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The Color of Blood	By : Rosebud Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1117 -:- 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
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Summary: Naruto is an artist that lacks inspiration. Itachi is a vampire that has something to offer. But perhaps it’s what Itachi’s NOT willing to offer that interests Naruto the most. To state ages in this fic: Sasuke is 219 years old. He was changed in to a vampire shortly after his eighteenth birthday, so his apparent age is 18. Itachi is 224 years old. He was turned into a vampire at age twenty three, so his apparent age is 23.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Naruto, I make no money from this. I don't own the Manga Model, which helped inspire this fic

The Color of Blood

Written By: Crimson2006

Not Beta'd

:Chapter one:

Naruto picked up the paintbrush, tapped it against the edge of his lower lip and then set it back down again. It was useless. He’d be staring at a blank canvas for the last three hours, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t find any inspiration.

The dry spell –or an artist’s worst nightmare as Naruto liked to call it– had started a little less than six months ago and seemed to take flight directly after graduating art school. At first it had been a small itch; something that effected him slowly, albeit indirectly. But these days the problem had become full blown and he didn’t know what to do about it anymore. Even after leaving his Uncle’s house in the city and venturing out into the world, Naruto hadn’t been able to find a plausible solution. The dream of expanding his horizons and tasting the palate of mankind was now nothing more than a bitter dream that lied at the end of a paintbrush that refused to work properly.

The blonde haired blue eyed man of twenty-two years sighed wearily. In retrospect he’d always had a soft spot for unrefined beauty. He liked spending his nights gazing up at the star splattered skies, just as he enjoyed the sensation of salty air as it assaulted his nose when he stood on the beach, watching the tide flow in and out with a comforting rhythm. Likewise, the morning sun always looked best when he sat outside and observed it from the porch, and the beauty of rain drops became much more palpable if he stood out in the street, arms stretched wide, head plumb and mouth agape—tasting and feeling the cold liquid slide down his throat like it was a part of him returning back to where it belonged.

Yes, Naruto was a bit of a romantic at heart, and after graduating from college he wanted nothing more than to woo the world and paint its charm. It was why he had left his old life behind him to start anew.

The only problem was… there was no inspiration.

No real inspiration, anyway.

Sure, in the likeness of being an artist he still composed. Let his finger’s hold the brush steadily between forefinger and thumb as thin lines were pulled back into broad strokes, and blue shades washed away into endless hues of red, green and yellow. But it wasn’t right. There was no feeling or passion. Or if it was there, it certainly wasn’t sufficient enough to appease him. It did occur to Naruto, at one point, that perhaps the indifference was as simple as changing the form of media that he used. Thus the blonde tried working with watercolors, pastels, chalk, and graphite; changing from realism, to abstract, to still life and even attempting contemporary in an effort to rediscover his talent.

Each time he tried so hard, and yet each time the effort was made in vain. The medium, nor did the style seem to matter as the results never failed to differ. It was always failure—each piece managing to lack that special something; a unique sense of kinetic energy that Naruto now had a hard time seeing in nature, and even more trouble identifying in humans: depth, emotion, and the soul of the composition. It was these things that he just couldn’t seem to express. And after six month, it was beyond frustrating.

In the past, even on bad days, Naruto had always been able to paint a portrait of someone in a way that made you literally feel as if a piece of their soul had become infused in the work. It wasn’t like that now though. No, even with the image of flesh and blood he couldn’t expel something on paper and honestly say that it was worthy by his standards. Truly, the core of that reality made the blonde feel like shit and it led him to doubt. Maybe his Uncle was right; maybe he was chasing a dream that was going to lead nowhere.

‘No,’ he thought callously. ‘I’m not going to think like that. I moved out of Kakashi’s house so I wouldn’t be subjected to that shit, and here I am thinking it myself.’

In light of things Naruto’s uncle was indeed a very nice man – a little cold around the edges, but once you got to know him it wasn’t all that bad. Of course the man was also a realist. He didn’t fancy his only nephew traveling half-way across the country to paint a field full of flowers, or an inspiring view of a lake. Instead his goal for Naruto was to have the boy tucked behind some fancy desk, typing away on a computer and filing papers.

Still, the older man had known better than to try and force Naruto into something like that, and had opted to humor him instead.

“This is just a faze Naruto. Once you’re out there on your own, you’ll grow up and realize that I was right. The life of an artist is a poor man’s fate and you deserve something better. When you wise up, come on home and I’ll be waiting for you. We can start you back on the path to a real man’s career.”

Those had been the parting words from the man who had raised him, who had given him a home to live, food to eat and an education despite what his major had been. It was why Naruto knew that Kakashi meant well, but at the same time his uncle was wrong. As long as the blonde managed to keep a roof over his head, ramen in the cupboard and was able to express himself; then all was good and fine in his book. He wasn’t going to change who he was and he wasn’t going to go crawling back home to sit behind a desk for the rest of his life.

Taking a deep step back, Naruto let his mind return to the task at hand –eyeing the unmarked canvas that was propped against his easel— before turning swiftly to the vista outside his studio. It was a breathtaking display that befell him. An endless expanse of green fields with trees scattered along the horizon, a glass chessboard that constituted the reflection of a lake and the faint blemish of mountains far in the distance. Naruto knew he could paint it, make it look even better then the real thing. But what he couldn’t do was express it, and that was what was holding him back.

“Fuck.” His voice striking the air only a few seconds before a knock echoed down the long hallway, via the front door. “Huh?” He hadn’t been expecting company but it was a much needed distraction.

Wandering off of the patio and back inside his home, Naruto padded down the hallway of his apartment. It was a quaint little place that was located near the downtown district and had an overview of the bay and the surrounding woods. The interior wasn’t anything thing grand, just the typically layout for a standard Japanese home. The walls however were something atrocious, painted a sickly lime-green that bared hints of yellow, while the carpet was a stingy brown and looked worse for the wear. There was a small bedroom near the back and a tiny little kitchen that was connected to the living room. While down the far end of the hall resided a large bathroom that housed a sink, toilet and old fashioned tub. Naruto knew it wasn’t much, but he liked to call it home.

As another roll of knocks assaulted the front door, he frowned. There was a distinct pattern to it and suddenly, Naruto knew exactly who was standing on the other side. Giving an exasperated sigh, he fiddled with the locks and flung the door open. “What do you want, Sai?” The said man’s name tumbling out before the raven haired fiend could fully come into view.

Standing there in the hallway was a very handsome twenty-three year old man. His face held striking features that gave an endless amount of depth to his already black eyes. He had short, thick ebony hair that was held down with massive amounts of hair gel and skin so soft that it looked sinfully wrong. Naruto knew a few people who would give their right arm to go on a date with the said individual, but right now the blonde just wanted to get rid of him.

“Hey Naru,” the man’s voice sensually flowing out; making the nickname sound a bit sexually explicit. As if to reinforce that indication a pair of black eyes rolled down the blonde’s body; taking in everything from Naruto’s beautiful blue orbs and whisker like scars, to the toned expanse of his topless chest. Sai smirked when he realized that Naruto was only sporting a baggy pair of black cargo pants. And by the way they deliciously hung off the other’s defined hips, he was quite sure that his friend was going commando. If only he could find away to make Naruto’s pants fall off and make it seem like an accident. He wondered if just pulling them off would count.

“Are you going to stand there all day molesting me with your eyes or what?” Naruto asked.

His neighbor and newly acquired friend was quite the pervert, so it wasn’t hard to tell what was going on in that X-rated mind of his.

“Ah, Naru-kun,” he wooed. “I wouldn’t have to fantasize about molesting you if you’d let me have my way with you.”

Bluntly ignoring the intended bait, as he was not going to have the: ‘its not going to happen’ conversation with Sai again, Naruto scowled and eased from one foot to the other. It seemed that every time they talked to each other –be it in person or over the phone– the older man would try and get into his pants. It wasn’t that Naruto was put off by having a guy hit on him. On the contrary the twenty-two year old had no problem with it at all. It was just that he wasn’t attracted to Sai. Yeah, the guy did have a hot body, but Naruto’s fascination with people swelled beyond a surface image. And his friend just came off too pushy for his liking.

“Hum, speaking of fantasy and reality, if this isn’t important I need to get back to work.”

“Painting again are we?” Sai hummed inquired.” I could model for you. Nude of course. “

“Sai.”

“Alright, I got it. You’re busy. Look the real reason I stopped by is because I wanted to invite you to go out with Gaara and me on Saturday night. There’s this new club opening right outside of town, and well, honestly you need to get out of your apartment and have some fun.”

Naruto shook his head. “You just want to get me drunk.”

“No… Well, yeah I do. But I knew you’d refuse if it was just the two of us, which is why I invited Gaara. See, he’s sort of under the impression that you’ve already agreed…” Sai mumbled the latter half as his eyes roamed around in a guilty sort of fashion.

Naruto couldn’t say that he was surprised. Sai was always dragging him into things without asking, making the blond feel more then obligated to give in when it came to the pending results. In this case, it was namely so that Gaara didn’t kill Sai. The red-head –and second recently acquired friend– didn’t really get along with the raven haired man and they only reason why they were all acquainted was because of Naruto. Despite what his gut was telling him ’this is going to mean trouble’ he let out an exasperated sigh and resigned to his fate. “All right, I’ll go. But you’re paying since this was your idea.”

Sai smirked. ”Thanks Naru, just make sure you wear something sexy. Better yet, don’t wear anything at all.” Moving swiftly and without any warning, Sai ducked down and reached forward, hooking his index finger through one of the belt loops on Naruto’s pants before tugging on it as hard as he could.

The blonde, who had anticipated such antic because this wasn’t the first time his friend had attempted to strip him; grabbed the left side of his pants to keep them from falling down, while trying harder than necessary to kick Sai with his right foot.

Barely avoiding the pad of Naruto’s foot as it nearly came in contact with his face, the raven haired man stumbled back and raced down the hall to his own apartment, slamming the door shut, thus hindering the assault.

“Pervert!” Naruto yelled, though he shook his head with mild amusement. It was great having friends and living out on his own. Now all he really needed was some inspiration and everything would be right as rain. “Maybe I do need to have a little fun,” he mused out loud, shutting his door and turning back to lean against it. “It’s not like I have anything to lose…”

Shuffling back down the hall, the blonde decided to take a ramen break while absentmindedly noting that it was just another means of procrastination. Yet little did he know that in less than two days he would find himself standing before the perfect image of inspiration. The cost of that muse however, would change his life forever.

……

Sasuke gingerly turned the page in the book he was reading; not flinching in the least when a rather thick piece of literature was flung across the room, nearly hitting him in the face. A pair of dark eyes rolled upward for a moment, taking in the said offender before curtly returning to his reading. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

The older male –aka book throwing assailant–, who was sitting across from Sasuke in their home library, smirked slightly though his cold impassive eyes did not carry over the same hint of amusement. Letting his long fingers thumb through another book, he looked upon it with dissatisfaction before throwing it across the room too. The momentum behind this one was so strong that it caused Sasuke’s raven locks to flutter slightly as it buzzed by.

“Itachi!”

“What?”

“Do you mind not tearing my library apart?” Sasuke scowled at his brother, taking in the slothful slight. Itachi was sitting in an old Victoria style chair, the deep highlights in the wood accentuated by the constant flicker that shimmered off the nearby fireplace. The upholstery to the piece was a dark, crimson red and clashed against his older siblings alabaster skin while making the expanse of his red lips more pronounced. Dark hair was splayed across the chair and dangled freely; the base of Itachi’s neck rested –in what appeared uncomfortably so– on the chair’s right armrest. He was slouched in an odd, unprecedented fashion. His body contradicted more of a horizontal then vertical approach, leaving his right leg to dangle over the opposing armrest whereas the left was cocked slightly to the side in a provocative display. Bowing back a long pale arm, Itachi reached over and grabbed another book from one of the many piles surrounding him. Repeating the same process as before, the elder looked through the said item before tossing it across the room. This time however, Sasuke caught it. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

Waving his hand dismissively, Itachi disregarded the statement. “What does it matter Otouto? You’ve read every book in this fucking place a dozen times or more. For over two-hundred year’s it’s been the same bullshit. There are only so many ways to tell a story before it get old,” he hissed in agitation. For extra emphasis his left foot lurched forward, effectively knocking over a large stack of old books.

“Hn.” Sasuke chose not to comment, though he did agree with one thing his brother had said. It had been the same shit for the last two-hundred years. Trapped in the eternal darkness unable to see the gift of sunlight, being forced to suffer as your heart continued to beat in your chest but knowing, regrettably, that your soul had long ago departed, that you had to depend on other’s to fuel your existence while thirsting endlessly for blood that only gave you temporary satisfaction. Yes, it had been the same old thing for quite a while now, and sometimes Sasuke was inclined to believe that being a vampire was no different than stuck being in hell; maybe even worse, considering he had Itachi.

“Let’s go out and do something Otouto.”

“I’m not hungry,” came the stoic reply as the sound of a page turning filtered through the vast room. The library, which was located on the second floor of the Uchiha mansion, was filled to the brim with books that had been collected from various parts of the world. Some of them were modern day novels while other’s dated back to a time when both vampires had been human. The wild assortment breeched all kinds of topics and were formatted in just as many sizes and texts; printed in English, Japanese, French and Russian: all languages that both vampires were fluent in.

Out of all the places in the four story; three-hundred room manor, this was Sasuke’s favorite location to reside.

“I wasn’t talking about hunting, although now that you mention it, I am a little hungry—”

“Good, then leave,” Sasuke intercepted, eager to be disposed of his brother so he could get back to his reading without the added interruptions.

Itachi didn’t seem to like that idea though. “Would you get your nose out of that damn book? You spend all your time indulging yourself with fantasies that will never come true. You’re never going to see the sunrise again; you’re never going to feel that warmth. You sure as hell aren’t going to fall in love and live happily ever after… So why do you bother to read that shit?”

Sasuke’s expression was indifferent as he gingerly placed his index finger inside the open page of the book, so that as he closed it, his place was not lost. Looking up to his brother, he spoke in a cold, bitter tone, “Because I didn’t ask to become this. You just did as you pleased and took everything away from me. Well, you can’t have my passion—my right to wish for something better. That belongs to me Itachi!”

“I love you Otouto, but stop acting like a whiny, pathetic bitch.”

A fire lit up in Sasuke’s dark eyes and the younger heir rose to his feet. “Then stop treating me like this,” he seethed, tossing down his book before stomping towards the door. He hated when Itachi did this. Wasn’t it bad enough that his older brother turned him into a vampire and that Sasuke was forced to watch as Itachi killed their parents in a cruel vicious fashion—but then the bastard had to go around and act like he owned him. It wasn’t fair! Over two hundred years had passed and yet still Itachi refused to let him go. As a result he was stuck with the man, who owned all the land, who controlled all the money and ordered Sasuke around like he was a slave.

“Sasuke-Kun?”

The teenager stopped knowing that above all things if Itachi was using his real name, then it was in his best interest to listen. ‘This better not be something stupid,’ he fumed mentally, knowing that his brother often abused his sense of authority for rather ridiculous devises.

“Don’t make plans for this weekend. We’re going to go into town.”

“Hn,” was the only reply given before Sasuke continued out the door.

“It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order.” Itachi called, listening to the sound of footsteps echo down the marble lined hallways until the 'clack' was but a faint whisper. After a minute the taller man drew to his feet and sauntered across the room, dipping down to pick up Sasuke’s discarded book. It was one of the older ones, it’s binding nearly rotted away by the deliverance of time, the pages torn at the corners and stained an odd shade, akin to that of an off white. It was more than obvious that his little brother had read it countless times, and as Itachi spun the book around in his hand, he couldn’t help but smirk as the faded title rolled into view.

‘Romeo and Juliet.’

Sasuke really was a dreamer; he even found satisfaction in tragic love stories. “But no one is going to save you Otouto.”

Not even looking Itachi tossed the book to the side and into the fireplace, listening as the flames hissed and popped, burning the pages away. Perhaps it was time that he reminded Sasuke of who exactly owned his ass.

“I made you and I can break you Otouto. You belong to me.”

……

The Next Night (Friday)

Sasuke padded down the long hallways, his bare feet tingling against the cold marble floors. He was glad that Itachi had left for the evening. He hated when his brother stuck around and harassed him, especially after what had happened the night before. To be honest with himself—and in regards to the situation—things only seemed to be getting worse between the two of them. Itachi had way too many mood swings for the younger vampire’s liking and although they hadn’t gotten physically violent with each other in quite a while, Sasuke could tell that it when they did; it wasn’t going to be pretty.

‘No need to dwell on the inevitable, I might as well as enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts.’ He mused, because it never lasted long.

Turning the corner in what sometimes felt like a hedge maze, a spiraling branch of extending hallways poured into view, the beloved sight of his library residing at the very end of the main artery. Sasuke didn’t know how he’d managed to keep his sanity while living with Itachi for the last two-hundred plus years, but he had a good reason to believe that his books had helped him more than once along the way.

For the younger Uchiha, reading was nostalgic. It helped him remember all the things that he could no longer see or feel; things that had been lost to the darkness for so long that he could barely visualize them unless he was reading the words or seeing a picture of what it was. Consequently, the latter of these two things was the second source of his desire. Sasuke had an appending fascination with art. He couldn’t count the times that he’s spent his evenings walking around the manor, just looking at the pictures which hung off the endless expanse of the mansion's walls. Although he enjoyed both the composition and ingenuity of abstract and the beauty of realistic portraits, his all time favorite genre was scenery. Pictures of the sun rising or setting, pieces that showed summer time fun –a picnic, a child flying a kite or a poolside birthday party – it was those pieces that always made his heart flutter. Sasuke’s birthday was in the summer and he both remembered and longed for the days that were hot, the arid sun burning down on him, and the cool sensation of water splashing against his body as it glided over his flesh, leaving a refreshing feeling that couldn’t be matched by anything else. Art helped him remember those things, and although he tried to paint the images themselves, they were always overshadowed by the darkness in his life.

Shaking away such petty desires –for Itachi was right about one thing, he would never see another sunrise, fall in love or find happiness in this life– his hands reached out to the solid gold handles of the library door and turned them, pushing the threshold inward.

As soon as the room opened up felt his heart drop—and yes he still had a heart, one that pumped blood through his body and beat with a faint, very faint, rhythm.

They were gone. Every last one of his beloved books was gone. The rows of bookcases’ that lined the walls and filled the wide expanse of the room—were now left empty. A thin layer of dust settling over each piece of plywood; the memory of what had once been there, already disappearing.

Sasuke could barely make his legs move forward, as his black eyes shifted from one corner to the next. His memories, dreams, his link to the mortal world, it was all gone. Itachi had taken it all away. Stumbling further, his drifting black orbs managed catch sight of a single white piece of paper, sitting perfectly on one of the many oak tables littering the room. Hesitant to pick it up; the raven haired teen scolded at himself for being so apprehensive and snatched the paper, flipping it over to see what was written.

In perfect Calligraphy, in the middle of the page, were the words:

You were wrong Otouto; even your dreams belong to me.

Fisting the paper, the crisp sheet crackled in the tight grip. For all the anger that he felt for what Itachi had done, it was those ten simple words that cut him the deepest. Mainly because he knew that Itachi was right.
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The Color of Blood