Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3314630.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Naruto
  Relationship:
      Uchiha_Itachi/Uchiha_Shisui, Uchiha_Fugaku/Uchiha_Mikoto
  Character:
      Uchiha_Itachi, Uchiha_Shisui, Uchiha_Sasuke, Uchiha_Fugaku, Uchiha
      Mikoto, Uchiha_Yashiro
  Additional Tags:
      BDSM, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Developing_Relationship, Not
      Suitable/Safe_For_Work, NSFW, Forbidden_Love, Sex, Cousin_Incest,
      Explicit_Sexual_Content, Sexual_Tension, Anal_Sex, Oral_Sex, Bondage_and
      Discipline, Training, Slow_Build, Blood_and_Torture, Blood_and_Gore,
      Choking, Dominance, Submission, True_Love, Power_Dynamics, Power
      Exchange, Lust, Sadism, One_True_Pairing, Spies_&_Secret_Agents, Secret
      Relationship, Protectiveness, Violence, Fear, Mischief, thrill_seeking,
      Dark, Slash, Male_Slash, Love, Lemon, Bloodlust, Blood_and_Violence,
      Blood_Kink, Possessive_Behavior
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-08 Completed: 2015-04-03 Chapters: 20/20 Words: 53814
****** Breathing Glass ******
by BlackMajjicDuchess
Summary
     "To submit to another means to allow your mind to rest, to place your
     body in the path of consummate pleasure, and to give a gift that
     should be masterfully taken." --A. Rogers
     It is the sweetest kind of struggle.
Notes
     Got ripped apart on Tumblr by a vicious troll while I was writing
     this and got cold feet. I wrote it in October and am only posting it
     now.
     I wrote a 5000 word disclaimer, then discarded it.
     My final verdict on me writing this: there was a story in my heart
     that needed to be told. I told it. You don't have to read it, but I
     DID have to write it.
     Flames will be deleted and I won't respond to them.
     Any questions, feel free to ask them.
     That said: excessive trigger warnings... you've been warned.
***** Spy vs. Spy *****
===============================================================================
  “I am here to seduce you into a love of life; to help you to become a little
  more poetic; to help you die to the mundane and to the ordinary so that the
                     extraordinary explodes in your life.”
===============================================================================
 
Shisui knew the voice, even if he could not see the man who owned it. It was
the deep and scratchy voice of Yashiro, one of the prominent officers of the
Uchiha police force, and Shisui’s current superior officer. Usually,
predictably, Fugaku would be the one doling out the orders. This was a special
case, however. “Shisui,” the voice began. It was firm, authoritative.
Shisui, of course, already had an inkling of what this was about. He’d never
been accused of being an idiot before. Well, not seriously, anyway. There was
no one alive--key word--who dared. “Yes, captain,” he responded, squatting on
the ground with his head bowed before the other man.
Yashiro remained hidden. This was a touchy subject, and one of great concern.
There was a lot of convoluted treachery in the atmosphere. It was often
difficult to keep straight whom was betraying whom, though a single answer
could be given that would cover the entire situation in one fell swoop: Uchiha
betraying Uchiha. The whole thing was just maddening. Secret clan meetings,
secret factions within the clan, the chief of police under suspicion, and
Fugaku’s dear son most of all.
Shisui thought about Itachi, his young cousin, a kid he’d literally been
watching his entire life; or, at least, ever since the kid could walk. The boy
cloaked himself in solitude and wore it like armor. Shisui’d made as much of an
attempt as he dared over the years to pierce through that armor. No one should
be alone… a member of the Uchiha least of all. And yet, in his solitude, Itachi
had already become an extraordinarily talented ninja, though Shisui saw him for
what he was: untamed, unrefined, and generally just wasted. Itachi’s skills
were nearly unsurpassed, but they were still rough. He had no guide, no mentor,
for he’d left them all behind long, long ago. Itachi was more alone than ever,
and frighteningly strong besides.
Fools like Yashiro would never see the boy for what he was: true magnificence,
but only if handled properly, by someone just like… himself.
“You know of Uchiha Itachi.” It wasn’t quite a question.
Of course he knew of Itachi. They were cousins, of a kind. His mother was
Fugaku’s first cousin, anyway, so in a distant kind of way that Shisui didn’t
care to understand, they were cousins. “Yes.” Either Yashiro had forgotten
that—more fool, him—or he simply didn’t care. Either choice was a fatal
mistake. Loyalty was as plentiful in his blood as iron, and there was nothing
to be done to make Shisui betray Itachi over his clan, even if he did sometimes
say otherwise. Shisui had never told anyone, never would, but above everyone
else in the world, Shisui valued Itachi most of all. Itachi was gloriously
special, unique and amazing for reasons that none but he himself could see. In
time, he hoped to show Itachi that they were alike in more ways than might seem
obvious, a truth he felt as keenly as his own heartbeat, undeniable and soul-
deep, but that was a delicate revelation that would need to be handled
masterfully. It was a dangerous, seductive, exquisite game, and at the end of
it, Itachi would be the ultimate prize.
“We have reason to suspect that he might be leaking clan secrets. This is an
endangerment to our livelihood and a grave infraction to us all. You are the
best choice among us to keep a watchful eye on Itachi. Track his movements.
Follow him when necessary. Report anything… suspicious, especially about clan
politics or meetings with persons of interest.”
Translation: permission to be upon Itachi like white on rice. He had to
suppress the stupid grin that threatened. This was going to be too perfect.
“Yes, captain,” came the easy response. Spy on Itachi. He’d expected that.
“And Shisui, it goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway. Be careful. Itachi
is under a lot of strain. He’s too powerful. Shinobi of his caliber have often
been lost to their own psychology.”
Oh, didn’t he know it, and all too well. He’d been helpless to the breakdown of
his own father, and had made it his own priority to protect himself from
similar mental destruction. Maybe Yashiro didn’t know—hopefully no one did—but
if there was something to be done about Itachi’s mental dysfunction, Shisui
wasn’t going to let that happen to him. A lot of people would die first.
Everyone, if necessary. “Yes.”
“Let me know if you find out anything. Your dedication to the clan has not gone
unnoticed. You credit the Uchiha name, Shisui.” There was a whoosh of air as
Yashiro departed, freeing Shisui to smile as he had wished before.
For now, he added silently, inwardly laughing. Hold that thought, Yash.
===============================================================================
 
Itachi stopped walking abruptly, feeling a sudden and urgent need to compose
himself. His head throbbed with the power of distant and terrible memories. His
body ached from the exhaustion of weeks of missions without a break, nothing to
eat but a few measly soldier pills. He was certain he was probably dehydrated,
too, and made a mental note to remedy that as soon as he got home. He squeezed
his eyes shut and did a quick self scan of exactly what was going on with his
body, knowing what he would find. A mishmash of exhaustion, stress, and
tension. Months upon months of spying on clan, spying on village, performing
missions, and meeting the expectations of ANBU. He was well and truly tired.
A spark of stubbornness flickered to life in his heart, though. This was just
one more challenge, one more obstacle to overcome. He would work through the
exhaustion. If he rested now, lay his head down upon a pillow and shut his
eyes, he’d be out for a week. How much could he accomplish in that week if he
didn’t rest? How much destruction could be wrought if he was unavailable to
stem the tide of the bloodletting?
Ah, that was the crux of the issue, wasn’t it? He was needed. Konoha needed
him. ANBU needed him. The Uchiha needed him. And, he thought with a tired
smile, Sasuke needed him, too. And, he added with a deeper frown, his mother
and father needed him, too. So much need. So much fatigue. So much running back
and forth, impressing prominent figures throughout the village without batting
an eyelash, effortless and instinctual.
It was only because his eyes were shut and his senses were heightened that he
even felt the arrival of the other. He didn’t need to look to know who was
there. It was his nuisance of an older cousin, Shisui. Though Itachi respected
Shisui, there was something about the elder Shinobi that irked him. If he had
to hazard a guess, it was because Shisui never seemed to take his duties
seriously. No, that wasn’t quite right either, for his success rate was just as
high as his own, it’s just that the facial expressions weren’t right. Yes, that
was it. Shisui had never seemingly learned the Shinobi tenet that bade a ninja
to detach himself from his emotions. Even now, the man was smirking at him.
“Shisui,” he greeted.
And there it was again, that damnable smile. “Itachi,” he returned, the hint of
laughter on his voice. What was so funny?
Itachi waited, frozen and emotionless, betraying nothing. None of the Uchiha
were to be trusted, least of all this one. If there was anything he had learned
about being an effective spy, it was that the most trustworthy objectives were
often the most likely to be the spy. The trick to being invisible was to hover
outside the realm of consciousness, both present and absent at the same time. A
minor character in a crowd, though not too minor. Not worth a second glance,
and barely worth the first.
“Returning from a mission?” Shisui asked pleasantly, making conversation. His
cousin’s eyes appraised his look, though, taking in the dirt on his uniform and
the tired sag of his eyes, most like, and Itachi was certain that there was
still that smear of blood on his back from where he’d had to fall backward to
avoid a hit and had rolled in a splash of blood.
What a sight he must make. A good, hot shower was first on his list when he got
back home. “Yes.”
His eyelids fell to halfmast, the smile broadening only slightly. They analyzed
each other in silence, digging out loyalties and friendships and family
connections, judging the other based on what they knew and what they guessed
about whom the other was serving, and all without saying a word. Shisui was
probably a problem. He’d probably been sent to spy on him, in fact. That would
make things difficult. Itachi was sure he could work around it somehow, but the
added effort and strain would make for longer days and longer nights, and his
already minimal sleep would suffer as a result. One more challenge, he told
himself. If anyone can do it, it’s me.
“Want to hear something funny?” Shisui asked, the wicked gleam of mischief
entering his eyes.
Itachi’s frown deepened. Yes, Shisui was far too attached to his emotions, he
observed. Shisui’s talents were totally wasted, and Itachi couldn’t afford this
inane distraction right now. “No,” he admitted. “I’ve only just gotten back,
and—“
“I’ve been commanded to spy on you,” he broke in as if Itachi had not even
spoken. Their eyes met, pools of obsidian colliding, crashing, jarring.
Itachi blinked once. Twice. He weighed his options, quickly sifting through the
admission and the consequences, searching for comprehension. Spies weren’t
supposed to admit their involvement. It was basically ANBU gospel, to remain
steadfast under duress no matter the situation. Under no circumstances was one
ever to reveal that he was a spy. It was simple anathema. Yet Shisui had done
so. Why? Their fragile thread of blood relation could not be enough. Throughout
their lifetimes, they had seldom had much contact with each other beyond mere
acquaintance. Sometimes Shisui came by the house, but most times Itachi only
saw him walking around or, more recently, in clan meetings. He didn’t dare ask
the question, though. He’d need to act, and quickly. It was either kill the spy
or continue on as normal. At least a revealed spy was easier to avoid. And,
too, it would keep them from sending another one, maybe.
“Aren’t you going to ask why I told you?” The humor in his voice was then
notably absent, and Itachi’s breathing stilled. The voice that came from the
body was a completely different one. It was deeper, richer, more potent than
before. The real voice, all jokes aside, no bullshit. Shinobi. He felt his own
training stir in response, man to man, equal to equal, met his black, piercing
eyes and said nothing. “I asked you a question,” Shisui demanded softly, gaze
intensifying. It was a voice that expected compliance, right now, no mincing,
and it tore the word right out of Itachi’s lips.
“Why?” he blurted, the word pouring out of his mouth before he had time to
consider why he had said it. He was still trying to wrap his brain around the
difference in his demeanor, for the switchover had happened so suddenly that
Itachi was still rather confused. All this time, and Shisui had been tempered
steel shrouded in laughter. That was almost…interesting.
And just like that, the look evaporated. His eyes blinked, as if waking from a
dream, back to their mischievous gleam. Senseless and guileless, as if Itachi
had only imagined everything else before. “You know, if you think I’d sell you
out to the likes of the police force, you’ve got another thing coming, kid.”
He’d gotten used to people calling him ‘kid,’ though more recently none had
dared. Ever since ‘kid’ had become “captain,’ that nonsense had pretty much
stopped. He’d been leading his own ANBU squads for a while now, and when ‘kid’
was immortalized on a report as ‘terrifying wraithlike demons [plural] with an
impossible number of weapons’—because that had really happened—the teasing had
mostly stopped. No one much dared anymore. Until now, apparently. He didn’t
bother giving Shisui a response. He’d made a point of not engaging in petty
arguments with his lessers. It would just be a waste of his energy and he
really did have a lot to do tonight. True to his word to himself, he was going
to practice, probably push his chakra to the edge, just to see how far he could
go.
“How old are you now, anyway?” he pressed, apparently oblivious to Itachi’s
fervent desire not to talk.
“Thirteen,” he answered, failing to think of a reason why he shouldn’t.
Shisui whistled and rattled on. “That must make you the youngest ANBU captain
ever, yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Cute.” The word was irritating, caused a sound in his throat he hadn’t
intended. ‘Cute’ was never a word that a man wanted to be used to describe him,
not ever. “And you awakened that Sharingan of yours at…?”
“Eight.”
Shisui laughed, further grating on Itachi’s senses. “Eight?! You’re kidding.”
“No,” he answered in a tone that distinctly said ‘I don’t ever make jokes.’
“You must be something really special,” he continued blithely.
Something wasn’t right here, Itachi realized. All of these things and more were
fairly common knowledge among the Uchiha. Even an idiot like Shisui should have
known. Besides, he didn’t much like talking about himself, and he didn’t have
the energy to be talking at all. “What do you want, Shisui?” he asked tiredly.
“I’m busy.”
He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I’m spying on you, remember?” Then, suddenly,
he grinned, flashing bright white teeth. “I’m pretty good at it, huh?”
Itachi stared at him, wondering if this was another joke. “No,” he admitted,
legitimately confused. “No, you’re not.”
“Why not?” he asked, appearing mildly offended, black eyes blinking.
“If you’re trying to spy on me, you should not reveal yourself to me.” This
conversation had suddenly taken a turn for the stupid. Why not take it a step
further? “If you like, I can teach you what I know.” He didn’t want to, not
really. For one thing, Shisui was apparently, by his own admission, trying to
spy on him. For another, from everything he knew of Shisui, his cousin was
probably an embarrassingly inattentive student.
Shisui smirked, another full smile filled with secrets, as if he were
constantly laughing at a joke that only he had heard. “I don’t need any
training,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Maybe you do.”
Itachi raised one eyebrow. “Me? You’ve got to be the most ineffective spy I’ve
ever met.”
His lips pursed. “You really think so?” He sank to the ground, bowing his head
in deference. “Teach me, senpai,” he begged.
Itachi stared. He realized that he had a lot to learn about his cousin. Shisui
seemed at once to be both an idiot and an eager trainee. That didn’t preclude
him from remembering that spark of mystery though, the hint at something more,
lurking in those eyes. Itachi had never once been a fool. He could recognize a
properly trained Shinobi when he saw one. That didn’t change the fact that
Shisui was clearly a slacker and a ruffian far beneath him in skill and
experience. “Sure,” he said to his cousin. Shisui would likely lose interest
eventually, anyway, and they would be right back to where they had started.
That suited his purposes just fine.
From that day on, Itachi became senpai and sensei. He never once thought it
strange, to consider himself this man’s superior who had between four and five
years on his age. Shisui lapped up his words as a kitten laps up milk. He
studied, all the while seeing lessons beyond the veil of lessons, asking the
proper questions and delivering carefully measured responses. Unexpectedly,
Itachi’s cousin was a decent student after all, but Itachi was still cautious;
Shisui had admitted to spying on him, after all. Throwing caution to the wind
would have been foolish. Itachi had no indication that Shisui’s skills had
improved, but he was paying attention and seemed to know his stuff, so he
figured that there was that, at least.
Shisui still followed Itachi around, sometimes close by and sometimes far away.
For Itachi’s part, he pretended not to know that Shisui was even there. Someone
had to have ordered that Shisui keep a watch on Itachi, and whether or not
Shisui was reporting properly or not, he still needed to fulfill his duties to
his officer, and Itachi respected that. It was something that struck too
closely to his own purpose, anyhow, to have two masters, two motives at odds
with each other. Itachi allowed him to follow, sometimes, so that he had
something to write in his reports, careful of course not to be about top secret
business when he had a tail. It lengthened his days considerably, but it
couldn’t be helped.
Over time, having Shisui around ended up being less detestable than it had at
first. In between Shisui’s playing at spy, though, they talked about mundane
things like family and food and the weather. Not very often, but it happened.
On one of those occasions, Itachi finally got up the nerve to ask him why he
was doing this.
“Doing what?” he asked, lounging backward, one knee raised while the other leg
stretched out. The breeze up there was cool; Itachi’s toes were cold, and he
couldn’t imagine why Shisui let his toes hang over the cliff. They had to be
feeling pretty icy by then. His eyes never met Itachi’s; Shisui often seemed
lost in thought, strangely broody, in complete contrast to his often carefree
attitude.
“Spying. Not spying,” Itachi answered. “This all started when you said you were
spying on me.”
“I am spying on you,” he declared with a shrug. “Told you I would.”
Itachi frowned, watching him as he delivered his flippant remarks. “Telling
someone you’re spying is not actually spying. We’ve been over this a hundred
times now.”
“Oh?” he asked with a smirk, still not looking at him. “Have you been counting
then?”
His face scrunched. No, he hadn’t. Exaggerating wasn’t like him, either. “No.”
“How many times then?” His hand resting on his lifted knee, he turned toward
Itachi.
There. Right there, Itachi realized. That predatory gleam was back in his eyes.
What was that? Pinned by that gaze, he found it difficult to answer. It was
strange, but Itachi could almost swear that he was being played, as if Shisui
was actually in control of the situation and was toying with him, letting
Itachi believe he was teaching him valuable information about espionage, all
the while collecting all of the information he needed to report back to the
police force. It was… a disturbing thought. If that was true, it meant that
Itachi was in pretty deep trouble. Though he’d been careful to conceal what he
had really been up to, if Shisui was more than he hinted at, he might have seen
through all of Itachi’s careful choreography.
Shisui’s eyes narrowed slightly, the smirk disappearing entirely. “How many
times, exactly, have we been over this?” he asked calmly. His voice was
deceptively serene, though, the eye of a violent storm. Shinobi, he reminded
himself again. The creep of authority. The air of command.
Suddenly, being confused about his cousin pissed him off. “I don’t know that,”
he managed, feeling a knot of unhappiness at having to voice his inadequacy. He
didn’t like that, not at all. In fact, he could hardly remember a time before
when he’d been wrong about something. Being wrong about Shisui and being wrong
about this was uncomfortable.
The hardness of that stare softened, the corners of his mouth turning upward
again. Itachi almost sighed with relief. When Shisui went Shinobi on him like
that it made Itachi feel almost… small. Weak. Like he was the amateur watching
the work of a master. It was always like this, though, one fractional moment.
Just a snapshot of the Shinobi that Shisui truly was. It was rare, a thing for
which Itachi was glad. He was not accustomed to feeling inferior, and he did
not like it at all. It made him feel… awkward, almost too visible and put on
display. “No matter,” Shisui told him with a shrug. “It’s just that you should
probably try to keep your words specific. Or not at all. Just a suggestion.”
The sound of his words seemed to hint that it was not a suggestion, not by a
long shot. Itachi felt as if Shisui had just labeled him a liar for his
exaggeration, and he felt sorry for it. “It’s a good one,” he mumbled, not
really feeling it.
“Didn’t hear you.” And there it was again, that frigid voice.
Itachi felt the spike of reprimand once again. “Thank you for the suggestion,”
he said, louder and more clearly.
“Ah, that’s what you said!” he declared, chuckling, instantly warming.
Itachi was sure that he hated him.
 
***** The Lacking *****
===============================================================================
     "The seduction of ones mind can take time, like an artist with a brush
                   creating not art but passion filled lust
 Seduction of the mind can be a great game the goal of which to light passions
 great flame. To fill the mind with that great desire to dance within passions
                                 great fire.
  When seduction of the mind comes first, it can release passion with a burst.
       Setting lovers free to explore, with their minds an open door." 
===============================================================================
 
So it was that Itachi decided that he needed to do a little spying of his own.
Having a deep black box where information on Uchiha Shisui should be was
growing more and more troublesome by the moment. He could not afford to not
understand his cousin and get away with it much longer. Konoha and the Uchiha
clan might depend on it. At least, that was what he told himself as he began
following his own spy, though the simple truth of the matter was that he was
curious and intrigued. He was very careful, however, to not be found out. And,
of course, he never mentioned it to Shisui, even if Shisui had foolishly
mentioned to him.
Nothing interesting ever turned up, unfortunately, but Itachi’s patience had
been honed. He could lay in wait for days on end without food and water if the
target was worthwhile. Some information was just too important to sacrifice in
lieu of personal comforts. He was losing a lot of valuable sleep, though his
agenda did not suffer, but abandoning the notion that Shisui was ‘up to
something’ didn’t sit right. Weeks passed without anything at all, an endless
parade of follow-Shisui-to-work, follow-Shisui-home, day in and day out. He was
embarrassingly easy to follow. Itachi was beginning to doubt the police force’s
choice to task Shisui with this at all. Couldn’t they get someone with a little
more… talent?
With a petulant frown, he wondered if perhaps he was less impressive than he
had led himself to believe. All of his life, he had been praised as a genius
and hailed as a prodigy. He’d preened under the attention, continually
improving his skills until there were none left that could compare. At first,
he’d done that to please his father, for he’d craved the man’s approval as any
son would desire attention from his father. It became clear after only a short
time, though, that anything that Itachi did had impressed Fugaku. And his
mother was even worse. She praised him even in his failures. Her opinion was
worthless, in the end, and did nothing to motivate him to do better. The next
challenge had been for himself, to see how quickly he could fly through the
academy. Disappointingly, that hadn’t proven much of an obstacle at all.
After that, he’d mostly been on his own, but the sycophants who admired his
talents had gotten to be more irritating than helpful. It didn’t take much to
impress those that watched. It had become almost boring, in a way, to put on
half hearted displays of skill, hearing them ooh and aah and express their
envy. Before too long, Itachi had begun ignoring them entirely, choosing
instead to hone his skills alone. No one knew his personal best better than
himself. No one knew the standard to which he held himself. No one had the
credibility nor personal basis to pass judgment on how well he was doing. So,
he just stopped letting them do it. He practiced alone, pushing himself to his
limits and beyond. Longer times without food and water and sleep. Longer
training sessions. More targets. Faster targets. A shorter time limit. Personal
challenges to remain unseen.
He’d been a shoo-in for ANBU, and for a while he learned there as well. They
seemed to share his perspective for improvement, and held him to a more
rigorous set of rules. He appreciated that. But again, it hadn’t been long
before he’d surpassed most of them, with the exception of a few, Hatake Kakashi
being one. He continued to learn from Kakashi, but it was all too obvious that
Kakashi was lost to his own dark thoughts and seldom had time to bother with
training him one on one. The best that Itachi could hope for was to watch and
emulate. It must have been working for him, though. They’d made him a captain
at thirteen. He’d been proud of that, but also irritated. Captain of the ANBU
by thirteen. What more was there, after that? Head of ANBU? Hokage?
He certainly didn’t want to stagnate this early in life,but it seemed as if
there was nothing left to learn. Until now. Shisui made him wary and nervous,
kept him on his toes and on edge. Shisui’s mercurial moods and personality
quirks were fascinating, but also unbalancing. No sooner did Itachi become
comfortable with who Shisui was at any given moment than Shisui suddenly
switched again. It forced Itachi to pay way too much attention to his mood and
where his thoughts may be, hanging on Shisui’s every word, noting every facial
tic and behavior pattern or change. It gave Itachi the sense that Shisui was
not everything that he seemed. Under the wrong circumstances, that could prove
to be exceedingly precipitous. Hence, the spying.
Randomly and without warning, Shisui disappeared from Itachi’s sight.
Completely disappeared. Blurred out of existence as if he had never been.
Itachi blinked, at first momentarily thrown off, which was already a fatal
mistake, and he knew it. The moment a Shinobi lost his composure, he lost his
life. He tensed muscles, coiling, preparing for the attack that never came.
Shisui’s voice filtered down from the treetops. “You’re following me,” he
observed, voice rich with amusement despite the prickling sense of danger in
the atmosphere. Itachi’s eyes darted to the source of the voice, trying to
pinpoint his location in case this went sour. “But why, I wonder.” This time,
the voice was from a different treetop, completely opposite, impossibly so.
How…?“I wonder… could you be…” The voice had moved again. 
Itachi didn’t like being confused.
 “…a spy?” That time, the voice registered just behind him. Too close.He barely
had time to twitch his face in that direction before he felt the hard stamp of
a foot in his back and went sprawling forward. How was he so fast? Just as
quickly, his arms were twisted up behind his back, and Shisui’s full weight
pressed him into the dirt, the tip of his elbow pressing down on the back of
his head painfully. “Why are you following me, Itachi-kun, hm?”
Itachi didn’t want to answer. He was racking his brain to try to figure out how
to escape. He strained against the hold on his wrists, bucked against the
weight on his back, and pressed his head back against the elbow, but it seemed
as if he was stuck fast. More importantly, though, Itachi wasn’t sure how he’d
done it, another hidden gem of superiority that perplexed him. Furthermore,
Shisui was apparently physically stronger than he was, and in the brute battle
of strength to strength, he was losing, no contest. This kind of thing
simplydidn’t happen. Somehow, Shisui had managed to find out he was being
followed, sneaked behind Itachi, and knocked him to the ground. He was actually
captured. He felt the unfamiliar sting of failure, and hated Shisui for
bringing that out in him.
A moment later he felt the tickle of his lips on his ear and Shisui’s demanding
whisper. “I asked you a question. Answer it.”
Ahh, there was that voice again, that immediate and disorienting shift from
teasing, mocking Shisui to elusive Shinobi captain. Except that, this close to
his ear, with his warm breath reaching into his head, Itachi felt a foreign
shiver deep in his belly. It was strange, and he didn’t like it, but his blood
leapt to obey anyway, and the words spilled from his lips without his
permission. “I had to know,” he grated, struggling to find the breath to speak
with his weight pinning him to the earth, still fighting the feelings of
confusion and humiliation.
Shisui laughed, the pulsating cadence of exhalations caressing Itachi’s
eardrums. He shut his eyes, wondering at the unwelcome sensations that stirred
deep within his gut. Another mystery of Shisui that he might never understand.
The poison cocktail of Shisui’s personality kept him just curious enough to pay
attention, just frustrated enough to try harder, and just stubborn enough to
stick with this trajectory until it had finished playing itself out. What was
this strange, mysterious power that continued to best him at every turn? And
why was Shisui stronger than he was? He felt the twitch of Shisui’s smirk
against his cheek. “Curiosity,” Shisui purred, entertained. “Cute.”
That word again. Embarrassing. Itachi’s mind fuzzed over, struggling to make
sense of the whole situation from start to finish. Shisui, following him and
admitting to spying on him. Shisui, simultaneously laughing and learning,
smiling and frowning, prankster and Shinobi all in one. Itachi was having a
hard time learning who this man was; no sooner than he thought he had his
cousin all figured out, Shisui flipped a switch and became someone else
entirely. He wore personalities like other Shinobi wore masks, except that all
of his looked the same and yet weren’t. Maybe there wasn’t a ‘Shisui’ at all,
and he was merely a reflection of an adopted persona he pulled from his own
personal library to keep his enemy off guard. 
And Itachi found that he was… jealous. How was it that Shisui was all of these
things, layers of color and emotion so confusing that they had evolved above
and beyond the Shinobi way? Itachi had eliminated his emotions; any who tried
to read him found that they couldn’t, and that simple fact seemed to unnerve
them. He had considered that a true talent of his, in fact. Shisui on the other
hand, wore the emotion he felt was best suited. He put people at ease, deceived
them into believing what he wished them to believe. In this, he had tricked and
captured Itachi, luring him into a false sense of superiority and safety.
Itachi had not considered that before, but it seemed to be a practical tool.
“How?” he breathed, spoken from the depth of awe, unrestrained. “How do you do
it?”
“Hn,” Shisui snorted. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” His grip on Itachi’s wrist
lessened, a momentary warning before he gracefully dismounted, standing and
ready before Itachi had a chance to leap to his feet. They stood, eyeing each
other, Itachi’s heart fluttering for the nerves and strange brand of fear
brought upon by Shisui’s effortless ability to unbalance and overpower him.
Shisui, for his part, merely smirked knowingly, perpetuating the sense that he
knew something Itachi didn’t. That thought was infuriating; Shisui was
eternally a step ahead of him, and somehow it had given his cousin an advantage
Itachi craved. Second best was simply unacceptable.
“Yes, I would like to know,” Itachi told him seriously, quashing the
irritation. “Can you teach me?” Those words tasted sour and foul.
Shisui’s eyes hardened, the smiling quality gone. “No,” he said firmly. “This
is something that you will learn on your own.”
Disappointment assailed him. No one had ever refused him as a student before.
In fact, it was quite the opposite. Most were far too eager and overjoyed to
have him as a student, feeding him information he didn’t even need, offering
him an extravagant feast of knowledge that he neither cared for nor wanted. It
was another reason he was glad to be working alone. But this? “Why not?” he
asked, aggravated.
“Reasons,” Shisui said nonchalantly with an easy shrug. Then, he added, “You
lack discipline, for starters.”
 I lack…!
His nostrils flared as anger bloomed. It wasn’t often that Itachi ever
experienced the hot flashes of human emotion anymore. He’d done a pretty good
job of suppressing them over the years. Love was a carefully banked fire that
he only ever stirred for his little brother, and then only sparingly. He didn’t
have the time or the energy for it. It confused him. Feelings were painful.
Sasuke’s loneliness was painful. Sadness was useless and easily ignored and
justified away. Friendship was equally worthless. He knew to suppress fear and
panic as easily as breathing, and the rest of his emotions had just kind of
followed suit. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to feel anymore. These things
were Shinobi tenets that were more forcefully encouraged during his time with
ANBU. But anger… Itachi was never angry. There was no use for that.
This time was different. Itachi had poured every ounce of his being into
Shinobi doctrine. He had discarded his individual self to become ninja in every
sense of the word, embodying the Shinobi Way, incarnated as its prime example.
He had surpassed expectations for every lesson, blazed his own trail, become
his own teacher. He was beyond his father, beyond his clan, beyond even ANBU at
this point. For someone, even someone like Shisui, to even suggest that he
lacked discipline was simply untrue. He possessed more discipline in one foot
than anyone in the world did in a lifetime, even Shisui.
No, especially Shisui.
“Uh-huh,” Shisui said knowingly, interrupting his internal tirade, chin rising.
“That’s what I thought.”
Itachi felt small again. He’d missed something. Again. What had Shisui seen
this time? He bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood, shaking with rage and
sucking on the bitter taste of failure. This whole messed up situation was
irksome and maddening. “What?” he snapped, losing a hold on his sanity
momentarily. “What do you know? How do you do it? Tell me!”
Shisui’s eyebrow rose, a wicked curve of cruelty. He didn’t answer, but instead
turned to leave.
“Please!” he blurted, falling to his knees. His voice sounded desperate and
needy even to his own ears. Shame was a close friend, but he would cuddle shame
to death if it murdered the sense of failure and weakness. If he had to beg, he
would. There was something that his cousin knew that Itachi simply needed to
know, and would have at any cost.
Blessedly, though, Shisui’s foot set back down in its original placement.
Itachi almost fainted from the overwhelming sense of relief. His palms eased to
rest in the dirt beside him. He didn’t even care enough to realize that that
was supposed to seem a strange feeling. He waited, blinking up at the older
man, waiting for his first nugget of wisdom, some scrap of knowledge that he
could study inside and out and understand completely.
All that happened was a slow, deliberate smile, devilish and cruel, and it
froze Itachi’s next breath in his lungs. “Ah,” Shisui said, his voice soft and
gentle. “There he is. Perhaps there is hope for you after all.” He crossed the
space between them, and in that suspended moment in time, Itachi didn’t dare
move, nor breathe, nor look away as Shisui reached down and patted his head
like a cherished pet. And then, with a quick hand sign and a much more
comfortable, teasing grin, he blurred away, leaving Itachi bewildered for all
manner of reasons.
 
 
***** Freely Given *****
===============================================================================
           “Everybody has an addiction. Mine just happens to be you.”
===============================================================================
 
It was several months later, several months of these silly games, before Itachi
realized that Shisui had come to mean something to him. He found himself
wanting to talk to the older boy, wanting to share the details of top secret
missions, wanting to ask for guidance or confess his fears. He knew it was
foolish, and told himself that countless times. Shisui had been sent to spy on
him, no matter what he seemed or what he said. To divulge too much was unwise.
That didn’t stop him from having the desire, though. There was something about
Shisui that inspired trust. Something that drew him closer, wearing at the lock
on his words, coaxing out emotions that he’d shut away, emotions like anger,
frustration, and helplessness, but in a way that didn’t make him feel broken
and alone as he had before.  
Of course, that was most likely Shisui’s most powerful weapon. Itachi was
teetering on the edge of seppuku upon that particular blade, granting his
winsome cousin his mission success. Eventually he would feel the need to speak,
beyond caring, and either he would be damned or saved. Neither mattered.
Eventually, something had to give. And so, finally, Itachi brought it up. “How
much about me do you actually know?” he asked hesitantly while they sat above
the Naka, as they usually did. It was a grey day, probably going to rain. He’d
always liked the gloomy days, though. The sun made him squint and burned the
sensitive tissues of his eyes, and seemed a little too garish besides. The
greyness of days that begged for rain seemed much more suited to his lifestyle;
not too hot, not too cold. Not too bright, not too dim. It felt like an aura of
waiting, and of quiet. It was quite nice, actually.
Shisui smirked, as usual, his eyes drifting skyward. “Hmm…” he hummed, thinking
to himself. “What do I know about you…” There was a soft chuckle, and sly
glance in Itachi’s direction. “I wager I probably know a lot more about you
than you do yourself,” he answered cryptically.
What was it that Shisui kept seeing that he saw fit to answer in incomplete
thoughts or half answers, Itachi wondered? It was never good enough, but every
time he did it, Itachi only felt that familiar ache of dismay, that he simply
wasn’t good enough yet, continuously missing some kind of important cue. Shisui
perplexed him. It was irritating but, he realized with a measure of joy, it had
been keeping him on his toes. His mind was sharpening, seeing things he hadn’t
seen before, paying much closer attention than he might have before Shisui had
become a permanent affixation in his life. In fact, his alacrity and
perceptions had improved markedly since Shisui had begun to refuse to leave him
alone. Itachi faced him, sitting cross-legged and staring at him intently,
begging with his eyes. “Will you please tell me what you know about me?” he
asked.
Shisui raised one brow, watching him as a panther watches prey, playing with
his food. “Why do you want to know?” he asked teasingly.
Itachi shrugged. “Curiosity,” he mused out loud. Shisui typically seemed to
like that answer. It worked on him most of the time.
It didn’t work this time. That playful gaze sharpened, pierced him, as it
sometimes did. Every time that happened, Itachi’s being was snapped back to the
lines of subordinacy, a phenomenon he still didn’t fully understand. Every time
he disappointed Shisui, he felt it as keenly as any wound, and it healed much
more slowly. “You’re lying,” Shisui observed, displeasure rolling off of him in
waves. Already, Itachi wanted that word back, to replace it with the right one.
But what was the right one? “Itachi,” Shisui bade him, leaning forward
slightly, ensnaring his gaze, no less powerful for lack of the Sharingan’s use,
increased in power and intoxication for the nakedness of his name without
suffix. Itachi swayed toward him, holding his breath, waiting for the lesson.
Wisdom, yes, please, he thought. It wasn’t wisdom that he offered, though, but
an accusation of sorts. “Everything I know of you I’ve kept to myself,” he
spoke, his voice barely audible, for the two of them alone. “I know of your
involvement with the clan,” he said slowly, sickly sweet. “I know of your
missions in ANBU. And,” he added, drawing the words out even more, “I know of
your loyalty to Konoha, and the burdens you bear between them. I know… that
you’re a traitor.” The last word was said on a whisper, a sinister breath of
indictment.
The world reeled, clawing at his heart, making him swallow his own tongue.
Shisui knew everything. How long had he known? Whom had he told? Danger, his
mind provided. Too dangerous to live. Kill first, apologize later.
Instinctively, he reached for a knife, quick as a viper, elite training
superseding human limitation.
Shisui was upon him before he was ever able to pull it, faster than the eye
could move, even with Itachi’s Sharingan blazing, blood red and searching. His
right forearm crashed into Itachi’s throat, left hand pinning his wrist. The
knife clattered out of its holster, useless upon the grass. Itachi’s body was
pinned with the lower half of Shisui’s. It was awkward, and it made his throat
catch for a different reason altogether. Being pinned that way was far too
intimate, even for an enemy to his intended victim. The sharp lines of Shisui’s
hips dug into his unprotected legs, leaving him wincing with pain.
He expected to see anger in Shisui’s eyes, that he had dared to consider
attacking. Instead, Shisui’s black eyes regarded him placidly, almost bored, as
if trying to figure him out. Itachi wasn’t sure what to do about that, was so
put off by Shisui’s black, unmuted eyes, staring bravely into his own Sharingan
as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Escaping was, of course, out of the
question. It would require him to move far too much, and with Shisui’s groin
pressed into his, that was bound to be uncomfortable in all sorts of ways. He
stared back, black eyes boring into red eyes, waiting for the inevitable death.
“You’re kind of a brat, aren’t you?” Shisui asked him rhetorically, sucking at
the inside of his cheek, face swaying over his own, quietly analyzing,
regarding him from beneath lashes that, up close, seemed far too long for a
man. Itachi knew he wasn’t supposed to answer that, so he didn’t. His life was,
quite literally, in Shisui’s hands. The only thing to do was to surrender, try
to appear helpless, appeal to his cousin’s good graces and hope he wasn’t
killed.
Something in his expression must have pleased Shisui, though, for suddenly he
smiled, a sweet, amicable smile. “I tell you what, Itachi-kun,” he offered, as
if throwing him a cookie for good behavior. “I won’t kill you. If—“ he
stressed, poking the tip of his nose with the pinky finger of the hand across
his throat, “you tell me the truth this time. Why do you want to know what I
know? Be specific. I can be a little… dense.” His tone suggested dangerous
things, for it was clear from his sharp, suddenly intelligent expression and
the biting tone of his words that he had been perfectly aware that Itachi had
dismissed his skills as inadequate, a mistake Itachi now felt keenly.
Itachi swallowed, painfully, the involuntary ripple of muscles in his throat
struggling to push aside the iron grip that held it. He didn’t dare utter
anything but the truth, not this time. “I want to know that I can trust you,”
he told the other earnestly, laying the truth bare, letting the façade slip a
little. In his mind, he thought of all the things he wanted to say, about the
nightmares, the missions, the stress of being Itachi, anything and everything,
just so that someone else could hear and sympathize. He’d never wanted that
before. He had believed he could shoulder all of those burdens alone. He
probably could, but he found he didn’t want to anymore.
Did Shisui, a man he regarded as his superior, have those same kinds of
problems? Did Shisui feel fear?
Shisui’s lips parted and his teeth mashed into his tongue, caged in the hint of
a smile. “Good boy,” he told Itachi. “Fortunately for you, I can believe that
you meant that. I’m disappointed, though,” he added, his smile slipping away as
he cocked his head sideways like a cat. “I would have thought you could have
figured that out. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of genius?” Without
waiting for Itachi to answer—and without allowing him to get up, either—he went
on to explain. “If I’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead. If I’d have spilled all
of your dirty little secrets, someone else would have been sent to kill you. My
silence and my friendship—and the pronounced lack of assassins—should have been
testament enough. Do you know what that means?”
He had an idea, but he wasn’t sure how to say it. “You don’t want me dead,” he
responded.
“No,” Shisui replied, his dark eyes glittering with mischief. “I don’t want you
dead, Itachi-kun. There’s more to it than that, though, if you’d but open your
eyes.”
More to it? He wondered.Like what? He wasn’t about to fail this lesson, though,
not with Shisui’s face that close and expecting an answer. He couldn’t bear to
be wrong twice in one day. Even once was almost more than he could stand.
Shisui’s black eyes blinked, wide and friendly once again, patient, encouraging
him to take his time and think about it. So he did. They’d been playing spy
versus spy for the better part of five months now. And if Shisui hadn’t relayed
any information on him, that meant that he'd made a pretty damning choice.
Realization dawned. “You disobeyed your orders,” he breathed.
Shisui’s features stretched upward, his brows retreating towards his hairline.
Itachi understood that to mean that he was on the right track, but not quite
there. He racked his brain… knowing what Shisui knew of his subterfuge and not
acting upon it, particularly when he reported to the Uchiha police force… “You…
chose me over the clan,” he quietly dared. It was unthinkable, to weigh his
worth against that of an entire people, and made absolutely no logical sense
besides.
But Shisui’s broad grin and short nod confirmed it. “Ahh, there he is,” he
congratulated. “Now will you promise not to try to kill me again?” Itachi
nodded, feeling the strangest warmth in his heart at the revelation that he’d
been deemed more worthy than his entire clan. His arm retracted, his hand
releasing Itachi’s wrist, and Shisui rolled back onto the balls of his feet,
relaxing into an easy squat between Itachi’s feet. The air seemed chillier for
his absence, and Itachi was rather startled to note how comfortable he’d been
with his cousin laying there. This situation only ever seems to get weirder, he
thought as he rubbed his bruised wrist and looked over at the man who'd bruised
it. Shisui’s easy, carefree smile was back, Shinobi Shisui fled. Itachi was
glad for it. It was much easier to relax in the presence of this version. “Well
in that case, tell me anything and everything you wish,” Shisui commanded
softly.
Suddenly shy, Itachi broke eye contact, his eyes falling to his hands, working
his wrist, unable to find the words. He hadn’t quite expected for Shisui to be
so understanding. After all, they’d spent the better part of half a year spying
on each other, which was tantamount to killing in the Shinobi world. And now,
after Itachi had drawn a weapon on him, suddenly Shisui wanted to talk to him.
Really talk to him. He… wasn’t sure what to say.
“Look at me.” The words were said softly, a caress. They were just encouraging
enough to bring Itachi back, just commanding enough that ‘no’ was not an
option. Itachi breathed in deeply, willing himself to look at Shisui. He took
the much-needed moment to compose himself, quashing all of the fears and
insecurity of the horrors that he had endured alone. Suddenly, he didn’t want
to share it with Shisui. If his cousin knew… what would he think? Look at me…
the words echoed in his ears, reverberating, sloughing off layers of defenses
with every gentle echo. The pale ghost of Shisui’s fingers broke through his
lowered peripheral, tapping the underside of Itachi’s chin, forcing his face to
rise. Itachi looked up, locking onto deep, dark eyes, so like his own. There
was fathomless compassion written there, patience older than the earth.
“Nothing will happen to you. I promise you that.”
Something painful that existed in his heart without his knowledge suddenly
snapped, pierced through by the power fueling Shisui’s eyes and enveloping his
voice. It was a kind of ancient magic that Itachi could not even begin to
grasp. It started with his stupid grin, was carried by the weight of authority
evident in that complex, rich voice, and ended with that feather-light yet
insistent pressure against his chin. Nothing will happen to you. I promise you
that. The lock on his tongue broke. All of his secrets came pouring out, one
after another, a conduit that could not be stopped. He divulged every scrap of
information he’d gathered on the secret dealings of the Uchiha and how the
council was planning to resolve their rebelliousness. He recounted tales of
broken and bleeding children, watching the light go out in their eyes, the way
that some of them had begged for life right before he’d denied them that… he
cried—cried!—to remember how a little boy who had looked just like Sasuke had
recently wrapped his tiny fingers around the blade of Itachi’s sword, cutting
his palms to ribbons, while he begged Itachi not to kill his mother. He
confessed, brokenly, about how concerned he was for Sasuke himself, that he’d
lose the sullen pout in favor of ANBU callousness, his passionate childhood
murdered by cold indifference.
Like him.
By the end of it, he was tucked into Shisui’s arms and it didn’t feel strange
anymore. Shisui pressed Itachi's face to his chest, making shushing sounds as
if he were holding a child and not a decorated ANBU captain. Itachi was
embarrassed. For having unloaded all of his fears—which sounded silly now—and
the horrible things he had done. “I’m here. You’re all right,” Shisui soothed.
Itachi rested there quietly for what might have been a really long time,
feeling oddly comfortable that way, unsure why, until he had almost fallen
asleep. “Time to get you home,” Shisui breathed into his ear.
Nooo, he mourned. Home was an uncomfortable place. It was filled with secrets
and sadness, a father who watched his every move, a mother who simply had no
idea who he was, and a little brother who would hate him if he did know. At
home, he was a stranger, an artfully crafted masterpiece of lies stacked upon
lies. Here, with Shisui, everything was true. Shisui was a devious spy, but
Itachi was, too. He couldn’t say that to Shisui, though. It would sound silly.
He was a Shinobi; he’d already behaved indecorously enough for one day.
Shisui’s grip on his shoulder was the only thing that kept him from dying. “You
shouldn’t be so gloomy, Itachi-kun. It doesn’t suit you. Smile a little, yeah?”
He tried it, dragging the ghost of a weak smile, though it felt foreign. It did
make him feel… better somehow. Calmer. Safer. Stronger. “That’s better, isn’t
it?” Itachi nodded, finding that it was indeed true. “Good boy.”
He spent the better part of his evening trying to figure out what that might
mean. Nothing made sense, but then, most things in Itachi’s life had never made
sense. Like, why did the Uchiha clan despise the Senju, and why did that even
matter to a Konoha ruled by the Sarutobi clan? Why would anyone choose war over
peace? Why was it that Itachi always felt like he was so far above the others,
that he was the only one who could see the flaws in the philosophies, the
cracks in the walls? The politics and currents of hatred were as clear to
Itachi as neon lines on a map. Sometimes he was so overcome with the
frustrations of knowing what needed to be done and having to restrain himself
that he felt he would snap in two.  He’d have snapped already if not for…
...
…Shisui.
He loosed a heavy sigh.


***** Crown of Night *****
===============================================================================
  “In any given moment we have two options: to step forward into growth or to
                    step back into safety.” –Abraham Maslow
===============================================================================
                                        
“Shisui’s following you,” his father told him in a low voice, his expression
betraying nothing.
Itachi should have suspected that his father would catch on eventually. Uchiha
Fugaku was a shrewd man who never wasted his efforts and never let his assets
go to waste. Itachi himself was Fugaku’s most earnest investment. The
livelihood of his son was of priority importance, and it had less to do with
paternal affection or the genes that he carried and more to do with the secret
mission that Itachi was about, ‘spying’ on the Konoha council and ratting out
ANBU. “I know,” was Itachi’s answer.
Fugaku stared at him, deciphering. Namely, why Itachi had not done anything
about it. He asked with his eyes, without a need for voice. Itachi would tell
him. They’d done this dance a number of times; questions without asking,
statements with the eyes, an understanding born of working closely together
since the time that Itachi was a child—if indeed he had ever been a child at
all. “He has been following me for a while now.”
“Why?” It was a single-word question that covered so many bases, and none of
the hidden questions were lost upon him.
“The police force doesn’t trust you, so they’re watching me,” Itachi replied,
sipping his tea. Shisui wasn’t here today, which was good. Likely, Itachi would
have to lie to deceive his father, and he wasn’t entirely certain whether
Shisui would believe the lies or grasp the truth. Shisui was cleverer than he
let on, but when caution was possible, Itachi wouldn’t deny it. “I haven’t done
anything about it because he’s right where I can see him.”
Fugaku frowned and retreated into his thoughts. Think twice, act
once,Itachi recited within his own mind. It was a tenet of his father’s, and a
wise one. They were both silent for a time as Fugaku navigated the sea of
connections and political snafus collected in his own mind. Fugaku’s ability to
see was something that Itachi had once admired, though he’d mastered it not
long ago and no longer needed the practice. Fugaku had been strong as a clan
leader, if a bit gruff. Finally, thoughts sorted, he began asking questions.
“Is he dangerous?”
“No,” Itachi lied. The reality was that the enormity of the knowledge Shisui
possessed was enough to condemn him and his father several times over. Here,
across from his father and away from the power of Shisui’s influence, Itachi no
longer felt the full depth of the same trust they’d built. Shisui made him
nervous in person, but even more so when Itachi couldn’t see him and didn’t
know what he was doing. He knew little of his cousin and his motives. All he
knew of Shisui was what his cousin had deigned to tell him and not a fragment
more. That, and the odd hold he seemed to have over Itachi, silently coaxing
Itachi to spill critical secrets about anyone and everyone, including himself.
Dangerous? The word didn’t even begin to describe Uchiha Shisui. Perilous.
Deadly. An incalculable, idiotic risk.
His father strengthened his unease with his next warning. “Itachi, if he finds
out anything,anything at all, the Black Ops can pull it from him easily and
we’re all done here.” 
Done. Dead, their progress halted, their purpose defused. He knew that. “Shall
I kill him then?” he asked, meeting his father’s eyes. A simple question, no
hints at any kind of feeling. He didn’t want to kill Shisui. Whether or not the
answers ever made a simple kind of sense, Shisui was important to him now. He
had someone that would listen to him, forced him to become better. He was the
star by which Itachi set his compass, and without that he would be lost again.
He had been miserable when he had been lost. What was he now? Happy?
No. Confused. Yet… content?
Fugaku thought about it in his patient way. The silence between them was
killing Itachi, leaving him more than enough time to imagine having to kill his
mentor—friend?—In various ways. Then, finally, “No. Not yet. I don’t relish the
idea of having to kill one of the clan, but… if it comes to that, don’t
hesitate.”
Itachi nodded once in assent. That had been his plan all along… or so he had
told himself.
===============================================================================
 
They were walking side by side, pleasantly quiet, when suddenly, Shisui grabbed
‘him by the front of his shirt and slammed his back into a tree. Itachi blinked
with surprise, but by now he understood that Shisui had never been trying to
kill him. Perhaps he was just being overdramatic; he did that sometimes. His
gaze was intense, wide, frantic eyes peering into Itachi’s own. It was the
first time Itachi could recall seeing anything in them akin to fear. He didn’t
like that. “Itachi-kun,” Shisui asked him quietly, “tell me true. Do you really
think they’ll do it?”
Ah. He should have known that Shisui was listening in on that conversation.
Since he had chosen to trust Shisui, he’d stopped dictating when and where the
man could follow him, and today’s jaunt had taken them into the confidences of
the council, and Danzou’s fatal admission that he would wipe out the Uchiha if
it came to it. Itachi smirked, taking a page from Shisui himself, trying to
make light of the situation. “I thought you knew everything?” he teased.
Shisui shook him once, hard. “This isn’t a joke, Itachi-kun,” he admonished.
Something dark and powerful in his voice stole the smile from Itachi’s face. He
was right, of course. It was just that Itachi didn’t like seeing him this way.
“If the Uchiha try this, we’re all dead, don’t you understand?”
Of course he did, but even if he said so, Shisui would still think he knew
better. And hell, he usually did. “You know I’ll do whatever you ask,” Itachi
whispered, surprised at the zealous sound of the words flying out of his own
mouth. What was he saying? Would Shisui ask him to kill? He didn’t know, but
the one thing that he was certain of was that, for whatever crazy reason, he
would. “Lead me.”
That brought Shisui back. The fear fled from his expression, replaced by the
secretly laughing version that Itachi liked best. “Ah, Itachi-kun,” Shisui
hummed affectionately, grazing his cheek with one hand. “If you only knew of
half the things that you could do…” He shook his head. “With the right
guidance, you will unlock your true power, become someone truly great.”
“So teach me,” Itachi bade him. This was a recurring argument, though Shisui
never thoroughly responded. Itachi often begged him to teach him more, to train
him properly, like a real sensei. There was much that he could learn from
Shisui, that much was obvious. Shisui’s cool exterior and zest for life, on top
of his insurmountable talent. Over the months, Itachi had grown more than
envious; he coveted. Shisui was the one person that he had not surpassed, and
probably wouldn’t. That, and the secrets that shifted behind the black void of
his eyes, fascinated Itachi more than anything. He relished his time with
Shisui, admiring everything that Shisui represented, things that Itachi was not
but aspired to be.
“No,” Shisui rejected roughly, denying him again, always denying him.
Despair tugged, ugly and sour, made him desperate. “Will you ever teach me?”
Itachi whined. Itachi wanted to be a part of that world, whatever it was. There
were secrets, delectably dark, powerful secrets, hiding somewhere within his
cousin. They were the mysteries of a true shinobi, a stronger being, power of
an unobtainable kind, elevated, superior. He knew intrinsically that it was a
presence that he would never achieve of ANBU. No, there was simply no one who
could teach him to be what Shisui was except for Shisui himself.
Shisui’s eyes darkened, deeper black, pools of hell and wicked things,
instantaneously shocking Itachi straight to the core. What in the hellwasthat?!
Whatever had flashed behind his gaze, it had been terrifying, a darkness so
deep it had no bottom. Itachi swallowed, afraid, but entranced. Oh yes, there
was much to learn from his mysterious cousin. Much, indeed. Shisui stepped
closer, invading Itachi’s personal space. His heart pounded, wondering what he
had done wrong. Instead, he was rewarded with having his face grabbed roughly.
Shisui’s eyes dragged over his guise, digging through Itachi’s thoughts, seeing
through him. Itachi couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Some kind of
connection was forming between them, and for that short moment in time, nothing
existed but that bond. “Oh yes,” Shisui whispered, his eyes drooping, away from
Itachi’s eyes. “I will teach you all manner of things. That I will promise
you.” He released Itachi’s face and stepped back. “When I know you can handle
it.” And back to the smile, the spell evaporating.
Itachi became his frustration, impatient for the only lesson he had ever been
denied. He felt the bubbles of anger, but he forced them down, remembering how
Shisui had patronized him for his angry outburst months before. How else had he
appealed to the older boy, though? “Please, tell me what I must do to prepare,”
he pleaded, sinking to the ground before Shisui, his forehead pressed to the
dirt.
There was a quiet pause, broken only by a huff of amusement. “You’re already at
it,” Shisui told him fondly, ruffling his hair. “And when it’s time, I am sure
you will not disappoint.”
===============================================================================
 
“Shisui’s been meeting secretly with the Hokage,” his father informed him.
“What will you do, Itachi?”
That did trouble him. He had had no idea. Itachi had made many difficult
decisions in his lifetime. None of them compared to this. He could vividly
recall the face of everyone he had ever killed, their faces contorted in
various stages of screaming, pleading, or horror. In his imagination, he
conjured up the laughing, smirking, secretive mask of Uchiha Shisui, and knew
beyond the shadow of a doubt that if he had to kill his cousin, he’d never
remember that smile anymore. All he would know was that grotesque twist of
death, and it would haunt him forever, more dastardly than any of his previous
crimes against humanity. Shisui was lovely; it would be such a shame to snuff
him out.
And, too, he thought of that strangely intense gaze, an intangible but forceful
lance that Shisui reserved only for him. It put a pit in his stomach.
Kill Shisui? He didn’t want to, but… one glance at his father and he knew that
this was a test. Which loyalty was he supposed to admit to? The village? The
clan? ANBU? “I’ll take care of it,” Itachi assured his father, a safely vague
answer that would give him more time to sort it out.  
“Good.”
===============================================================================
 
There were few times that he had ever been to Shisui’s home. It was distantly
removed from the cluster of houses in the Uchiha compound, surrounded by lavish
gardens and shadowed by shade trees. He slunk through the gate a little past
midnight. Shisui tended to work in the mornings, so Itachi was relatively
certain that his cousin would be asleep at that time. His mind was abuzz with
all of the reasons that he needed to kill Shisui, trying to tell himself that
it was for the best. He knew too much. He was too dangerous. There were too
many questions left unanswered.
All of the earlier calm he had felt, the sleepy serenity that was granted him
around his cousin, was completely gone. In its place, the frantic cacophony of
dangers and nightmares assailed him, and they began and ended with Shisui
dying. Before he could go in there, he needed to quell that, stat. He stood
outside one of the windows—doors were always a bad idea, though windows weren’t
much better—searching for that void within himself that would afford him the
detachment he needed to do what must be done. He shoved aside all of the
confusion, the sadness, and the inexplicable personal attachment. Tonight,
Shisui was a target. An objective. Nothing but a mission. He could not waver.
If he even hesitated, it would be all over. One momentary pause, and Shisui
would know and Itachi would be dead.
Truthfully, Itachi was more nervous than he could ever remember being. Shisui’s
power surpassed his own. That was intimidating enough. But, any enemy could be
eliminated if surprise tactics were used, no matter how strong. Shisui would be
sleeping when he struck. Knowing this calmed him. He took one last deep breath
to steady his nerves, then slid open the window and disappeared inside, as
soundless as the night itself.
He rolled into a crouch, spider walking across the floor of Shisui’s home. He
knew precisely where Shisui’s room was, though he’d only been here a couple of
times, and never for longer than it took for his cousin to collect a few
things. When he got near to the open doorway, though, he froze. There was the
sound of deep, peaceful breathing within, as of a person sleeping… but there
was the sound of a second as well.
That gave Itachi pause, and for all of the wrong reasons. He’d never even
entertained the thought that Shisui might have a lover, though in retrospect
that seemed stupid. Of course Shisui had a lover; he was a successful ninja
with a desirable bloodline and good physical looks. He was stunned into
inaction, though, when he realized numbly that he wasn’t sure what he thought
about that. He should be happy for his cousin. Or he shouldn’t care. Or he
really shouldn’t care, since Shisui—and probably that girl, too, whomever she
was—would be dead soon and it wouldn’t matter.
Except that what Itachi felt was an ugly medley of all kinds of unpleasant
things. Like jealousy, that it was possible that someone had known Shisui more
closely than he ever had. Someone, not Itachi, had a sampling of all those
tantalizing secrets, ones he had worked so hard for all this time. And, too, he
felt rejection, that Shisui had never seen fit to tell him about a
relationship. Why was it that he, Itachi, was still kept distant, still
lacking?
He stood there for a long time, his sword gleaming in the shaft of moonlight
from the window. He didn’t know what to do. It was his own mistake, really.
He’d never hesitated before. Targets were targets, bags of meat filled with
water that painted red and smelled of iron. You poked them and they cooled off,
and that was it. Except that this one was Shisui, and Shisui was in love, and
he… didn’t like his own world, he realized. He didn’t want to live in it, would
rather not have to face the terror and ugliness, at the very least not alone.
No, he wanted to live in Shisui’s world. He liked Shisui. Next to Sasuke,
Shisui was probably his favorite person. He’d actually miss the guy.
That was… new.
Who was he supposed to follow, if not Shisui? What was he supposed to be? He’d
never get to learn the secrets that Shisui could teach him. He sighed,
realizing he hadn’t thought this through very thoroughly, hadn’t counted on the
hesitation or other variables that might stay his hand.
A prickling between his shoulder blades made him swallow his heart, for it was
a sensation he recognized as impending doom. With a start, he realized that
he’d been so lost in thought that he’d missed something vitally important.
Shisui’s silhouette sat straight up in bed, palms pressed to the mattress, red
eyes gleaming like freshly spilled blood in the darkness. His breath caught in
his throat as it dawned on him that he had never seen Shisui’s Sharingan
before. “Itachi,” he purred, a voice laden with power and command, deeper and
more visceral than ever before. If he had thought about running, or of
completing this particular mission, those were impossible thoughts now. A sound
emerged from his own throat, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh. “Come to
kill me again?” That tone of amusement was there now, leaked into his voice
like a bad wash job, dyes running together indiscriminately, a sugary blend of
authority and jest.
Too late, Itachi understood. All of the facets of Shisui that he had seen were
merely pieces of the real one. Now, here he sat, wearing all of his faces as
comfortably as he wore his skin. And as for his skin… Itachi retreated, his
steps dragging backward automatically as Shisui stood slowly, deliberately,
pushing his body off the mattress, wearing nothing at all but a mantle of
divine power so heavy that it coiled around Itachi’s every joint and held him
fast. In the light of the full moon outside, and with his red eyes swimming
with the furor of a god, demarcated by a wheel of barbed black that promised
death to all and sundry, and backed up by the power of that voice, Shisui was a
god. His skin was pale and lit by the glow of the brightly lit world beyond,
the dark curls upon his head like the crown of night itself. Itachi swallowed
whatever words he had planned to say—as if he could think coherently enough to
plan—and nearly wept for the beauty of it all. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” came
the inappropriate words.
Shisui laughed, low and silken, the woman in the bed behind him forgotten,
whoever she was. If she mattered, Shisui gave no indication. Right now, in that
moment, it was only Shisui and Itachi. The peal of that laughter was like a
tickle to unseen places, deep within. His gut twisted, paralyzing him through
and through. Shisui walked towards him purposefully, step by agonizingly slow
step, leaving the moonlight behind. Itachi mourned the vision, for it
heightened his view of Shisui’s hellish eyes and nothing else. Itachi felt as
if he had not had the chance to see enough. Shisui tsk tsked, chastising,
disappointed.
Itachi’s knees quaked. Even in this, he had failed. Shisui was glorious, and
Itachi was unworthy. “I’m sorry,” he mourned, tears striking from his eyes. He
couldn’t quite grasp what he was apologizing for, but he knew for a certainty
that he’d done something wrong, and he was so, so sorry.
“I’m sorry,” Shisui hissed in the darkness, a sibilant whisper that both
thrilled and frightened him. Strangely, to Itachi’s ears, he did sound
apologetic. “It’s my fault that we are here,” he lamented. “You’re very young.
I believed you were not ready. I might not have been completely correct. So, I
think we can have one lesson tonight.” The seductive purr dropped its warm
tones, became coldly authoritative, mechanical and icy. “That is, if you still
wish to learn.”
Itachi shivered, feeling vulnerable and lonely in the emptiness. Shisui was
close, but not close enough. His body trembled, yearning for something, he
didn’t know what. It was the hint at something more that he’d only tasted
briefly, enough to whet the appetite but never satisfy. Something that only
Shisui had, that no one else had even come close to matching. He shut his eyes,
felt the truth of it in his heart, let the shameful tears fall to the floor.
Itachi was the darkness, untamed and unruly, broken in so many little ways.
Behind his eyelids, the only thing that Itachi saw was Shisui, sculpted muscles
bathed in moonlight, wicked lines a feast for the senses. The scent of male,
powerful and heady.
Itachi shook from his fingertips down to his toes, quaking all over with
excitement and anticipation, the promise of something mysterious that he knew
would be wonderful and wicked and worth the long wait. Beyond the blackness of
his eyes, within and without, Shisui was waiting. Though there was nothing at
all calm about Itachi in that moment, his voice was clear when he answered,
“Yes.”
 


***** Sir *****
===============================================================================
“I will peel back all your defenses, leaving you vulnerable and exposed. I will
  claim the deepest parts of your soul, all the hidden areas you did not know
 existed. I will take you places so dark that you’ll need me to pull you back
               out. I will accept nothing less than everything.”
===============================================================================
                                        
“Drop your sword,” Shisui commanded. There were no more facets of Shisui.
Itachi realized with awe that he had been played all along. Shisui was a master
of his craft. When Itachi hesitated, suddenly loath to be parted from his
weapon, Shisui flickered to within inches of his face. Itachi blinked,
startled, his eyes shifting before he knew what he was doing. Shisui’s red eyes
glared right back into his, a tenuous battle for dominance of the Sharingan
alone, though neither made a move to use it. “I will only say this once,
because you’re new,” Shisui murmured, grasping his chin in both hands. “When I
give you a command, you will obey it, immediately and without question. Do you
understand?”
Itachi’s breath came in short gasps, frantic and nervous. “Yes.”
“And from this day forward, you will always refer to me as Sir. You may also
call me Master, if you like. If you call me by any other name, you will be
punished severely. Do you understand?”
He swallowed. “Yes, Sir,” he responded automatically, a reaction born of years
of training and subordinacy, though it was a sentiment that had been buried
deeply for a long time now.
Shisui smirked, pleased. “Very good. Now. Drop. Your. Sword.” The katana fell
to the floorboards. He removed his hands from Itachi’s face and gave his cheek
a light slap. Itachi’s eyes closed automatically. “Open your eyes,” Shisui
demanded. Itachi did. “You are never to activate your Sharingan without
permission,” Shisui told him, his own doujutsu burning brightly.
It hardly seemed fair, but… he deactivated it. There was a moment of unbearable
stress, his body shaking with nerves. He was laid bare by Shisui’s red stare,
unprotected, vulnerable. “Are you afraid?” Shisui asked, his voice a tentative
touch, less commanding now, more like the Shisui that Itachi knew.
He was relaxed by it at once, and released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been
holding. “Yes,” he admitted, relieved to have been able to say it.
“Why?” Shisui asked curiously. He planted each of his hands upon the wall to
either side of Itachi’s head, caging him within the lines defined by his body.
For reasons still unknown to Itachi, that simple act made him feel better. It
reminded him of the time that he’d unleashed all of his concerns and Shisui had
held him. “I don’t know what you’re doing,” he whispered uncertainly, remaining
carefully still, unwilling to look away. His heart thundered on within his
chest, terrified and ensorcelled, both.
Shisui was quiet for a moment. Itachi watched his every move, eyes trained on
his face, darting from face to hands to lower, keenly aware of the situation.
Shisui had him pinned. More accurately, Shisui was naked and had him pinned
against a wall. This was never supposed to happen, and yet… he’d never felt
more thrilled, enlivened by an electric force that sizzled across every nerve
ending, exciting every sense. As he watched his cousin watching him, the
Sharingan bled back to black, undiluted fury relinquishing its hold on madness
and gentling, and then, his elbows collapsed, and Shisui stepped in, and Itachi
shrank back further against the wall as Shisui’s lips met his.
An explosion of sensations assailed him then. His entire body tingled with
sparks of life and excitement, burning him from within. His heart raced,
threatened to break right out of his chest, wild and running, or dancing, or he
wasn’t sure what, only that it clearly approved. His mind flat-lined and became
completely, blessedly blank, nothing occupying his thoughts but the strangely
pleasant feeling of Shisui’s lips—sinfully soft, surprisingly gentle—against
his own. After that first, tense shock wore off, Itachi felt his entire body
relax, muscle by muscle, a sense of perfect calm born of nowhere, Shisui’s
hands tangling into his hair.
And then, all too soon, it was over. Shisui’s lips retreated, though he
remained close enough that Itachi could feel the air of his breath tickling his
lips. He dared not open his eyes, lest he wake up from the dream. The moment
had the sense of gravity that accompanied a moment that one only got to
experience once, and Itachi wasn’t about to let go of it that easily. “You
know, I’ve always wanted to do that,” Shisui said to his lips. It sounded as if
he was smiling. They sighed as one, breath into breath. Finally, Itachi’s eyes
opened, seeing nothing but the black pools of Shisui’s eyes, willingly
drowning. “Before this goes any further, Itachi,” Shisui said to him, the naked
nature of his name sounding like a caress, reaching into tender places and
settling comfortably, “was that okay?”
Itachi blinked, wondering what he was talking about. Was what okay? He racked
his brain, struggling to provide an answer, but his synapses had apparently
dissolved and he could not form a single cogent thought. Shisui rolled his eyes
and grinned sheepishly. “You really are clueless aren’t you?” he admonished
fondly. “Let me rephrase it then. May I kiss you again?”
That voice, mocking and affectionate. It had tormented him time and again, but
in the darkness there, it tantalized. “Yes.” He remembered it a moment late,
but added it anyway. “…Sir.”
Shisui’s sinful lips curled, a slice of wickedness. “Good boy,” he
congratulated, his voice thick with huskiness. He sighed, and Itachi shut his
eyes, surrendering to whatever befell him in that dark, spellbound space. “Not
tonight, though, I think.”
The words severed the dream, unwelcome. Itachi suppressed a groan of
disappointment. He had only started to look forward to this, whatever this was,
and just like that was denied. “From this day on,” Shisui explained, “you are
mine. None may touch you except for me. Not even you,” he warned. “If you
disobey me, you will be punished.”
Punished. The word slithered into his ears and through his consciousness,
making him shiver. It carried with it all manners of mischief, slick with pain
and pulsing with danger. The word brought as much wild apprehension as it did
tentative excitement, and Shisui picked up on it, claiming that as his own,
too. “Oh yes, we will both enjoy your punishments, but they will vary in
severity depending on how badly you displease me.” He frowned, his brows drawn
down somberly. “I look forward to disciplining you, Itachi, but it does not
bring me pleasure to punish you out of hand. You will want to please me. You
need what I can give you as badly as I need to give it to you.”
Itachi’s eyes closed, internalizing those words. He felt the memory of Shisui’s
lips, remembered all the times Shisui had pinned him, though now he remembered
it differently, and for good reason. He realized that Shisui had been gently
preparing him for this moment all along, giving him just enough to make him
want without giving him enough to frighten or as to be inappropriate. “You’ve
planned this all along,” Itachi voiced, tipping his head back against the wall.
He wasn’t sure if the thought upset him or pleased him more.
“Yes,” Shisui told him, tugging the boy to his chest, cradling his head like a
precious thing. Shisui’s chest was warm, pressed against his face. Itachi tuned
into the steady thrum of his heartbeat, strong and comforting, a constant
reminder that he was there, alive and powerful. “I’ve been watching you for a
very long time, Itachi. You’ve been alone, and hurting. I will be good to you.
I will give you the guidance that you desperately need to be as truly
magnificent as you were intended to be. I will love you, and protect you, and
through discipline and training you will grow stronger than you ever have
before,” he ended reverently. “You have no idea how great you will be,” he
finished on a whisper, kissing the top of his head.
Itachi’s mind was numb, processing new information as quickly as he dared. It
was a lot to take in, and the nature of this affiliation challenged traditions
in a myriad different ways. He had derived from guarded conversations with
Kakashi that sexual intimation would be required of him when he reached a
certain age in ANBU, though he had strongly hinted, too, that even at thirteen,
such a mission might come up where his age was a boon instead of a hindrance.
Itachi had thought about such expectations, and had detached himself from it as
surely as the other horrible things that he would have to do. I will be
violated, he told himself. But it will be no different from the violations that
I visit upon myself with every murder. Nightmares and defilements were the
tools of his trade, and sexual manipulation was only one. He had guessed, too,
that it would not even be the worst of the things he would be expected to do.
He had actually considered seeking training in this area, though he was unsure
whom to ask.
That brought him to another point. It was typically believed that a sexual
relationship between two men was sinful and wrong. With a catch in his throat,
he thought of his family and how they might see such a thing. He could guess.
Fugaku would be the embodiment of disappointment and judgment. His mother would
love him anyway. His brother probably wouldn’t even know what that meant until
he got older, and by then wouldn’t know any other way. It was probably just as
likely that his family would not wish to be associated with him anymore. This
train of thought would need more consideration. He hadn’t even entertained the
possibility a mere hour ago, after all.
He listened to the steady thud thud of the heart that was stroking his ear. I
will love you and protect you… stronger than you have ever been before… you are
mine. There had been one other time when he’d had his face pressed against
Shisui’s chest, his arms curled protectively around his shoulders. He’d nearly
fallen asleep then, and thought about doing so now. Something about the
overwhelming presence of this man, something about the lurking mysteries that
he dare not breach, about his untouchable confidence and unbreakable talent…
Shisui had been ‘Master’ before he’d ever dared to take it this far. With a
smile of pride, Itachi realized that that must have been what this whole game
had been about from the beginning. Shisui had been grooming him to pay
attention, to aim for his approval, to see him as a superior, to heed his every
word, crave his encouragement. Every thought he had about consequences suddenly
fled at the revelation. He’d belonged to Shisui already for nearly as long as
they’d been spying on one another. Tentatively, testing, he wrapped his arm
around Shisui’s middle, inhaling his scent, basking in the warmth that radiated
from his body.
Shisui hummed with approval, stroking his hair, trapping his head with the
sharp angle of his chin. “Good boy,” he murmured.
The praise felt good, and it stirred something within him. How else could he
earn that praise? What more did he have to do to drag the affection and
fondness from the wonderful man who held him? Itachi snuggled even closer,
trying to lose himself in the aura of potency that Shisui exuded, to wrap up in
that warmth and allure, whatever he needed to do to keep feeling that good
about it, until Shisui’s iron grip on his shoulders pulled him away. The thumbs
pressed so hard into the meat of his muscle that Itachi hissed with pain, but
more distressing yet was the denial of contact. What had he done wrong?
“Don’t be a brat,” Shisui growled, rendering Itachi immediately sorry. “You’re
not ready for this, not yet.”
Itachi’s mouth opened, to deny that, to tell Shisui that he’d already resigned
to delivering his body to enemies. The prospect of letting Shisui have the
first crack at it was… exhilarating, actually. From everything that he knew of
Shisui, the older ninja would visit all of the world’s most wondrous talents
upon him, which was more than he could expect from the heartless mission
objectives he had previously had to look forward to.
Shisui’s firm hands rooted him to that spot, bade him to “stay” in a voice that
promised swift discipline and a fountain of regret.
But Itachi didn’t want to stay. He wanted to drink more of that delicious,
forbidden potion, and he saw no reason not to. He wasn’t Shisui, but he had his
own level of power as well, and ANBU had trained that aspect of his skillset to
deadly precision. Itachi’s eyes locked onto Shisui’s, tried to press that same
kind of smoky, swirling seduction that lurked in Shisui. He took a step
forward, into that space that he’d been expressly told not to cross, chin
lifting in defiance. I am Shinobi, too, he thought, wearing the words like
armor. And I will only be controlled when I wish it.
That first tentative step threw Shisui’s eyes wide open. He drew himself up to
his full height, exerting his will against Itachi’s. Power radiated from his
body like the bleed of chakra, worming its way into Itachi’s skin, commanding
him to stop. This, Itachi ignored; it was hardly the first time he’d had to
fight adversity for mission success.
That second step sizzled with energy, heating between them. Itachi didn’t feel
thirteen anymore. He felt older, far older, aging decades just for touching
even a fraction of the influence that Shisui could exert. He knew who he was
now, and where he belonged, and he felt so sublimely content to know he’d found
something amazing. Most people didn’t experience that in a lifetime, forever
condemned to walk the world alone or together-yet-separate, searching for the
things that made them whole. Itachi pitied them, even though Shisui’s eyes
narrowed dangerously, the final warning. One more step, and Itachi’s life was
forfeit.
Itachi’s life had already been forfeit. Nothing to lose.
The third step never happened. Shisui collided into him, jerked his legs up to
entwine around his waist, crashed his back against the wall, knocked all the
wind out of Itachi’s lungs and into Shisui’s mouth. Shisui’s hand wrapped
around Itachi’s vulnerable throat, pressing him hard against the wall beyond.
Itachi’s body jolted all over with a shot of desire, unlooked for and
unexpected, body bowing against the wall, grinding hips together born of reflex
alone. His eyes widened at the strange epiphany, barely centimeters from the
blown out pupils of Shisui’s dark eyes, rolling back into his own skull a
moment later as Shisui’s vice like grip pressed his chin up higher, painful yet
sweet. Itachi waited for the attention that never came, feeling the wild,
yammering pulse of his neck, exposed and vulnerable. Shisui’s face tipped
forward. The blinking of his lashes against Itachi’s neck caused twinges and
shivers. The heavy, exhaled sigh caused his gut to tighten, his ankles locking
around Shisui’s naked waist, pulling Shisui and his newly hardened erection
tight to his groin.
And Itachi surrendered. Completely. His throat was bare, an animal signal that
testified for his complete submission and trust, a faith that the other would
not rip it out. His groin was painfully stiff, awakened to new sensations and
an ache that would not go away. It all came down to a trust that transcended
logic. Shisui would not hurt him. Shisui had had more than enough time and
information and copious deadly talents that if he had wanted to, he could have
murdered Itachi easily. He hadn’t, had instead risked it all on the uneasy
affections of his thirteen-year-old cousin. He’d chosen Itachi over his career
as a Shinobi, placed Itachi’s well being above his own, whether because he had
the confidence to know that he could defend himself or the suspicion that
Itachi couldn’t remained to be seen.
Still propped against Itachi’s shoulder, Shisui breathed, calming down finally.
“Gods,” he breathed. “And you said that I was beautiful. You really have no
idea, do you?”
“Shisui,” Itachi breathed.
His hand tightened on Itachi’s throat, little blurred spots of light dancing
into his vision, pretty and fascinating, pounding in his temples and making him
giddy. “Not allowed to call me that,” Shisui ordered.
He swallowed, dreading that tragedy. He wanted to be able to say Shisui’s name,
needed to taste that whisper on his tongue. Shisui’s name was meant to be
breathed, susurrated, soft syllables meant for quiet utterances. How many ways
could he say that name? “Never?” he peeped, the denial of such a thing laden
with sorrow.
Shisui picked his head up, ensnaring Itachi at the eyes. Itachi’s heart gobbled
up that look like a starving man, for in it was an impossible concentration of
love and adoration, and it literally took Itachi’s breath away. “When you’re
especially good, I will let you call me by my name,” Shisui explained, his
fingers hooking under Itachi’s thighs. Itachi tried to resist as Shisui peeled
them apart. “Now,” he began, the heat in his voice carefully banked, controlled
and even, “you are not ready.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” Itachi protested, troubled by the turn their
interaction had taken. “I’m ANBU.”
“You’re thirteen,” Shisui deadpanned, guiding Itachi’s feet to the floor. “You
could be the Hokage and you’d still be thirteen.” Itachi’s heart sank. “You’re
pouting,” Shisui laughed. “Cute.”
***** The Better Self *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
===============================================================================
“It is not the fear of moving on that scares me; it is the fear of never going
 back. They never told us just how much it would cost to choose in life. They
 never told us that even though you can move on from certain things it may in
   turn cost you your heart. These decisions we face may turn us into either
 saints or monsters, but it has to be worth more than becoming nothing at all”
                               –Mary Kate Teske
===============================================================================
                                        
“What about the coup d’etat?” Itachi asked, sheathing the sword and leaning
back against that wall. He didn’t trust his legs.
Shisui glanced quickly over his shoulder. Itachi had forgotten that there was
someone else in the room. The woman that Shisui had been sleeping with.
Remembering that she was there made Itachi very jealous. Shisui smirked,
sensing his distress, but he didn’t bring up that topic. “I will take care of
everything.”
Itachi frowned. “What will you do?” he asked.
Shisui's look pinned him still. “Something that you will learn about me if I
have to beat it into you,” Shisui explained, “is that I always keep my word.
Keeping my promises is why I never fail. And in this, my adorable little
cousin, I can promise you several things. One, there will be no coup d’etat.
Two, there will never be an Uchiha stronger than me, you included. Three,
anyone that tries to hurt you will die screaming. Four… I am going to fuck you
someday. And five… you will be begging for me when I do.” Itachi nearly
collapsed for all the force of those words. “When you aren’t thirteen,” he
finished with an anguished sigh. “Gods, why are you so young?” he whispered for
his own benefit. “I’m going straight to the special hell.”
“I’ll go with you,” Itachi offered. This level of blind devotion was new to
him, but he found that it suited him well. He’d been waiting for there to be
someone worthy of his dedication and skill. Itachi’s singular gifts were wasted
on the likes of ANBU and the mediocre captains that it employed. They were
strong and useful, definitely in the top ten percent of Shinobi with
capability, but Itachi was a man apart even amongst them. Shisui, though…
Shisui was danger incarnate, all things Shinobi, contained in one painfully
beautiful package. He was violence, and he was seduction, and he was presence.
Shisui inspired and terrified, teased and commanded, caressed and controlled.
Whatever happened from this day forward, Shisui would not get rid of Itachi,
not unless Shisui bade him to go.
Itachi’s heart fractured, just a little, just to think of it. Don’t ever send
me from your side, he silently pleaded.
Shisui’s smile disarmed him. “Wouldn’t dream of leaving you behind,” Shisui
told him honestly. Itachi wondered with a lilting heart whether it would be
like this from now on, candid and lighthearted. Coming here tonight had been
ill-advised, but he had been glad that he had done it, too. An invisible line
had been crossed that could not be uncrossed. Everything from here was forward
into uncharted territory, but the secrets between them had ended. “I’ll stop
this coup d’etat,” Shisui repeated. “And you, Itachi, will simply have to
believe in your master.”
Itachi nodded, an awareness blanketing his shoulders that banished the
solitude. He wasn’t alone anymore. Shisui would lead, Itachi would follow. They
would go forward as a team, stronger together than they’d ever been apart.
“Yes, Sir,” he said with a smile. Still, though… “May I ask one question, Sir?”
“You may,” Shisui allowed.
“When will the lessons continue?” he asked, relishing the ghosts of his fingers
pressed into his neck, the still-ebbing pain of desire unfulfilled, and the
worm in his gut—Iamgoing to fuck you someday, he’d said. The thought was scary…
but exciting.
The curve of his lips relaxed, fell into the curve of devotion, rife with
feeling. Itachi’s heart soared, for it meant that Shisui was pleased. He loved
that. “How about sixteen?”
Three years.It sounded like an awfully long time, too long to wait.
“You’re pouting again. You’re really trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
“No. Sir.”
“You really should pay more attention to how adorable you are. Simple things
like that, your pouting and petulance, are coercive.”
Itachi’s lips quirked in his own grin, sensing the manipulative power of a tool
that he could use.
Shisui’s eyes widened slightly. “I know what you’re thinking. You’ll be the
death of me, I’m sure of it.” He sighed again, sounding even more pained and
tortured than before. “Sixteen. Your birthday. We’ll revisit this.”
“And what now?” Itachi pressed, hungry for information.
His features slackened, growing sober with the weight of responsibility. “Now,
I’m going to save the world. What about you?”
He had had no thought for himself, but he realized that there was an
unaddressed problem in the room. Namely, that Shisui was not dead. “You can
stop the coup?”
“I can stop the coup.”
“Then I will think of something.”
“Good. Now I think you should go home, before Nanami wakes up.”
Nanami. She had a name.
“Don’t look at me like that, Itachi. You’re the one who stormed in here ready
for a war. I keep my personal life at home where it belongs. If you’d have let
me do things my way, you would never have even known she existed, and then it
would be you and me until the end of the world.”
The words, so casually uttered, though they meant so much. They held the weight
of finality. Until the end of the world. “I see.”
His eyes were filled with compassion, liquid and apologetic. “You’re the only
person in the whole world who means anything to me Itachi. Don’t forget that.”
He nodded weakly, stunned by the force of the words and the feeling behind
them. His mind was still paralyzed to blankness the whole way home, yanked into
a world he still didn’t fully understand. His heart was still pounding with
every fragment of memory of what had transpired. He’d been kissed by Shisui,
coaxed into a fierce desire that threatened to overwhelm any hold he could have
retained on his sanity. Logic screamed at him, told him that there was nothing
about what he’d done just now that made any sense. Loving Shisui was wrong, and
Shisui’s attraction to him even more so. Itachi had always believed in logic.
But his heart was still pounding. And though logic would dictate that Itachi
stay far, far away from Uchiha Shisui and the iniquitous promises in his lovely
eyes, the only thoughts that did seem clear on that walk home was that he
wanted to know how that scene that they had acted out would have ended. It’d
felt… good. Right. Comfortable. Like it was the most natural thing in the world
to be wrapped around his cousin’s waist, strangled to the wall and completely
at his mercy.
He wanted to do it again.
Fugaku was still up, captured in the motion of cookie to mouth, snatching up
sweets in the middle of the night. That explained why the argument from earlier
in the day had been so rife with exclamations; Mikoto had assumed that Sasuke
was eating more than his share of cookies, and of course Sasuke, being clever,
knew that Itachi had a thing for sweets. What none of them knew, beyond all
range of comprehension, was that Itachi’s penchant for sweets had come directly
from his father. Fugaku looked up when he entered, cookie held between his lips
as he used his hands to replace the lid on the jar. The corners of his lips
turned upward into the characteristic Uchiha smirk, none having mastered it as
well as Itachi’s father. Finally, with the cookie vanquished, Fugaku breached
the topic. “What happened?”
“Shisui is innocent.” Shisui? Innocent? Itachi had to remind himself not to
laugh, but the thought as to why Shisui was not innocent would have made him
blush otherwise.
“To your neck,” Fugaku further elaborated.
Itachi’s face went cold, a shiver traveling up his spine. He hadn’t thought
about that. Images flashed through his mind, remembering the origin of the
bruises on his neck. Composure. Composure. Composure. “We… talked,” he managed.
“And fought. A little.”
Fugaku’s expression twisted oddly, trying to decipher exactly what had happened
from Itachi’s vague explanation. “Alright, then what are the meetings about?”
“I don’t know.” He hadn’t actually gotten around to asking that.
He blinked. “You went all the way there, fought with Shisui, and returned
without information?”
Not exactly.Itachi had actually learned quite a lot while he was at Shisui’s.
“Shisui acts in the best interest of the clan,” Itachi offered stubbornly.
Then, he added, “And everything else I learned is ANBU business.” There, a
tourniquet on the wound of information.
Fugaku scowled.
Something about the look on his face struck a chord. “Father,” Itachi began,
feeling an uncharacteristic streak of idiotic bravery that was probably ill-
advised. “This coup must not happen.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did Shisui say that?” Fugaku asked. As he
waited for Itachi’s explanation, he grabbed himself another cookie. They
regarded each other from across the kitchen, Fugaku leaning against the
counter, Itachi tipped back on his elbows at the kitchen sink.
Itachi closed his eyes, feeling the effects of Shisui’s strength holding him
strong, supporting him. It was an important distinction, though, to realize
that, though it was Shisui who gave him strength, the words that Itachi spoke
were his own. Itachi felt… different, somehow. Better, as if a barrier on the
best of him had finally been broken down and let the real Itachi walk free.
Suddenly it all made perfect sense. That was why he’d felt apart, why he had
felt superior for so long. He did not need to obey his father anymore. He
didn’t need to be a part of this political machination. Actually, that wasn’t
quite right. No one was better suited than he was to put a stop to it. He was
the most objective in all of this, the most devoted to both causes. A brilliant
spark of clarity rooted. “No. I say this.”
“Why?”
“The way to end hatred is not to act upon hatred with more hatred,” he answered
calmly. “If we do this, the other nations will attack Konoha while we are weak.
At the end of it all, we might all be dead. I care not much for myself,” Itachi
revealed. “My life already belongs to Konoha. It is for Sasuke and the other
children of the Leaf that I believe this is correct. In doing this, we might
all be killed; you, me, oka-san, Shisui, Yashiro and the police force, the
Hokage. Who will be left, when we are gone? Sasuke? His friends? Children,
mostly, to inherit a world that is no longer safe. Will you risk your family
for the sake of your pride? Will you lead us toward breaking apart the Village,
only to leave it for others to clean up once we’re gone?”
Fugaku internalized the words. He bit into the cookie, eyes focusing on a
distant point as he mulled it over. “You make valid arguments,” he allowed
after a time, surprising Itachi. “Thoughts I’ve had myself at one point. Though
I fear it may be too late for that. The elders seem to have gotten wind of what
we’re up to. Even if we don’t strike, the order could come any day to kill us
all. Then what?”
The elders knew because of what Itachi had told them. It was too late to take
those words, back, too. “If you can but stall the Uchiha for as long as
possible, there might be something that I can do.”
“Itachi... If you fail, we’re all dead anyway.”
“I know.”
“If you succeed…” the unfinished sentence hung between them, ripe with
incomplete promises, a future without strife. It was woefully uncertain.
“I will not fail.”
Fugaku smiled. Actually smiled. “Proud of you, Itachi.”
Fugaku had said those same words countless times before, but the tone of them
this time was different. His father actually seemed different today. He seemed
a little more tired than usual, but receptive and candid. As if he saw Itachi
as an equal, instead of just as his son and pet. Itachi needed to know… “Why?”
The smile became rueful. “It’s been a long time since you had the nerve to defy
me.”
He hadn’t been expecting that, either. Defying his father was one of the first
personality traits he had had to suppress. The moment he had become a shinobi,
defying his father was as good as breaking the law, and he’d had to suppress
every opinion or sentiment he had ever had around the man. “I have always done
what was expected of me,” he responded evenly.
Fugaku nodded. “Yes, and I’m glad you have finally learned to do otherwise.”
He blinked, confused.
“A shinobi is more than his strength and his stealth and skill,” Fugaku
lectured. “We are nothing without our passions and our ambitions. You are never
really you until you have something to fight for. Might as well be a fighting
robot,” he added with a humorless laugh that was gone as soon as it came. “What
are you fighting for, Itachi?”
His first instinct was to say Shisui, but that was wrong. Shisui had somehow,
against all manner of logic, become home. It was only his first instinct to say
his cousin’s name because Shisui consumed his thoughts at that moment. That
didn’t change the fact that he was fighting for… “Sasuke.”
Fugaku’s smile softened at the mention of his youngest son. “I’m glad that
someone is, at least.” The air was saturated with regret.
“And you?” Itachi wondered aloud, taking advantage of his father’s unusually
forthcoming mood.
He sighed, took another bite of his cookie. “This is the first time I’ll have
admitted out loud that I’ve lost my way. We all have.” He chewed his cookie in
silence, lost in thought, while Itachi marveled that his father had finally
admitted his wrong. That was good; Itachi had worried that his father was
abandoning wisdom. He was glad that Uchiha Fugaku was, at the very least,
hearing him out. “I like your reasoning more than I like mine,” he said after a
time. “I’ll delay the Uchiha. You do what you feel you must.”
Relief flooded. “Thank you, oto-san.” And thank you, Shisui, for giving me the
strength to oppose him.
“Do it fast.”
===============================================================================
 
High above the Naka, Shisui waited, hands shoved into his pockets, lean body
cutting a striking silhouette in the failing light. How had Itachi missed how
beautiful he was before? Probably because he was too caught up in his own pain,
his own struggles and missions, to notice the natural glory that was all around
him. Itachi’s heart pounded just to see him there, memories of the night before
imprinted upon his mind, his heart, and his skin. Shisui’s eyes raked over him
once, came to rest on the bruises on his neck, smirked knowingly. “How did you
explain that?” he asked.
“I told him we fought.” He smiled and looked away.
Shisui laughed. “Come here,” he crooned, beckoning him with one hand.
Silently, Itachi thanked him for giving him an easy command to fulfill, and
Itachi went. Shisui kissed him upon the forehead and wrapped his arm around his
shoulders. “I stopped the council,” Shisui murmured.
“I stopped my father,” Itachi confessed.
We stopped the coup. Together. 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     This is the only--ONLY--story I've ever done that I broke canon to
     accomplish. That's a really big deal for me. As I wrote on my
     profile, congratulate Itachi and Shisui for breaking my obsession
     with canon-compliance. ^_^
     I couldn't put them together otherwise (actually, I probably could...
     I've played with the idea of Shisui still being alive out there
     somewhere before).
     I will probably keep this as my only breach in canon. It makes their
     bond more special to me. The only love so powerful that it transcends
     the bonds of canon. :-D
***** Stronger at the Cracks *****
===============================================================================
  “Within you I lose myself and without you I find myself wanting to be lost
                                    again.”
===============================================================================
                                        
Shisui’s smirk was so beautiful that it hurt. Itachi had long ago stopped
wondering why that was, but there he was. Itachi frowned, taking in the too-
familiar attire: black fatigues, grey flakk vest, steel vambraces, the standard
issue katana, the animal mask that was affixed uselessly to the back of
Shisui’s head. It looked more natural on Shisui than it ever had on Itachi. He
bit his tongue on all the stupid questions. Shisui would disapprove of him
asking silly questions, and that was not allowed. Obviously, Shisui had joined
ANBU. Obviously, that made him part of Itachi’s team today. Instead, Itachi
went with affectionate teasing. That was something  Shisui encouraged. “You’re
crazy.”
Shisui’s grin was wild and contagious. “I have a few more promises to keep,” he
divulged with a shrug. “I stopped the coup. I’m still stronger than you…”
He trailed off, letting Itachi’s imagination remember the other three promises
that Shisui had made that day. Anyone who tries to hurt you will die screaming.
And four…Itachi’s eyes glazed over, remembering, his pulse quickening just at
the thought.
Five… gods.
“I see you do remember,” Shisui teased.
Oh yes, he remembered. Memories of Shisui’s hands, the sharp lines of his bones
and muscles, the irrefutable power of those eyes, and the authority of his
voice when he decided to use it on Itachi to exact compliance haunted Itachi’s
dreams. The dreams were bad enough, but Shisui had also forbidden him from
touching himself, which had made mornings, and sometimes the middle of the
night, extraordinarily uncomfortable. There were times when he considered
breaking that particular rule, and almost had a number of times. If he did
that, though, he’d feel compelled to tell Shisui, and then he’d have to endure
the disappointment in Shisui’s eyes for disobedience.
It was a constant struggle, loving Shisui. There were times when he questioned
whether or not it was worth it, simply on principle alone, doubting himself
based on logic. Then, things would happen, like Shisui subjecting himself to
the danger and rigors of ANBU simply to protect him. That anyone would risk his
life just to keep Itachi safe was an anomaly at all, but… there was a
fierceness in Shisui’s eyes that did, in fact, promise swift and violent death
to anyone that opposed him. When was it that Itachi had decided that he liked
that in a person?
“I remember,” Itachi assured him, sounding calmer than he felt. With Shisui in
ANBU, and likely always on his team, the nature of their relationship was bound
to change. For one thing, Itachi would be around him much more than he ever had
before. Those smoldering smiles and the dangerous promises hiding in his eyes
would torment Itachi. He would be forbidden to touch his master on any of their
missions. He would have to obey without being found out. Hiding the nature of
their association without being obvious was going to be a real challenge. He
wondered if Shisui had thought about that before he’d signed on.
One glance at Shisui and the undiluted mischief that resided there, and Itachi
was assured that his lover was counting on it. A situation that would be made
more difficult by the secrets they shared was Shisui’s favorite game.
Still, it will be nice to spend some time with him, he reflected as Shisui’s
hand came to rest on his shoulder, gently guiding him down the path that would
take them to their mission. He was glad that Shisui would be there with him.
ANBU was a rough job for Itachi, and it was difficult enough to speak about the
foul deeds he was forced to do. With Shisui there, he wouldn’t ever have to
give those things a voice. Shisui would know, and Shisui would understand. The
complex nature of Shisui’s eyes confirmed that he had thought of this, too.
Soon, Itachi told himself, he would learn that Shisui thought of everything so
that Itachi didn’t have to. He sighed, filled up inside with gratitude and
contentment. It was nice not to feel alone anymore.
As if he had sensed the full nature of Itachi’s meandering thoughts, Shisui
leaned close to his ear, grazing the lobe with a quick kiss and the gentle
sound of his voice as he said, “Don’t worry so much. No one can kill me, and I
won’t let anything happen to you. We’re going to be fine. Trust me.” He gave
Itachi’s shoulder a quick squeeze and released him.
Itachi believed him. The tension in his neck and shoulders lessened, if only a
little bit. “I trust you,” Itachi assured him. He laughed a moment later.
“Though gods help me, I have no idea why.”
Shisui laughed, too. “Because I want you to live to see sixteen more than you
do.” It was meant to be lighthearted, but the tone in his voice was layered
with something predatory, too.
“Waiting was your idea,” Itachi reminded him unhappily.
“If you were me, you’d do it, too,” Shisui grumbled with an equal amount of
displeasure. “There are some things in the world that aren’t okay.”
Itachi frowned and retreated. The realm of ‘things in the world that aren’t
okay’ was a major part of his career. There might come a time any day now when
Itachi would be expected to be a sexual object as part of a mission objective.
Why couldn’t Shisui see that? By denying him, he might also be denying Itachi
the experience he would need to survive it, logically. And so, because it was
bothering him, he voiced it. “They could make me do this in ANBU at any time.
Do you really want to let someone else touch me first?”
Shisui’s eyes squeezed shut. He stopped walking, his fists balling at his
sides. “You really aren’t going to make this easy on me, are you?” Shisui
growled with frustration, launching into a monologue. “Bad enough I’m in love
with my cousin. No, let it be the cousin that’s not even of legal age of
consent yet. You know, the really sexy one who’s nearly as dangerous and
brilliant as you. If that weren’t bad enough, make him extra eager and extra
innocent.”
Itachi stopped walking. “I’m not innocent,” he insisted.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “That was the one thing you pulled out of
that?”
“I want you,” Itachi stated flatly, the words floating between them like a
prayer.
Shisui bit his lip and shook his head once, a sound somewhere between a groan
and a growl lodging in his throat. “Itachi, you’re fucking killing me.”
Itachi watched Shisui’s internal battle with interest, observing, learning.
There were things that he could do, things that he could say, that riled
Shisui. Properly employed, such acts were manipulative tools that he could use
to his advantage. He sensed, though, that his cousin was at his limit. He could
push him, if he chose. One good shove, one carefully placed word, and Shisui’s
control would snap. He considered it; the consequence of Shisui’s loss of
control was his favorite subject of thought. He allowed the moment to stretch,
shoulders tense and shivering with the power he held over Shisui, realizing
then that Shisui’s power was merely the darker side of his own. It was a
delicate and elegant struggle, a war for dominance. In this, Shisui would seek
to exert control over Itachi. Conversely, though, Itachi could suggest, coerce,
and lure, testing that control.
However, it was Shisui's extraordinary control that Itachi admired. If Itachi
pushed him past his breaking point, Shisui might see it as his own failure.
That, Itachi would not allow, even if it did temporarily result in the effect
that he was after. The satisfaction would be fleeting, soured by the
consequences. It was incredibly important to him on a personal level that
Shisui should never fall, even more so than himself. He could test Shisui’s
control, and should, but never push him beyond that fragile boundary, or their
merry game was lost. “I’m sorry,” Itachi apologized, bowing at the waist. “I
should not have pushed you.”
He heard the wind of a heavy sigh. “Get away with it while you can,” he warned.
“You won’t find me so forgiving in the future.”
Itachi grinned. “Does that mean—“
“No,” he slashed with the crack of supremacy. Argument over.
He didn’t fully appreciate the severity of his infraction until he tried to
talk to Shisui again. He’d merely asked how Shisui’s weekend had gone, trying
to make conversation as they went to meet the rest of their team. Shisui’s gaze
slid sideways, glaring balefully at Itachi, sporting a wounded, agonized look.
Being regarded that way stung, and he actually stumbled a bit, losing his
footing for the shock he felt at being sidelined so easily. “Shi—“
He choked on the name before it ever left his lips, frozen by Shisui’s very
sudden and very wrathful scowl. He clamped his lips shut, distressed. Two fuck-
ups in rapid succession. Not a winning score for the day. Heart pounding, not
wanting to end on a failure, he tried again. “Sir,” he beseeched. Shisui
ignored him. “Sir,” he repeated desperately. Despair clawed at his heart. Don’t
shut me out. Please, no, anything but that. “Will you talk to me, please?”
Shisui’s face tilted over, eyebrows creased with regret. Itachi immediately
understood. He was being punished. It might not have happened with corporeal
discipline or, perhaps, the type of punishment that Shisui had originally
envisioned, but it cut even more deeply in some ways. The connection he had
with Shisui was as much a part of him as his chakra, engraved upon his heart
and streaming through his veins. To be denied that was like breathing glass,
every passing moment worse than the last, threatening to strangle him. “Please
don’t do this,” Itachi pleaded, grasping at whichever straws he could reach. He
dropped to his knees, the pain of the shock of the earth balancing him
momentarily, reminding him that every wrong had a price, and that he was paying
his. He had to try, though. “Sir, please forgive me,” he begged, the tears
welling up in his eyes.
Though Itachi had stopped, Shisui’s walk continued, his steps growing quieter
as Itachi wept into the ground, possessed of a need for acknowledgment, of
praise. He wouldn’t really leave Itachi behind, would he? Still, though, he
knew of no other way to apologize, so he remained. The dust collected in his
hair and his face grew muddy with tears, but he stayed pressed to the dirt
until his back ached, diving into the black ache in his heart, embracing the
agony of his mistake. He deserved this. He knew the rules and he’d broken them.
He’d antagonized his master beyond where he knew that he should and had dared
to try to call him by his name. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to the earth. “I’m
sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeated it like a prayer, glued to the dirt.
It was here that he had failed, and here he would stay until the world righted
itself, else he should die of shame.
And then, like a miracle, he felt Shisui’s cool fingers on the back of his
neck. “Itachi,” he said, his voice as clear and beautiful as the element of his
name. Itachi dared not move, his muscles trembling, too relieved that he’d
returned and too scared that he might leave again. Until Shisui’s hand grasped
him by the nape of the neck and gently guided his head away from the ground.
Itachi sucked in a deep breath, his composure completely shattering, the tears
flowing out of his eyes like a rainstorm, numb and still panicky as Shisui sat
upon the ground with his feet spread apart, caging Itachi within his protective
shell. “Come here, you,” he murmured, his voice like balm to Itachi’s breaking
soul.
All the while Itachi sobbed out his apologies, Shisui explained. “There are
rules for a reason, Itachi, and I expect you to follow them.” The tone of his
voice was exceedingly gentle.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, meaning it with every fiber of his being.
“I know that, Itachi. That’s why I’m here.” He pulled Itachi in tighter then,
squeezing his shivering frame in the safety of his arms. Itachi’s fingers found
purchase in the fabric of Shisui’s sleeves, holding on for dear life, wishing
fervently that nothing like this ever happened again. He vowed then and there
not to displease Sir, no matter what it took. Shisui held him until the shaking
calmed down and the sobs stopped, shushing and stroking his hair while Itachi
held on. “You’re all right,” he assured him. “I forgive you.” He planted a
sweet, lingering kiss to the crown of his head. “Look at me.”
He didn’t want to. He still felt awful, and he didn’t want Shisui to see him
cry. But Shisui didn’t force him to look this time. He just waited, trusting
that Itachi would obey when he was ready. He was strengthened by his faith in
him. And so, despite the horrible twist in his gut, he raised his eyes and met
Shisui’s. The moment their eyes met, Shisui smiled, looking wonderful and
radiant, his hair mussed for the mask that forced it upward roguishly, dark
long lashes framing impossibly lovely eyes. “There he is. Welcome back.”
He allowed his fingers to travel along Itachi’s arms, starting at the shoulders
and drawing slowly, lazily down to the elbows, making shivery tickling paths to
Itachi’s wrists. The motion was comforting, encouraging, and it anchored Itachi
back to his island of composure, so distracted by it was he from his pain. Then
Shisui’s long, strong fingers wove in between Itachi’s, and together they
stood, stronger than they were before.
Itachi felt newmade and solid by the time they met up with the other ANBU. He’d
been through a psychologically challenging ordeal, intense for reasons that
made sense only to Shisui and himself. He’d crossed his cousin, and he’d paid
for it, but in the end he was forgiven and back in grace. It was a secret he
shared only with Shisui, a true and vigorous test of love and loyalty, and he’d
made it out the other side having been shattered and glued back together in a
better way. A stronger way. He only wished that he could hold onto Shisui, a
tactile reminder of the connection that they shared. Shisui smirked, catching
his eye from the corner of his, as if he’d heard his thoughts. This is our
challenge, now,Itachi thought, dreading it. Physical contact would be denied in
the presence of others. But by the end of it, I’ll be even stronger.
They donned their masks.
The other two ANBU were stoic, humorless guys, as most ANBU were. Shisui, as
was his way, was always an exception. The shorter of the two men, wearing a
bear mask, held out a scroll, meaning for the two of them to read it. When his
voice spoke, he really didn’t sound happy about it. “Which one of you is Fudo?”
“I am,” Itachi replied as Shisui took the scroll.
“You’re the star of the show,” the man with the bear mask answered.
Beside him, Itachi heard the violent crumple of paper and a distressed sigh.
Itachi turned toward Shisui, their dark eyes even further shadowed by the
darkness in their masks. It didn’t hide the naked concern, though, or the stark
terror, either. None of them needed to say it, though the taller man with the
owl mask did. “Seduction mission. I hate these things.”
***** Honey Trap *****
Chapter Notes
     Time to start giving you some of those tags...
===============================================================================
“We’re all in the same game; just different levels. Dealing with the same hell;
                            just different devils.”
===============================================================================
                                        
“I’ll take next watch,” Itachi announced softly, standing and walking toward
the edge of camp. He leapt to the top of the tree where Shisui perched, bathed
in moonlight like a benevolent, watchful god.
Shisui glanced in his direction, just to acknowledge that he knew he was there,
but he didn’t say anything. He was squatting on his heels on a branch that
shouldn’t have been strong enough to hold him. His elbows perched on knees,
hands dangling slack, staring out over the tree tops, red eyes shifting slowly,
watching. Itachi didn’t interrupt his thoughts. He didn’t really need to. He
could guess where Shisui’s mind wandered, but he wasn’t exactly sure what to
say about it, either. Truth be told, Itachi felt more than uncomfortable, too.
Itachi dropped to a lower branch, allowing him just enough height to lay his
face against Shisui’s leg, his fingers curling around his thigh. He inhaled
deeply, finding comfort in Shisui’s scent. He could find the strength to do
this, he was sure of it. As long as Shisui was there. Before, to be strong
enough for both of them. And after, to piece him back together when he was
broken.
After several minutes of silence, Shisui’s fingers fumbled for his in the
darkness. “I’ve loved you my whole life,” Shisui confessed, his voice tight
with emotional pain. “I’ve loved you so long that it hurts sometimes. I’ve
watched you grow into a person who is truly remarkable in every way. You have a
big heart, and so much talent,” he breathed, squeezing his fingers. “I didn’t
understand why I was so obsessed, but I couldn’t look away. I wanted to be near
you, but you never let anyone in. I figured if I tried to break through that,
you’d only push me away, so I waited. I’ve watched you hurt too much already,
accepting responsibilities way above your pay grade and internalizing shit that
was too horrific. I vowed that someday, I would fight for you, so that you
never had to handle it on your own again. I could handle all of that darkness
for you instead. When they ordered me to spy on you, I knew it was time. If I
had left you on your own any longer, they would have crushed your spirit, caged
you, broken you, destroyed you completely.”
His words moved Itachi. He'd had no idea Shisui felt that way about him at all.
“I’m stronger than you must think,” he countered. “I can handle this.”
He went quiet again. Then he sighed. “…I can’t.”
In those two words, Itachi’s world was floored. He pulled on Shisui’s fingers
and brought them to his lips. “Believe in me,” he bade him. “The mission
doesn’t call for anything as bad as all that. I only have to keep him
distracted while the rest of you steal the evidence and release the prisoners.
It should be fairly quick and painless.”
“You know as well as I do that the parameters of an ANBU mission can change
dramatically in the blink of an eye. That’s why they put ANBU on them and not
standard jounin. If anything goes wrong, it could turn into a bloodbath.”
His tone suggested that he fully expected things to go wrong, and that he was
planning to be the facilitator of that bloodbath. “I know,” Itachi replied
calmly.
“I won’t be able to focus if I think you’re in danger.” His fingers squeezed
too hard. 
“I’ve never failed,” Itachi reminded him consolingly. “Neither have you.”
“There’s a first time for everything. I’m not willing to let that be you.”
Itachi opted for humor and smiled against the skin of Shisui’s hand. “I’m
willing to let that be you.”
“This isn’t funny,” he chastised.
“No, it’s not,” he agreed, losing the smile. “Have faith in my abilities,”
Itachi asked of him. “You give me strength. As long as I know that you’re safe,
I’ll be just fine,” he assured him. “Isn’t that why you chose me in the first
place?”
“Hn. Is that what you think?” His tone was wry.
“Am I wrong?”
Shisui chuckled. “You literally have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”
“You keep saying that,” Itachi pointed out.
“'Cause it’s true. I’ve not been able to take my eyes off you. Not ever.”
“Why?” he wondered.
“Because no matter how fucked up the world gets around you, you have this
gorgeous serenity about you, like a hope that never dies. You’re absolutely
brilliant, a born genius. I want that, all for myself. And every time you look
at me like I mean something, or like when you do what you’re doing right now,
I’m so filled up with happiness that I feel like I might just die.” He sighed.
“If something happens to you, Itachi, I’m going to go batshit. There’s a
darkness in me that you don’t know yet. You’ve only seen the barest glimpses.
If I could hide it from you forever, I would. If I showed it to you all at once
you’d run away screaming. Yes, even you. Would run away. Screaming. People like
me…”
“Are so wonderful it hurts,” Itachi finished for him.
He heard the rustle of clothing as Shisui’s face jerked in his direction,
loosing a soft gasp of surprise. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
“Itachi …” He loosed a breath of consternation, gathering his thoughts. “I like
to … hurt people.”
“I know.”
“You don’t … really know,” Shisui tried to explain, laughing nervously, pulling
his hand away to run it through his mess of unruly curls.
“Sir, may I use your name?” Itachi asked, pressing the fingers of both hands
into Shisui’s thigh and looking up at his face, shadowed by the starlight.
Itachi could just make out the curve of his lips tilting upward. “Sure, just
this once.”
Itachi smiled, pleased. He was doing well today, all things considered.
“Shisui.” He took his time saying it, savoring the moment. He had taken it
entirely for granted before, how delectable that name felt on his tongue,
smoothing syllables swirling around his breath. Gorgeous, every bit of it.
“Your … darkness … calls to me. I’ve never felt more alive than when I’ve
caught glimpses of it. My heart is pounding now, just to imagine it, see?” He
pressed his fingers to his heart, begging him to test it.
“That’s fear, Itachi. You just don’t remember what it feels like, is all,” he
argued, ignoring the invitation.
“Shisui.”
“I said once.” His tone was bitter and closed off, slicing through Itachi’s
attempt to soothe.
Itachi sensed the distance closing. He wasn’t going to have that. He grabbed
Shisui by the ankle and jerked down as if he was pulling a bell. Shisui’s arms
flew into the air to balance himself as he slid off the branch and onto
Itachi’s between his body and the trunk. Itachi didn’t ask. He didn’t wait for
Shisui to tell him what he could and could not do. Likely, he’d be punished for
it. But he could see that Shisui was hurting, and he knew he had to do
something, even if he’d need to apologize for it later. So he gripped Shisui by
the straps on his vest and shoved him against the tree with the clank of
crunched steel, black eyes blinking in the inky darkness, creased with concern
and brimming with hurt. I can show you, Itachi thought, willing Shisui to hear
his thoughts, how lovely to me you are, too. He licked his lips and rested them
tentatively against Shisui’s, just a careful touch, to ask permission. Shisui
didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Didn’t tell him no, don’t.Braver now, he stepped
closer, filling himself with all of the emotions he’d kept bottled up,
channeling it through his lips. He liked the way they fit together, soft,
tangling, testing the pressure between them. It was careful, at first, just a
trial run, a gesture Itachi had used to show Shisui how he felt, that he loved
him regardless, no matter how dark and scary Shisui thought he was.
But then, Shisui sighed, an audible, wistful sound that almost became a groan.
Shisui’s arms wrapped around his back, pulling gently. As if Itachi had needed
any encouragement. His hands dropped from the straps and snaked around Shisui’s
back, finding hard, warm shoulders to grab onto. He pulled Shisui as close as
he could, squeezing tightly, yielding control of his mouth as Shisui took
control, invading with his tongue, claiming, consuming. The world winked out of
existence, became a tangle of arms and lips and hair, spiraling, breathless and
lost in each other.
“Everything all right?” a voice called from below. “We thought we heard
something.”
They sprang apart so as to not get caught. Itachi caught Shisui’s smile in the
ghostly light. “Close,” he breathed, panting.
“Yeah,” Itachi agreed, equally as out of breath.
“Everything’s fine!” Shisui called down, grinning like an idiot now, one
hairsbreadth away from laughing his ass off.
It made Itachi feel fantastic, knowing he’d done that.
“Everything’s fine,” Shisui repeated with a lower volume, meant for him. “I’ll
release the prisoners. You do what you have to do. But you get out of there
safely, if you have to kill every motherfucker there to do it, you hear me?”
Itachi smiled, feeling better. That, he could do. “Not a problem, Sir.”
===============================================================================
 
The evening had almost been too easy. Shisui, Bear, and Owl each went their
separate ways; Shisui, to free the prisoners, Bear, to hunt down the
documentation of the slaves purchased, damning evidence that could implicate
the daimyo of the Land of Clay in a scheme of black market pleasure trading.
Owl’s purpose in the whole thing was to gather intel on the military force of
Clay in case retaliation occurred. Clay wasn’t a large land, but that didn’t
mean that it should be underestimated. With his teammates gone, Itachi felt
better. He had always been accustomed to working on his own, and he knew
tonight's necessary skill set, even if he hadn’t had a whole lot of practice.
It was easy to spot the Clay Daimyo. He had a look about him of wealth and
cruelty, dressed head to toe in silks and gold rings, a sly curve upon his lips
as he surveyed the crowd of his weekly party, looking for his night’s conquest.
Itachi’s job was to be that conquest, to ensure that his attention was diverted
as his comrades destroyed his empire. He was only supposed to keep the daimyo
occupied, which would hopefully exclude any kind of sexual contact, though the
mission details had said that Itachi was to do as much or as little as required
until the signal was given to withdraw. It doesn’t matter, he thought. Tonight
my body is a weapon like any other.Although, he’d had little experience using
it.
Damn you, Shisui.Alone with his own thoughts, he could be as bratty as he
wanted. Shisui’s honorable intentions had deprived him of the experience he
needed to do this correctly.
He had elected to wear his hair loose, doing his best to be unrecognizable, and
worn a plain set of civilian clothes to blend in. The mission details had said
that the daimyo preferred to choose his prey from among the commoners, who
would be less likely to rat him out or to be taken seriously. Itachi had a
plain pair of khaki pants and a loose white shirt. They made him feel
freakishly skinny and awkward as he sank into the plain wooden chair.
Oh well. Hopefully, they made him seem more out of place and vulnerable in a
good way, dampening the natural shinobi grace he possessed. He was proven
alarmingly correct when a shadow fell over him not an hour later, making his
heart flutter a bit with nerves. Itachi had a great deal of experience being a
shinobi, being an ANBU, and generally just being an elite in most respects, but
he had had zero experience being someone’s lover, and the thought of having
sex, particularly with a man--of which he had no idea how it was supposed to
work--scared him. He hadn’t told that to Shisui, but that was because if Itachi
ever felt fear, he chose to feel it at the last possible second, to get it done
and over with and let it go.
Like now.
“You like parties?” the daimyo asked, smiling a deceptively friendly smile.
Predatory.
“Well,” Itachi answered with a gentle shrug, biting his lip and looking away.
“Not really.” True.
“No? Not even one like this? Did you try the pudding? I searched the world over
for that recipe.” Treats. Wealth. Yes, this guy definitely knew his victims.
“It’s pretty loud in here, and I don’t know anybody.” Also true. Itachi had
learned, as a spy: the more one could answer honestly, the easier it was to
deceive. They couldn’t find lies in the truth unless they were fools—and fools
were easily dealt with.
“It’s quieter just outside. And it’s firefly season.” Escape. Beauty. Tempting.
Itachi smiled shyly, fidgeting in his chair. “I like fireflies.” Truth.
“Come on then.” He grabbed Itachi’s hand carefully, rubbing the pad of one
thumb over the back of his palm. It was intended to comfort, and probably
worked on most, but it alarmed Itachi and turned his stomach, made him aware
that this man wasn’t in this for the fireflies.
He went. The daimyo led him outside. Then further, toward an oversized
outbuilding. It held a plethora of rare collectibles, including some caged up
monkeys, a massive amount of incense, and a pretty impressive set of rare,
colorful silken rope. He didn’t like this, but the mission dictated that he
keep the man distracted, so distracted was how he intended to keep it. “Ooo,
monkeys!” he exclaimed childishly. He had never liked monkeys. Filthy
creatures, really, but they gave him a focal point.
“Yes,” the daimyo cooed. “They’re from the Land of Whirlpools. That was
destroyed some years ago, so these are the last of the monkeys that lived
there.”
Poor beasts. “That’s neat,” he proclaimed, stroking the bars of the cages,
staring into the too-human and fearful eyes of the little primate. Its eyes
scanned back and forth. “Can I pet one?”
“Not tonight. There’s something I want to show you.”
Itachi swallowed, terrified already. It would be easier just to kill this man
and be done with it, but if he did that, their mission would be compromised.
Shisui, Owl, and Bear had not had near enough time yet to accomplish their
tasks. The daimyo had worked far too fast. Itachi had not been able to stall
nearly enough. It seemed he had singular, malicious intent. “To… show me?” he
croaked. He needed to keep stalling, lest he become responsible for mission
failure. His record thus far was flawless. 
“Yes,” he said gently. “A surprise.” In his hand he held a black strip of
fabric. “It’s just to cover your eyes. Wouldn’t be a surprise otherwise.”
Trust.
“I don’t like surprises,” Itachi hedged. True.
“It will be fun.” Tantalize.
Itachi wanted to kill him, but if he gave it up now, they’d have to abandon the
prisoners. It was just a blindfold; he could fight without the Sharingan.
Better than half a dozen jounin, in fact. He knew that because he'd practiced
it, just in case of moments like these. Itachi forced a smile onto his face and
nodded, and the disgusting daimyo pig blindfolded his precious Sharingan. Panic
set in immediately. He had never been in the presence of an actual enemy with
his eyes covered before. What he was doing was extraordinarily dangerous.
“Relax,” the daimyo bade him, sounding just as gentle as before, placing the
gentlest of kisses upon his head. “You’re going to be just fine. I’ll go get
the surprise now. Wait right here.”
Itachi heard his slow, deliberate footsteps walk away and leave him there. That
was odd, and totally against mission protocol. He wasn't supposed to leave the
daimyo's company. “Come back!” he called, forcing a laugh into his voice.
“Don’t leave me here like this! What about my surprise?”
“Just a moment!” he called back from a short distance away.
Good, Itachi thought. He’s still here.
Something heavy smacked into his head a moment later. He fell over, stunned and
terrified, fingers shaking from the aftershocks, groaning from the blow. His
hands were jerked roughly behind his back and tied tightly. Another set of
hands tied his feet together. At least two assailants, then. A boot kicked him
in the ribs, and he shouted in pain. Three, then. Itachi could barely move his
fingers and toes, sick and dizzy. He wondered vaguely how hard he had been hit
in the head. “Help!” he shouted, legitimately panicking. A hand covered his
mouth and jerked his head back, stuffing a wad of fabric into his mouth, then
wrapping more fabric several times around his head. He felt so helpless that
the tears just started pouring. He couldn’t fight like this, and now the others
wouldn’t know. They were merely supposed to give a signal, and then he would
retreat. With his eyes covered and his hands and feet bound, he’d neither see
the signal nor be available to heed it. He shrieked into his gag, wishing he
could see, that someone could hear him,whatever.
“Ahhh,” purred the daimyo. “I guess Konoha suspects something ... if they sent
you to spy on me … Uchiha Itachi.”
Itachi’s heart skipped a beat as the daimyo began to laugh.
***** Sharp Edges *****
Chapter Notes
     Disclaimer: my betas tell me this is a tough scene. And to be fair,
     it was so tough to write I had to step away a few times and almost
     gave up on it. But the scene wanted to happen, so happen it did.
     --Triggers triggers triggers--
     So many ugly triggers ... how brave are you?
     Onwards.
===============================================================================
 “You will always be too much of something for someone: too big, too loud, too
soft, too edgy. If you round out your edges, you lose your edge. Apologize for
 mistakes. Apologize for unintentionally hurting someone—profusely. But don’t
                      apologize for being who you are.” 
===============================================================================
                                        
Itachi felt the man’s vile paws upon him, poking, prodding, caressing. It
sickened and scared him. His hand gripped Itachi’s chin, turning his face this
way and that. “What an idiot. I can’t believe you let me bind your eyes.” He
kissed Itachi’s face, and Itachi took the opportunity to hit him in the nose
with a vicious headbutt. He heard the crunch of a satisfying connection, and
the daimyo roared with ire. “You little shit!” he shouted. Then he laughed,
fueled by his reaction. “Ooohhh I am so going to enjoy this.”
Hands on either side of him gripped his shoulders and pushed him roughly to the
ground. His nose was filled with dirt, and he choked, trying to breathe through
the sand and the gag, sputtering, panicking for lack of oxygen. His heart was
racing, beating a wild tattoo in his neck. Frantically, he considered
activating the seal in his ANBU mark, obliterating his body and all of its
evidence. He knew that he should… he was well and truly fucked now. The
Sharingan was in enemy hands and he was helpless to escape. The mark could be
activated with a thought, but…
Shisui. He wanted to live. For him, Itachi must endure.
The daimyo sat upon him. Itachi could feel the heat from his groin against his
back through the thin layers of clothing. He was so scared that he thought his
heart would explode, and he sobbed continuously. I’m sorry, Shisui, his mind
whispered. I’m sorry, so sorry, I failed you.A knife cut away his shirt. A
breeze ghosted across his shoulder blades. Then, a moment later, Itachi
realized that the man had blown his ghastly breath across his skin and he
nearly vomited, gag or no gag. His tongue followed a moment later, a fat, wet,
heavy thing with no finesse, lapping at lovingly honed muscles, defiling his
hard work. Itachi’s body bucked against his bonds and he screamed into the gag.
No, no, no! He thrashed with all of his might, wiggling, kicking, and giving it
his all, but it was no use. All that he accomplished was further fatigue.
The daimyo laughed, his considerably heavier weight keeping Itachi effectively
pinned down no matter his painstakingly practiced physical strength. He
screamed and screamed and screamed, for the shame and futility of it all. Then,
the man’s fingers traced lines down his bare spine, deliberately taking their
time, taking advantage of Itachi’s expended energy, hooking into the waistband
of his pants… and dragging them down. Itachi’s mind wandered, seeking a
desolate plane of existence, one where he wasn’t aware of what was happening to
him, even when the cheeks of his buttocks were spread apart and admired. He
sobbed, praying for a miracle while the pig behind him cooed encouragement and
told him to lie still like a good boy. His eyes rolled back behind the
blindfold, and he thought he was about to faint as the tip of a penis started
poking around at his anus.
There was a bloodcurdling animal scream, ululating with something wild, and a
warm spray a moment later. Itachi supposed it was all the better for him that
it was over already. It dawned on him a second later that the screaming hadn’t
stopped, had in fact only increased in fervor and volume. Itachi managed to
scrub his face against the ground enough to dislodge the blindfold, not daring
to believe the impossible.
When he could see, he tilted his face up to watch Shunshin no Shisui perform
the most dazzling dance Itachi had ever seen or would see since. Shisui was a
blur of rage in the darkness, red eyes sizzling with the wrath of hell, glowing
like a demon in the nighttime. His face was peeled back in a snarl, but that
wasn’t the most frightening aspect of his face. Despite it all, despite the
blood spattered on his face, decorating his armor in splashes across his
breastplate, and the screams of the dying, Shisui smiled, his smirk growing
more sinister the longer he worked. He flashed from one victim to the next,
slashing viciously with his katana, severing heads from torsos and hands from
arms, reveling in the surprised braying of his victims for just a moment before
putting them out of their misery with a violent strike to the gut.
Shisui was a masterpiece on the battlefield. Itachi’s mouth fell open in awe.
It was the most gruesome seven minutes of weaponry that Itachi had ever
witnessed. All across the dark frontier before him spurted fountains of blood,
shimmering black in the darkness. The sounds of steel on steel and steel
thunking into flesh, the grunt of effort as Shisui jerked his sword, and the
wet splash of innards spilling out upon the earth. The atmosphere was a
disruptive cacophony of screams, war cries, and, though quieter, still more
pronounced, the growls and snarls, grunts and sighs of Shisui as he did his
work, spinning on the balls of his feet, backflipping, blurring from one place
to another, leaping, slashing, the epitome of Death as he danced.
Magnificent.
It was no wonder Shisui had never failed a mission, thought Itachi. Just then a
whimper of pain caught his attention. He peered over at the blubbering, weeping
form of the Clay daimyo. He was clutching the severed stumps of both ankles,
watching Shisui dispatch his guards with ease, fearing for his own life. Serves
him right, Itachi thought.
Shisui stalked back into the building from the outside, dropping his Katana at
the doorway and withdrawing his tanto instead. His grin was as ghastly as it
was gorgeous, a horizontal spray of blood masking his eyes as if he were some
kind of grisly superhero. Not an inch of his uniform was not painted with
blood, dripping, leaving a trail of gore in his wake as he descended slowly
upon the daimyo, playing with his food. The daimyo wailed, weeping, whispering,
“Please, don’t kill me. Please, I’ll give you anything you want. Money, slaves,
anything.”
Still Shisui advanced, lithe grace a thing of beauty as he neared the fat lord
and his severed feet. “Anything?” Shisui asked, his voice hoarse and
otherworldly, his lips curling into an even more sinister rictus. He squatted,
relaxing on the balls of his feet, eyes innocently guileless as he peered at
the daimyo from beneath his stern brow.
Itachi wondered if the man would sense the trap. Shisui radiated danger and
pain. Better to beg for a quick death. “Anything,” he breathed, clasping his
hands together as if in prayer.
“Turn over,” Shisui commanded icily, eyes glittering dangerously. Itachi
recognized that commanding tone, but it was tinged with evil now, too. Itachi
merely watched, transfixed, a spectator, mostly forgotten in Shisui’s war
against everything.
The daimyo’s eyes widened, flickered between Shisui and Itachi as if he’d
finally figured it out. He was stopped by Shisui’s sharp bark, deafening in the
small space. “YOU DO NOT LOOK AT HIM!” Shisui roared. Then, he added softly in
a tone that could freeze blood, “You do not ever look at him. He is mine.”
Itachi shivered. He knew what he was seeing was Shisui at his most terrifying.
Shisui, fully embracing the dark storm that resided within him, letting all of
his demons roar out of him at once, heedless of the consequences. Itachi knew
he should be scared. Shinobi had cracked before, completely severing themselves
from their wits, caused by certain traumatic experiences. Some of them never
came back, and almost all of the victims of psychological trauma had come from
ANBU. It was equally as likely that Shisui could turn on Itachi next, consumed
by bloodlust and unable to discern friend from foe. Itachi knew better than
that, though. Even in his red haze, Shisui had known Itachi. If he didn't,
Itachi was as good as dead anyway, for he'd no longer wish to live.
The daimyo’s eyes snapped back to Shisui. “Good boy,” Shisui sneered. Then, he
twirled his tanto, miming the motion of turning over, his smile charming yet
malicious. Itachi found that the expression suited his face quite well,
actually.
“Wh… what are you going to do?” the daimyo asked hesitantly.
He raised the blade, the steel glinting dangerously in the low lighting. “Well
for starters, I’m going to shove my tanto up your ass, business end first.” The
daimyo made a strangled sound. Not a moment later, Itachi’s nostrils flared to
the acrid smell of urine. He resumed his pleading, but Shisui spoke over him.
“No use resisting,” Shisui told him coldly. “Either you’re going to turn over
and I’m going to stab your asshole with this blade, or I’m going to turn you
over and stab your asshole with this blade. No need to be so freaked out about
it. It’s not even half as bad as the rest of what I’m going to do to you.”
Shisui’s voice had regained its playful tone, making mock of the gory scene
laid out before him like a bloody comedian. The daimyo tried to pull his body
backward with his hand. Shisui pouted, pretending to look offended. “Oh, you
don’t want to play with me? Weren’t you about to stab this boy here in the ass
with your blade? Is it not fair when someone else wants to do it to you?”
“Please… please…”
Shisui stuck his bottom lip out and shook his head ruefully, looking pleased.
“See, I knew you’d beg me for it. Is that what you make them do, too?" He crept
closer, undoing all the progress his prey had made in his bid for escape.
Desperately, the daimyo flipped over, using his elbows to try to drag himself
away. “Ahh! There he is! Glad you came to your senses!” Shisui leapt off of the
balls of his feet, muscles uncoiling like a great black, red-eyed panther,
dropping onto the back of the daimyo. Then, without another word, he jammed his
tanto right up the fat man’s ass, just as promised. A horrified scream split
the air, and kept on keening. Shisui, for his part, left the blade embedded in
the man’s rectum and lounged back on his body as if it were simply a
comfortable chair. “My, you’re a great singer!” Shisui mused, licking the blood
off of his fingers as if he’d just enjoyed a delectable treat.
Itachi watched the space between the man’s legs darken with blood, feeling sick
but strangely vindicated. Finally feeling a modicum of his consciousness
return, Itachi struggled into a sitting position, hiding his naked rear end
from public spectacle. He sat on his knees, still bound and gagged, the
blindfold hanging around his neck like an accessory.
“Wouldn’t do for you to bleed out before I’m finished,” Shisui muttered. With a
sigh, he jerked his blade free, eliciting another broken scream. Calmly, he
wiped the blood from his tanto, then bit the steel between his teeth. He mimed
at the man to turn over again. Of course, his victim was tortured and
terrified, and he wasn’t about to obey. Rolling his eyes, Shisui grabbed the
stumps of his ankles and twisted, forcing the man to do as he was bid. “Stay,”
he commanded, pointing with his knife. The daimyo writhed backward, trying to
leave. Shisui frowned. He reached into his pouch and pulled out four kunai,
hooking his fingers through the loops. “Well if you aren’t going to listen…” he
purred with a shrug. He tied a loop of wire through the loop of one kunai, then
chucked it into the rafters. This, he tied tightly around the daimyo’s left
wrist. His hand turned almost immediately purple. He repeated the same
treatment with his other hand and both knees, stretching the daimyo out,
suspending him about two feet off the ground.
“Don’t pass out,” Shisui commanded him with a frown. “You’ll miss all the fun.
See, now, I’m going to cut your cock off and shove it down your fucking throat.
And then… well.” He tsked as he yanked the man’s pants down. “Spoilers.
Wouldn’t want to ruin the fucking surprise.” Just as he promised, he wrapped
his hand around the daimyo’s cock and tugged, his face a mask of surgical
concentration. With one smooth swipe of his tanto, the organ came free, blood
gushing from the horrific wound. “Got it!” Shisui cried triumphantly. “Hope
you’re hungry.” He smiled brilliantly and made his way around to the other
side, ducking to avoid his wires. “Open,” he commanded, parting his own lips as
if the other man needed a demonstration. “Like this, see?” He brought the
bloody lump of flesh near his own lips, them grimaced. “You didn’t really think
I’d eat that, did you? That’s so gross!”
And then, because the daimyo refused and seemed to be pretty near to passing
out, Shisui used the fingers of his right hand to pry open the man’s teeth. He
stuck his tongue out with concentration as he pushed his grisly prize in
between his lips, shoved it further down yet. The daimyo began to gag,
thrashing in his wire. Shisui tsked again. “Don’t do that. The wire will sever
your—“ There was the snap and twang of wire and the body rocked for lack of a
stable hand. “I tried to tell you,” Shisui complained. “You’re not very
obedient. You could learn a lot from my boy Itachi.” His nose twitched in
Itachi's direction. 
Despite the graphic nature of the situation, Itachi felt a twinge of pride at
the praise.
“You’re really just not that much fun,” Shisui grumbled petulantly, putting his
bloody hands on his hips. “I’m over it.” He grazed the tip of his tanto over
the daimyo’s silk-wrapped chest, then slowly dug the point in and walked away,
delving deeper with every inch. There was the gagging sound of a man choking,
then a wet gurgling sound. His abdomen parted easily, spilling entrails over
the side of the unbalanced suspension, pouring onto the dust.
Itachi shut his eyes, unable to stomach quite that much. His gut twisted and
boiled, threatening to heave. “Open your eyes, Itachi,” Shisui ordered softly,
his voice almost sad.
He did as he was told, forced to endure the image of Shisui, painted head to
toe with the most vibrant shade of red. He rubbed at his mouth with the back of
one hand, smearing the sticky substance across his cheekbones. “Well?” he
asked, the word echoing for the sudden quiet emptiness in the building, the
daimyo dead.
He made a sound, still gagged. A shift occurred in Shisui, then. The devil left
his eyes, replaced with the angel that slept within. Shisui hurriedly wiped his
blade and sheathed it, then rushed over to Itachi. Before he released him at
all, though, he placed both bloodied hands on either side of his head, framing
his face, peering deeply into his eyes, searching for damage. The Sharingan
leaked away. Then, in a flurry of expert motions, Shisui undid the gag, jerked
the blindfold away, and unbound Itachi’s hands and feet.
“What about the others?” Itachi wondered aloud.
“Dead.”
“The mission?”
“Failed.”
Itachi frowned, confused. Shisui never failed. “But—“
“Shut up, Itachi,” Shisui snarled. “We’re getting the fuck out of here, and I’m
going to gut every single fucking person that tries to stand between us and the
exit. Look at me,” he commanded, grasping his shoulders. Itachi did. “No one
fucking matters except you and me. Do you understand? Fucking no one.” He
jerked Itachi to his feet, hauling his pants up with him. “Now listen,” he
continued more softly gesturing with one bloodied finger for emphasis, “and
don’t argue with me no matter what I say, okay?” Itachi nodded. “We’re going
back to my place. Don’t talk to anyone until I say it’s okay. Don’t go in my
room. And don’t. Fucking. Touch me.”
***** Precious Things *****
===============================================================================
 “Nothing hurts a good soul and a kind heart more than to live amongst people
                           who can’t understand it.”
===============================================================================
                                        
“Run. Don’t stop. Don’t wait. Go straight to my place and wait for me there.”
“What about you?”
“It’s better if you don’t know. Go on, now.”
And so he had. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do with himself once he got
there, though. Erring on the side of caution, he left the lights off and tucked
himself in between the coffee table and the couch. He didn’t think anyone had a
reason to go to Shisui’s house to look for him there, but Shisui had seemed
concerned that they might.
Itachi didn’t like hiding. Or waiting. It was entirely against everything he
had ever been trained to do. He should have been there, fighting with Shisui.
In his mind’s eye he saw the walls of flame erupt into the dark sky, so bright
as to blind, so hot that Itachi’s skin had prickled even from a mile away.It’s
better if you don’t know. What was Shisui doing now? A dozen times or more,
Itachi stood, ready to make for the door, to bust in on the scene as Shisui had
done for him. He was more than capable.
And yet … Shisui had harshly commanded him not to argue. Not to do anything
other than he was told. Not to go into Shisui’s room and not to touch. 'No.'
Just 'no.' Itachi cradled the word in his ears and lived it, and he found that
the more he accepted the word ‘no,’ the more comfortable he felt about it.
Shisui would handle it. Shisui had said that he would. He’d come back and
explain everything, and Itachi would be right where he’d been told to be when
he arrived.
As time ticked by, and evening became the wee hours, Itachi thought about the
cruel shadow of Shisui he’d last seen in the Land of Clay. Dimly, he knew that
it was insane not to be afraid. Within his cool, charming cousin lurked a
warrior of nightmarish caliber, and he slaughtered mercilessly when provoked.
Itachi remembered the way that the daimyo had died, and even though he’d
fervently wished for it, he still couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pity
for him anyway. Remembering every tiny detail made him simultaneously nauseous
and achy, for Shisui had that within him and no one to understand it. He’d seen
it, hadn’t he, when Shisui told him to open his eyes? Into those words was
poured a measure of grief and resignation, as if he’d assumed that Itachi would
not be able to accept that of him.
Did Shisui believe that Itachi would not want him now? Itachi's breathing
stilled. With horror, he realized that that must indeed be the case. That was
why he’d been so firm. Gods, he’s hurting.
Itachi felt his presence before he heard the barely audible creak of the door.
Shinobi, more silent and stealthy than the wind itself. Itachi stopped
breathing. He didn’t move. Shisui was in command; if Itachi so much as twitched
without permission, he deserved to be punished. Shisui didn’t turn on the light
either; it seemed that both of them preferred the darkness. There was the drop
of equipment at the door, the scuff of boots being kicked off, a deep sigh. And
then Shisui entered the room. He froze in the doorway, still covered in blood
from head to toe and smelling of death and smoke like some macabre phantom back
from a one man war. “Itachi,” he said. One word, his name, heavy and silken and
loaded with feelings, dark and bright.
It yanked a thread from his heart and pulled, made his chest feel tight, too
small to contain his heart. “Yes,” he breathed, awestruck.
His gaze sharpened, arms crossing across his chest, unconsciously protecting
himself. He took several breaths before he could speak again, looking grumpy
and uncomfortable. When he spoke, his voice sounded small and uncertain. “Are
you okay?”
“Yes,” he replied. “… Are you?”
Shisui stared at him, searching for the lie, not believing Itachi could emerge
from that ordeal intact and sane. “Do you hate me?”
In fact, Itachi was rather shocked by the question. “How could I hate you?”
Shisui leveled him with a look. “For all your sublime talent, Itachi, I know
what you’re really like. You abhor violence of any kind. You hate the fighting.
You don’t like to kill. I love the violence. I live for the kill.”
“Be that as it may, Sir … I think red is your color.”
Shisui’s mouth fell open in silent awe. He seemed to recover, finally, arms
releasing his torso to fall at his sides. “Itachi,” he said again, this time
completely himself, authoritative and demanding. “Come.” He crooked one finger
and seared Itachi with a glance. Enraptured, Itachi went. There was no
trepidation, no abhorrence, nothing except for the connection they shared and
the need to be a part of it. When he was within a step of the older shinobi,
Shisui’s arms opened slowly. Itachi crashed into his chest and sighed into a
comfortable hug. Shisui’s face fell down upon the top of his head, nuzzling.
For a while they were content just to do that, to know that they hadn’t lost
each other in quite the ways that they had each thought.
“There are things that we will do,” Shisui murmured, “that are going to
challenge you. It is important to me that you are pushed and that I be the one
who pushes you. It is not my intention to actually harm you. If ever there
comes a time when what I do to you is not okay, you need to tell me. Just say
the word ‘mercy,’ and I’ll stop. Does that make sense?”
He nodded.
“I’m serious, Itachi. I don’t want to fuck this up.”
“I know, and that’s why I’m trusting you.”
He sighed painfully. “I’m so messed up,” he complained of himself.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“How are you so brave?”
“When you’re the one who just took out an army by yourself?”
“It was hardly an army,” Shisui snorted. “Target practice, more like.” He
paused. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
That reminded Itachi that there was something he had wanted to ask. “Why did
you tell me not to touch you?” he asked timorously.  
Shisui hissed in a breath of air. “Promise you won’t hate me?”
“Promise.”
“Because when I’m around you I’m dangerously close to killing everyone who so
much as looks at you. And I was so…” he trembled, a violent shiver, testifying
his truth, “…so—fucking—furious, Itachi, that I almost blacked out. If you’d
have touched me I’d have either killed you or fucked you and I still don’t know
which. Neither would have been okay.” His voice trailed off, breath breezing
past Itachi’s ear, eliciting delicious shivers in deep places.
“I see.” He shut his eyes and let his mind wander, wondering what that might
have been like. So close to that ordeal, he honestly probably would have
panicked.
“I don’t want to talk about that,” he murmured again, his words slurring
together. He stilled, his breath hot in Itachi’s ear, each puff of air a jolt
of desire. Shisui inhaled deeply, running the line of his nose down Itachi’s
cheekbone as if in a trance. Itachi relaxed completely, drawn in, Shisui’s lips
fluttering as gently as sakura petals, nipping a soft trail down his face,
nudging his chin. Itachi’s head lolled over, sighing, relieved that at last he
was getting the kind of physical attention he’d been craving for too long. He
didn’t dare move, nor breathe, but when Shisui’s lips sucked at the hollow dip
in his neck, a breathy groan was born in his throat. He dove fingers into
Shisui’s hair, those long, sinful curls that he’d been eyeballing ever since
that first kiss. Shisui’s teeth scraped along his collarbone, nipping at the
neckline of his shirt. “This needs to go,” he drawled, fingers ghosting up
Itachi’s sides, tickling, dragging the offensive garment over his head. Itachi
loosed another heavy sigh, happy to comply.
“So hot…” Shisui observed, brushing over his skin. “Heh. You’re like a human
furnace.” With the shirt out of the way, he continued his path, nipping,
licking, kissing across Itachi’s torso. Abruptly, he stopped, hooked the palms
of his hands underneath Itachi’s armpits, lifting Itachi off the floor as if he
weighed nothing at all. Itachi was momentarily unbalanced, surprised by the
sudden shift, but when Shisui’s face pressed into his abdomen, silken curls
tickling, tongue dragging, all of the precursors to protest died in his lungs.
So instead, he just wrenched fingers into Shisui’s hair again, shut his eyes,
and rolled his head backward, hair grazing his back, adding to the sensations.
The world shuddered as Shisui began to walk, Itachi steady between his palms.
It wasn’t until Itachi felt the nearness of the doorframe that he realized.
“Sir, this is…”
“My room,” Shisui confirmed. “Yes. And in here is the only place that you may
call me Shisui.” He dropped Itachi on the bed with the tortured squeak of
bedsprings.
The allowance charged Itachi’s senses, priming him, filled with a power wholly
his own. He savored that power, holding it in, wanting to taste and enunciate.
There was a certain way he wanted to say it, perfectly and untouchable. Such a
power should not be wasted for childish excitement. He watched Shisui intently
as his cousin unbuckled his armor slowly, eyes never leaving Itachi’s,
smoldering and smoky like the inferno they’d left behind. Vambraces clattered
to the floorboards. Chestplate went next. Shisui smirked. “Aren’t you going to
say it?” he asked, pulling his shirt over his head.
His breath caught as rows and ripples of Shinobi training revealed themselves,
pale and perfect. Gods … those muscles. Itachi shook his head, filled with a
smile all his own. “Not yet.”
Shisui smirked, eyes hooded with desire. For him. “Pants.” It wasn’t his usual
tone of command. Not tonight. In fact, his expression was almost too carefully
neutral, patiently waiting as he crossed his arms over his bare chest.
He wasn’t sure what brought about the sudden change, but when he reached for
his waistband to tug his pants down, his hands froze, shaking, remembering.
“That’s what I thought,” Shisui mourned. “Stay.” Itachi did as he was told,
feeling unhappy and embarrassed that he’d been unable to do this one simple
thing. He stared at a space upon the floor, bewildered at the involuntary
reaction. The dip and squeak of the mattress announced Shisui’s presence behind
him. Not being able to see him, though, kind of freaked Itachi out. “Itachi,”
Shisui said quietly. “Is this okay?”
Itachi trembled, hovering on the edge of memory and reality. In reality, Shisui
was there, but in memory… he shuddered. He straddled that edge, struggling,
trying to come back from it. “Itachi.” he repeated, ever patient. “Let me know
when you’re okay.”
Dimly, Itachi was aware of what he was doing. Shisui was attempting to heal the
trauma out of him. Itachi wanted it to work, too. He shut his eyes, focusing on
Shisui’s voice—not the daimyo’s—the feel of the mattress—not the ground—and the
scent of stale laundry and a slept in bed—instead of blood and piss and fat old
man. Though, to be fair, the scent of blood yet lingered in the room. Shisui’s
face was still spattered with it, and his most recently shed set of clothing
was saturated. “Itachi,” Shisui repeated, still trying to fling him that rope
of reality.
“I’m okay,” Itachi managed, finding his center at last.
Tentatively, Shisui’s fingers reached the nape of his neck. Itachi flinched
from the contact, then shivered as Shisui’s fingers rubbed small, gentle
circles. That, he found soothing. “This okay?” he asked in the same cautious
tone. Itachi nodded. Shisui scooted closer, his hands sliding around Itachi’s
middle, grazing carefully over his stomach. “And this?” he breathed into
Itachi’s ear.
Itachi took a deep breath and held it, focusing on Shisui’s slow and careful
traverse, his breath upon his neck. His lips fell to Itachi’s shoulder, teeth
carefully tucked away. “This okay?” he murmured against his skin.
Itachi purred with approval, took another deep breath. This time, when the air
slowly escaped his lungs, it dragged his name out with it. “Shisui,” he
proffered breathily, the syllables languorous and lazy across his lips.
He felt Shisui’s smile against his shoulder. “Ahh,” Shisui whispered. “There he
is.” He continued his kissing journey, up Itachi’s neck, down his shoulder and
to the ANBU tattoo on his bicep. “On your stomach,” he ordered. Itachi
complied, even if the position brought back frightening memories. “Don’t be
afraid,” he cautioned. “It’s me. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Itachi squeezed his eyes shut as Shisui’s lips pressed softly to the nape of
his neck. “This is precious,” he whispered, his breath a hot fan against
Itachi’s bare neck. He shivered from the contrast, a convulsive spasm that
rippled through hard muscle. Shisui’s fingers traced, teasing and tickling,
across sensitive, untouched shoulders. Human contact for so long had been
denied Itachi, and the wicked fingertips of Uchiha Shisui seemed magical. He
smiled against Shisui’s pillow as the soothing fingertips and adoring kisses
made their way down his spine. This wasn’t so bad.
Then, there was a long, rough drag of Shisui’s tongue against his spine. Itachi
rumbled a sound deep in his throat, shameless. It seemed, for a time, that the
kisses were replaced with licks until Itachi, curious, had to ask, “What are
you doing, Shisui?”
He felt the man’s wicked lips twitch in response. “Licking things to claim them
as my own. All of you is mine.” His tongue flickered out once more to reaffirm
his purpose, then he chuckled. “Actually, there was still blood on your back.
It’s all gone now.”
Itachi’s mind went blank, his smile unfurling as if in a dream. What was it
about the thought of Shisui licking blood off of his back that just seemed like
the hottest thing ever? He didn’t care to question it, merely allowed his mind
to dull and drift, filled up with the soft, sweet touches, attentive lips and
tongue. He took a deep breath, embraced serenity, sought the balance of his
chakra. That breath, he held, blessedly not thinking at all except about the
sensations that lit his body like thousands of tiny flickering candles.
“Mmshisui,” he breathed, heart thudding the dull, steady beat of complete and
utter relaxation.
“Mm,” he assented. “Still here.” Kisses, kisses, one, two, three. “Every inch
of you is so precious,” he whispered, clear and alive in the dark space of his
room. “Don’t ever forget that.” His feather light lips moved even lower still,
right to the tip of his tailbone, fingers grazing over each curve of Itachi’s
buttocks. “This, too.”
Itachi’s breath caught, ambushed by the memory. His muscles shivered violently,
tears in his eyes before he had a chance to process. Precious, echoed his mind.
“Mine,” Shisui murmured, dispelling the nightmare, tracing patterns upon his
skin. “Mine, and no one else’s.”
A sigh escaped Itachi’s lips, the last of the night’s demons exorcised.
“Yours,” he agreed sleepily.
Shisui rubbed strong fingers over Itachi’s back, kneading sore muscles and
tension from Itachi’s flesh. He thought for sure he would fall asleep then, but
some kind of spell yet lingered in the atmosphere of the room. He groaned
appreciatively, heaving deep breaths in and out, reveling in the way Shisui’s
sharp hip bones dug into the meat of his back.
Apparently, he had fallen asleep at long last. When he came to, Shisui’s chin
was tucked into the crook of his neck and Itachi's body was being tugged into
the curve of the other in the bed. “Itachi?”
“Hm?”
He hesitated. “Do you love me?”
“Mm,” he grunted in assent.
“Say it.”
A smile tugged onto his lips. “I love you, Shisui.”
Shisui exhaled a great, deep breath, sounding at once relieved and pleased.
“Whatever happens, Itachi, don’t forget that. Don’t ever, ever forget that.” 
***** Anticipation *****
===============================================================================
 “Look into my eyes as I take you into the abyss, and I will show you the dark
             vile, perverse secrets that are inside of us both.” 
===============================================================================
                                        
Itachi sat quietly, sipping coffee, watching the movements of his family in
their house, readying for the day ahead. His father bellowing, wondering where
his flak jacket had gone, for he was sure he had left it right there in the
living room the other day. His wife informed him that the living room coffee
table was no place for a dirty flak jacket and that it was in the wash,
smoothly chastising him for dirtying her perfect house while simultaneously
solving the problem of where the flak jacket was. There were integration
initiatives in effect now, an attempt to break down the separation of Uchiha
from the rest of the village. People like Yashiro and some of the other
officers had been absorbed into ANBU for training, promoting some of the
standard police force to officer position and opening up a need for more
recruits. These new recruits were to come from every clan except Uchiha. From
this point onward, inclusion in the police force was for anyone who was
interested, and promotion to officer was based on merit alone and approved by
the Hokage himself. Uchiha Fugaku was one of two parts of that integration
team, the other being Morino Ibiki, whose gruff attitude and no-bullshit
methods seemed right at home next to Fugaku’s. Itachi’s father had found a new
sense of purpose, and for the first time in as long as Itachi could remember,
seemed pretty happy with his life.
Sasuke was walking in and out of the rooms, thinking he was ready for school
and forgetting something, an apple bitten between his teeth. In one hand was
his weapons pouch, too hastily grabbed to have been fastened yet. In the other
hand was a fistful of tortured homework assignments, bearing the smudges of
erased and rewritten pencil marks. It was fairly advanced stuff; intermediate
physics, trajectories and gravity and wind resistance, that kind of thing.
Itachi had helped him complete those assignments the night before. Sasuke was
clever, but he had a tendency to procrastinate, and his physics homework hadn’t
been as simple as he had initially assumed. Itachi had made sure to drill that
point home, that procrastination would keep him from accomplishing his goals,
if he let it rule his progress. Just now, Sasuke shot him a grateful glance, an
upward tilt of the chin in acknowledgment, made comical by the apple still
lodged there.
His mother was cleaning up the breakfast dishes, already dressed for active
duty. Sasuke was nearly grown now. He was no longer helpless and didn’t need
his mother hovering over him every day. Uchiha Mikoto was finally headed back
to the ranks of the jounin, and was set to meet her new genin team that very
afternoon. She was splendidly dressed, her hitae-ate affixed proudly to her
forehead, humming to herself in between shouting out direction to her various
family members, reminding them of all the things they’d otherwise forget.
Itachi smiled into his mug. With the stormy nimbus of the coup dispelled, all
of them had been able to slide back into some semblance of normalcy as a
family, and in that time Itachi had seen his mother for what she really was.
Uchiha Mikoto was an immensely powerful woman, married to the head of the
Uchiha clan and mother to two talented sons. While her boys entered the
community and moved the foundations of Konoha, Mikoto had a kind of supportive
magic about her that never forgot the precise location they had forgotten their
things, the little things they would need on missions that would otherwise be
left behind like lip balm (because a week in the Land of Snow without it was
the nearest thing to hell on this earth), and the quiet encouragement that the
three of them needed to feed their egos and boost their confidence. She was a
different kind of strong, was all.
“Alright, I’m off,” Fugaku announced, pausing just long enough to kiss his
wife. Passionately. Itachi averted his eyes out of respect. Since the coup had
been avoided, since his father had renewed his fervor for living, it was as if
his parents had fallen in love all over again. Sometimes, Itachi found himself
wondering if he’d have another sibling soon. Uchiha Mikoto was still of
childbearing age.
“Me, too,” Sasuke said, making his last pass through the kitchen. His footsteps
hastened when he saw what his parents were doing, shaking his head. He was
still young; he didn’t quite understand.
“Have a good day!” their mother called after him. Then, more softly and to her
husband, “If I’m late tonight, I left dinner in the fridge. Just put it in the
oven. And I couldn’t sleep last night—too excited—so I made up a batch of
cookies. They’re in the jar.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, though Itachi
heard. “I made them just for you.”
“Hear that, Itachi?” his father asked. “Just for me. Touch them and I’ll cut
your hands off.”
He smiled into his mug. “Not even one? Tomorrow is my birthday.”
“I didn’t forget, at least,” Mikoto said warmly. “Not every day your oldest son
turns sixteen. You’re on a mission tomorrow, though, right? So let’s celebrate
on Thursday instead. I’ll make you up something special.”
“Yes, I’m on a mission tomorrow,” Itachi replied, much more calmly than he
felt, his pulse racing. It wasn’t a real mission, after all. “And please, if
it’s too much trouble, don’t bother. I don’t need cookies to know that you love
me, oka-san.” He glanced quickly at his father, teasing.
“Neither do I,” his father replied with a wink.
Itachi almost choked on his coffee. There were times, like now, when he wished
his father was still his old self. The new Fugaku was too… amorous. “Go to
work,” Itachi grumbled, facepalming.
Laughing at his victory, his father followed Sasuke out the door.
His mother turned away from the sink, wiped her hands on a towel, and crossed
her arms. She smirked at Itachi, and they held each other’s gaze for several
moments. “It’s so good to see you happy, Itachi,” she declared, her eyes
shining with love. “I’m so proud of you.” There was a time when words like that
had irritated him. Mikoto had always been proud of him, and it had never
affected him much before. But now… “I’m so glad they didn’t go through with
that ridiculous notion,” she went on, meaning the coup d’etat. “And ever since
it was called off, this family has really come together. I know about what you
said to your father, Itachi. This is really all because of you, and I couldn’t
be more proud.”
“It’s good of you to say so,” Itachi said, pleased.
She smiled, happy and full of life. It was good to see her happy, too. He
hadn’t realized how much stress she had endured until it was lifted. “I have to
get going. If I don’t see you, good luck on your mission tomorrow.”
His breath caught, choked up with nerves. “Thank you, oka-san,” he murmured.
She kissed the top of his head, gathered up her things, and left the same way
as her husband and youngest son, leaving Itachi alone with his chaotic
thoughts.
This was the first birthday he could recall truly looking forward to. He’d had
more than enough time to imagine every possible scenario. More than enough time
to endure the tension, the teasing smiles, the innuendo, the delicious shivers.
He’d grown used to the anxiety and the stress, the want and the need. He’d
grown used to the two halves of Shisui’s personality, the devil and the
protector. He’d become accustomed to the sudden shifts of tone and demeanor,
and knew how to act accordingly. When Shisui smirked and teased, Itachi could
relax and joke. When Shisui stared and commanded, Itachi deferred and obeyed.
It was easy enough in theory. Itachi read his moods and followed his actions
like a perfectly trained pet. Shisui had more than proven his devotion, and
Itachi loved every one of his facets, from the mocking imp to the blood soaked
wraith to the warm and affectionate confidante.
Even now, he sighed with contentment, drifting off into daydreams about what
tomorrow would be like. Tomorrow was the appointed day. They’d waited years for
it. Itachi had a good idea of what to expect, but he was still fairly certain
that there was nothing he could do to prepare. Shisui knew what he was doing,
though, and wherever Shisui was involved, wondrous things happened. If nothing
else, Itachi had faith in that.
For today, he didn’t really have any plans, except to relax at home and
mentally prepare, if that was at all possible. With all three of his family
members out of the house, Itachi was free to bask in his nerves and his
daydreams. The whole day was a flurry of emotions ranging from apprehension to
excitement to impatience to boredom to disbelief. This was it. Tomorrow was
really the day. It was disorienting, to be assailed by so many different
emotions in rapid succession. He wasn’t well acquainted with them, after all.
The switch between got to be so exhausting that Itachi finally just decided to
go to bed early to rush the advent of the new day.
He awoke in a fright, one rough hand clapped over his lips and a knife point at
the hollow of his throat. His first instinct was to kill, to thrash and
dislodge his attacker. Belatedly, he remembered the Sharingan, and the chakra
surged to his eyes, ever faithful. That instinct was wrong, for the similar red
eyes that glared into his own suddenly narrowed. The point of the kunai at his
throat dug deeper, and Shisui’s hips pressed down upon him, his knee dragging
upward, crushing Itachi’s groin. “I told you before,” he whispered savagely.
“You do not activate the Sharingan without permission.” His hips surged
forward, grinding against Itachi’s, driving his point home.
Itachi groaned into the hand over his mouth, eyes rolling back into his head,
shivers of pleasure racking his body. His thought wasn’t coherent, but it did
carry with it a general sentiment of oh, so this is what it’s like.Very
suddenly, Itachi truly understood. It was only made more clear when Shisui's
voice cut through the haze, hissing, “Look at me.”
Itachi abandoned the Sharingan and obeyed, staring bravely into Shisui’s hell-
dark eyes. They were clouded over with lust and burning with hunger. Every
nerve ending in Itachi’s body fired to life on overdrive, his heart raced, and
all of the blood in his body fled and pooled right where Shisui’s hips were
buried. The result was that he felt chilly from the waist up, but his suddenly
swollen organ was aching something fierce, closed in by Shisui’s nearness.
“Mm,” Shisui hummed, knowing and cruel. “I know you want me, sweetheart, I do.”
His chin tilted, mocking and intrigued. “That’s why I thought we’d start a
night early. Do you mind?”
He shook his head only slightly, and the point of the knife dug in further,
drawing blood. Held in Shisui’s clutches as he was, that tiny bright point of
pain was ecstatic. He whimpered, a sound low in his throat. “Not here, though,”
Shisui murmured. “I’m going to make sure that you scream, loudly and often, and
here probably isn’t the best place.” Itachi agreed. “So, we’re going back to my
place. I’m going to release you now. You will not say a word. You will not make
a sound. You will walk ahead of me, with your hands on your head.”
He removed the knife from Itachi’s throat. His hand eased and then retreated a
moment later, leaving Itachi breathless and in awe. “Do you understand?” he
asked. Itachi nodded but said nothing, as he had been told not to speak. Shisui
waited a moment, perhaps to see if he might try to speak, but he’d been
training to be Shisui’s subordinate in all ways for the better part of three
years now, and the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint, tonight of all
nights. Shisui’s smile was pleased, and for a moment all of his muscles
relaxed, melding against Itachi, wrapped up like lovers. “Good,” he purred, his
voice husky and content. His thumb ran down along Itachi’s chin, eliciting
shivers. His mouth closed over Itachi’s, soft yet consuming, full of feelings
and promise, defining Shisui and his many facets perfectly: with ferocity,
hunger, gentleness and teasing, love and ache, shifting fluidly from one to the
next, seamless. It was the single most amazing feeling that Itachi had ever
experienced, and it seared and reformed his soul. He heard Shisui’s voice in
his memory whispering “mine,” possessive and dangerous. When Shisui’s lips
retreated, Itachi mourned. “Enjoy yourself tonight. Let’s go.” 
***** As It Should Be *****
Chapter Notes
     I believe I promised you some tags... ;-)
===============================================================================
“The craft of a master is not imposing dominance, but winning submission.” –Ann
                                  Somerville
===============================================================================
                                        
The moment the door shut behind them, Shisui grabbed him, spun him, and slammed
his back against the door, hands grasped roughly above his head, crushed to the
wood. The door rattled in its frame, protesting at its own rough treatment,
though the two bodies smashed against it couldn’t care less. Itachi’s head
banged painfully against it, but he met the pain head on, embracing it,
surrendering to the moment, to the atmosphere, to the man who had him
completely at his mercy against a nondescript door in a dimly lit room.
Shisui’s face attended to his neck, sharp teeth nipping hard along the cords.
Initially, Itachi’s first impression of the pain was fascination. He’d
experienced pain before, and it had always intrigued him. So long as he knew he
was in no danger of dying, pain was an interesting feeling. It was all sharp
edges and hot flashes, the worm of panic in his gut muted by the awareness that
there was no real danger. That was how it felt when Shisui bit a line down his
neck, searing bursts of pain that pulsed sharply from his lover’s teeth to a
secret place deep within his core. It stole his breath, that involuntary,
momentary panic. He squirmed, testing his wrists against Shisui’s hands. Trying
to escape was a poke, though, and Shisui’s overpowering strength crushed the
small bones of his wrists against the wood. The jutting bones of his knuckles
were bruised as Shisui’s teeth sank deep into the meat of his shoulders, and
Itachi yelled out with pain, the pulse of it ripping a sound from his throat.
He blinked, surprised that he had done it. “I’ve been waiting for this,” Shisui
said against his skin, teeth scraping, fingers tightening.
Itachi’s fists balled, tensing the muscles in his wrists, reminding himself how
completely at his mercy he really was. That knowledge was comforting, as fucked
up as Itachi felt that might be. It was a perfectly controlled environment, and
Shisui steered. “Haven’t you?” Shisui purred.
“Yes,” Itachi gasped as his teeth sank into his chest so hard as to draw blood.
“Gods!” he moaned at the advent of that wound.
Shisui released his hands and spun him so fast that he felt dizzy, ready to
keel over. His palms shoved Itachi harshly, and the side of his face connected
with the door. Shisui’s hand buried in his hair, twisting, pulling on the
sensitive skin of his scalp as he pressed the side of Itachi’s face solidly
against the door, his body crashing fully against Itachi’s, allowing him to
feel the full force of Shisui’s erection as his own was painfully crushed. He
groaned. “Yes Sir,” Shisui hissed emphatically through his teeth into Itachi’s
ear. “Try again.”
Gods, his body was on fire. “Yes, Sir,” Itachi whispered meekly, quite subdued.
“Louder,” Shisui commanded cruelly.
“Yes, Sir!” he repeated, his jaw aching against the wood.
Shisui licked his ear, causing Itachi to shiver with anticipation. “Good boy,”
he rewarded, his voice a silken caress. His body pulled away, leaving Itachi
panting against the door, chastised and trembling, muscles fuzzy, feeling as if
he’d been drugged. The only fully formed sentiment in his brain was a sense of
wonder, so potent and heady that Itachi had to laugh, giddy with it, his chest
heaving up and down with the force of his breath. He shut his eyes and basked
in it, but he flinched when he heard the sound of fabric tearing, shuddered
when he felt the feathery breeze of cloth against the skin of his back. It took
him a moment to realize that Shisui was cutting the shirt from his back. “You
think this is funny, huh?” Shisui cooed mockingly.
Itachi bit his lip, entertaining a sliver of fear. The cool tip of the kunai
dragged slowly up his spine, accompanied by the raspy tear of fabric. It was
sharp and concerning, demanding all of Itachi’s conscious attention. “No, Sir,”
he whispered carefully, trying not to move at all.
The point paused and dug in a little more, putting a cold knot in his throat.
“Good.” With a quick flick of his wrist, the knife finished it’s path, and the
two halves of Itachi’s shirt fell apart, exposing the skin of his back. “On
your knees,” he commanded, “facing me.”
It wasn’t hard to figure out where that was going, and the realization made
Itachi’s heart pound wildly in his throat. While his mind floated off into a
state of nerves and insanity, his body complied, perfectly trained to obey
Shisui’s will, responding automatically to that tone of command. He dropped to
his knees, banging them into the floor, adding to the already throbbing world
of ache. I am pain, he said to himself, a twisted pep talk for the mind of the
depraved. Upon his knees, he gazed up at his cruel master.
Shisui’s impossibly beautiful dark eyes gazed down at him, stunning in their
intensity. Itachi was overcome with admiration. There, in that position, with
Shisui hovering above him, solid against the dim, flickering
backdrop—candles?—and him upon his knees in deference, was exactly how it
should be. Shisui had earned his respect and admiration, had protected him when
he could and loved him when no one else had. It was easy to surrender, to
submit his life into this man’s hands. Gazing down upon him, firm and
unyielding, Shisui was the perfect master. It was too perfect. Natural. Right
where he belonged. His heart was filled with a fathomless, abyssal well of love
and adoration. “Master,” he whispered, overcome and eager to please.
Shisui’s lips curved in that wicked smirk, the reason Itachi had fallen for him
in the first place. He patted Itachi’s head, rewarding him for good service.
Then, the smile slipped away, leaving him serious and somber. His shoulders
shrugged forward, elegant fingers curled in the hem of his shirt, dragged
across the crown of night-dark curls as the shirt was relinquished, dropped to
the floor without anyone’s eyes upon it. No one cared about the shirt. His
thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants next, and he dragged them down,
revealing sinful, delectable ridges of pelvis and muscle. Itachi wanted to weep
for relief. Ever since he had barely caught a glimpse of Shisui naked that
night he’d tried to kill him, Itachi’s imagination had struggled to paint the
rest of that picture accurately. Now, in the romantic glow of candlelight, his
fantasies need not continue. Itachi’s eyes locked on as Shisui’s cock sprang
free, suspended and heavy. “Show me,” Shisui demanded, his voice shaking, too,
“what a good boy you can be.”
Itachi scooted forward, reaching with his hands, pulse racing, blood pounding.
Shisui tsked, and Itachi froze. “No hands,” he ordered, that sly devil’s smile
back upon his face. The thrill of this was intoxicating, for Shisui’s
wickedness was not merely limited to how much pain he could induce. This was a
game, a perverse and playful game of pain and pleasure, of growls and laughter.
And oh, was it exciting! With a smirk of his own, put at ease, Itachi dragged
his hands behind his back, clasping them low upon his back. He peered up at
Shisui through his lashes, plastering a shy façade upon his face, noting with
satisfaction how Shisui’s mouth fell open, pierced by the sight. Eyes never
leaving his master’s, Itachi licked his lips and leaned forward.
Shisui was groaning before his lips ever touched him. Itachi had not been the
only one who had been waiting for this moment. Shisui’s slackened face reminded
Itachi that he had power, too, of a different kind. With that realization, his
fear fled. At this moment, Itachi was in control. He closed his lips over the
head of Shisui’s shaft, testing and tentative, a lover’s first kiss. He laved
and swirled, learning the geography of a phallus in an entirely new way. It
seemed much harder, this close, caught in between the softness of his lips. He
shut his eyes, savoring new sensations, losing himself to his motions. Braver,
more curious now, he challenged himself to see how much of this he could fit
into his mouth. He widened his lips and drew Shisui in, feeling fingers dive
into his scalp, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and yanking, setting Itachi’s
skull on fire. It pulled a grunt of pain from Itachi, though it sounded muffled
with a cock in his mouth. Shisui hissed a moment later, jerking on his scalp
again, repeating the sound making on both accounts. Itachi screwed his eyes
shut, feeling vulnerable, Shisui’s grip on his scalp keeping him from being
able to withdraw.
And then, Shisui pressed his hips forward, hands keeping Itachi’s head still,
forcing himself down further into his mouth, grazing the back of his throat.
Itachi gagged, coughed, heaved and nearly hurled, tears running down his face,
born of involuntary reflexes. His eyes burned. Shisui only let up long enough
for him to compose himself, though, before easing right back in. Itachi
surrendered to the whims of his master. If it was his destiny to die choking on
Shisui’s cock, so be it. His life was Shisui’s to do with as he would. He
merely waited, mouth open, as Shisui found his pleasure fucking his mouth, a
throaty rumble rolling around in Itachi’s ears as unwelcome tears poured down
his face. His mind was awash with panic, that he might not be able to breathe
or that he might throw up. When he was completely lost to Shisui’s actions,
accepting what may come, Shisui stopped, pulling Itachi’s head back, off of the
hard rod of flesh. He smoothed back Itachi’s hair, petted it back from his
sweaty forehead and the river of tears. Itachi didn’t forget who he was.
Gasping for air, licking the taste upon his lips, he struggled to focus on
Shisui’s face through the haze of wetness in his eyes. “Was Sir pleased?” he
gasped out.
Shisui’s eyes smiled, those long lashes fluttering shut and back open, casting
miniscule shadows across his face. “Oh yes,” Shisui rasped, voice raw with yet
unfulfilled satisfaction. “But we aren’t done yet.” His hands pressed
underneath Itachi’s chin, drawing him back to his feet. Thumbs pushed the tears
from his eyes. “You look gorgeous, like this,” he murmured, kissing him over
each eye.
Itachi’s heart preened at the praise. “Thank you, Sir.”
“I have a gift for you. A birthday present.” His smile was sweet and adorable.
Other Shisui. Itachi hadn’t expected a birthday present, other than mindblowing
sex, anyway. His facial expression ticked with surprise, intrigued. “Go sit on
the couch, and I’ll go get it.” Shisui stepped out of the way and nudged Itachi
along, and Itachi made his way to the couch as Shisui disappeared to his room.
His room. Itachi wondered if they’d get to go there, tonight, that he might be
able to say Shisui’s name again. Shisui’s name on his lips was the most divine
word known to man. No, he reminded himself. Just me.There was no one else who
had the privilege now to say Shisui’s name in such a manner. It was a sweet
susurration allowed only to him. Itachi felt, in that moment, precious and
special. Only he was allowed to see this side of Shisui. Only he could handle
that. It was a wondrous, heathen power, meant only for the wicked and wanton.
Shisui emerged with a strip of leather curled around the knuckles of one hand.
Silver rings gleamed in the candlelight. Shisui came around to kneel before
him, one elbow resting on each of Itachi’s knees. “Itachi,” he said softly. “I
don’t know if you will understand when I say this, but… for someone like me to
offer a collar to you is kind of a big deal.”
A collar.Itachi blinked, eyes fixating on the piece in his hands, held upon the
flat of his palms. It was black, tooled with what looked like birds. Ravens, he
realized with appreciation. He loved ravens. Shisui must have somehow known,
though he didn’t remember ever telling him. He wondered what the rings were
for, but other than that, the collar was beautifully wrought. Where had he
gotten such a thing?
“It means I want to keep you,” he went on to explain. “That you are mine, and
only mine, never for anyone else.” Their gazes locked, and between them stormed
a flurry of emotions, dark and burgeoning, morphing from the tense infatuation
they’d been brewing between them into something even deeper yet, an impossible
brand of love that none would ever understand. The thought of belonging to
Shisui forever was… breathtaking. “I love you, Itachi. Do you want this?”
Itachi bowed his head slightly, hoping to convey a variety of things, from
deference to humility to admiration and acceptance. “Yes, Sir. I will wear it
with pride.” He meant it, too. He swept his hair out of the way.
“Say my name,” he commanded softly.
Itachi shut his eyes and let it drift through his imagination, rest upon his
lips. He licked it, tasted it, wanted to savor it forever. But the sounds of
such a thing were meaningless if not given a voice. Itachi vowed, though, then
and there, that Shisui’s name must never be spoken except in situations like
this. Softly, secretive, savored and sibilant, just to be whispered between
them. Itachi peeked at him through the curtain of his hair, using the beauty of
Shisui’s face to get the inflection just right. “Shisui…”
“Ah,” Shisui smiled, just as sweet. “There he is.” He reached forward, beneath
the barrier of Itachi’s hair, clasping the shock of leather about Itachi’s
neck. The settling of the cool leather upon his skin was calming, the scent of
hide like incense. Being collared was a revelation. It felt only right, and it
felt like exactly what it signified, a sentiment Shisui whispered on the heels
of that thought. “Mine,” he uttered fiercely, grasping Itachi’s head and
leaning forward to kiss him upon the brow. 
“Yours,” Itachi responded, feeling perfectly at ease.
Shisui retreated a moment later, pushing the coffee table out of the way. There
was a rug beneath it that he also moved, revealing an iron ring set into his
floor. Itachi wasn’t an idiot. There were rings upon his collar, a ring upon
the floor. Yes, their night had only just begun. Hidden in the shadows of his
hair, Itachi smiled.
 
***** Songbird *****
===============================================================================
                “Don’t die with your song still inside of you.”
===============================================================================
                                        
“Now,” Shisui drawled out slowly. “Things will get interesting.”
Itachi shuddered. In his mind, things were already pretty interesting, but
Shisui seemed to have a creative mind, and he was curious regardless.
Shisui fixed him with a stare, observing, watching carefully. “Itachi, will you
freak out if I tie you up and cover your eyes?”
How sweet of him to wonder, Itachi thought. He took the time to think about it.
Really think about it, for the last time his eyes and hands had been bound… it
wasn’t Shisui. That was really the only thought he needed to have. The collar
felt light about his neck. Yes, he was definitely ready for this. “No, Sir,” he
assented.
“Do you remember your safeword?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir.”
Shisui crooked a finger, and Itachi rose from the cushions to join him on the
living room floor. Shisui’s hands slipped over his lumbar, fingertips sliding
between the waistband of his pants and his buttocks. He pulled Itachi close to
him, the heat between their skin scorching, sensational. He kissed him, deeply,
passionately, full of impossible love and gentleness. Itachi returned it with
equal fervor, tongues clashing, lips nipping, breath mingling. Itachi moaned
against his lips, thoroughly sick of wearing pants; they were restraining his
own groin, trapped and uncomfortable. Shisui’s hands squeezed, making it even
more so unbearable. “Do you need something?” Shisui asked huskily. “Just ask.”
“May I take my pants off, Sir?” he breathed, their lips brushing as he spoke.
Shisui smirked, exposing pretty white teeth, eyes fastened to Itachi’s lips as
he phrased the question. “No,” Shisui denied. He kissed the tip of Itachi’s
nose. “Say please.”
“Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Please, Sir.”
Shisui grabbed a fistful of Itachi’s crotch and squeezed. Itachi’s mouth fell
open, gasping from shock and ache, pulsating and angry. “Please, Sir, what?” he
hissed savagely.
Panting, gasping, he whimpered. “Please, Sir, may I take my pants off? Please?”
Shisui leaned forward and clamped Itachi’s pouting lip between his teeth. This,
he sucked on for a moment, striking contrast to the handful of erect cock that
he yet abused. The dichotomy was profoundly arousing, so much so that Itachi
wanted to faint right there, die if he must, to make it last forever. Then, so
softly it was barely audible, Shisui’s lips moved and released the offensive
word again. “No.” That impish slash of lips transitioned swiftly into an
equally irksome smile. “But since you’ve been such a good sport so far, I think
I can help you with that ache in your drawers.” Warm, firm hands dragged his
britches down, thumbs caressing hipbones, the line of Shisui’s nose grazing the
hard muscles of Itachi’s abdomen as his face followed down. The muscles in
Itachi’s groin twitched in anticipation, thinking he might do what Itachi
himself had been persuaded to do earlier. To have Shisui’s mouth upon him that
way… the thought was too much. Shisui did grasp the shaft at the base, pumped a
couple of strokes, and kissed the tip appreciatively, stroking the back of
Itachi’s thighs as he did so, pouting up at Itachi’s drunken gaze.
But both of them knew that this was not Shisui’s place. It was Itachi’s. Shisui
clamped down moderately hard with his teeth, eliciting a tortured moan from his
lover. “Down here,” Shisui commanded. Itachi knelt above the ring. Shisui
stood, returning them to the natural order of things. Shisui sauntered over to
an end table and opened the drawer. From it, he extracted a coil of black
silken rope and a kunai. Itachi watched, his pulse racing as Shisui began the
process of crafting knots. He tied the center ring of Itachi’s collar down to
the ring in the floor. It was a short length of rope; in this way, Itachi would
be unable to stand.
Gentle, attentive fingers caressed beneath Itachi’s chin, forcing Itachi to
look up into his face. Apprehension and ache tormented Itachi, but the look in
Shisui’s eyes was subliminally beautiful. If this was what it was going to be
like every time, Itachi was looking forward to his life with Shisui. It was so
like everything that he had originally thought being a Shinobi would be like,
the constant companionship of searing physical pain, combined with the
satisfying emotional fulfillment of being a part of something lovely. The
application of the concept was so different, here in this room, but the effect
was generally the same. Itachi’s body was agony and bound to be further abused,
but his heart was full and his mind was open, and the hands of his master were
skilled and loving.
Life was good.
His mind was humming with illogical pleasure as Shisui tied tight knots around
each of Itachi’s wrists, fixing them to another ring hidden behind tapestries
on either wall, pulling Itachi’s arms out straight from his body,
perpendicular, shoulders tense and strained.  When Shisui came around in front
of him again, he held a scarlet strip of fabric. His smile was naughty and
brilliant as the red slash of cloth was placed over Itachi’s eyes. The world
went dark, all other senses immediately heightened: sound, touch, scent, and
taste as Shisui’s tongue flickered over his lips one more time. Shisui caressed
Itachi’s face, nuzzled his ear, nipped the lobe.
Then, in the voice of sin itself, he whispered sweetly, “Sing for me, Itachi.”
One hand smacked his face lightly, unexpectedly, and made Itachi hiss and
flinch. Shisui’s voice dropped to a breathy whisper as he added, “and don’t
forget that safeword.”
“I remember.”
“Good.” There was a soft snap, and then something came down with a wrath upon
his shoulders and a loud crack of leather upon taut flesh. He cried out
involuntarily, more out of surprise than pain. But Shisui wasn’t done yet. The
strokes came one after the other, quick succession. Itachi’s body squirmed and
writhed, trying to avoid the lash. Of course, the rings that held him fast
didn’t give him a lot of space to evade, and every lash fell upon him
precisely. He yelled and yelled, shoulders twisting, muscles tightening… and
despite it all, against all logic, his cock only agonized more. If Itachi
wasn’t so busy fighting the rising frenzy lodged within his chest, he might
have had the grace to be overwhelmed with awe.
The whipping stopped, and Shisui’s hands splayed out upon his shoulders. “Ahh,
so warm,” he marveled, caressing. Itachi panting, shivering as Shisui’s cool,
gentle hands massaged abused flesh. “Do you feel sufficiently chastised?”
Shisui asked.
Itachi recognized this as a test, and vowed not to disappoint. There was too
much left to experience, and the burn in his groin wasn’t going to go away on
its own. The way to reach Shisui was to manipulate. Give him exactly what he
wanted. What he wanted was Itachi’s screams, his compliance. He wanted Itachi
to beg and plead, to worship and admire. Pulse racing, pounding in his temples,
Itachi blew out a full exhalation and smiled. “No, Sir,” he responded bravely.
Itachi was an elite Shinobi, trained to withstand torture of a heinous caliber.
A few flogging swats was hardly going to be the end of him.
He heard Shisui’s sharp intake of breath. “Excellent answer, my pet,” Shisui
congratulated, planting a kiss between his shoulder blades. His footsteps
walked away, only to return a moment later. “I love the sound of your voice,”
Shisui cooed, the leather thongs of whatever tool had visited the welts upon
his back skimming over the shoulders they’d molested. Itachi sighed at the
gentle touch, delighting in the feast of sensations; the scent of Shisui’s
body, the gentle touches, and the angry, burning pain of his back.
And then, there was a searing, scorching splash upon his back, and Itachi
screamed, shaking and thrashing to try to escape it. Torture! His mind
shrieked, eyes scrunching shut, violently jerking his wrists against his
restraints. The rings clanked and rang, but did not give way. “Fuck!” Itachi
shouted as the heat suddenly dissipated. “What the hell was that?” Itachi
gasped out, astonished. The pain was gone almost as soon as it had come, so
quickly that he hadn’t even had the time to process.
Shisui chuckled, amused. “Wax.”
“Gods,” he breathed, coming down from the momentary pain-induced high. His
breath came in shallow gasps, heart beating so fast it might have stopped
entirely.
“Want some more?”
Itachi smirked, terrified and thrilled at the same time. “Yes, please, Sir.”
“Hn. Too eager by half. You’re delightful, you know that?” Itachi heard the
clink of glass upon wood as Shisui returned the candle to a table. “I don’t
think you can handle this one, but I suppose you’ll let me know. So sing,
little songbird.”
Itachi only had a moment to feel nervous before there was a deafening,
pronounced crack!And Itachi’s soul fled the planet, careening through hell in
an instant, pain so unbearable that he was sure he was dying, all the while his
soul danced with glee, stupidly ecstatic. The room was filled with the tortured
howling of Uchiha Itachi, a string of curses, and the steady snapping off
something hard and whiplike across his already painful shoulders. “Stop!” he
begged, tears soaking his blindfold. “Gods, please, no!” he screamed everything
he could think of to make it stop, thrashing, jerked so violently against his
ropes that his wrists were cut and pinched by the knots, the nape of his neck
bruised by the pretty raven-clad strap of leather that held him fast.
The switch kept going, and Itachi’s consciousness drifted off to somewhere
blissful, where pleasure and pain suddenly became the same thing. The change
left him breathless and gasping, moaning from somewhere lodged in his throat,
so intense that it actually scared Itachi. Was he dying? He sagged against his
restraints, going slack within them and finally barely croaked out, “Mercy,”
completely out of breath and out of fight.
Distantly, he heard the sound of wood clattering to the floor, and Shisui’s
arms flew around his neck a moment later. Shisui kissed his face all over,
shushing, caressing. “You’re okay, baby,” he cooed. “We’re safe here.” Itachi
wasn’t here, not really. He was still floating away, a phantom freed from his
body, unaware anymore of what was even going on. His limbs buzzed with a
pleasant numbness, as if he were drugged or injected with ice. Or fire. Or both
at once. He kept taking deep breaths, trying to remember what it was like to be
Itachi, to be alive, to be real.
“Mmmokay,” he mumbled weakly, returning back to the mortal plane. He swallowed,
putting his mind back together, tried again. “I’m okay. Thank you, Sir.”
“Enough for tonight,” Shisui told him, untying the knot from his collar, then
undoing the restraints on his wrists. He kissed the angry red rivulets on both
wrists, apologizing with his lips. When he was released from his bonds, Itachi
sagged forward. Shisui gathered him into his lap, holding him closely, swiping
off the blindfold. Beneath his face, Itachi felt Shisui’s pulse racing. “Gods,”
he breathed, awestruck, “you were fucking marvelous, Itachi.”
 “Thank you, Sir,” Itachi murmured by rote, beginning to feel pretty proud of
himself, too. What the fuck just happened to me? he wondered, feeling
uncharacteristically vulgar.
“Uh-uh,” he corrected with a shake of his head. “Thank you.” He petted Itachi’s
hair. “It’s not always going to be like this, you know. Sometimes even I want
it to be gentle and sweet.” As if to prove a point, he pressed the gentlest of
kisses to his brow.
“It hurts,” Itachi grumbled.
Shisui stilled. “I’m… sorry.”
Itachi frowned, realizing Shisui had misinterpreted. “No, no… the pain itself
is fine, now. I mean, it’s there. It aches, throbs, but it’s calming. I did
that, I really did that.” His voice held a measure of awe, for himself, for
what he’d just endured. “And I’m… fine.”
“I’m so very proud of you,” Shisui congratulated.
“That’s not what hurts, though.” He reached down and rested one hand over his
engorged and, by now, very painful erection. “I need… something…” Shisui seemed
to figure out what he meant then, and his gaze sharpened. “May I… touch myself,
please, Sir? Or can you…?”
Shisui gathered Itachi to his chest and squeezed him. “Gods, you undo me,
Itachi.”
Itachi’s breath stilled. Four. And five.He wanted them. Shisui’s last two
promises. “Sir, may I please say your name?”
Shisui nodded as he fervently answered, “Yes, you’ve more than earned it.”
Itachi was thoroughly pleased, even if his groin did ache fiercely, and the
name rolled off his tongue easily now. “Shisui… will you please fuck me?
Please.”
Shisui’s voice was ragged when he answered, tormented. “You don’t know what
you’re asking, Itachi,” he protested.
“You promised.”
“Not tonight, Itachi,” he rejected. “It’s not as easy as you think.”
“Why not?” he asked, crestfallen.
“Because it hurts.”
“I already hurt.”
Shisui’s lips quirked downward, but his expression was stony as he repeated his
response. “No.”
“Please.”
“If you ask me again, I’m going to do it, Itachi, and gods help me, safeword or
no safeword I’m not going to be able to stop.” His fingers , arms, and legs
curled reflexively around Itachi’s body, holding tightly, unwilling to let go
for any reason.
Itachi took it as a challenge. Shisui was his master, and he was happy to
comply, but he was also a Shinobi of the highest caliber. Shisui wasn’t going
to kill him; he wouldn’t. Whatever Shisui thought that he might do to cause
Itachi pain, it didn’t matter. The things they had just done were painful, yes,
but survivable, strangely thrilling, exciting in their own way, and arousing,
too. The stiff and insistent presence between his thighs was evidence enough. A
craziness claimed him, blind trust, complete lunacy. Somewhere between here and
release was indescribable agony. “Shisui,” he began, using the name without
permission, noting with satisfaction how his nails dug into Itachi’s skin,
provoked. He’d learned, being second to Shisui, that if he provoked, he evoked
the reaction he was looking for, and so he acted out on purpose to get what he
wanted. “Please, I want you.”
He was flipped so suddenly, his head spun. Shisui’s fingers pinched the nape of
his neck, pressing his skull upon the hard wooden floorboards. “Ohhh,” Shisui
laughed without humor. “You’re so going to wish you hadn’t pushed me tonight,
Itachi.”
Itachi shut his eyes, completely embracing his pain. The hard surface upon his
face was as soft as the mattress. Shisui’s rough hands upon his back were as a
caress. He had expected that this particular moment would terrify him, given
the circumstances, and yet… he bit his lip, preparing for it. Shisui nipped at
his spine, and Itachi’s back bowed, arching obscenely, his ass rising even
further. He sucked air through his teeth, a needy sound born deep in his
throat.
His hands massaged Itachi’s buttocks, then spread him wide open. He felt his
breath upon him there next, pulse racing frantically, embarrassed if he was
honest, though he was moaning and writhing with so much need that it hurt more
than the pain ever had. “Yes, yes, yes,” he repeated over and over, barely
audible. Shisui licked, languid and slow and Itachi whimpered, feeling
everything below his navel tighten internally, sensations never before felt for
any reason. “Oh, gods!”he cried out. “Fuck, Shisui. Just… hnhh.”Shisui laughed,
vibrations in sensitive places, and Itachi bit his lip so hard that he drew
blood, nails scraping floorboards. His mind spiraled into nothing, a mindless,
drooling pile of man upon the floor. He was nothing, nothing left at all.
And that was exactly what Shisui had been waiting for. Itachi had nothing left
to say or do. He was a bundle of oversensitized nerves, giddy with ecstasy,
unable to think, completely malleable to Shisui’s will. “Gods, do whatever you
will,” Itachi moaned wretchedly, legs trembling, ready to live or die on
command.
Shisui positioned himself right there where he was needed, and Itachi was so
clouded over with lust that he even leaned back, rushing his cousin. “You have
no idea just how hot you are, do you?” he said, more to himself than Itachi.
“But since you asked so nicely before… sorry, Itachi. This is going to hurt
like hell.”
Itachi opened his mouth to say that he didn’t care, not anymore, but what came
out instead was a tortured shriek as Shisui forced himself inside. Itachi felt
as if he were being torn apart, split in half from the ass onward. He screamed,
punctuated by powerful thrusts. At some point amidst the shouting, Shisui’s
hand closed around Itachi’s cock, skilled, experienced fingers coaxing an added
inflection to the tone of his wails, a note of ecstasy despite it all, pleasure
and plain threaded together in sweet harmony as Shisui moaned right along with
him. Itachi wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he shut his mouth, biting his
lip ferociously, and listened, wanting to hear it, the sounds his master made
as he found the height of his pleasure.
And gods, was it sweet music to his ears. Shisui jerked Itachi up by the
shoulders, one hand snaking up to wrap around his throat, squeezing, sending
that once familiar jolt of searing pleasure to that coil within his gut as
Shisui’s hips pushed. He loosed a snarl deep in his throat as he came, Shisui’s
other hand playing him like a favored instrument, knowing just how to stroke
and how fast, and Itachi was inexorably lost, forever, and fine.
Shisui’s teeth bit into the meat of Itachi’s shoulder, his breath coming in
uneven ragged gasps. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he kept repeating, the crease of his
brows tensing and untensing around Itachi’s skin. “Itachi,” he gasped out, the
hand around Itachi’s throat closing mercilessly, dots sparkling in front of
Itachi’s eyes. Shisui shuddered, hips jerking wildly, crying out wordlessly as
he came.
Panting and spent, they curled in on each other. Itachi was awash with
excruciating, miserable hurt, but at the same time, he was blissfully sated. At
last, he thought. He felt wanted, cherished. “Wow,” he breathed.
“Yeah,” was all Shisui had to say.
***** Mornings *****
Chapter Notes
     So, when you post a 'draft' of a chapter, it saves the date the
     chapter was added as the day the draft was added. You might not have
     been alerted to the LAST chapter because I forgot to change the date
     to March 13. Sorry about that. :(
     As payment for my n00b mistake, I'm giving you another chapter with
     the proper date. If you missed the last one though, you might want to
     go back and read it.
     Posting drafts was a new thing for me, but I've almost got the hang
     of it. Sorry again.
     Thanks for reading!
===============================================================================
   Because of you I can feel myself slowly but surely becoming the me I have
                 always dreamed of being –Tyler Knott Gregson
===============================================================================
                                        
Itachi felt an odd pit in his stomach as consciousness seeped back in, as if he
were an alien in his own skin. With that dim awareness came a range of odd
emotions that he couldn’t quite describe. First and foremost was the nervous
wrench in his gut as he remembered where he was, what he had done, and whom he
had done it with. Shisui was still asleep, curled up on his side facing Itachi
with the faintest crease in his brow, as if he were having a bad dream. The
sheets were tangled and completely out of place between them, woven in between
legs and stuffed under arms. One of his hands was stuffed under his pillow, but
the other was upon the mattress in the space between them, slightly curled,
knuckles resting against Itachi’s arm. It was odd, but… his cousin always
seemed so relaxed in the waking world. That Shisui should sleep in any way
without that smirk on his face seemed incorrect.
Without really thinking about it, Itachi reached out and caressed Shisui’s
cheek. The muscle there ticked momentarily, and the crease in his brow
lessened. A moment later, he sighed, his fingers twitching against Itachi’s
arm. It made him smile, thinking perhaps he’d helped Shisui leave behind some
mild nightmare. With a sigh, he craned his neck over Shisui’s bare shoulder to
read the alarm clock on the stand. It was just after 8:00 a.m.. Usually Itachi
didn’t sleep past about 7:00, but it must have already been really late the
night before when… Itachi stilled, remembering. The memory brought flashes of
pleasure, aftershocks brought on by the gravity of what he’d done. He stared at
Shisui’s now placid face with awe, surprised by it all. That they had come this
far, that he’d been this lucky to be a part of Shisui’s life, and that he was
there, right then, perfectly content to be sleeping with bottled darkness.
This was it. They’d really done it, crossed that line they’d been toeing for
the past several years. They had risked everything for this morning, for Itachi
knew without a shadow of a doubt now that, no matter what Sasuke and his mother
felt, his father would never accept his relationship with Shisui. Hints had
already started dropping about Itachi’s role in the clan, hints that involved
lashing himself to some well-bred Uchiha lady. Even the thought of it turned
Itachi’s stomach. Duty had always been important to Itachi, but… he glanced
again at the peaceful guise of Shisui, and felt it like a heart’s tattoo that
there was no way he would give this up for anything. Just how far he would go
to protect this newly formed bond not even he could truly imagine, though he
knew just as surely that he would be willing to see how far that limit reached,
to the edge of death itself.
With a pleasant sigh, he tipped over onto his back and stared up at the
ceiling. There was no way he was going to be able to go back to sleep. Every
few minutes he found his gaze drawn back to Shisui, all sharp planes and
angelic features, wicked and sinful lips slightly parted and breathing evenly
as he slept. Since he was sleeping, Itachi had all the time in the world to
simply stare in wonder, and Shisui was worth staring at. A nauseating wave of
affection accompanied his stares, though. Itachi wasn’t used to that. It was
wonderful and scary at the same time, very disconcerting.
It wasn’t long before he felt a need to get up and move around. On a normal
day, he’d have been fed and off for a run, but since it was his birthday, he
figured it was safe to sleep in. Despite that, he was fidgety and feeling odd,
and he needed to get up. As carefully as he could, he slid himself to the edge
of the bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping shinobi. Even then, he couldn’t
help but keep glancing behind where Shisui still lay, torn between laying back
down and settling in to go back to sleep or getting up and walking around,
leaving Shisui to sleep alone. The decision was much harder than anticipated,
but in the end, sixteen years of ninja breeding won out, and Itachi stood. He
stretched, yawned silently, his jaw cracking. His muscles were aching from head
to toe and he was sure his rear end was injured, but he was equally certain
that it would heal. The soreness was actually pleasant, a tactile reminder of
the night before, sketched intricately like a tattoo of Shisui all across his
body.
He glanced around for his pants, then remembered that he had lost them in the
living room somewhere. No matter. He and Shisui were of a height, so he located
a pair of Shisui’s pants and padded out to the kitchen. He’d been in this house
before, but he’d never been there for more than a few minutes at a time, so it
took a minute to acquaint himself with the kitchen. Nevertheless, most people
followed the same kind of kitchen organization guidelines, and his instincts
were better than most. In no time at all, Itachi had a pot of coffee brewing,
fruit cut, and bread ready to be toasted for when Shisui woke up. Still
restless, he did some stretches, pushups, and sit-ups, though it felt as if
he’d already had a strenuous workout.
Time kept passing. Apparently, Shisui slept as one dead.
Itachi glanced at the clock continuously, watching the minutes tick by while
Shisui slept the day away. After a couple of hours, Itachi gave up and returned
to bed with a book, easing into the sheets next to the warm and sleeping form
of Uchiha Shisui. It had been quite a long while since Itachi had indulged in
any reading, and truth be told, he was grateful for the opportunity.
He was three chapters in when a deep inhalation and a groggy groan announced
that Shisui was alive after all. He stretched, eyes still closed, face screwed
up comically. His eyes barely winked open, lashes blinking lazily against his
cheeks, before his brows arced upwards and his dark eyes fixed on Itachi. His
eyes blinked once, twice, and then his lashes fluttered closed and he smiled.
“Thought I was dreaming for a second,” Shisui murmured. “I’ve had a lot of
dreams that started this way.”
“Good morning, Sir,” Itachi greeted with a smile of his own.
“Mm,” he grunted, smacking his lips as he slowly awoke. His brows tightened.
“What time is it?”
Itachi peeked over at the clock. “11:21.”
“Still early,” he grumbled, eyes still closed. He wiggled his way over to
Itachi and buried his face under his elbow.
Itachi couldn’t help but smile. “I’ve been up for hours,” he told him.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping in?” Shisui slurred. “It’s your birthday, after all.
Oh. And happy birthday.” He tipped his face and kissed Itachi’s elbow, then
made as if to go back to sleep.
“I did sleep in,” Itachi deadpanned, closing the book. “Then I got up and made
breakfast and coffee and waited.”
“Hm,” Shisui grumbled. Itachi nearly laughed; he had never known how bad Shisui
was at mornings. Itachi himself had always used mornings as training time.
Shisui didn’t seem to like to drag himself out of bed. It was rather adorable.
A few minutes of comfortable silence passed and then, “Did you say there was
coffee?”
He did smile then, though Shisui never saw it. “Yes.”
“It’s your birthday. I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” Shisui complained,
burrowing ever deeper into Itachi’s side. If anything, he was even further from
rising to greet the morning that was soon to shift into afternoon.
Itachi curled an arm around him, glad he’d come back to bed after all. “You do
take care of me. All the time. It would actually please me better if you’d let
me take care of you today, Sir.”
Somewhere deep in Shisui’s burrow of blankets and Itachi, that sinful grin of
his bloomed to life. Every muscle in his face twitched with the strength of it.
“You’re perfect, you know that?” Shisui mumbled, the sound of his voice
muffled.
Me? He thought incredulously, feeling blessed, his heart impossibly full. Odd,
how not too long ago, Itachi had completely lost touch with his emotions. He’d
even been proud of that fact, that so little could affect him. Now, here he
was, in bed with Shisui, feeling thoroughly ravished and already looking
forward to next time, gifting easy smiles and feeling soft and sentimental.
You’re ruining me, Itachi thought of him fondly. Everything Itachi had tried to
be, he had accomplished. He had been a finely honed assassin, a death machine.
Now what was he?
Better, he answered for himself. Three years with Shisui and ANBU had not
dulled his skills nor his senses. Three years of concealing his affections had
only increased his ability to hide his feelings and ambitions. Here, in this
house, he could be whatever he wanted. It was only because he could unwind with
Shisui that he could bottle himself up so effectively.
“Alright,” Shisui declared, pushing himself up onto his elbows and picking his
face up from where he had been hiding. His dark curls were in complete
disarray, mussed and rakish. And, too, there was the smirk. His deep, dark eyes
roved over Itachi once. Then, he climbed over Itachi, dragging the sheet with
him as he went. His eyes locked onto Itachi’s, pinning him with an intent and
mischievous stare. Without once looking away, his fingers slid over Itachi’s,
and he tugged the book out of his hands and tossed it aside. There was the sad
crinkle of pages as it found a place on the floor, but Itachi was too
enraptured by Shisui’s eyes to bother watching its tragic fate. His eyes fell
upon Itachi’s lips. “So. Take care of me, then.”
Itachi’s eyes closed at the heathen words, pierced through by the command that
was more permission than anything. Shisui’s lips alighted upon his a moment
later. Feather-soft, passive, encouraging. Itachi smiled when he understood;
Shisui had relinquished control. “You mean it?” Itachi asked against his lips.
“Mm. I mean it. You started the day with coffee. I’m inclined to trust you. A
man that starts a day with coffee knows what he’s doing. My life is in your
hands.”
Silently, he made a note to start every single day with coffee. “Duly noted.
So, then the rules...?”
Shisui nipped his lip. “Fuck ‘em. It’s your birthday. New rule: Itachi does
whatever he wants on his birthday. I think I can handle giving you the reins
one day in 365.”
“I do like the sound of that,” Itachi purred. “Shisui.” Shisui nipped his lip
again. “Shisui, Shisui, Shisui,” he chanted.
Shisui leaned back a fraction so he could look him in the eyes. The look upon
his face was curious. “I give you complete control and the first thing you do
with it is play with my name?”
Itachi sighed happily. “I like the way it feels to say it,” he confessed. “And
it’s special to me.”
Shisui went quiet. The crease in his brow was back. That wasn’t right though;
Shisui was awake. That concerned frown didn’t belong on his face anymore. “Did
I say something wrong?” Itachi inquired, feeling a measure of concern himself.
“No,” Shisui whispered, his voice tight. “No, Itachi, what you said was the
most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me. I’m… different, you know. All
of my life, I’ve felt out of place, awkward, sometimes even evil. Some of the
people I’ve brought here…” He bit his bottom lip. “They’re scared of me. And
the worst part is that I know they’re scared. But part of me hates them and
doesn’t care. And then I feel like I deserve the fear. I’ve longed for death,
even courted it. When I knew the true nature of what I wanted from you, I hated
myself for it. I fought it. But eventually I accepted it. Either I would die or
I would have you. Those were the only options.” He smiled then. Itachi was glad
to see it. “I don’t want to die anymore.”
“That’s good,” he breathed.
“Do you like… all of this?” he asked uncertainly.
Itachi wanted to give him an honest answer, so he took a minute to compose his
thoughts. “At first…” he began. “At first, I thought this would be something
I’d just have to endure. Get used to. But… the fear is exciting. Not knowing
what’s coming from one moment to the next moment is the highest thrill. I know
you won’t hurt me. Not really. The different ways it hurts are fascinating.
And…” He thought about that strange flying-away feeling. “At the end there, I
think I got lost.” He shut his eyes and drifted off to remember that properly.
“Ahh, it was wonderful, too. I loved every minute.”
“Are these my pants?” Itachi’s eyes blinked open, surprised by the change of
the location of his voice. It was lower, further down. He didn’t have long to
wonder about it. “Cute,” Shisui said, shrouded in white sheet, though Itachi
could still imagine that smirk upon his face, hear the amusement dripping from
the tone. The pants were tugged off.
“What are you--?” The question died on his lips when Shisui’s mouth closed over
his shaft. A needy sound rumbled in his throat, and his head banged against the
headboard. “Oh.” His eyes rolled back in his head, every coherent thought
completely gone. Shisui possessed far more skill than Itachi had. He was hard
within seconds, and Shisui’s tongue was magic. From beneath the sheet came the
sounds of sucking and smacking lips, and Shisui moaned with his cock in his
mouth. It was the hottest thing he’d ever heard in his lifetime. If this is
sin, I will gladly welcome hell.“Shisui… Shisui…” he kept saying. Today was
going to be a good day.
 
***** Best Behavior *****
===============================================================================
   “But he who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose.” –Anne
                                    Bronte
===============================================================================
                                        
“Usually I don’t do anything before coffee,” Shisui yawned as he dressed. “But
then again, you’re the exception to all kinds of personal rules.”
That piqued Itachi’s interest. “What kinds of personal rules?”
Shisui tugged a sleeveless black shirt over his head and shrugged. “Out of bed
before noon. Sex before coffee. Dating an Uchiha. Back in ANBU. Giving up
control…”
Two things stuck out further than the others. “You were in ANBU before?”
“Yep,” he threw over his shoulder as he made his way to the kitchen. “I left
it.”
“Why?” Itachi inquired as he followed him out.
“Liked it too much,” Shisui admitted. “Made a bit of a mess sometimes. Made the
others uncomfortable.”
Itachi remembered the incident in Clay Country. If he hadn’t have been
captured, then none of it would have happened, but… Shisui was exceedingly
dangerous, that much was obvious. Though they had never discussed it
explicitly, Itachi knew Shisui, better than anyone now. He couldn’t shake the
gut feeling that Shisui had actually killed the prisoners and their teammates
and burned the place down to hide the evidence. No survivors meant no wagging
tongues. Shisui had broken all kinds of laws the night he had tortured a target
that was supposed to be implicated and brought to justice. Konoha didn’t
condone such things. The fact that Shisui had not been arrested--that the
interrogation hadn’t lasted but for an hour or so--testified to his crime.
The smile that Shisui reserved only for him, the softness of his lips… oh yes.
Shisui had failed a mission on purpose to protect him. Had actually murdered
innocents so that Itachi might not die. The thought abhorred Itachi, but at the
same time, he forgave his cousin out of hand. Shisui had only fallen upon the
skills and experience that he had to ensure Itachi made it out of there alive
and sane. “I love you,” he found himself saying as he placed a cup of coffee in
front of Shisui.
Shisui lifted the cup to his nose and inhaled. It was easy to forget the untold
dangers coiled inside Shisui when he was like this. The small grateful smile
upon his face was benign and almost too sweet. The quiet sigh that escaped from
between his lips, disturbing the wisps of steam that rose from above the rim of
the mug, deceptively gentle. Lounging back in his chair and cradling a cup of
coffee as if it were the most precious treasure on this planet, Shisui appeared
domesticated, a deadly panther with a jeweled collar. And mine, all mine,
Itachi remembered with a smile. But it wasn’t until that first sip of coffee
rolled around inside his mouth and his eyelids fluttered back open, human
again, that Shisui returned his sentiment. “And I love you, too.” And then,
because it was always hard for him to appear serious for too long, his lips
quirked. “But only because you made me coffee.”
So Itachi asked the second question. “So, we’re dating now?” He willed his face
carefully neutral. This was a conversation that was long overdue, fraught with
pitfalls, most of them with the surname Uchiha.
Shisui leaned back, hugging his mug while Itachi emulated his father against
the counter, arms crossed. No coffee for him; he’d never liked the stuff, but
he was aware that people who did were pretty serious about it. Shisui lived
alone. One man in a house with a coffee pot, sleeping in past noon. Itachi
wasn’t an idiot;  coffee was made. “Do you need me to say it?” Shisui asked,
toying his fingertip around the rim.
“I need you to say it,” Itachi confirmed.
His lips twitched downward. “'Relationship' isn’t a word strong enough for
this, Itachi,” Shisui said quietly. “I’ve had those before. Relationships are
two people trying to determine if they’re content to be stuck with each other
forever. Two people together who hold fast to their secrets and only offer one
up when it seems the other might be lost. It sucks. In time you start to get
pissed off for no reason. Like, ‘why do you snore? Do you have to go on a
mission today?’” His voice grew bitter.
“And us?” Itachi pressed.
His smile flashed back, bright white beneath the shadows of his downcast eyes.
“Do you care if I snore, or go on missions?”
I don’t even care if you kill me,he almost said, and therein lay the
difference. Itachi understood. “Not particularly,” he answered wryly.
“Exactly,” he said, echoing Itachi’s thoughts. “You know… I’ve never told
anyone that I loved them, before. Girls hate that, actually, when you don’t
tell them that. But it was never the truth, so I didn’t. It seems so stupid to
me that they’d ask me to lie.”
That pleased him. For a long time now, the name ‘Nanami’ brought him a twinge
of grief. Knowing that his score was higher made him perversely gleeful. He
would never mention her again. He’d won, she was gone, and nothing else
mattered. Shisui was watching him, probably guessing at his thoughts again.
“Shisui,” Itachi began. He wished he didn’t feel the need to have this
conversation on his birthday, but it felt right to bring up now. “They’re never
going to stand for this.”
He didn’t need to name them. They knew. Uchiha relationships prioritized
passing down their precious Sharingan. Fugaku and Mikoto had even been an
arranged match. Fugaku possessed a powerful Sharingan and Mikoto’s bloodline
was strong. Their entire marriage had been founded on the principle that they
would breed strong Sharingan users, and Itachi and Fugaku were numbers two and
three in the Clan’s top five. Sasuke would likely secure a place there someday,
too.
Shisui was number one.
Furthermore, Itachi was Fugaku’s heir. There were certain expectations, one
major one that involved fancy attire and a grandiose ceremony that ended with
him lashed to a woman he didn’t love. For most of the past three years, they
had had a silent understanding not to speak of this topic, but now that they’d
tasted each other and shared a bed, it seemed important. Itachi wasn’t going to
let Shisui go, and Shisui had already proven that he’d kill a lot of people on
Itachi’s behalf. Defining the nature of how this situation was to be handled
when two overpowered deadly ninja hung in the balance seemed like a matter of
civil security now.
Shisui finished his coffee without a word, stood and set the cup down next to
the coffee pot. For a moment, it looked as if he were thinking about a refill,
but he sidestepped instead, standing in front of Itachi. He was still taller,
but the added level of severity lodged in his dark eyes tugged at Itachi’s
heart. Shisui stepped closer, caged him in with his body. “I don’t care.”
Itachi was worried he was going to say that. It wasn’t a good enough answer.
“But—“ His words were cut off when Shisui kissed him again. For as long as they
were locked, Itachi didn’t care, either. The moment he retreated though, Itachi
remembered their deal today. “I care,” Itachi retorted.
Shisui sighed, his head hanging. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry.” Shisui retreated, refilled his cup, and sat back down at
the table, staring into his coffee. What he saw in there besides murkiness,
Itachi hadn’t a clue. But this conversation was happening, one way or another.
“We’re not going to be able to keep this secret forever.”
“That’s exactly what we must do,” Shisui countered, sounding miserable.
“They’ll expect us both to—“
“I know what they’ll expect. Why do you think I’ve had girlfriends?”
Oh. Itachi hadn’t considered that. “So… Nanami…”
“Yes. And the two before that. Pretty and sweet until I ruined them. That’s how
I deal with the problem. What’s your plan?” His face was twisted with pain as
he glared at Itachi.
‘The problem,’ he’d said. Yes, that’s what it was, but Itachi couldn’t deal
with it in Shisui’s way. He’d have to come up with a method that worked better
for him. “I see,” he muttered, thinking about it.
“Mm,” Shisui assented, sipping coffee. “Obviously, no one can find out, but we
already have that part figured out. The rest of our lives is about batting off
the women thrown at us. We’re lucky, though. I don’t have parents to pressure
me and you have a little brother to take your place. We’ll figure it out.”
“Okay.” It wasn’t an answer, but only for the reason that they did not have
one. In short order, the two of them had breakfast, Shisui finished his pot of
coffee, and they were engaged in friendly conversation. It felt so… normal.
Issue arisen and shunted off for another day and a revisitation, breakfast made
and eaten, dishes cleared and into the sink.
It lasted up until the moment that Shisui’s lips nipped at his ear lobe while
he was cleaning. Itachi exercised his right to control. “Stop,” he ordered.
“Don’t want to,” Shisui denied, dropping his chin to Itachi’s shoulder and
wrapping himself around.
It was definitely not conducive to cleaning dishes, and although Shisui’s body
felt quite nice, Itachi needed to set boundaries about when was and was not a
good time to interrupt him. “I’m still cleaning up after breakfast,” Itachi
complained mildly, allowing his power to churn and coil, preparing for a genial
domestic battle.
“It can wait,” Shisui grumbled. “You have all day.”
Itachi’s hands stopped in the motions of cloth around the edge of a plate. He
gently set the plate back into the sink and twisted against the sink counter.
Shisui’s expression was puppy-like, thinking he’d won. His grin was bright and
sunny, eyes twinkling with mischief. Itachi crossed his arms and stared at him.
Shisui ignored the warning and leaned in for a kiss. When he was mere inches
from Itachi’s lips, Itachi said, very firmly, “Corner.”
Shisui froze in his journey towards passionate kisses. His eyelashes flickered
open, judging the seriousness in Itachi’s stare. He looked confused, if Itachi
was honest. His mouth puckered into a pout a moment later, eyes glazing over
with a measure of sullen reprimand. “Itachi…” he whined, sounding all of
twelve.
“My way today. I said I’d take care of you and you’re interrupting my task.” He
jerked his head in the direction of any random corner of the house. “Off you
go. And stay there until I’m finished with the dishes.”
He pouted something fierce. He put every ounce of his soul and his charm into
that pout, but Itachi was a trained shinobi, and even if he wanted to surrender
to the power of Shisui’s best pouty face, he would not allow that to show on
his guise. Every moment of his interactions with Shisui was a kind of delicate
game, the height of shinobi manipulation. Every emotion, every gesture, every
jaw tick and eye twitch told a story. Right now, Itachi had control of the day,
and he was guiding the tiller of the game. If he relinquished that control or
allowed Shisui to change the flow of control, Itachi would lose. And Shisui,
being brilliant, would seek to use Itachi’s affections for him to get him to
slip. Crafty bastard.
In the end, though, Shisui went, but not before shedding his clothes. He threw
him eyes over his shoulder as an invitation. Then, slowly and deliberately, he
placed his hands upon his head and lowered himself to his knees facing into the
corner of the living room. That, too, was clever. Now Itachi would be forced to
stare upon all of those glorious back muscles every time he chose to glance
over to make sure Shisui was still obeying. He could order him to put something
on, but that would only serve to tell Shisui that he was affecting him.
When Shisui had shut him out, he had ignored him. That would serve nicely here.
So, instead of humoring Shisui with furtive glances at the delectable curves of
hardened, cruel muscle, Itachi hummed himself a melody as he took an
agonizingly slow time completing the dishes. He could practically feel the
caress of Shisui’s eyes upon him, the sizzling atmosphere of frustration. He
knew too well that Shisui despised giving up his precious control, that he was
impulsive and impetuous. The longer he made him wait, the more crazed he would
become.
Which was, of course, exactly what Itachi wanted.
The moment he was finished hanging the towel over the back of the chair, Shisui
suddenly appeared in front of him. Shunshin. He hip-checked him, bumped him
into the counter, curved his hands roughly about Itachi’s face and kissed him
fiercely. “Mm-mm,” Itachi rejected, pushing him away.
Shisui bit his lips so hard that they reddened from the abuse. His pupils were
blown out as his head cocked to the side as if to say, really?
“It’s too fun to toy with you,” Itachi teased. “Now kiss me nicely.” He tapped
his lips with his finger and leaned forward.
Shisui blinked, smiled briefly and dipped in as he was commanded. He latched on
gently to Itachi’s lower lip, all softness and patience and asking, rather than
demanding. “Good boy,” Itachi commended.
***** Dangerous Games *****
===============================================================================
“It’s enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment.” --Gabriel
                                Garcia Marquez
===============================================================================
                                        
Over time, the Hokage had given them special clearance to run a two-man ANBU
squad. That, Itachi attributed to their incredibly high success rate and the
low numbers in ANBU. If two men could accomplish the same tasks as four, why
waste the man power? It worked out quite nicely for the two of them. They were
able to travel alone together more often than not, and didn’t have to hide
their feelings. For the first time in his life, Itachi was beginning to enjoy
ANBU. They took on more missions than he would have in the past, and were gone
from home more often than not.
A little over a year later found the two of them about as close to happy as
they could be. The increase in ANBU missions made Shisui a less than desirable
marriage prospect and Itachi wasn’t home often enough to make a fuss about it.
He stayed at Shisui’s house frequently due to convenience; his house was on the
outer edge of their compound and they often departed and arrived at odd hours.
Dropping by his family’s house at 4 a.m. disrupted everyone, and he didn’t want
to chance waking anyone up.
Today was an exception, though. Their mission had been a relatively easy one
and they’d finished early. And, since neither of them had any blood on their
uniforms, it was a good day to chance the wrath of Uchiha Mikoto and spend some
time with his family. It was one of those rare days when everyone was off of
work. A good day for family bonding. “I’m home!” Itachi called as he entered,
Shisui a moment behind him. They shed their boots and their armor; that was a
rule in this home. No ANBU armor when it was family time. It was Mikoto’s wish
that they would unwind and relax and leave their responsibilities and their
missions right where they belonged.
“Well, this is a surprise!” his mother declared as she looked up from her book,
tucking a tendril of dark hair behind one ear. “We figured you wouldn’t be back
until late evening. Hello, Shisui-kun.”
“Good afternoon, auntie,” Shisui greeted with his usual smile and a quick kiss
on the cheek. “We finished up early so we came straight here.”
“I’ll make tea, then,” she announced.
“No,” Fugaku said from the doorway, the semblance of a smile playing at his
lips. “You sit right back down and chat with your nephew and our son, and I’ll
make the tea.”
Mikoto looked like she wanted to argue, but apparently she wanted to chat more.
After a short battle of stares, she sat right back down upon her chair, hands
folded and demure. “I feel as if I never see you anymore,” his mother chattered
on. “How are you doing?”
“Busy, mostly. We’ve had a lot of missions,” Itachi replied.
“Shisui-kun, is my son taking care of himself?” Mikoto asked, turning to his
cousin.
Shisui grinned and held up his hands in surrender. “Mostly. He doesn’t always
sleep well.”
Itachi endured it with polite grace. Shisui liked to play this game where he
told the truth and yet didn’t. There was a reason that Itachi didn’t always
sleep well, and usually it involved Shisui keeping him awake. This was one of
the perverse delights he was allowed, however, to keep his demons at bay.
Playing clever mind games that hid the nature of their relationship in plain
sight was his favorite pasttime. It was easy to get him to stop by Itachi’s
house, even if he didn’t usually appreciate the social scene. Faking it
exhausted them both. So he acted, placing the sheepish, apologetic grin on his
face that he knew his mother wanted. “I have nightmares, sometimes.”
The fierce glare of his mother subsided. The nightmares, at least, were true.
The nightmares would be constant. There were things he had done in ANBU that
would always haunt him. It was getting easier, though. Shisui usually stole the
kills from him so that the blood was never on his hands. He would never put
into words how grateful he was for that, not because he felt like a coward, but
because he found it disconcerting to thank anyone for killing a person.
“Are you here for the rest of today, then?” his father asked as he joined them
with the tea.
“Yes,” he answered. “I don’t have another mission for several days unless
something important comes up.”
“Good,” he said. He reached to pour the tea but apparently Mikoto had other
ideas. He might have shanghaied making the tea, but he sure wasn’t going to
pour it for her, too. With a silent lovers’ quarrel, she silenced him with a
glare, he accepted with a wry smirk, and the tea was poured.
“Maybe you’ll get to catch up on your sleep,” his mother offered.
“I doubt it,” his father supplied. “Now that you’re back Sasuke will probably
be hounding you for training.”
“When’s he getting back?”
“A couple of hours, probably. He usually stays for a while after school to
practice,” his father answered.
“You should probably have a nap, Itachi,” his mother told him severely.
Some things would never change, he mused affectionately. He was seventeen, an
elite Shinobi and already independent. And yet, his mother would always see fit
to force her advice upon him no matter what. And, judging by the serious look
in her eyes, she was willing to fight him for his nap on pain of death. Even
when she was not a kunoichi back on the duty roster, she had been this way. He
glanced at Shisui, wondering how he was supposed to entertain himself while
Itachi went and lamely lay down. “Don’t you worry about him,” Mikoto told him.
“Shisui-kun and I will have plenty to talk about.”
Itachi wondered if he should be worried, but there was no stopping his mother
when she was in a mood. With a regretful glance at Shisui—who would probably
end up helping with chores—Itachi excused himself. “I’ll see you all at dinner
then. Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to sleep. It is rare these
days.” He cast a hidden sidelong gaze at his cousin, playing his game,
admitting to the sleep deprivation. There was a flare of irritation, just the
gentlest of pokes, and then Itachi was off. He’d pay for that infraction,
though he was rather counting on it.
He shed his clothes and slid in between the sheets, then loosed a deep sigh and
attempted to relax. It was weird, attempting to sleep in his own bed. He was so
used to the hard ground, Shisui’s warm presence, or the mattress in Shisui’s
house. Trying to sleep here for a number of reasons was simply not happening.
Shisui wasn’t there. The bed was too cold. The mattress was too soft. The
location felt alien and unfamiliar. Despite closing his eyes and trying to slow
his breathing, there was no way Itachi was going to be able to sleep. He felt
the minutes slide by futilely. At least he was resting, though. His mind, his
breathing, his body all slowed. Rest was better than nothing.
He didn’t hear the door open and shut, but then again, Shisui was the
stealthiest ninja in Konoha. He only had time to feel the depression in his
mattress as Shisui clambered over him and pinned him to the bed with his chest
and his lips. Panic assailed Itachi. They couldn’t do this, not here. His
parents were home. Sasuke could be back at any time. The danger of being found
out was radically high. His door didn’t even have a lock on it; none of theirs
did. “Sir,” he whispered, alarmed. “We can’t—“
“Shhh,” Shisui whispered back. “They’ll hear you.”
“Not here,” he told him through gritted teeth.
Shisui’s eyes narrowed, beautiful and dangerous, glittering with lust. “Since
when do you tell me what to do? It’s not your birthday.”
Itachi’s heart pounded in his chest as Shisui’s hands traveled up his arms,
pinning them to the pillow. His mouth found Itachi’s neck moments later, though
he kept a tight lid on the groan that wanted to escape. Of course, that was the
game; Shisui would visit all sorts of wicked delights upon his body, and the
challenge was not to make a sound and alert his family of what was happening in
this room. And, lest he forget, the door had no lock on it--no locks in
Fugaku's house--Shisui had disappeared from where he was being entertained by
Itachi’s parents, and Itachi had been in here napping long enough. Sasuke could
be home at any moment.
It was at that point that Itachi realized that his role in this game was not
solely to be silent, but to make sure that this was over as quickly as
possible. He raked fingers through Shisui’s hair and loosed a heavy breath,
surrendering. Shisui caught on immediately. “Good boy.”
“Just hurry,” he begged.
“Oh. Suuuure,” he purred, nipping trails. “Come here, then.” He rolled over on
the narrow mattress and propped his back up against the headboard.
Itachi didn’t waste any time. Quickly, quickly, he told himself, diving beneath
the sheets. His heart was still pounding, terrified of being found out. Shisui
was already ready, so he jerked the waistband of his pants down and took him in
his mouth, pouring every ounce of skill he had attained into the swirl of his
tongue. He heard the shaky exhalation of his lover beyond the veil, a low
groan. Shut up, Shisui, he pleaded silently. Both of them knew very well that
Itachi stood to fall further than Shisui did if they were ever discovered.
Shisui had no family left except them; he was already a man apart. Itachi could
lose everyone and everything, and being separated from Sasuke would break his
heart.
Finally, blessedly, Shisui dragged him up, pulling him close for a heartfelt
kiss, squeezing and kneading his buttocks. “Position,” he growled then,
retrieving the small canister disguised as healing ointment from his pocket.
Itachi’s face grew hot, feeling at once excited and scared. The danger was so
real, and there was no way they would ever be able to explain away Shisui
buried to the hilt in Itachi’s rear end. Despite that, he could never deny
Shisui anything, and he did as he was told. Shisui pushed in easily, greased by
the substance in the secret can he carried with him, a slippery ointment that
Itachi had been glad Shisui had miraculously discovered. He had to bite his lip
to keep from crying out; this didn’t hurt anymore, rather felt absolutely
amazing, and paired with the pent up thrill in the ventricles of his heart,
Itachi was sure that he was about to sing.
He didn’t though. He bit his lip mercilessly, holding in the shouts he needed
to emit. Shisui pounded away behind him, less successful at maintaining an
appropriate volume. Rhythmic grunts accompanied every long, deep, thrust. All
the while, Itachi begged him to please, “Shh, shh, shh.”
Then there was a knock on the door. Both of them froze. “Itachi?” his father’s
voice asked from the other side of the door. “You still asleep?”
Itachi’s blood pounded so violently he thought for sure he was about to pass
out. He took several deep breaths, opened his mouth to speak, and clamped his
teeth shut again as Shisui moved in and out slowly. Itachi was angry that he
would do such a thing, make it this difficult on him for his sick games.
It took him several moments to compose himself until the knock came again.
“Itachi?” The door knob turned.
“I’ll be down in a minute, oto-san. Please give me my privacy.”
“Alright. Your brother’s home.”
He couldn’t resist. “And Shisui-kun?” He was impaled by a particularly vicious
thrust then, for he had dared to find a loophole in the no names rule.
“He had to run home for a minute. He said he’d be back by dinner.”
“I see. Thanks.” As the footsteps died down the hallway, Shisui’s pace picked
back up. “I hate you, I hate you,” Itachi repeated, muffled by a pillow.
“You fucking love it,” Shisui insisted, the obscene slapping of flesh upon
flesh sounding far too loud to Itachi’s ears.
And Itachi shoved his face deeper into the pillow and screamed because, to his
shame, he definitely did.
The moment it was over, Itachi rolled off the bed and tugged on a shirt. He
cleaned up as best he could, threw on a fresh pair of pants, and made his way
to the bathroom to finish cleaning up. Meanwhile, Shisui slipped into the
hallway and disappeared. Itachi heard the sounds of greeting a minute later as
his family welcome Shisui back from having left, apparently. He heard his
brother’s voice in the mix, and above it all, Shisui’s laughter, though only he
knew the real reason that he laughed. The game they had played was more
dangerous than any ANBU mission, and Shisui lapped it up.
In the secrecy of the bathroom, Itachi smiled. He thought he didn’t have the
heart to play Shisui’s games, but inwardly, he was enjoying it just as much.
Being frightened was cathartic. When the terror had passed, in the darkness of
his room in the bed he’d slept upon as a child cradled in the arms of madness,
Itachi found perfect solace. Being a shinobi was fraught with secrets; this was
only another one, more dangerous than the rest, but with so much more at stake.
Living a lie as large as this one was to be truly alive, and he wouldn’t trade
it for the world.
Still, though, it was a relief when his father suggested that he think about
moving out. His mother didn’t look happy about it. Shisui’s face remained
carefully passive. Sasuke scowled, but Fugaku looked like he thought it was a
brilliant idea. “You hardly even sleep here anymore, and I know you must be
feeling as if you’re obligated to stop by like this.” He was nodding to
himself. Clearly he’d been thinking it for a long time. “You’re seventeen. You
should be on your own.”
“You’re sure? “ he asked, looking at his mother.
“He can stay with me,” Shisui offered placidly.
Strangely enough, that seemed to comfort his mother. Itachi wondered what,
exactly, they had discussed while he was ‘napping.’ Shisui had clearly charmed
his mother. “That’s very sweet of you to offer, Shisui-kun. I would feel much
better if Itachi was not completely alone.”
“Can I go, too?” Sasuke asked.
“No,” all four of them said at once.
Sasuke shrank back in his chair, sullen. “Well that’s hardly fair. I never get
to see him as it is.” He poked around on his plate, pouting.
“You’ve got enough going on with school,” his mother reminded him severely.
“And I’ve told you time and again that your father can help you with your
training. If he’s not good enough for you then go without.”
“But—“
“Oto-san’s very skilled,” Itachi reminded him. “I’m sorry I can’t be more
helpful.”
He groaned and hung his head unhappily. Itachi was glad that they could sit
like this, so perfectly at ease. He could almost pretend that Shisui belonged
there, too, even caught his wink from across the table. It was never to be, but
so long as they could maintain the façade in public, they could have moments
like this that felt real.
***** Fatal Errors *****
===============================================================================
“Give yourself permission to immediately walk away from anything that gives you
  bad vibes. There is no need to explain or make sense of it. Trust what you
                                    feel.”
===============================================================================
                                        
“There’s something wrong with this mission,” Shisui told him casually. He
tipped his head back, the left side of his face brushing Itachi’s left side.
They sat back to back upon a huge rock, discussing options.
“I agree,” Itachi replied. Long years of working together had negated the need
for long-winded explanation. Everything was wrong with this mission. The Land
of Feathers had sent far too many delegates for a discussion of a peace treaty,
and the leader among them was a very pretty woman who was not their daimyo or
in any way related to the daimyo. She had not deigned to reveal who she was in
relation to the Land of Feathers, in fact, though she and the other Shinobi
with her all bore the sigil upon their brow.
“They’re going to try to kill us.”
“Yep.”
He felt the twitch of a grin against his face. “Good. Haven’t had a good fight
in months.” Itachi opened his mouth to argue. “You don’t count,” Shisui cut him
off, then delivered a quick kiss. “I enjoy fighting you too much.”
“You enjoy fighting, period,” Itachi grumbled affectionately, hiding his smile
as he looked away.
“It’d be stupid to argue with that,” Shisui relented. “So. What are we going to
do, captain?”
Itachi smiled wryly. “We both know I’m never the captain.”
Shisui laughed, rich and full of humor. “No, you certainly aren’t. But you
could have fooled her.”
He didn’t argue because it was true. Every time they ran these two man
missions, their enemies made the same fatal mistake, over and over again. They
mistakenly assumed that Itachi was the one to be feared. His face was known to
most, his successes common knowledge. Furthermore, Itachi had the cool
detachment that most Shinobi aspired to, the ability to turn off his emotions
and plaster cold indifference upon his face. Turning off the conduit of
feelings came as naturally as breathing now. Time with Shisui, time hiding
their relationship, had only increased that. He could see it in their faces
when they looked at him, the malaise. Uchiha Itachi appeared to be everything a
Shinobi should be.
They kept trying to look past him at his smiling friend, the man they did not
recognize, a danger that none had lived long enough to record. They did not
understand that Shisui had mastered his mind and body in different ways. They
failed to notice the easy grace that kept Shisui on his toes, or the shrewd,
calculating eyes that watched their every move from the peripheral of apparent
boredom. They looked to Shisui hoping that Shisui would save them. They didn’t
know that the only one capable of saving their sorry asses was Itachi, and
whether or not Itachi felt they deserved to die. Shisui's preference was to
kill them all, and kill them messily, then clean up after.
Shisui’s head lolled back, his happy smile filling Itachi’s heart with glee.
ANBU had been good for them both. “So we kill them,” he drawled out, closing
his eyes as if remembering a distant memory or dreaming of making new ones.
“You always say that,” Itachi chastised.
His lips fluttered over Itachi’s pulse as he spoke, voice low and seductive,
seeking as always to get his way. “Well. Technically it wouldn’t be a failure.”
Of course, he was right again. The mission report had said to make contact with
the Land of Feathers, gauge their trustworthiness, and either accept their
submission to Konoha or eliminate the threat. In cases like this, though,
Itachi preferred to try to give them that chance, provide that moment of panic
when they could realize they were outclassed and change their minds at the last
moment, bend their will to that of Konoha instead of foolishly attack. Any boon
they could gain for the village was a bonus. Of course, Shisui didn’t care
about any of that. A threat was a threat was a threat. If they wanted to kill
them now, they’d want to kill them later, and no amount of sugar coating would
change it. Itachi allowed it because he wasn’t sure which method was more
correct, as both of their methods seemed to work better from time to time. That
was why sometimes Shisui would ask Itachi what they should do and sometimes he
just outright killed them.
Itachi leaned over and brushed his lips against Shisui’s. “My way, this time, I
think.”
Shisui sighed, disappointed. “It’s because she’s a woman, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Remind me of this moment when she tries to murder you, okay? I think there’s a
lot of fun punishment tied into this moment.”
“Can’t wait,” Itachi teased.
Shisui nipped his chin. “Me neither. Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go then,” he sighed, standing. “The faster we get this over with, the
faster we can get home and I can show you what ‘I told you so’ means.” He
reached down and hauled Itachi to his feet, and the dynamic duo was off again
to save the world. That was how it felt, anyway, running ANBU missions with
Shisui. They made it seem so effortless when they worked together, like the
bonus reel of the main adventure of Itachi and Shisui. It was a constant cycle
of accept mission, long journey, short, definitive climax, home before dinner
time.
Feather Lass was an idiot, as it turned out. She didn’t bring her delegates
with her to the final meeting. That immediately told the two Uchiha that they
were hiding, waiting for a time to ambush. Amateur. Shisui remained idiotically
blithe, hands in his pockets. They had their masks but weren’t wearing them.
This was a test of trust, after all, and it wouldn’t do for them to go in with
their masks up. However, that meant that if the trust exercise failed, they
definitely all needed to die, and there would be no room for hesitation.
“Your solitary presence seems to indicate a measure of trust,” Itachi lied to
her, appearing completely at ease. “Does this mean that I can tell the Hokage
that the Land of Feathers is a new ally and expect your first tithe at the
harvest moon?”
“Like hell you can,” she snarled, flinging her fingers into the air. It was the
signal they’d been waiting for, and the eight Shinobi burst from the
underbrush. They weren’t… poorly trained, but they weren’t Itachi and Shisui.
Their first assault was a trap of shuriken, expertly aimed at the center and
the two Konoha Shinobi that stood there.
Shisui blurred away, a nightmare dispelled, throwing the enemy into a state of
confusion as Itachi’s form broke into a murder of crows. The real Itachi
activated the Sharingan, sparing only a moment’s glance to determine Shisui’s
location, though it was constantly changing, and then he became a hurricane of
shuriken. A couple of their number went down as the woman backed up away from
the fray, one hand over her nauseous belly, terrified. Three of them huddled
around Shisui, but his cousin could handle himself, so Itachi focused on the
last three.
The largest of the three charged toward him, a juggernaut, meant to unbalance
and overpower. Such a person had his place in a fighting arrangement, but could
never hope to outclass stealth and agility. Itachi used his shoulders as a
springboard, finding a height advantage and unleashing a rain of shuriken,
hiding shadow shuriken amongst their number so that they could not hope to
avoid them all. Being airborne was a vulnerability, however, and his enemy took
full advantage. An impossible, inevitable number of weapons bloomed from below;
He managed to evade most of them, but felt the full force of a kunai pierce
through the vulnerable part of his armor, burying deep into his right shoulder,
several shuriken finding similar residence in his arms and legs. Pain was no
object, though, not to Uchiha Itachi. Similar wounds were inflicted upon him by
the attentive hands of love. They would not faze him when used against him in
battle, either.
The mission objective had transformed into a death sentence the moment the
woman from the Land of Feathers had given the signal, and Itachi could not
afford to be merciful now. He tore out the weapons embedded in his limbs but
left the kunai; it was deeper, would bleed dangerously if he extracted it. The
blade limited the use of his right hand, but his left was just as effective
anyhow. It would be less terrible if he never looked at their faces, he knew
this from experience, but he was never able to tear his eyes away anyway.
Remembering their faces was his self-imposed penance, no matter how healthy or
unhealthy it was.
Shisui, however, never allowed him that luxury. Itachi’s shuriken all found
their marks, but the targets only doubled over in pain, incapacitated but not
dead. It was Shisui’s swift efficiency with his tanto that ended their lives,
sprays of crimson painting the grass. They’d been working together for the
better part of five years, and Itachi had yet to witness anyone best Shisui’s
teleportation. He wasn’t even sure that he could. Eight dead Shinobi and a blur
of color later, and Shisui had the woman who had ordered the attack pinned
against her tree, weeping. Itachi sauntered over, wondering if it was possible
to spare her for questioning. Shisui had apparently had the same idea. With her
hands pinned above her head, he turned over his shoulder to look at Itachi,
licking the spatters of blood off of his lips. “What do you think, captain?
Does she live or die?” His red flecked smile was inappropriate, too chipper
amidst the macabre scene, a solitary posy blossom in a field of ashes. It was
always thus, but that was the way that it was.
“Please,” she begged miserably, tears running down her chin. “Don’t. I’m
married, pregnant with our first child.”
Shisui’s eyes widened slightly and Itachi knew his must look the same. They’d
never had to kill a pregnant woman before. Oddly enough, her heartfelt plea had
even reached Itachi’s nightmarish lover. They stared at each other, stricken
and unsure. This was something from which Itachi would not be able to recover,
and it gave even Shisui pause.
That was her intention all along, though. It was only because Itachi had the
forward view that he could see the jerk of the woman’s knee, the pale flash of
a blade. He had even less time to call out to Shisui that there was a mistake
made. He didn’t think, merely jerked the kunai from his shoulder and threw it
desperately, nailing her rising foot to the tree. She shrieked in anger and
pain, writhing against the trunk of the tree.
Shisui looked down, eyes wide, but it only took that second for him to register
what had happened. He tightened his grip on his tanto and rammed it into her
belly. Unborn child or not, she had forfeited her right to be alive. Itachi
knew better than to shut his eyes; Shisui always made him watch them die. It
was part of their deal. These kills were still Itachi’s responsibility, even if
Shisui wielded the blade. He would kill them but Itachi couldn’t get off
completely, so he fixated his gaze upon her face and the look of surprise.
Shisui leaned in closer, close enough to kiss her if he chose, watching the
light go out. “Shh,” he hushed, twisting the blade and eliciting a strangled
squeak and more glistening tears. “It will be over soon.” Her breathing came in
gasps, disbelieving, slowing, until finally, she slouched over, her body gone
limp.
Shisui let her tip forward, held comically in place by the kunai through her
foot. “Don’t feel bad,” Shisui told him quickly, knowing that he would suffer.
“Probably she was lying to save her own skin.”
Probably, Itachi told himself. Probably, probably, probably.He kept telling
himself that until it was acceptable, but even then he knew that this moment
would haunt him.
More importantly, now that the panic of that moment had passed, Itachi was
assaulted with a barrage of nerves and panic. He crumpled to the ground,
clutching at the wound in his shoulder, doubled over with gut wrenching nerves.
Shisui had almost died.
He’d almost died.
“You almost died,” he choked out, a knot constricting his throat. Every muscle
in his body tightened; his abdomen, coiled tightly with the nausea of fear, his
arms, hugging himself, and his eyes, screwed shut, trying to forget how
terrible it had been.
“Huh,” Shisui mused, seemingly surprised himself. “I did, didn’t I?”
There was a long, suspended moment where the implications of what had happened
and what had almost happened remained between them like a ghost. Itachi was
unbalanced by just how close he had come to losing Shisui. Meanwhile, Shisui
was realizing that Itachi had just saved his life. They were silent for several
minutes.
Then, Shisui’s boot carefully tilted Itachi’s chin up from where his face hung
low. Shisui tipped him backward, then he covered Itachi’s body with his own,
hands dragging Itachi’s up above his head, kissing him like it was his last day
on this earth, as it almost had been. Itachi surrendered, overwhelmingly
relieved that he was still alive to kiss him this way.
Then the world blinked out of existence, leaving the bloody bodies behind.
Mission success, though neither of them cared anymore.
 
***** Break Stuff *****
Chapter Notes
     So... this is my favorite chapter. Speak up if ye agree.
===============================================================================
“She said, ‘don’t get too close. It’s dark inside. It’s where my demons hide.’
   And I said, ‘Get too close. There is a hell inside of me. It’s where your
                              demons can live.” 
===============================================================================
                                        
When the world right itself again, Itachi was pressed to the living room wall.
His mind didn’t struggle to process how he’d gotten there. Shisui could move
things, and quickly. They’d never used it to cheat to get home before, but that
had never meant that he couldn’t. The important thing was that they were home.
Shisui’s mouth consumed his, passionate kisses giving way to something
hungrier, unrefined, commanding and desperate. Their mouths clashed, teeth
gnashing, lips crushing, jawline crashing upon jawline. Itachi held on as if
Shisui’s mouth was his anchor to existence, and Shisui claimed his soul from
there.
Then, something unspoken and celestial shifted.
Suddenly, the clothes needed to be off. Armor squealed and clattered, tossed to
the floor and immediately forgotten. Itachi cast aside his headband and tore
out his hair tie, needing to be freed of them. They kicked off boots and sent
them sailing, shed pants like they’d been training for it their whole lives,
could not shrug out of their shirts quickly enough.
They crashed into each other again, skin hot, searing, burning like the Katon
of the Uchiha--the clan's two brightest fires trying to out-scorch the other.
The lines of their bodies melted into one another, every muscle tight and
stretched by violence. Shisui pinned his arms above his head again, growling as
his mouth fell to Itachi’s shoulder. The air around them was a symphony of
sound, of panting breaths and rumbles of pleasure, throaty exhalations of
encouragement. Shisui nipped, scraping teeth along his collarbone, sinking
sharp incisors into the meat of his shoulder.
Itachi became a flash of pleasure with every bite, his knees losing their
strength, surrendering against the wall as Shisui awakened every nerve.
Itachi’s wrists tensed and resisted, crushed by Shisui’s grip, earning him
harder bites and a snarl of command. He bit his own lip and drew blood, hissing
from the intensity of it all, and Shisui’s mouth captured his abused lip and
sucked hard. He groaned and bit back, and Shisui slammed his wrists against the
wall with a guttural snarl.
It was at that point that loving Shisui became more like war. Every muscle
fiber in his body vibrated with predation, tense with the heavy knowledge that
they’d almost lost each other today. Itachi needed to lash out, to bite, to
claw, to fuck, to dominate. When Shisui racked his hands back against the wall,
Itachi jerked them free. Shisui reached for them again, pressing his body
against Itachi’s, against the wall. It was Itachi’s turn to snarl, and he
grasped Shisui’s wrists, swapping them places, banging Shisui’s head against
the wall, falling upon his neck like a feral beast, sinking teeth into tender,
unspoiled flesh. Shisui hissed and pushed instinctively, and Itachi flew
backwards.
They stared at each other for a suspended, tense moment, outwardly calmly
assessing, inwardly a tempest of violent urges. Itachi read through the red
glow of Shisui’s Sharingan that either or both of them was about to get torn
apart. His own Sharingan blazed just as brightly, though. His doujutsu was not
as refined as Shisui’s—for Shisui had the Mangekyou, and Itachi did not—but his
will was just as strong. Shisui smirked, sensing the threat, the challenge,
confidently tacitly accepting. Itachi’s frown deepened, became a determined,
firm line.
They tangled, arms entwining, lips and teeth at war, blistering lips red,
blossoming the first tentative buds of pain. Shisui grabbed fistfuls of
Itachi’s hair and jerked his head painfully backward, latching teeth at the
base of his throat. He could feel the tickle of lips and eyelashes while his
scalp ached fiercely. He rumbled as he wrapped fingers around Shisui’s throat
and threw his cousin to the couch in an eruption of pale limbs and the grunt of
forced air. Itachi straddled him, tugging his hands over the back of the couch,
grinding his hips into him and snapping his teeth.
With a surge of Shisui’s hips—and a painful bolt of desire—Itachi was thrown
from his lap, and he crashed backward over the low table, shattering the glass
into a thousand pieces. Shisui was down upon him instantly, crushing his throat
in his hands, lips peeled back in a wild grin. Shards of broken glass ground
into the sensitive skin of Itachi's back, but he was so lost to the red haze of
lust—blood lust, blind lust, none of it mattered anymore—that it only added to
the frantic stirring of sensations. His body arched of its own accord, pulling
groans from both of their throats, and Shisui stole another kiss while Itachi
fought the hands at his throat.
Itachi bit down on Shisui’s lips—hard—and Shisui’s grip tightened. Purple and
gold spots bloomed in Itachi’s eyes, rolling back in his head as he succumbed
to the ministrations of his master. Victorious lips mouthed their way up his
neck, tongue lavishing along his chin as his head was wrenched sideways. A
sound started in Itachi's throat like a low howl, muscles coiling, the will to
fight rekindling. With a vicious whip crack of his body, he managed to flip
Shisui over his head. The lower half of his body crashed into the side table
and sent the lamp upon it and everything in it flying in broken pieces, though
Shisui’s torso fell upon Itachi himself. They brawled, hands wrapped in
shoulder, neck, and arm, eyes wild and rolling, more like beasts than men at
all. Over and over they rolled until both of them were coated in bits of broken
glass like rock sugar, slick with their own sweat and blood.
This tussle would not be finished until one of them emerged victorious over the
other, fueled by an insatiable lust for life and for each other, roused by
bloodletting and riled by tooth and claw. Shisui chose that moment to gouge his
thumb into the wound on Itachi’s shoulder. Itachi roared, both from the pain
and from animal wrath, the need for vengeance overriding all law. Itachi
attacked him with a violent headbutt, and Shisui reeled, dazed. Itachi lifted
him easily, hauled him to the kitchen table and dropped him upon it, face
first. He held down the back of his head with one hand, raking long fingernails
over uncharted, undamaged skin, licking his lips and thinking how badly
Shisui’s blank canvas back needed to be painted.
His pupils dilated as the dark, simmering power within him welled up,
possessing him. He didn’t dare question it, not right now. This was not the
kind of power that one ought analyze, merely embrace or banish forever. Itachi
was not a weakling, though, and he stared his darkness in the face and welcomed
it willingly. He jammed his own finger into his shoulder wound then, tensing
like a harp string at the singeing pang of agony that racked his body. Finger
dripping with his own blood, he wrote his name on Shisui’s unmarred back, then
bit his lip to admire it. Seeing blood. Tasting blood. Perfect.
Shisui wasn’t done yet, though. He managed to turn himself, pulled Itachi down
on top of him, and twisted. The table could not support the weight of them
both, though, and it collapsed beneath them. Splinters broke open Itachi’s
palms, embedded themselves in Shisui’s arms and legs as well. They wrestled in
the ruins of the kitchen table, desecrating the symbol of their domestication.
Fingers gripped roughly, bruising tender skin, but Itachi was alive with
adrenaline and pain was absolutely nothing. He was gone, gone, sailing on a
wave of instinct and completely ruled by the war at hand, seemingly in slow
motion.
Shisui gathered his second wind, then, rolling into a sideways crouch and
hauling Itachi in a half moon arc out of the rubble and sending him careening
to his feet. He shifted, using the Shunshin to appear in front of him. Itachi
growled that he had cheated, but Shisui, all sly smile and victorious posture,
shoved him backward over the back of the couch, tipping the thing over for the
weight upon it, depositing Itachi upon the back of the couch that was now flush
with the floor. Shisui wove a couple of hand signs, then his fingertips sizzled
to life with violet chakra. This he pressed to Itachi’s abdomen, sending a
brief but powerful shock through Itachi’s body. Itachi yelled out
involuntarily, his body going rigid with electricity. “I was saving that,”
Shisui snarled angrily.
Before he could prepare the same attack, though, Itachi managed to dodge just
in time. The purple spark seared the cushions instead. There was the pungent
odor of burning fabric and a black tendril of smoke before the cushion caught
fire. Shisui frowned at that. A mistake. Itachi snagged the rope that Shisui
had kept in the now-broken side table and knocked his cousin to the floor,
driving his knee into his own name upon Shisui’s back, swiftly tying a knot
about his wrists. “Damn you, Itachi,” he grumbled, struggling against the knot.
Itachi remained there, staring at the knot. He’d won. The knowledge of it
seeped in slowly, the lesson of it resonating strongly. He stared down where
his cousin lay subdued, breathing heavily, panting from exertion, slick all
over with sweat and blood, both of theirs. Itachi chuckled, proud of himself.
Shisui shook his head, surrendering. Only one thing left to do now. He stood
up, walked over to where their clothes lay in a rumpled heap, and pulled out
Shisui’s little can of lubricant. Shisui’s eyes registered red from across the
room, narrowed dangerously. Unless he actually used the Sharingan though, they
both knew that he was well and truly fucked. Defeating him by using the
Sharingan was an unspoken cop out, though. Winning using the Mangekyou wasn’t
really a win. He would still have lost.
For a moment, as Itachi sauntered over, he considered not going through with
it. Shisui’s control over him was a beautiful thing, and he was loath to take
that from him. However, the blood within him was singing, boiling, raging,
humming with the thrill of the chase and the high of capture. He needed to do
this. Still, though, he hesitated. It was still Shisui, and he loved him.
Breaking the man was not an option no matter how strong his urges were. 
Shisui’s eyes met his, red bleeding away. In the dark murkiness of Shisui’s
pretty eyes was everything that existed between them: the power struggle, the
fathomless love, and the trust. Shisui smirked, then, telling Itachi everything
he needed to know. As if the barely perceptible nod was needed anymore. Shisui,
despite being hogtied on his living room floor in the center of a disaster
area, was still in control. He could simply tell Itachi not to do it, and they
both knew that he’d listen, even if he didn’t want to. Shisui was his
everything… if he denied him that, took this from him when he was asked not to,
their relationship would suffer for it. But no, Shisui was rewarding him. For
winning, for overpowering him. He could say no.
But he didn’t.
So Itachi took his place behind him, slathered the slippery ointment there with
the tympanic pounding of his pulse in his ears. It was exciting and empowering
to be in Shisui’s place for a change. He grazed reverent fingers over the
smeared remains of his name on Shisui’s back, his arousal increasing just to
look upon it. “Mine,” he whispered, more for himself than anything, brushing
fingertips across the kanji. He leaned forward, his hair brushing over taut
muscle. “Sing for me, Shisui,” he purred, stealing his name back for himself.
Shisui laughed nervously. “Say please.”
Itachi bit his lip to hold in his own laughter, positioned himself, and pushed.
The only sound from Shisui was a low sound of discomfort. It seemed this would
be another fight, but he wanted Shisui’s song, and he would have it, one way or
another. He dug fingers into the muscle of Shisui’s buttocks, marveling at the
new view. He inhaled sharply as he tried his first tentative strokes. It was
impossibly tight, and he was so turned on already that this wasn’t going to
last long. How was he supposed to coax a song out of stubborn Shisui if he
couldn’t even last?
He didn’t have long to think about it. His body was already deciding for him.
His mind was spiraling into the nothing, dragging him toward his orgasm whether
he wanted to go or not. Surrendering to himself, he splayed one palm over those
perfect indentations just over his tailbone, pressed the other down between his
shoulder blades, and fucked. He pulled nearly all the way out and slammed back
in, over and over, shutting his eyes and losing himself to it, objectifying the
man beneath him as nothing more than a tool for his pleasure. A low growl grew
in his chest, rumbling, cascading over raspy vocal chords, unable to be
contained. There was a satisfying hiss from the floorboards and Shisui
collapsed, going completely flat, grinding his hips upon the rug. Shisui’s
mouth opened then, and the most beautiful, desperate noise birthed forth,
careening up into the ceiling, music to Itachi’s ears.
He came then. He had no idea if Shisui had and he didn’t care. He finally
understood the rest of the game. He’d dominated, he’d won, he’d fucked, and
he’d stolen the sounds from Shisui’s lungs against his will. “Ah,” he gasped
into his lover’s ear after he’d crumpled on top of him, panting. “There he is.”
“Fuck you,” Shisui told him affectionately, equally as out of breath. His
forehead was resting against his forearm, a puddle of drool beneath that.
“Mm.”
Shisui laughed again. The living room suffered for their assault. Furniture
broken, blood staining everything, walls cracked and peeling plaster. Beside
them, the couch still smoldered. It was ruined, but the house was not in
danger, so they watched it burn, two sets of eyes fixated on the same dancing
flames. As time passed, their breathing calmed, their hearts settled. They’d
expended all of their energy fighting each other and had none left for argument
or discussion. They watched the flame burn upon the ruined couch. When the
light went out, they merely closed their eyes and went to sleep. 
 
***** Hold Tight *****
===============================================================================
“I may not be who I ought to be. I know I’m not all that I want to be. But I’ve
 come a long way from who I used to be. And I won’t give up on becoming what I
                               know I can be.” 
===============================================================================
                                        
Hokage.
There was absolutely no reason that he should have been blindsided by that one,
but he was.
I want you to succeed me as Hokage.
Itachi still felt numb. There wasn’t a whole lot in the world that he wanted
less than the title of Hokage. The reason that he loved being with Shisui was
that his cousin made all of the difficult decisions for them both. Whether or
not an enemy needed to die, what to do about the broken furniture, whose turn
it was to do dishes… Itachi’s life was blissful mainly because he didn’t have
to shoulder the burdens of the decisions that he made. Shisui had taken those
responsibilities upon himself, and gladly, and Itachi had relinquished the need
for those things just as happily.
There was no one less suited for Hokage than Uchiha Itachi. And yet, when he’d
asked Sandaime why, Sarutobi Hiruzen had a litany of reasons, starting with his
perceptive mind, flowing through his role in stopping the coup d’etat, and
finishing with his dedicated and exceptional service from within ANBU. Put that
way, Itachi did sound like a promising candidate, much to his dismay. He had
tried to decline, but Sarutobi seemed distraught at the prospect, and Itachi
hated to see the old man upset.
Itachi, there is no one in this village I would rather see in my place than
you.
Oh, he knew why. The rift between Uchiha and Senju was healing, true, but
handing over the reins of Konoha to a member of the Uchiha would be a
monumental symbol of the end of decades of infighting and mistrust. He had the
skills. He had the temperament. But most importantly, as with anything, he had
the bloodline. Time and time again, his worth was attributed to his genetics.
Sarutobi trusted him; there were few others among the shinobi who could succeed
Sarutobi as Hokage, and none of them had his bloodline.
More unsettling was the fact that becoming Hokage would solve one more
increasingly inconvenient problem: his need to marry. If he accepted the
mantle, he could use his office as an excuse to relinquish his place as
Fugaku’s heir to his little brother, Sasuke. No one would find it strange,
then, that he had no interest in a marriage. Likely, he’d still be pressured
occasionally to pass on his bloodline, but it would be a simple enough matter
to wave his hand and use occupation as an excuse.
He was keenly aware, however, that this was his one and only chance. By
accepting or rejecting the offer, he would be making a permanent decision on
the matter of Uchiha Shisui and their unorthodox relationship. If he rejected
the seat of Hokage, he would eventually be forced into a marriage and
leadership of the clan. It was inevitable. He couldn’t use Shisui’s method to
discourage potential mates; it wasn't like him. Thus far, all he’d really done
was give the lame excuse that he was busy, and his parents were beginning to
grow impatient. However, marriage meant children, and Itachi had secretly
relished the idea of someday being a father.
On the other hand, if he became Hokage, he could continue his dalliance with
Shisui and shunt off the pressures of being Fugaku’s heir. If he ever changed
his mind on the prospect of marriage and kids—unlikely, but not impossible—then
he’d still have the option. But turning down the hat was definitely the death
knell on their relationship unless they came up with something else equally as
major.
Itachi hated it. But there it was.
He arrived home long before Shisui. The tussle that had destroyed their living
room had finally convinced his lazy cousin to get a little practice in, and he
spent his afternoons—never mornings—training. Sometimes Itachi joined him,
sometimes not. It was because he had been summoned today that he had not gone
with him. Itachi was grateful, however, that his lover was still out. He still
had not had enough time to mull over the title of Hokage, but he didn’t want to
be out. Not anywhere. He needed to be home, right here where he belonged,
surrounded by his four walls of safety and reminded of the man that kept him
grounded.
He needed Shisui. Dominant Shisui. There were times, like now, when he was
tense all over with the need to submit, to surrender everything he was, body
and soul, lose himself to the song that Shisui wrought out of him with the
roughly spun materials of iron, leather, pain and pleasure. It cleared his mind
in a way that nothing else could, resetting everything that was wrong with his
world and returning him to his most basic state: that he was Itachi, that he
belonged to Shisui, and that nothing else in the world mattered but that.
Anything else beyond that point, they could figure out together.
He lifted his collar out of the drawer and pressed it to his nose, inhaling the
sweet and fragrant scent of leather. And, too, there was the coppery smell of
blood and the musky tone of sweat, the olfactory story of Shisui and Itachi,
conveniently written upon the scrap in his palm. He buckled the black leather
around his neck and sighed with relief. It was like wearing a hug, that thing,
like Shisui was there with him even when he wasn’t.
Feeling better, he decided to do his best to make sure Shisui felt welcomed
when he returned. He made a pot of coffee, even though it was already late
afternoon. It was his hope that Shisui would want to stay up late tonight, for
Itachi himself was unlikely to be able to sleep. He changed into more
comfortable clothes, opting for a loose pair of black pants and a blue Uchiha
t-shirt. Finally, he made a pot of rice. There were leftovers in the fridge
that could be reheated when Shisui got back.
All that was left to do was wait. Feeling subdued and pathetic, he opted for
sitting cross-legged before the front door. He meditated, considering life
before and after donning the Hokage hat; how his family would react, how Sasuke
would handle being the head of the Clan, how he and Shisui would find the time
to be together, how stressful leading Konoha would be, the tedium of paperwork.
It was somewhere between planning chuunin exams and fending off the endless
march of marriage prospects that the door opened and Shisui stepped inside.
Itachi was so glad to see him that he almost wept with relief. He stood and
threw his arms around his master. “Welcome home, Sir,” he whispered into his
ear.
He felt Shisui smile against his face. Felt his fingers graze the collar. Felt
him still, gentle breaths upon his skin. Shisui was smart. He was putting
pieces together, tasting the air, gauging the situation. Itachi rarely needed
this as badly as he did right now, and he was a varying degree of obviousness
when it was needful. The vibes he was giving off screamed for a strong hand.
“Pour me that coffee,” he commanded softly with a short nod in the direction of
the coffee machine, authority not suffering for lack of volume.
“Yes, Sir,” Itachi replied meekly, fetching the coffee at once. “Would you like
your dinner now, Sir?” he asked, setting the mug before Shisui with a brief
kiss upon his temple.
“Yes. You will eat, too. Sit there,” he ordered, gesturing to the seat directly
across from him.
Itachi did as he was told, fixing each of them a plate and taking his place
across the table. He kept his eyes down upon the food, but he felt Shisui’s
eyes upon him, felt his hunger for things that weren’t food. His pulse was
already racing, for he knew full well what the force of such ravenousness meant
for him later. Even imagining the wicked things Shisui would do was not enough
to quiet his mind, though. He longed for the lash. His stomach was sick for it,
so much so that he actually pushed his plate away, staring at his hands upon
his lap, feeling miserable. “Itachi, you must eat,” Shisui told him with
concern.
“I can’t,” he whispered.
Shisui was silent for a moment. This was why Itachi appreciated him so greatly.
Shisui read the currents of the air, surmised Itachi’s moods without needing to
ask, and knew exactly what to do about it. First they would play this out, then
Shisui would purify him with pain, and then they would talk, in that order.
“Take care of the dishes. And get me another cup of coffee.”
Itachi breathed a sigh of relief, happy for a task to complete. He cleared his
plate, replaced Shisui’s cup, and reached for his empty plate. Shisui snatched
his hand mid reach. Their eyes met. Shisui rubbed the pad of one thumb over the
inside of his wrist, trying to read exactly what was going on inside Itachi’s
mind. Itachi recognized the look; he was trying to determine if Itachi was
hurting or merely conflicted. What he saw there was what he would use to set
the tone for the evening, so Itachi met his stare and lowered his defenses,
losing himself in his dark, depthless eyes. Times like this, Shisui seemed
almost ancient; he was always somehow able to see through Itachi, knew
precisely how to handle him, and exactly what to say, if anything needed to be
said. This time, all he did was raise Itachi’s hand to his lips, pressed a
gentle kiss to the back of his palm, held it to his face, and smiled up at
Itachi. Love and understanding. I’ll take care of everything.
Itachi smiled briefly, made a grab for the plate with his other hand. They slid
apart. Itachi returned to his chores. “Sing for me,” Shisui bade him.
Itachi paused in his scrubbing. That was a rather unusual request. He turned
his head slightly. “An actual song?”
“Yes,” Shisui confirmed, his voice rich with humor. “An actual song. Not that
your usual song doesn’t please me greatly.”
Itachi’s heart lifted to hear that. He took a deep breath, wondering which song
would suit Shisui best. In the end, he went with a song of night time, of stars
and solitude and silence, and all of the things that reminded him of Shisui
when they were apart. He was unused to singing for an audience, but Shisui had
asked it of him, and he had never been able to deny him anything. He could
still feel his cousin’s eyes upon him, his nostrils filled with the scent of
coffee, ears relaxed by the sound of gentle sighing.
He was on the last refrain of the song when he felt Shisui approach him from
behind. Hands encircled his waist but didn’t touch. Itachi’s song died, and
Shisui tsked. “I didn’t say to stop singing.” With a sudden quickening of his
heartbeat, Itachi took up the song from where he’d left off. There was merely
the ghost of heat as he raised Itachi’s shirt over his head, slowly, dragging
fabric against sensitive, pleading skin. Itachi shivered, impatient, rushed
through the last phrase and went silent. He took a deep breath as the shirt
peeled over his head, and when it was gone, he turned to face his master.
Shisui’s eyes were night-dark and intense, but they narrowed in the slightest,
focusing on his own. Itachi felt captured, cradled, completely at his mercy.
There was comfort in that.
Without a word, Shisui grasped his hand and led him to the living room. “Sit,”
he commanded, gently pushing him toward the couch. Itachi sat. Shisui retrieved
the rough spun rope, mostly because he knew Itachi hated it. Usually, they used
the silk rope; it didn’t chafe his hands and held fast. Occasionally, though,
when Shisui was feeling especially impish, he used a scratchy sailor’s kind of
rope that left Itachi’s wrists raw and angry.
It was perfect for today.
Shisui sent the rope sailing through a ring in the ceiling. They’d used it
before to stretch his arms up above his head, but to Itachi’s surprise, Shisui
knelt before him, his expression somber. He dragged off Itachi’s pants, not
making eye contact, then kissed the inside of both thighs. Then, he wove the
rope in between and around Itachi’s ankles and began tying a knot. As he did
that, Itachi’s eyes traveled from the rope in his fingers to the ring in the
ceiling, realization dawning. He exhaled shakily, grateful that Shisui was not
about to let him down. “I’ve not done this before,” Shisui told him in a low
voice. “The blood rushes to your head and can be unpleasant.” He finished the
knot, tightening it mercilessly. Itachi suppressed a wince. Shisui leaned
forward, grasped Itachi’s face in both hands, and stared into his eyes. “Look
into my eyes,” he commanded, locking their souls together at the windows.
“You’re strong.”
Itachi heard him, internalized his words, feeling strengthened. It was a
challenge. Shisui was tightening Itachi’s control on the safeword. Don’t give
it unless you’re dying.
Pressure built up in his brain as he was turned upside down, dragged up by the
ankles. He dangled, swaying, but Shisui added another lash between the rings of
his collar and the ring hiding beneath the rug. Finally, he tied Itachi’s
wrists to the same ring of the floor. Solid. Secure. He took a deep breath,
embracing the painful rush of blood to his head. Shisui walked around him in a
circle, tapping him with his hands, wakening nerve endings all around his body.
Itachi had been upside down for training exercises before, but he was keenly
aware of how dangerous this was. He could pass out. He could fall. All of this
depended on Shisui and his attention.
And he trusted Shisui with his life.
He started in with the flogger, gentle threads of leather barely registering
above feather touch. They’d been at this for years; the flogger was more for
decoration now than anything. Itachi closed his eyes and endured without even
flinching, his thoughts packeting, organizing. They both understood that it was
only a warm up, and Itachi used it to mentally prepare. The zapping electric
technique that Shisui had unveiled during the living room breaking incident
came next. Itachi’s muscles seized and tightened, and his jaw clenched, but he
managed to maintain control. His face tensed with concentration, focusing in on
the intriguing sound of electricity, little more than an invigorating tickle.
“Strong,” Shisui mused, impressed. “You amaze me, Itachi.” Behind him, Itachi
could not see what he was up to, but when the hard tip of the dreaded cane
started drawing lines across Itachi’s body, he shut his eyes and stilled. The
instrument in Shisui’s hand was Itachi’s salvation and his bane; it was all too
easy to send Itachi sailing into dreamland and crowing safewords. “Strong,”
Shisui repeated, tapping thighs, shoulder, buttocks with light snaps.
His heart raced, the day’s trials and tribulations forgotten. This is what he
had wanted, for Shisui to help him remember who he was and forget who he
wasn’t. He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, gaining control over his center,
preparing. When the light snaps became moderately harder smacks, lingering upon
skin, stinging and then aching, blossoms of heat and oversensitization, Itachi
bit his lip and focused, tuning into the slap of the cane, the sound of his
breathing and the pulse in his temples, willing himself to endure the pressure
in his head and the superficial sting that spread across his skin like a
lacquer of torment.
After a time, Shisui paused, running admiring fingers over his handiwork,
commenting on the warmth of the angry welts, reminding Itachi that he was
stronger than this, praising him for his performance. He had taken Itachi near
his previous limits, and yet Itachi was still unbroken. Truth be told, he was
proud of himself, too. His heart raced, his head was agony, and his skin was on
fire, but he was still alive and still capable of enduring more.
And then, Shisui sought to establish the new limit. The strokes of the cane
came faster, struck harder. Itachi devolved, his careful control dissolving
into winces and hisses, his body writhing away from where he knew the next blow
would come from, panic fluttering to life. He whimpered, cried out, and began
shouting, wild frantic flight instincts seizing his brain. You’re
strong,Shisui’s phantom reminded him as he squeezed his eyes free of tears and
steeled his will from within his mind. He howled a wordless cry, over and over
again until his throat was raw, but he swallowed the safeword and kept it down.
He was a blind flash of agony before it was through, and it wasn’t until
Shisui’s soft voice in his ear broke through the haze that he realized that the
strokes had stopped. “Come back to me,” he cooed, caressing his face. “Come on
back, Itachi.”
When he blinked his eyes open and saw the upside down face of Shisui—No, it is
I that is upside down,he remembered—he exhaled long and deep.
“Ah,” Shisui said with a tired smile. “There he is.”
***** Belong *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
===============================================================================
   “You want to be free. You also want to be mine. You can’t be both” –Nenia
                                   Campbell
===============================================================================
                                        
Itachi felt physically and emotionally drained, so tired that he considered
just tipping into Shisui and falling asleep. Even with his eyes closed he could
feel Shisui’s attentive fingers rubbing healing salve into the angry wounds
upon his back. It was top quality stuff, numbing as soon as it came into
contact with any kind of injury, which is why Shisui spent such a significant
portion of his mission income on it. It healed quickly, comfortably, and left
no scars behind. Each of Itachi’s fresh welts received the gentlest of kisses,
healing attention, and a breeze of breath to activate the menthol like a kiss
of winter. Itachi breathed slowly, coming down from the evening, exhaustion and
contentment replacing stress and aggravation.
“I knew you could do it,” Shisui said after a time. “You’re magnificent, just
as I always knew you would be.” He paused, sighed, sounded of smiles. “Gods,
Itachi… you’re so beautiful to me.”
Itachi smiled tiredly, mind fuzzy and growing dimmer. “Did I really do it? I
kind of got lost at the end there.”
Shisui chuckled softly, rubbing gentle circles into the small of his back.
“Yeah. I gave you everything I had.”
Itachi was silent a moment, processing. Was that even possible? “You’re just
saying that,” he accused, disbelieving.
“I am many dreadful things, Uchiha Itachi, and liar is one. I will not,
however, ever lie to you for any reason.”
“I know.”
“So yes. You are even stronger than the cane. I have nothing further to teach
you.”
Itachi’s heart tore a little to hear it. Surely he didn’t mean…? “You won’t
leave me, will you?” he whispered fearfully.
“Not even if you asked me to,” he answered readily. He stopped his work on
Itachi’s back, made contact with his shoulders, tactile presence. I’m not going
anywhere. “You want to tell me what this is about now? I think I’ve earned it.
Even I’m going to feel that beating tomorrow.” He huffed a short laugh,
replacing the lid on his ointment.
“You did earn it,” he agreed. “Thank you, Sir.”
“My pleasure. Before you tell me, though, it’s bed time. Sleep on your stomach
tonight, mkay? You should be right as rain come morning, but for tonight you
want to let them breathe.” He stood and helped Itachi to his feet.
Itachi moved stiffly, grimacing from the myriad aches and pains that he’d
sought. He made his way to the bedroom and faceplanted on the mattress. He took
a deep breath and moaned with pleasure. Bed never felt so well earned. Shisui
settled in next to him, propped on one elbow. Itachi crawled closer, settling
his face against one arm, careful to leave his back exposed to air and not
smashed against the sheets. Shisui’s face tipped down closer, toying with
Itachi’s hair with his other hand. “Alright. What’s bothering you?”
Dread pooled in his stomach, poisoning his body. “Hokage,” he breathed.
Shisui frowned, hugged his face and kissed his brow. Nothing more needed to be
said. He understood.
===============================================================================
 
His mother hugged him tightly, crying. Itachi couldn’t remember a time when she
had ever cried. Dimly he wondered why she did so now; was it because of the
plight of her younger son? Or did she understand just how heavily the burden of
the Hokage mantle lay upon his shoulders? Perhaps she was only overemotional
because of her pride? Whatever it was, he found himself apologizing. To all of
them.
Especially his younger brother. He apologized a number of times to him, for to
Itachi it felt as if he was running away from that particular problem and
dumping it off on Sasuke. His brother was tired of the apology, though, even
after one. “Quit apologizing,” he said uncomfortably, hitching his shoulder in
a shrug. Itachi knew better; Sasuke had always sought their father’s approval.
Itachi’s defection from the Clan had delivered the Uchiha straight into
Sasuke’s hands. Fugaku would necessarily have to spend a lot of one-on-one time
with his youngest son to prepare him for what was to come. Though he hid it
well, Sasuke would be thrilled.
“I’m so proud of you, Sasuke,” he told his brother. At thirteen, Sasuke was too
cool for hugs. He endured it gracelessly, scowling. “You’ll be better than me
in my place.” It was true; Sasuke was much better suited for leading the
Uchiha. If they had had to trade places—Sasuke as Hokage, Itachi as Clan
Leader—things would go much more poorly. Sasuke had the overbearing personality
needed to keep his elders in check, but he lacked the compassion for the weak
that any Hokage needed. Conversely, Itachi tended to focus more on the
defenseless and found the pride and forcefulness of his clan to be hard to
stomach.
After he’d accepted his fate, Itachi was rather glad to be leaving it all
behind, actually.
“And you’re always a step ahead of me,” Sasuke grumbled.“Hokage. Glory hog.
Tch.”
The ceremony was over a week behind them, but Itachi had been so busy with
paperwork and meetings and apprenticeship with the Third that he hadn’t even
had time to stop by and say goodbye to his family. He’d had several thorough
and meaningful discussions with Sarutobi since his instatement, though, and
grudgingly he had to admit that he enjoyed the work. He seemed to have a knack
for the bigger picture. Sarutobi was quite pleased. The Uchiha were a seamless
part of Konoha now, and the wall around the compound was slated to come down
soon. Camaraderie among villagers was at an all time high and predicted to
improve even further once Sarutobi formally stepped down and placed Itachi in
charge. There was only one problem with being Hokage.
Shisui had disappeared.
During one of their conversations, Sarutobi had reminded him that he was
granted the privilege of bringing in persons that he thought were suitable for
positions of importance. For the most part, Itachi thought that the personnel
in place were doing a fine job, but he did request a new position for his
cousin as the Head of ANBU, a decision that Sarutobi fully supported. Shisui’s
youthful bloodlust had calmed—a fact that Itachi took great pride in, though he
could never voice credit for it—and yet his success rate was still the highest
that village had ever seen. Ever since the order was handed down, though,
Shisui had mysteriously disappeared. There was no sign that he had been home.
He made inquiries, but no one had any information for him, and if he expressed
an inappropriate amount of interest during such a time when every eye in the
village was upon him, the truth about their companionship might start to
unravel.
Itachi’s heart was breaking. Every day was a struggle not to crumble. Ever
since he had affixed himself to Shisui’s side, they’d been an inseparable team,
the light and dark, two halves of the same coin, yin and yang, master and
disciple. He had thought that Shisui needed him as much as he needed Shisui. He
simply could not accept that he’d been wrong about his dark, dangerous cousin
all along. A life without Shisui was not one he could accept.
“Has anyone seen Shisui?” he asked mildly.
His family members shook their heads. “You live with him, Itachi,” Fugaku
reminded him. “If anyone is going to know where he is, it would be you, not
us.”
“Right,” he confirmed, dropping the subject.
“Has something happened?” his mother asked.
“No. He probably just got called off on an emergency mission,” Itachi explained
with a falsely unconcerned shrug. Truth be told, he was terrified. Shisui
wouldn’t leave on such a mission without him, for one thing. For another, as
Hokage, he had access to every record of every mission, and Shisui did not have
clearance to leave Konoha. He’d simply vanished. All he could think of was
that, for whatever reason, Shisui had abandoned him. Or that he was somehow
dead. It had been more than a week without a word, and his heart was tearing
itself apart in anguish.
Have faith, he told himself. Trust. But with each passing day, he felt his hope
wilting, worry gnawing at his insides. Worse yet, he had to keep hiding it.
Sarutobi and the elders were putting him through the gauntlet, throwing him
into every task with impunity. He hardly had a chance to rest, let alone think
of his absent cousin. Every day was its own kind of hell, trying to adopt an
air of confidence and capability as he learned his new role, smiling at people
in the street all while his soul tore itself apart. It wasn’t long before he
found himself sleeping at his desk in utter exhaustion, though it was still
better than going home. His bed still smelled of Shisui and Shisui was still
gone. Every step toward home was a senbon to the heart, and sleeping alone was
a greater agony than anything his master had ever done to his body. Was this
some kind of cruel punishment for his decision to become Hokage?
He ended up dozing off while designing the written exam for genin placement
seventeen days after being declared the Fifth Hokage. He didn’t dream. He awoke
in the darkness with the sense that something was wrong, but that was not so
unusual. Every day without Shisui was wrong, after all.
The office was dark. Beyond the window, the moon waned, nearly new, and the
Village was a quiet, serene backdrop. Most would be sleeping, certainly the
children, including the young genin that would be set to take their exams early
next week. Sasuke was probably sprawled out, dreaming of the day when their
father was old and proud and he was the pride of the Clan. All of them were
Itachi’s personal, silent responsibilities. In this way, he really could watch
over everyone. For a moment, he was almost happy, even alone.
But his absence was more than just an absence. To lose Shisui was to lose
himself. Not just half of himself, but the whole self; Itachi was merely
shapeless ether with no vessel, blowing away on the wind. His heart
constricted. He liked being Hokage, he was ashamed to admit, but without Shisui
it still tasted of ashes.
The feeling of wrongness evolved into a stab of alarm, and a shape materialized
from the shadows. The outline was dark, for the moon was too weak to cast any
light upon him at all. The Hokage had ANBU guards, not that he needed them, but
Sarutobi had insisted that the Hokage was to let his guards handle a battle in
his place whenever possible. “Intruder,” he hissed, preparing for a fight
anyway.
“Who, me or you?” came the amused reply.
Itachi choked on a sob of relief at the sound of that familiar voice. “Sir!” he
cried out, unable to help himself.
“Well, yeah,” he returned, sounding confused. “Who else would I be?”
“Where have you been?” Itachi demanded, crossing the space between them.
“Ah ah ah,” Shisui warned, lifting his sword. “I leave you alone for two
minutes and already you forget your place.” Itachi stopped as Shisui tsked. “I
know I trained you better than that, Hokage or no.”
Relaxation seeped into muscles fraught with stress and depression. “I am sorry,
Sir. I was worried, is all.”
“About me? Gods, have your wits completely abandoned you or what? It was you
who ordered me into a position I didn’t even want. Head of the ANBU indeed,” he
scoffed mockingly. “Do you have any idea what I have to put up with now? Cocky
jounin with deluded visions of grandeur thinking they can hack it with the real
ninjas. Paperwork. You know how much I hate paperwork.”
“But…” he searched his thoughts helplessly. What had he missed? No one had been
able to find Shisui, and… “You haven’t been home,” he accused.
“Well, no. You’ve been training with your predecessor. I merely had to go train
with mine. ANBU captains are a little crazy, so his version of training was
kind of nuts. He told me not to tell anyone and then he whisked me away. I
didn’t want to let you down, so I did what I was told for once. I just got
back. I came straight here.”
I just got back. I came straight here.“Thank the gods,” Itachi breathed.
“Itachi… what’s wrong?” Shisui asked, genuinely confused. “You didn’t really
think I’d left, did you?” There was a pause as Itachi fought hard not to cry.
Actually cry. Uchiha Itachi did not cry. “Oh gods,” Shisui whispered. “You did,
didn’t you? You thought I’d left you?” He dropped his sword and finished
closing the distance between them, wrapped arms around him and held him
tightly. “If I’d had any idea, Itachi, I’d have told you no matter what the
previous Head of ANBU demanded. I’m sorry.”
“It is I that am sorry,” Itachi told him, trying to calm his treacherous heart.
“I should have known better. It’s this stupid hat,” he grumbled, though he
wasn’t wearing one. They both knew what he meant. “What I do now isn’t half as
difficult as missions for ANBU but… my brain is tired. I can’t seem to think
straight.”
“Well as to that,” Shisui purred, “I’ve always got your cure.”
“Uchiha Shisui, I expressly forbid you from ever leaving me like that again,”
Itachi said in the most severe tone he could manage.
Shisui tsked. “I don’t take orders from you, hat or no hat. That hat has
clearly scrambled your brains. You know very well that there are rules, and the
rules are in place for a reason.”
“You dare?” Itachi teased, feeling bratty and challenging.
“Oh,” Shisui said, his voice dangerously quiet, “I dare. You know better than
to say my name without permission. I do remember telling you that I would
punish you severely for that.”
Itachi grinned. So be it, then. “Shisui.”
The challenge was met as he hoped. Shisui’s hands grasped his shoulders
roughly, forcing him down. “On your knees… Hokage-sama.”
 
Chapter End Notes
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