Leaning against the tree at his back, Sasuke watched him approach, eyes bleeding into black. Gaara smiled. He looked much better when he wasn't using the sharingan -- dark eyes to contrast with that pale skin, dark and somber and softer than crazy red.
He looked much better when he was too exhausted to call on it. Too exhausted to run away.
He was caught, now, and he knew it. And he was so much more beautiful with his lips reddened by wet, glistening blood, with his chest desperately heaving for breath, with his clothes shredded by numerous crashes through trees and rocks, with his perfection marred and broken.
He was beautiful, and loved, and so very strong. Gaara licked his lips, and advanced, slowly, his sand rising all around them to cut every escape route.
Mother would be pleased.