Illusory

Prompt #6:"The face of a lover is an unknown, precisely because it is invested with so much of oneself. It is a mystery, containing, like all mysteries, the possibility of torment." - James Baldwin

A/N: I do not own Naruto or any of the characters used in this yada yada yada. I'm just borrowing them to appease that voice in my head that won't let me sleep at night. Mei-chan was paid with a dozen roses for beta-ing.

"It doesn't fit you."

That's what my instructor and mentor told me all those years ago when we first met. I suppose he's right. He would know. He's recognized as possibly one of the greatest players of all time. It's a dark instrument, strong in its sound, rich in its tones while maintaining assertive elegance. Solo, it easily breathes an air of mystery, of melancholy, of hidden pleasures and deep desires. In the right hands, it can easily brush against the darker parts of the soul. The cello is everything I am not. Here with my eyes focused on the white sheets before me, and my fingers and arms moving in precise movements, I easily lose myself in the resonance crashing into me as I lay his soul to bear with every note, every stroke, every glide of my bow. My heart pounds in my chest, and I know my breath is coming out in shallow bursts as I imbue each note with the emotions swirling through me; my interpretation of what he wants to tell the world.

Kakashi once said to me I always let myself get carried away by my emotions. It's true.

Critics have described my playing as raw and unbridled, uncouth and loud, filled with passion and unrestrained emotion that drives into the human soul like stakes, tearing apart barriers of control, even as the listener struggles to maintain composure. Yet, it is in that moment when the listener's soul is laid bare to my music that he or she can truly experience music as an expression of humanity.

By nature I'm expressive. I have no problem putting my anger, my joy, my sadness, my desire on display for the world to see. Kakashi once told me, that's what sets me apart. That's why I'm destined to become legendary.

"That's why you'll surpass even your father."

I speed up, drowning the notes in what I believe they should convey. I'm getting close to the end of the piece and my pulse races as my arm aches from the speed at which I draw my bow over the strings. Every time I play something hehas created I find myself being overwhelmed. I lose myself in the expression of the notes.

"Naruto!"

I halt in my playing and look up to see Kakashi staring at me. The look he's giving me is intense. His usual lazy gaze is steady and assessing, fingers pressed hard against taut, cloth-covered lips. I know why he's looking at me like that. I know. I'm doing it again. I'm forcing something into the music that was probably never meant to be there. From the moment I'd looked at the sheets of music before me I'd known the effect this single composition would have. I've been practicing this piece for weeks. I have it almost perfected and part of me is terrified. I know what it will sound like, what I will make it sound like. I like to think it's because I understand him so well. This piece was written for me, and only for me like so many others he's created. Kakashi opens his mouth to say something but stops himself.

I look away feeling my face heat up. Only then I realize my palms are slightly sweaty.

I'm not sure what to say.

"I think that's enough for today." My silver-haired mentor says to me, rising to his feet. I've heard Kakashi attempt to play this very same piece, but it never sounded the way it just did.

"...Kakashi-sensei..." I'm uncertain about what to say. Kakashi's eyes are still on me and I feel myself flush once more.

"Naruto...I don't think you should play that at the concert." He says to me softly.

"Not like that..." He adds, even softer.

I have no answer to that, so I look away, my eyes focusing on the bow clutched tightly in my hand.

"What do you mean?" I ask, feigning ignorance.

He doesn't answer. We both know what he means.

"...That's enough for today. We'll continue tomorrow."

I simply nod as I move aside my cello and stand.

"Naruto..."

At the sound of my name, I look at him and flash a weak smile.

"Thanks for your hard work Kakashi-sensei."

Kakashi stares at me a moment longer before smiling and giving me a thumbs-up. My smile broadens into a grin before I move to pack up my things.

I'll never forget the first day I met Kakashi. Iruka was the one that introduced us after he realized my strong interest in learning to play the cello.

I bid Kakashi goodbye as I heft my cello's case over my shoulder. As I exit Kakashi's home, I know he's staring at me from his doorway. I can feel his eyes boring into the back of me. I'm torturing myself, yet it's impossible for me to stop.

The first time we met was right after my very first concert. The small concert hall had erupted into applause shocking me. I'd stood there clutching my bow and holding my cello close as the noise echoed off the walls. I was grinning madly while eagerly scanning the crowd. It was as I exited the stage, rushing eagerly to the embrace from Iruka, the man who introduced me to music, that I saw him. He was standing off to the side staring at me. Even as I hugged the man that was closer to me than anyone else, I couldn't break the piercing gaze he'd locked me into. Every thing about him drew me, screamed barely restrained passion despite the cold aura being projected. Later, it would be Kakashi that introduced us.

Sighing, I carefully place my instrument on the floor of my apartment before making my way to the bathroom. I don't bother turning on lights as I make my way there. The city lights filtering through the large windows are enough. I'm exhausted, not physically, but emotionally, mentally. Flicking on a bathroom light, I turn on the shower and let the water run while I strip. Languidly, I step into the hot water, letting it flow over my body. Taking a deep breath, I feel the tension that had built up during the day slip away. I spend more time than usual in the shower and by the time I step out, my bathroom is full of steam. I'm glad. It means I won't have to see the haunting look in my blue eyes.

I know I should probably eat something but I have no appetite, a lately familiar sensation. Instead, I drop the towel I used to dry myself and rummage through my drawers for something to wear. Pulling on some pajama bottoms, I head back to where I left my cello.

It was a week after my concert that we met. I was working on Bach's Cello Suite number 3, Sarabande when he walked in with Kakashi. I think my heart stopped beating when our eyes made contact. Kakashi introduced him as Gaara. I recognized the name instantly. He was the up and coming composer that had the classical music world in a frenzy. He was considered a genius, compared to Mozart. His creations were sheer brilliance. Yet, he was an enigma. Very little was known about his personal life and he shied away from the public eye. He was also known to be incredibly picky about who played his compositions. He was exactly as I remembered that day, a mass of short, jaggedly cut, red hair of a shade that couldn't possibly be natural. Yet, the paleness of his skin seemed to be a testament to it. Brilliant green eyes, surrounded by dark, black rings observed me carefully, evaluating, even as the strange red tattoo on his forehead stood out. I immediately recognized it as kanji due to the lessons I'd had with Iruka. The room was silent. From the corner of my eyes, I could see Kakashi standing off to the side, that ridiculous orange book obscuring his face. Despite this, I knew he was observing our interactions carefully.

"Bach's Cello Suite no. 1. Interlude."

His voice made me shiver and I hoped to the heavens he hadn't noticed. I stared at him a moment longer. He simply stood there patiently, hands buried in the pockets of the black trousers he wore.

Slowly, I brought my bow and positioned my fingers. Closing my eyes, I lost myself in the sounds as my hands went through the motions. I allowed the emotions I thought were appropriate filter through me and into my music. This was one of my favourite pieces. Some minutes later, when I reopened my eyes, my breath caught in my throat. He was closer, much closer than before. He'd moved to stand directly in front me. I tilted my head back to meet his gaze. At that moment, everything narrowed down to him and only him. At that moment, I forgot that we weren't alone as my entire being focused on the redhead standing before me.

"I've been looking for you." He said softly, yet his face was an emotionless mask. That's when my mind made him into something I had no right making him into.

Pulling my cello from its home, I move to sit on my sofa. Positioning my instrument carefully, I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Although he's written for me, he never interferes with my expression of his compositions. I asked him once, when he came to drop of one of his cello solos. I asked him to stay and give me his opinion, knowing my motives were not purely driven by my need for guidance in playing. He looked at me hard before answering. He said if he wanted it to sound the way he it did when he composed it, he would have played it himself. Then he left.

I like to think it's because he sees my talent, that we've established a deep level of trust between artists. Yet, trust takes the presence of more than one to grow.

Slowly, I bring my bow to the strings and start playing. I know this better than I know any other piece of music I have ever played. It's the very first thing he's ever written for me. With my eyes closed, the notes flow seamlessly, filling my apartment with the sound and once more come the images.
Once again my imagination betrays me and I can see him. I start off slow, gliding my bow while shifting my fingers.

He's standing before me, eyes the same piercing green and I can't seem to look away. He doesn't say anything but neither do I. I'm captivated, lost and all I can do is stand there as he moves closer. He gets so close that I can see the the fine, scant hairs of his barely visible eyebrows. His breath ghosts over my lips.

My arms seem to have taken on a mind of their own as they continue to move, speeding up to match my pulse and the fire that is gradually growing within me.

He's touching me, his hand is stroking my bare arm, lighting my skin on fire as long, thin fingers caress me. Suddenly, his lips are on mine and I'm being overwhelmed as I'm pushed onto my back.

My brows have furrowed slightly and I know my playing has sped up even more. The desire building inside me is flowing through my body and into my cello, bursting through the sound, ricocheting off the walls only to come pounding against me.

His hands are everywhere on my bare skin and I'm returning the favor, touching him, reveling in the feel of pale, smooth skin. I think one of us moans and it's probably me. He's not the type of person to express his pleasure so wantonly, or so I like to think. I writhe under his touches. His lips brush lightly against my ear, my cheek, my lips, my neck and I'm groaning in pleasure. He's whispering something to me and I can barely make out what he says as I push my body up against his. The heat from him sears through my skin as he presses back grinding our hips together.

My arms are flying through the notes and the strings are digging into my fingers as I press down on them with more force than necessary.

He's finally entering me and I'm begging him to hurry, even as my desire for him threatens to burst from my body. He's moving inside me, hard and fast, and my legs are wrapped around him urging him on. He tells me how good I feel and I beg him to never stop. He's telling me give him all of me and I whisper back that I'm his, that he's had me from the day our eyes met.

I'm almost at the end, and my playing has taken on a feverish pitch. My body is tense and I can feel sweat on my brows, but I don't stop. Even as I hit the final notes-

He tells me to come for him and I climax, screaming his name while I cling to him with my entire being. I feel his warmth flow into me as he joins me in my ecstasy.

I finish, pulling my bow harshly over the strings. Opening my eyes, I stare at nothing. My pants are uncomfortably damp but I ignore that. I ignore the burn in my arm and fingers. I ignore the short gasps of my breath. Is it possible to torture yourself with your own music?

He whispers my name softly and as our eyes meet, I whisper that I love him.

Hugging my cello to my chest, I close my eyes, squeezing the lids until spots dance across my vision. My skin tingles from where he'd never touched me. My lips burn where they'd never touched his. My ear rings from the words he'd never whispered to me. My body shivers from the nonexistent weight of his body on mine. My memory is filled with the feeling of his skin even though my fingers have never caressed him.

My head bows as I clutch my cello tighter, making contact with the neck of my instrument. The soft ping of my tears hitting the wood of my cello is clearly audible in the deafening silence.

I'm in love with him...