Sundance

8. Just like this (Tobirama)

I smiled to myself.

I never smiled to myself.

That wasn't true, actually. I used to. Before the depression. But not since. Now, I did.

Being on that stage had done something to me. Something I had never expected. But being egged on by the alcohol, by the ravenous outfit Hashirama had lent me, and the audience's cheers, I had gone up.

I had hidden a piece of rope in my trousers for the hell of it. You never knew. But once on stage, I definitely knew. My hands knew what to do. My body knew what to do. My soul knew what to do.

I had begun practicing Shibaru at home, following online tutorials, as a way to calm my stressed mind. If it wasn't for the ropes, I didn't think I would've survived the depression. At least, my scars would've been deeper than they were.

My scars...

I had gone to the makeup artist, asked her to please cover them up, just in case, just like carrying the rope had been just in case. She'd done such a good job, I felt tempted to ask her to do it every day. But of course, I wouldn't bother her like that. I had made her promise not to tell anyone, and she'd said yes, if I promised to try to accept them.

Honestly, I don't think I would've thought about the scars once I got on that stage even when I showed off my chest. The adrenaline had been pumping in my vessels so fiercely, I was afraid they would burst, and I couldn't think of anything for a while but the knots. I had loved it. I had loved each and every moment.

So that was why I smiled as I walked, Hashirama's frock back on against the cold but open to show off my chest and abdomen, the rope casually in my hand, the top hat still in the circus wandering from head-to-head. The sky was a beautiful velvet blue, the stars little dots of glitter, reminding me of all the amazing people in that tent. There had been so many stunning performances. So many. They were all crazy talented. I wondered why Izuna hadn't performed; I thought he loved attention in any way, shape or form.

I heard something then... Something soft, something musical. I stopped, became silent. I took a few steps forwards; the sound became louder. I kept walking, following the sound.

And then I realised...

Well, well, well...

They were soft moans of pleasure, and they were coming from Izuna's trailer.

So that's why he didn't perform, I thought, which made sense. I guess I haven't seen Hashirama either. So they've been at it for... I checked my watch. It was two am. The party started at eight.

I walked closer, thinking... I had done one brave thing tonight. Why not another? And it wasn't as if I hadn't done it before; it was only weeks ago I casually walked into that trailer to fetch something while they were fucking each other. I had known they were then, and hadn't cared.

But now...

The situation seemed different, somehow. I couldn't quite decide why.

I walked up to the door of Izuna's polka-coloured trailer, and opened the door without knocking.

And came face-to-face with Izuna, alone.

He was completely naked, on the floor, leaning his head back against the radiator. Sweat was pouring down his upper body, and his thighs were sticky with something sweeter than sweat. His face was contorted in the pleasure created by his own hand.

He did not stop moving his hand as I came in.

He looked over at me, face contorted in pleasure, lips parted, a trail of drool hanging down his chin. His hair was loose, flowing wildly around him, thick and shiny. His body was shaped into soft folds that looked devourable, his arms and legs strong.