moves, and Kakashi’s hands light on the back of his neck and pull him down. He gasps, tries to lift his hands to push away, but they tug and clank and don’t move. He’s on his back, suddenly, in a dank room with mold on the ceiling, lit by candles.

Gold eyes glint above him and a cruel face smiles. Orochimaru straddles his chest and pets his face, and his fingers leave trails of burning slime.

“I wasn’t tied up,” Sasuke protests, trying to squeeze his eyes shut, wake himself. It doesn’t work.

“Which is not a mistake I’ll be making again, little doll.” His jaw is wrenched open and stuffed with limp, tepid flesh. The taste, rank and bitter, makes him gag.

Acrid fluid floods his mouth and spills down his chin, choking him.
--
Sasuke had been right about Kakashi not having another gig, so he’d turned off his alarm after sinking into his duvet and rationalized that if Sasuke really needed him before ten in the morning, he’d come and get him.

But Pakkun had other ideas, and Kakashi woke to a soft, bouncy paw against his nose at half past eight. Dog and owner exchanged lidded stares, but Kakashi conceded after a moment--he cared more about not having to clean up piss than getting to sleep in a few extra hours.

He decided to make a jog of it as long as he was up--he’d let himself slack off since school had let out. Running shoes laced and MP3 player strapped to his upper arm, he took off at a slow trot, Pakkun shuffling along next to him, tongue out.

Henry Rollins’ snarling vocals pumped through his headphones and let him zone out, feet hitting the asphalt in even measure with the music. His mind lit on a few things--his plan for dinner (marinated tofu), the fact that Sasuke’s latex-fruit syndrome meant he’d have to think up something else (pizza, maybe?), the first time he’d given Sasuke an epinephrine injection (in his classroom; Ino had tried to one-up other members of Sasuke’s fanclub by shoving a chocolate-covered strawberry in his mouth).

Near-death experiences aside, Sasuke had liked spending time in the music room any chance he got. When he managed to shake his posse of squealing females long enough, Kakashi had started to enjoy it too--he’d sit behind his desk with his feet up and pretend to read while Sasuke’s fingers played over the keys of grand piano and made it sing. At twelve, he’d been talented; at fourteen, near genius; Kakashi had been prepared to write him a letter of recommendation for Juilliard by the time he’d hit junior year, and he would have if he hadn’t been taken aside by the principal and informed that his relationship was starting to appear unprofessionally attached.

He slowed to a walk once he hit main street, stopping at a small coffee chain and looping Pakkun’s leash around a signpost.

“Good boy,” he murmured, rubbing behind floppy ears, and pushed open the door, basking in the chill of the air conditioning.

The hurt and anger that had rolled off Sasuke in waves when Kakashi told him he could no longer visit the music room had been chilling. As he got into line, he wondered if that had been a warning sign. Sasuke had gone missing a month later.

He smiled for the cashier and took off his headphones, pushing the thoughts of Sasuke’s bruised face out of his mind. What kind of coffee did Sasuke prefer? Had he ever said? “I’ll take two iced coffees...one with cream and sugar, and the other black. Your gloves aren’t latex, are they?”

He walked the rest of the way home, which wasn’t far. Pakkun was panting like he’d run a marathon, though, and when Kakashi let go of the leash, he immediately lumbered to the back door and scratched at it, whining.

“Give me a second.” Kakashi set down Sasuke’s coffee and reached in his pocket for the house key. Pakkun trotted in as soon as he’d gotten the door open and made straight for the water bowl, lapping messily at it.

“Rise and shine, I brought coffee,” Kakashi called, stepping inside and transferring Sasuke’s cup to the kitchen island.

His mind flitted through the possibilities of why he received silence in response--the most likely being that Sasuke had left. He tried to ignore the fear and disappointment that stirred in him at that thought.

The sound of retching from upstairs replaced it with a different kind of fear, one he quashed with the need to act. He ascended the stairs as quickly as he could without running and knocked on the door, which was cracked open.

“May I come in?”

Another retch and a hacking cough sounded before Sasuke answered, voice even more hoarse than it had been last night. “Guess so.”

Kakashi pushed lightly on the door and stepped inside, crouching on the floor next to Sasuke. He was once more wrapped in Kakashi’s bathrobe, and his face was ashen and damp with sweat. Kakashi touched his shoulder so as not to startle him, and then pushed his bile-slick hair out of his face. Sasuke heaved, then vomited again, and Kakashi lay his free hand against Sasuke’s back.

“Well, better out than in,” he said, calmly. “There’s no blood, which is good, but--”

He peered over the bowl to look more closely, fighting down the wave of nausea rising in his own throat at the smell and sight. “You haven’t been eating much, have you. That won’t do. I’ll make you some oatmeal while you get cleaned up.” He tore off a piece of toilet paper from the roll and held it out.

Sasuke scowled and snatched the tissue, scrubbing at his mouth and tossing it in the bowl. “I’m not a child, and I don’t feel like eating.”

Kakashi chuckled. “I know. You’re a big boy and you do what you want, even if it’s detrimental to your well-being.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Sasuke snapped, but the effect was lost when his face twisted with renewed nausea and he leaned over the toilet bowl again, dry-heaving. Kakashi went back to holding his hair and started rubbing gentle circles over the sharp bumps of his spine.

“All right. I’m sorry,” Kakashi murmured, feeling Sasuke’s body lurch forward, over and over as his thin frame was racked with shudders. He wasn’t producing vomit anymore—had probably already lost everything that had been in his stomach. “Easy does it. You’re okay.”

Sasuke moaned weakly and leaned to the side, resting his head against the wall. “Water. Mouthwash. Something. Tastes awful.”

“Rinse first.” Kakashi stood up and opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out a bottle of Listerine. He poured some out into a paper cup and handed it to Sasuke, who swished vigorously and spat into the toilet. The next cup was filled with water from the tap. “Now drink a little. You need to get something in your stomach.”

“No shit.” Sasuke took a swill of water, looking at Kakashi from the corner of his eye. “Still don’t feel like eating.”

“Then I’ll make you a smoothie and you can drink something instead,” Kakashi said, reaching over to flush the toilet. Sasuke’s glare could have curdled milk.

“Get out. I want to shower.”

Kakashi pushed himself to his feet and ran the tap, rinsing the vomit off his hands and scrubbing with soap. “And after you drink your smoothie, I’m taking you to a health clinic. Looking like a bruised apple aside, I want to make sure that bug you’ve got isn’t serious.”

“I puked on your sheets,” Sasuke called after him as he turned to leave the bathroom. There was a self-satisfied tone to his voice that made Kakashi want to smack him and hug him in equal measure. He was, after all, still a child.

--
True to Kakashi’s word, there was a smoothie waiting for Sasuke when he got out of the shower. Kakashi himself was nowhere to be found, and so Sasuke stayed wrapped in the bathrobe--he’d ask to borrow clothes later.

The smell of cologne clung to the fabric and teased at Sasuke’s nose every time he turned his head.

He sat at the counter and picked up the glass, taking a sip. Vanilla, raspberry, and orange--bland, but safe. Kakashi had been his music teacher for six years in addition to his senior year social studies professor, and had administered enough epinephrine shots to be familiar with exactly what Sasuke was allergic to. But while he didn’t have to worry about his throat closing up as long as he was here, he would have to leave the house eventually, and he hadn’t gotten a chance to refill his prescription before his father had kicked him out.

Fuck.

He set the now-empty glass on the counter and rested his head in his hands.

“Tummy feeling better?”

The sing-songy tone came from just over Sasuke’s right shoulder and startled him so badly he nearly fell off the barstool with a shout. An iron-firm arm caught him around his back and held him up, pushing into his bad rib so that he gritted his teeth and his eyes watered, pain flaring up his side.

“Are you fucking insane?” he hissed, glaring over his shoulder at Kakashi, who was smiling vacantly. “You want to scare me into puking all over your counter now?”

“You’ve got color back in your cheeks,” Kakashi said, letting go of Sasuke’s waist and stepping back. “And you’re not feverish. We should still go and rule out food poisoning, though, and I want you to get an x-ray on your ankle.”

“You’re not my parent,” Sasuke grumbled, gingerly getting off the stool and leaning his elbow against the counter. His ankle had been steadily throbbing since his mad dash to the bathroom this morning, choking on the puke he’d expelled while he was still in the clutches of his nightmare. “And it’s not food poisoning.”

“Oh?” Kakashi held out his hand. Sasuke didn’t take it. “You should have told me if you knew what was making you sick.”

Right. Because you give a shit. Sasuke frowned. “Like you haven’t seen me do it a million times.” Before every recital, Kakashi had been there waiting outside the stall in the boy’s room, a pack of gum and a bottle of water in hand. Like so many other times, Sasuke had been fooled into thinking he cared.

“Stress-vomiting. That was my next guess.” Kakashi lowered his hand to scratch at his stomach. “No offense, but you look like you’ve been put through a meat grinder. I didn’t want to rule anything out.”

“And being put through a meat grinder wouldn’t stress me out enough to flip my stomach? I’m going to go find clothes I won’t drown in.” Sasuke started towards the stairs, but he’d barely limped two steps before Kakashi was behind him again, one arm slipping under his knees and the other looping around his waist.

“No more walking until we know it’s not broken,” Kakashi chided, and his grip was firm enough and Sasuke’s ankle hurt too much for him to decide trying to wriggle his way out of it was a bad idea.

“I’m going to cut you,” he hissed, making himself dead weight. He didn’t have to try to get down, but he could at least make the task of carrying him as unpleasant as possible.

Kakashi, the fucker, just kept grinning. “You do that. Shame on me for looking out for your well-being.”

It hit Sasuke somewhere in his sternum. His fingers tensed, gripping Kakashi’s shirt sleeve. “Like you ever cared about my well-being.” Like everyone else, Kakashi had kicked Sasuke out, closed the door and cut him off, left him to fend for himself.

Kakashi paused at the top of the stairs, and looked down at Sasuke with a frown marring his face. Sasuke stared back, trying not to let his glare waver.

“Everything I’ve ever done concerning you has been with your well-being in mind,” Kakashi said, quietly. He turned sideways to get Sasuke through the door to the master bedroom and set him down gently on the mattress. “I apologize if I didn’t make that clear.”

Sasuke’s stomach twisted uncomfortably as he watched Kakashi walk over to a chest of drawers and start pulling them open. “Then why’d you boot me from your classroom? Don’t give me that ‘playing favorites’ bullshit. You’re not the type to listen to jealous parents.”

“No, I’m not,” Kakashi agreed, straightening up. He tossed a pair of jeans, fresh cotton boxers, and a red t-shirt at Sasuke, and turned to face the wall. “These will be big on you, but they should fit if you roll up the jeans. Tell me if you need help.”

For a moment, there was no sound in the room but the shifting of cloth. Sasuke was determined to get his clothes on without any assistance, even if it took some struggling; he gritted his teeth as he yanked the pants up over his swollen ankle, and a little thin hiss escaped his mouth as he raised one arm to pull the shirt over his head, but other than that he achieved his goal with stoicism.

“I’m dressed,” he grunted, bent over to roll up the legs of the pants. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Kakashi produced Sasuke’s old boots from the closet and sat on the other end of the bed, a respectful distance away. Sasuke tugged on the cuffs of his pants, which were refusing to roll evenly.

“Someone started a rumor that I was molesting you. The principal had words with me about it--apparently having you alone in my classroom so much gave them a shade of believability.” Kakashi reached over and took Sasuke’s leg, rolling up the cuff in a neat, even line. “I didn’t want to end up fired or on the sex offender registry. Other leg.”

Sasuke used both hands to lift his injured ankle onto the bed, and Kakashi straightened his cuff with the same gentle deftness.

“But you weren’t molesting me,” he pointed out as Kakashi made the last fold and creased it.

“I know that, and you know that, but your father has a lot of influence over the school board and he had words with me as well,” Kakashi said, pushing himself up off the mattress. “You can wear your old boots or not, it’s up to you--oh, hold on, let me find you some socks.”

Of course. His father. Sasuke shouldn’t have been surprised--an image of Fugaku sitting at Sasuke’s desk chair flitted across his mind, and he remembered the tight choking panic when he’d realized his computer had been hacked. If his father hadn’t been overly suspicious, paranoid, and a million other things, Sasuke’s ribs wouldn’t be aching the way they were, and his ankle would be at its normal size, and--

He chewed on his lip, not caring that pain flared from the split.

“Don’t do that, you’ll make it worse.”

With a soft flump, a pair of gray socks landed in Sasuke’s lap. They had blue paw prints on them. He snorted.

“Well,” he said, leaning over to pull the sock over his bruised foot, “Are we going, or what?”

“Ready when you are, soldier.” Kakashi gave a two-fingered salute and a cheesy smile, then reached over to scoop Sasuke up off the mattress again.

He could think about the implications of the conversation, the fear and the strange relief blossoming somewhere inside him, when he didn’t have his arms locked around Kakashi’s neck.

--
The clinic was busy, as was to be expected for a Sunday afternoon. They had waited for nearly two hours before the nurse, a young woman with short black hair and doe-ish eyes, had called Sasuke’s name; now, three hours after that, Sasuke still hadn’t come out.

Kakashi had tried to lean back and get some sleep, but there was a young woman who had brought her colicky infant in, and the baby’s screams kept him stubbornly awake. He hadn’t opened his eyes just in case anyone got it in their head to bother him, and let his mind wander leisurely off to what sort of pizza he could order that both he and Sasuke would like. Eggplant for him, and maybe cheeseless with red sauce and bacon for Sasuke--

“I have to come back in three weeks,” came a familiar voice from in front of him, and Kakashi lazily blinked one eye open.

Sasuke was standing in front of him with an air cast on his left leg, tape around his knuckles, and a bottle in his hand.

“What’s the diagnosis?” Kakashi opened the other eye and stood up, heading for the door. Sasuke followed, the cast thunking heavily against the linoleum.

“My rib is cracked and there’s nothing I can do about it but take over-the-counter pain meds, I tore a ligament in my left ankle and should ice it and limit physical activity, the burn on my hip wasn’t severe and is healing okay but I got antibiotics just in case, and everything else is just nasty bruising.” By the time he finished rattling off his injuries, they’d made it to Kakashi’s toyota, and he pulled the door open for Sasuke before sliding in on the driver’s side.

“Why do you have to come back if everything’s going so nicely?” He didn’t pull out of the lot yet--folded his hands in his lap and looked over at Sasuke, who kept his head straight and stared out the windshield.

“I need an STD panel and three weeks from now is as early as the first test could come back positive.” His voice was carefully neutral, but Kakashi didn’t miss the minute tensing of his shoulders.

Frowning, he tried to make eye contact, but Sasuke was refusing to look in his direction. “I’m sure I had you in my sex ed class. How many times did I cover how to use protection?”

He knew he’d made a mistake as soon as the words came out of his mouth. Sasuke’s whole face went dark, his eyes narrowed and he glared so hotly at Kakashi it was almost palpable.

“I was raped, shitstain,” he snarled.

Kakashi’s blood turned to ice.

The marks on Sasuke’s throat and around his wrists seemed painfully, stupidly obvious. Of course. Of course.

It explained everything. How he’d gone missing, the clothes he wanted burned, the extensive vomiting this morning, the trembling fear he’d ignored rolling off Sasuke in waves last night. Kakashi felt sick. How could I have missed this?

His throat was dry and his palms were sweating. Sasuke, his little prodigy and favorite student, bright and brilliant and fiery and sweet--had been raped. Violently.

And Kakashi hadn’t been there to save him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he managed, helplessly. His hands shook. He wouldn’t blame Sasuke for never trusting him again, but he’d damn well try to--

“No. I’m hungry.”

Sasuke shut his eyes and rested his forehead against the window. Kakashi watched his painfully sharp collarbones rise and fall under his own over-large t-shirt.

“If you change your mind, want to press charges or anything, let me know.” Kakashi forced himself to turn his eyes to the rear-view mirror and start up the car, backing out of the parking lot.

“Fine. Just--drop it. Please.”

The heaviness of his voice made Kakashi’s chest ache, but he took in a deep breath and smiled for Sasuke’s sake.

“How does a burger sound?”

--
Sasuke had never seen Kakashi so emotionally affected by anything, and that made him nervous--he wanted to forget everything that had happened and move on, and that wouldn’t happen with his old teacher tiptoeing around him and treating him like he was going to break any second--but by the time they’d pulled into the little drive through and placed their orders (a double cheeseburger with bacon, tomatoes and ranch dressing, large fries and a lemonade for Sasuke and a grilled chicken sandwich and chocolate frappe for Kakashi), he was back to his vague and infuriatingly chipper self.

Sasuke bit into meat and bread, wanting desperately to wolf the whole thing down as fast as he could, but he made himself take it slowly. He hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks and one episode of sickness was enough for today. He savored it, letting each taste linger before moving on to the next in methodical order.

“I couldn’t get you an appointment with the behavioral health clinic,” Kakashi said absently, taking a noisy swig of his frappe. Sasuke rolled his eyes.

“I’ve already detoxed from my meds,” he replied, and stuck a fry in his mouth. “Dad didn’t like my psychiatrist.”

“And there’s the matter of your allergies. You didn’t come out with any paper, so either you didn’t ask for an epi-pen prescription or they wouldn’t give it to you.” Kakashi bit into his sandwich and chewed contemplatively for a moment. “And being off your meds is no good either. I don’t remember you particularly enjoying your mixed affective episodes in the past.”

Sasuke frowned. He took a bite of burger, the flavor of swiss and tomato spreading over his tongue. Kakashi was right--while he felt okay now, he knew he was gambling with his stability by staying untreated. He’d never been hospitalized for it before, and if he went into a severe enough episode to go in now, they’d ask questions about everything else and--

He couldn’t handle it.

But a small, petulant part of him wanted to resist, deny, refuse to acknowledge that there was anything wrong with him; he wanted to believe that if he pretended it wasn’t there, it would eventually go away.

Kakashi looked at him, hooded eyes uncomfortably penetrating.

“I’m not letting you suffer in silence, Sasuke,” he said.

“Well, unless you can pay for a prescriber, I don’t see what can be done about it.” Sasuke put his straw to his lips and sucked in lemonade--tart, to the point where most people would find it unpleasant, but he’d always hated sweets. “Bipolar meds without insurance are cost-prohibitive. I’m willing to bet my father’s taken me off his plan, and I’d rather not interact with him to find out.”

His ankle pulsed.

“Right,” Kakashi said after a pause. “Your birthday’s on Wednesday. We’ll go down to city hall first thing and get married.”

The lemonade that had been in Sasuke’s mouth suddenly and violently went down his trachea.

Kakashi reached over and thumped him on the back, calmly, like he’d made a routine comment about the weather. Sasuke’s face felt like it was on fire.

“Don’t make stupid jokes like that,” he said, coughing. He couldn’t look Kakashi in the face--for a second, he’d thought he was serious, and that hurt somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m not joking. You need health insurance to stay stable and safe, and I have a plan that will cover my legal spouse. It would be an open marriage, of course; it’s not fair to tie you down for a business arrangement. And we’ll get divorced as soon as you’re back on your feet.” Kakashi lifted his hand from Sasuke’s back, took another drink from his frappe and put the car in gear, turning out of the parking lot.

Sasuke’s stomach churned with something unidentifiable, but familiar--not unlike when he realized Kakashi had only been pretending to read while Sasuke was learning a new piece in his classroom.

“You’re insane,” he muttered, pressing his forehead against the window. Kakashi chuckled.

“Insane, but brilliant.”

“You read too many Harlequin novels.”

“Is that a yes?”

Sasuke sighed, and glanced over at Kakashi from the corner of his eye. “You haven’t even gotten me a ring. How can I marry someone so tacky?” His hands were trembling, but his voice came out smooth and quick; did nothing to betray the way his heart was palpitating somewhere near his throat.

Kakashi grinned, and turned onto main street. “Don’t worry about rings. Just make it to your eighteenth without breaking any more of yourself, all right?”

Sasuke shoved a fistful of fries into his mouth and continued to stare holes in the window. He didn’t trust his own mouth with Kakashi looking at him like that.

Business arrangement, he reminded himself, as Kakashi started chatting about getting Sasuke an apartment near public transportation and teaching him to drive once his foot was better. This isn’t one of your middle school fantasies.

But he couldn’t help but remember the feeling of Kakashi’s arms holding him up.
--
This was sick. Twisted. He was sick. Just like whoever had forced themselves on Sasuke’s delicate, teenage body--marred him with bruises and marked him like they owned him without any care to what Sasuke had to say. Beautiful, explosive Sasuke, who had come home from post-lunch grocery shopping and locked himself in the guest room without saying a word, aside from a clipped and quiet request to borrow Kakashi’s laptop at around eleven.

Kakashi swirled the shot, staring at the movement of the booze. Amber. He knocked it back and it didn’t burn as much as the first two--a sign he was well on his way to being smashed. Maybe if he drank enough, he’d forget how it felt to lift up Sasuke’s terrifyingly light frame.

“You’re sick,” he told himself, just in case he needed to hear it verbalized to understand it, and looked up at the ceiling. “You old lech.”

The sickest part of it all was that he’d told Sasuke he hadn’t molested him--and Sasuke had agreed, Sasuke hadn’t pushed him away, Sasuke hadn’t ever tried to push him away. Sasuke, fifteen, hadn’t run screaming when he caught Kakashi looking at his ass; Sasuke, seventeen, would make jokes that pushed the line from flirty to downright sexual and Kakashi didn’t immediately make him leave. It was obvious he’d warped Sasuke’s mind, somehow, without realizing it.

He took another drink. When had all this started? Sasuke couldn’t have been older than fourteen. He’d looked twenty when he was fourteen, which made no sense because he was almost eighteen now and looked twelve, except in certain lights that made him look forty and--

Kakashi smacked himself in the forehead.

“You’re drunk,” he muttered, and that didn’t stop him from taking another swig of scotch. “Fool.”

He took a deep breath and watched the room spin for a while, until he could focus on one particular spot on the wall without his eyes crossing.

He knew exactly when it had started. Sasuke had always been an early bloomer, and when Kakashi met him at twelve he was already a tenor with the beginnings of adult muscle swelling under his skin, but he’d been so short it had been easy not to think of him as attractive. And he hadn’t, honest to god--of course he’d noticed the kid was pretty, how could he not; everyone noticed it, especially the girls his age. Kakashi remembered chuckling fondly and thinking on what a heartbreaker Sasuke would be once he’d grown up a little.

But he hadn’t actually felt the stirrings of attraction until after Sasuke graduated middle school. He’d come back from summer vacation half a foot taller and no less skinny, but he’d grown into himself; his hands and feet were no longer just a little big, his face had thinned out, leaving no trace of the previous baby fat that had made it round; his voice didn’t crack anymore, a rough baritone that heated the base of Kakashi’s spine.

He’d ignored it--of course he’d ignored it. Sasuke had been fourteen. A freshman. Confident that he was just feeling the effects of this particular period of celibacy, Kakashi poured his focus into mentoring Sasuke’s musical ability and started going to clubs again, dark ones where the bass was so loud it hurt his stomach and his mask wasn’t out of place in the slightest.

He’d found himself gravitating toward petite brunettes--swore he heard Sasuke’s voice one night, moaning when Kakashi’s palm came down to strike the bare, white ass in his lap.

He stopped going to clubs after that. Sasuke was sixteen.

“Maybe I should castrate myself,” he mumbled into the glass, which, he noted, was empty. He poured another shot and hammered it back. “Then there wouldn’t be a problem.”

No, there would be. Sasuke himself was a problem, just by his nature; all he had to do was look at you, or show up at your doorstep drenched and shaking, to ruin every plan you had ever made. The little shit.

And Kakashi didn’t like the way he’d reacted. He’d actually looked shy, for the first time Kakashi had ever seen; he’d blushed and refused to meet Kakashi’s eyes and damned if he hadn’t caught a glimmer of a smile somewhere in there. Seventeen year old rape victims weren’t supposed to smile when their creepy, older ex-teachers proposed to them.

It just shouldn’t work that way.

“Fuck you,” Kakashi said, looking up at the ceiling in the general direction of the guest bedroom. “No, I take that back. Just--”

He sighed. What use was talking to the kid through a fucking floor?

...Damn, he was drunk.

Sasuke had stopped pacing at around one--Kakashi would sleep in his office, just to be safe. Maybe lock the door, too.

“Sasuke will realize what this means and be gone by morning. You’ll wake up, your head killing you, and realize that nothing good comes of meddling with your students’ lives, and then live out your days as a perverted hermit reading porn and avoiding human contact.”

He nodded to himself, contemplating the solidity of this plan. Even in his drunken stupor, he knew that wasn’t how it was going to happen--Sasuke was too unpredictable, Kakashi too damn attached.

He just hoped he could keep enough of a distance not to hurt him.

Morosely, he made his way over to the loveseat and stripped off his jeans, flopping face-first onto the couch. He briefly entertained the thought that drowning in his own vomit might not be such a bad idea, but the image of Sasuke’s face when he discovered his body was enough to make him shudder and roll onto his side.
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Never Let Me Go