He steals Sasuke's own moisture, leaving him just as parched, and still it's not enough; dry as ever he pulls back and rasps his tongue over his own lips with a sound like sandpaper. Sasuke feels drunk; literally drunk.

His skin rasps against Sasuke's when they touch, scraped to leather by sun and sand. They don't touch often. But...

Once he took Sasuke to an oasis, with blood-warm muddy water that came up to their thighs. Sasuke had never seen him without clothes before--he has never taken off any more clothing than is necessary--but he stripped without a thought and waded in. Sasuke had the thought that his body would absorb the water and leave the pool dry, and for a moment he could see it happening; then Sasuke blinked and shook his head, and the illusion went away. Tired, Sasuke thought. I'm just tired. The desert...

And then Sasuke followed him into the water, and they bathed in silence. Sasuke knelt and ducked his head under, enjoying the water on his burned skin; but the other man never once dipped his head below the water's surface. Instead he brought handfuls of water up and poured them over his head. Wet strands of red hair fell wetly over the kanji inscribed on his forehead, extra lines that turned the word into nonsense.

Squinting, Sasuke tried to read this new word, but the meaning of it escaped him.

They climbed from the water and laid on the rocks, letting the midnight air dry their skins, and he sprawled out on his back, staring up at the stars and ignoring Sasuke, who sat beside him. The heavy hooded thing between his legs lay soft and sleeping on his belly, but Sasuke knew that if he were to touch it it would wake, and rise, and its cowled head would nuzzle at his fingers. If he were to keep touching it soon it would stand hard and proud, and weep salt tears.

And Sasuke knew that salt was a necessity, in the desert.