Adult-FanFiction.org : Naruto

Word-Collection	By : Infek Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1738 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Ghost
- 2-Kiss
- 3-Nail Polish
- 4-Bottle
- 5-Game
- 6-Bed
- 7-Scary
- 2
- 3
- 4
Word-Collection: Nail Polish
“I am not putting that on,” Neji protested, although his utterly calm voice would disagree. His stormy white eyes, however, left little room for argument. “It is ridiculous, unsanitary and I frankly do not understand why you all just willingly go along with it. Look at Kisame-san. He looks a fool.”
The blue man that had been lazily lounging on the chair shot up in protest. The gills and the blue skin had been torture enough, but did it really make him such a fool?
“Keep your bitch in check, Itachi. I’m not gonna ask again.”
“You’re dead, Shark-boy,” Neji snarled, although any of his tempestuous behaviour seeping out was meaningless as Itachi tugged him back in his chair, forcing him to placate.
“Kisame, leave,” Itachi said softly, his eyes never straying from Neji’s profile, allowing himself to drown in his very rare beauty. The soft slope of his nose, his eyes, his stunning and coveted eyes which were his ticket in this group of vagabonds which had been given a purpose for a new world order. He hadn’t known selfishness until he felt himself drown in those eyes. Ironic, since usually it was quite the opposite, but that pertained enemies. Not what he and Neji were, or rather, had become. They had certainly started as enemies, both on opposite sides of a fracturing peace which was uncovering the river of blood on which it stood. The sacrifices and the useless deaths of so many shinobi but even that was not enough to stop the continuous fighting. To the outside world, Neji was just another pawn, another sacrifice in this war. To the outside world, Neji was dead.
The heat from his body nearly singing his hand told him otherwise. With a little added pressure, he had furious eyes looking straight into his, not at all flinching away from their infamous powers. The whole world knew, and yet Neji didn’t. Neji was his very own creation, reborn out of selfishness.
Akatsuki had been quite shocked to see him come in to their lair, holding a nin, his forehead proudly displaying his allegiance to the Village of the Leaf. The more talkative ones of the group had barraged him with questions, yet Itachi had chosen to answer none, locking himself up with the shinobi in his private room and not coming out for a full five days. Then he had reappeared, the door opening and everyone – some with great haste, others a bit more paced- had curious eyes peering at the wooden frame. There stood the same shinobi who had been brought in on the brink of death, the telltale Hyūga-eyes coldly staring back from under the slashed hitai-ate.
“No one touches him,” Itachi had only said, making his way to the outside, the moist air from the caves becoming too oppressive after days of not seeing a single ray of sunlight and focusing all his energy on creating something he could call his own. Neji followed without question.
“I am not painting my nails! It is a ridiculous custom.” Itachi’s mouth corners upturned slightly at the defiance. He had modified him well enough to forget about his allegiance of the past and had spun him a story based in truth, but slightly altered. He hated Konohagakure now. Who wouldn’t hate the same institution that was responsible for your much-beloved father’s death? But Neji’s temper had not been wiped out in the slightest, he and Deidara more often than not coming to blows when in the same room for any length of time. Neji fought the derogatory terms they used, he fought them with tooth and nail even if they were true. Itachi controlled his everything.
Itachi knew that his resistance was born from his pride, since after all, the Hyūga-clan were nothing without their pride. It thrilled and excited him more than he could have anticipated to see his very own Neji battling with the one from his past, often staring at his sleeping form, contemplating when the cracks would become wider, when Neji would realise that he was being used and owned like a slave, both mind and body. Itachi knew Neji wouldn’t hesitate to kill him when that moment came. However, as much as his anticipation made his heart pump faster, he also knew he couldn’t allow himself to be killed so easily and then he would have to do the inevitable. What he had forgot to calculate was his own growing attachment.
“Do you know why we do this?” He grabbed a calloused hand, the slender and long fingers gripping his own. “When at night, under a full moon, and you have your hands drenched in your opponent’s blood, your heart is beating excitedly as you have once more cheated death. Have you ever seen the colour the blood takes?” Turning their entwined hands, he stretched his fingers, bringing attention to the splash of colour on his nails. “We do what so many people find barbaric, and we do it because it’s all we know. We bring death and decay and we operate in the cloak of night, only the moon our companion. We are what no one wants to see. We are people’s death.” Using his free hand, he lifted Neji’s chin, kissing him briefly. “Do you understand now?”
Neji nodded, Itachi gazing back intently. “Go train. I have work to do here.”
[-]
Shikamaru sobbed as he threw his head back, his eyes only seeing red. So much red all around, even the sky was a deep red, the colour of blood. His hands trembled around the nails that effectively imprisoned him against the wooden cross, the nerves to his fingers so very thoroughly severed that the use of any jutsu would be impossible. He had heard enough about the infamous Mangekyō Sharingan to know some of the details. But never in his life did he want to experience it.
“Do you understand why I am doing this?” his tormentor asked calmly, watching his captive lull his head forward. The young Jōnin, while pathetically weak in chakra-reserves, had certainly withstood the pain admirably well, many of his predecessors crying for a swift death at this point. In this world of black and red, Nara’s eyes locked with his own above a quivering chin, a feeble attempt at holding in the cries of pain as one more nail drove through his body, smoothly sliding through his thigh, breaking through bone, through flesh and muscle before piercing itself into the black wood, the burning sensation strangely familiar but none the less painful. At last, Shikamaru gave in, letting out a scream that echoed over the barren landscape.
Shikamaru’s head fell heavily, breathing in the desert-air, his lips burning and begging for a drop of water, his feeble attempts to wet them with their tongue only making them ache more with thirst. He knew the inner workings of the body and he had quickly seen what Itachi was planning to do. Try and extract as much information as he possibly could whilst slowly letting him bleed to death, the many small wounds like cracked glass burst at the centre, destroying the inner layer.
He didn’t want to die. He really didn’t, he realised, tears streaming down his cheeks, crying like he had when Asuma had died. He still needed to look after Kurenai and Asuma’s little boy. Still so many things he needed to do. Clenching his hands, he bellowed out a pained scream as the nails driven through skin and muscle made such a simple movement impossible.
“Stop,” a soft voice whispered in his ear. Neji’s hand clenched his shoulder, the boy himself not knowing why he wanted his protector to stop but his heart... Oh, his heart ached for this man’s pain.
...And now it is time for the actors to take to the stage once more.
“Do not interfere. Do not avert your eyes. Watch what happens to him and most importantly, listen.”
Shikamaru felt sickened as he watched his friend, his comrade on friendly terms with one who did not deserve a friend or anything remotely attached to it. Why? How was he still alive? He had heard the news, had seen Neji’s fallen body. This was a trick, it could not be anything else!
“Neji, what are you doing here? You were supposed to be dead. You died fighting for the Leaf. What are you doing with him?” Shikamaru rambled, rapidly swallowing. Surely this was another illusion, brought to life to ruin him further and make his despair rise even more. This couldn’t be real. Just like his wounds weren’t, this whole godforsaken world wasn’t.
“I would never die for those traitors that killed my father,” Neji spat out, Itachi smiling pleased. At least for the moment, the veil was still hiding the terrible monster underneath. It was unforgiving that he as a trained shinobi would be so excited like a child to inch closer and closer to his own death, by something he himself had created.
Shikamaru blinked rapidly, trying to surpass the creeping darkness in his vision, swallowing rapidly in a desperate attempt to wet his parched tongue.
“Your father... He sacrificed himself for your uncle. Konohagakure was your home.”
“That wretched village was never my home, and don’t you dare speak about my father that way,” Neji hissed, stepping forward in full regalia, Itachi hiding his pleased smile behind his upturned hand as he saw the way the Konoha-nin –oh, how their standards had dropped- took in the Akatsuki-cloak, the painted nails but most importantly the hitai-ate proudly displaying his allegiance to no one just above fierce and glaring eyes.
“Do not take me for a fool. I have no home and I am proud of it. Never would I want to be associated with anyone who sacrifice their own so easily.”
Shikamaru wanted to laugh, he really did. Even now, the irony of Neji’s convinced tone, his utter belief that Akatsuki would not betray him, that he was safe there was bordering on humorous. He couldn’t though. He had spent enough time with Neji before to know how much he had struggled to find a place of his own in this world, even in his own family, had heard of his heroic sacrifice, then thinking how fitting it had been for Neji to die in such a matter, even if it was as sacrifice, it was very much by his own will and of his own choosing. He had defied his fate then and had been celebrated for it.
But what he saw now was what would have happened had Neji never found that will to make his own path, had he remained in that self-destructive bubble which would have ultimately destroyed him either way. Shikamaru didn’t want to see this. This was the true torture, the true pain which made his heart ache in unbridled agony.
“Neji, this isn’t how it was supposed to be. You have to believe me,” he wept, forcing himself to be truthful and vulnerable for once. After all, it became quite clear that this would be the end for him. There would be no help coming his way.
... And Neji saw the truth. Shikamaru heard the soft intake of breath, saw the elegant hand –Naruto had once teased how they could have belonged to a female- coming up and felt it cradling his cheek.
“Why do you keep insisting on these lies, even on the road to death? This is the time to come clean with yourself, to show Amaterasu-ōmikami that you deserve a place in her heavens. But I doubt she has room for filthy liars like you.” The soft hand that had cradled his cheek suddenly clapped harshly against his cheek, demeaning and harsh. Shikamaru clenched his jaws against the betrayal, breathing in a hiss.
“Neji-kun, finish it. He is useless to us.” He sounded so callous! Is that how he sounded when he sent people off, knowing there was a good chance they would not come back alive? Had he himself been so dismissive of another human being? Shikamaru lifted his head, determined to stare his own death straight in the eyes. No. He had never been callous. He had ensured that everyone would make it back, even if errors had been made followed by vengeful guilt. But he had always cared. Never could he be such a monster that wouldn’t even let the dead die in peace.
“Do it then. Follow his commands without doubt. Kill one of your own,” he challenged, not realising how sickening he looked with a bloodied smirk on his lips.
Neji snorted derisively at the words, clearly said to make him doubt and question but had this stupid nin truly not learned a thing after the extensive time they had spent in this hell. “You were never one of my own. You are far too weak for that. Remember that as I slowly and painfully kill you, revelling in your screams while you beg for death.”
Itachi quietly sat back, taking in the pure destruction the Konoha-nin suffered under the hands of his little project, his ears hearing every piercing scream, hearing them die down to small sobs and pleadings to make it stop and to just let him die. His attentive eyes couldn’t miss the slow revelation of bone and muscle, the many narrow tendons in the man’s body brought to the surface with such precise and cold sadism and so perfectly executed due to his Kekkei Genkai. He himself had never been one for such drawn-out deaths, preferring to kill his enemies in a few calculated moves, and normally Neji was much the same. But only a mention of Konohagakure had been enough to turn him into something so brutal. It wasn’t just about his father supposedly being an unwilling sacrifice. Neji’s vehemence with which he had denied the nin’s words had been a bit too enthusiastic.
It would be a matter of time before he would break.
“Neji.” Long hair shifted, revealing a pale face, his right-cheek streaked with blood, his lips set in a thin, straight line. His eyes were blazing with anger, even after the two hours or so he had been given to sate his temper. “Leave him be. Time to go.”
Itachi started walking, ready to dispel the illusion.
“Would you lie to me?” Turning, he saw Neji staring up at him like a child, eager for acknowledgement and reassurance.
“No, I would not.” Letting Neji catch up to him, he dispelled the illusion, smoothly plunging a kunai into the Konoha-nin’s heart, ignoring the last spark of life. “Time to go.”
...Take a bow. Go home and get ready to do it all over again tomorrow.

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