Chapter Text
Two nights later, Itachi wakes hot and sweating from a dream he cannot remember. This in itself is not unusual, but tonight it is not due to his usual nightmares. Tonight, his sudden waking and discomfort are caused by arousal rather than fear.
Surprise over something that is (for him) so rare wipes any lingering memory of the dream from his mind, so he cannot say what it is that has left him in this uncomfortable state. Frowning slightly, he rolls over, intending to go back to sleep. Bad enough that he loses so much sleep to his nightmares, but at least there is a reason for those.
The movement causes his clothes to pull and press against his erection, and Itachi catches himself pulling in a sharp breath as a wave of not-unpleasant sensation washes over him. He frowns again, and grits his teeth against his body’s sudden wish to move like that again. The thought of Kisame asleep in the next bed helps to keep his body still, but the arousal does not abate.
At last, Itachi rises and slips into the bathroom. He does this very rarely, but it seems that tonight it will be more efficient than ignoring the problem as he usually does. That can take time, and he is tired.
He deals with it quickly, quietly as always on these rare occasions and returns to bed. It is inevitable that it will happen sometimes, he reminds himself as he drifts back toward sleep, body relaxed. Now it should be a long while before it happens again.
~~~
A large, warm hand covers his right shoulder and Itachi starts, jerked out of his thoughts at the unexpected contact.
“Sorry, Itachi-san,” Kisame says, pulling his hand back. “I called, but you’re thinking too hard again.”
Itachi sniffs a little at the grin in his partner’s voice, and looks up at him. “What is it?”
“I found that tournament we missed,” Kisame explains, returning to his bed and beckoning for Itachi to follow.
Surprised, he does.
“You found it?” he repeats, questioning. “Where? I couldn’t find it.” One of the fighting tournaments they both enjoyed had taken place while they were out doing Akatsuki work, and they had both been unable to find a recording of it. Itachi had been especially disappointed since three of his favorite competitors had been at this particular tournament.
Kisame gives him another grin. “I dug around a little more. There are a few corners of the internet that even you don’t know about, Itachi-san.”
More than a few, in all likelihood, so Itachi shrugs, silently conceding the point.
“And I knew you really wanted to see this one,” Kisame concludes, settling himself. Itachi blinks at him, but also climbs onto the bed, curling up against the headboard next to the bigger man so that they can both see Kisame’s computer screen.
He expects such proximity to each other to be particularly uncomfortable in this heat, especially for the three or so hours it will take to watch the whole tournament.
It turns out to be not the least bit uncomfortable at all. Perhaps it is the revelation from the three days ago that they are something like friends, but Itachi finds it quite relaxing to sit next to Kisame, exchanging soft commentary when one of the competitors does something especially good or bad.
Kisame shifts a couple of hours later and ends up with his shoulder pressed against Itachi’s. Such casual contact between them is not common, but for some reason it doesn’t feel odd. Itachi just resettles himself and doesn’t bother to move away.
~~~
The following night, Itachi wakes again from the kind of dream that he shouldn’t have had again for months, at the least. He is sweaty, hot and hard in a way that is difficult to ignore, making him grit his teeth as he tries to catch the retreating ends of the dream.
What little he can recall has him drawing in a breath against the renewed flare of want in his body: a strong muscled chest, rough hands on his skin, another erection pressed against his own.
It is not a revelation. He has known for years that to whatever extent he has a preference, it is for men. He has never given it much thought, and does not intend to start now.
Still breathing slowly, Itachi sits up in bed and, with a quick glance to make sure that Kisame is still asleep, presses his palms against his temples. Closing his eyes, he does his best to push both the dream and his unwanted arousal away.
He decides that indulging his body again is unnecessary, so he remains in bed, sitting back against the headboard. He forces himself to slowly review the hundred or more crow calls that he recognizes and understands.
Eventually, it works and his arousal subsides. With an inaudible sigh for the vagaries of his body, Itachi lies down again and goes back to sleep.
~~~
“Did you not sleep well last night, Itachi-san?” Kisame asks the next day after Itachi has spent ten minutes frowning at the weather report that predicts another hot, dry day.
Realizing that he is petulantly thinking about how much he wants the heat to go away, Itachi grimaces. Then, taking a deep breath, he lifts his right shoulder in a shrug and allows his expression to smooth out.
“As well as usual,” he tells Kisame, closing the window on his computer and glancing over his shoulder in time to catch his partner’s sigh. ‘As well as usual’ meant that he had been awake for some part of the night. In this case, it could certainly have been worse, so Itachi shrugs again.
“Let’s go out,” Kisame suggests then, getting up.
Itachi blinks at him. “Where? We agreed that there isn’t any point following any of the gangs until after dark-”
“Not for work,” Kisame clarifies. He is already pulling on his shoes, so Itachi closes his computer and gets up to do the same. Checking up on Sasuke and various enemies can wait a little while.
They both leave their coats behind, the thought of wearing the heavy garments in the soaring temperatures an unwelcome one. Going out at all is largely an unwelcome thought for Itachi, but it is good to see Whitewing and he trusts that Kisame has a reason for it.
Six blocks later, they are standing in front of a small, hole-in-the-wall tea shop that Itachi hasn’t seen before.
“Found this place a week or so ago,” Kisame explains, “and thought you might like it.”
Itachi nods, indicating his willingness to try the new place. He hands Whitewing up to a nearby tree, and they go in. A quick glance at the menu reveals why Kisame thought this was a good place to come: all of the teas are iced. Normally cold teas are not Itachi’s favorite, but today it sounds wonderful. He nods again to Kisame in thanks, getting a sharp grin in return.
This particular shop’s iced tea turns out to be delicious, and Itachi’s mood improves considerably for the rest of the day.
~~~
Itachi scowls down at his feet.
A stripe of purple nail polish adorns the skin of his right big toe, and unfortunately the glare does nothing to help remove it. For the third time that night, he cleans all of the nail polish off and prepares to start again. He has always hated this part of their “uniform,” if only because it is so utterly pointless, but it is the worst on days when he cannot get the stuff to go on neatly.
Usually it isn’t quite this much of a problem, but his hands are unreliable tonight. He isn’t sure why.
Mistakes removed, he reaches for the bottle of polish to try again, only to knock it off the bed entirely when he forgets that his peripheral vision is next to useless beyond the edge of his glasses. He allows a small noise of frustration to escape his throat, before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. At least he had tightened the cap on it, so there is no mess. He really shouldn’t be getting this worked up about the nail polish in the first place.
He opens his eyes to find that Kisame has silently come over and retrieved the bottle for him.
“Let me, Itachi-san,” he says quietly, and sits down on the bed in front of Itachi. Startled, Itachi can only nod mutely and Kisame takes that as sufficient reply.
Kisame’s large, rough-skinned hand cradles his foot, firm and gentle, and his eyes are intent upon Itachi’s toes as his other hand somehow maneuvers the small brush skillfully over Itachi’s nails. It would make Itachi even more frustrated with his own clumsiness if it weren’t entirely over-ridden by the strangeness of the moment. Of course Kisame manages his own nail polish all the time, but somehow the sight of him doing this has left Itachi’s mind at a little bit of a loss.
Left foot done, quick and neat, Kisame gently sets it down on the bedspread and lifts Itachi’s right foot to repeat the procedure.
Maybe it’s just that Kisame has never done anything like this before, Itachi thinks. Never offered. Never touched him, really, except for that hand on his shoulder when he needs it. Something about it feels different, but he can’t figure out what.
Even more strangely, the sight of Kisame’s hands on his feet working so quickly and efficiently drains away his frustration. By the time Kisame puts Itachi’s right foot down and asks, “All right?” Itachi can nod honestly and accept the bottle of nail polish back.
“Thank you,” he says quietly a moment later when Kisame has returned to the other side of the room, staring at his toes while the neatly-applied enamel dries.
“You’re welcome, Itachi-san,” Kisame replies.
Itachi stares at his feet until long after they are dry, trying to puzzle it out, and gets nowhere.
~~~
His sleep is restless that night, but this time due to his usual nightmares. Shisui’s shade stands empty-eyed in his mind, triggering once again his unease over this new understanding he has with Kisame. He rises early and goes out to spend the day with the crows, leaving his partner a note saying that he will be back by dinner.
He ignores the heat as best he can and follows Whitewing through her day. She gets on fairly well with the local crows despite being an outsider, and today Itachi helps all of them forage for food, drives off a vicious-looking stray cat, and buys some bottles of water to share with them. They chatter happily at him all day, and he lets himself absorb it, watching them interact with each other. They bicker and squabble, they help each other, preen each other, protect each other.
They have close ties, friendly ties, family ties, and they are better for it.
Itachi would be lying if he said there were never any days when he wished that he could be a crow rather than a human.
Today is one of those days.
He sits back in a shaded alley late that afternoon, breathing slowly as Whitewing preens his hair. He reminds himself that he is human, that the crows’ lives are not easier, just hard in different ways, and that there are things he must do.
By the time the sun is starting to go down, he feels a little bit more centered again. His relationship with Kisame is what it is, he decides, and as the other man pointed out a week ago, they have managed thus far.
It is not as though much has really changed between them, Itachi reassures himself as he makes his way back through the sweltering streets towards the hotel. Kisame has perhaps been a little bit more open about it this week than he would have been before, but he would have found a way to do the same things anyway.
Itachi takes a few more deep breaths and reminds himself also that Kisame has already accepted the one thing that might have caused them to fight – Itachi’s true loyalties. With that danger past, he thinks that his mind really need not turn to Shisui anymore.
~~~
Later that night they are back in the hotel after dinner and a few hours watching the couple of transactions between the city’s gangs that Pain wanted them to keep an eye on. Thing were tense at those meetings but there was no trouble.
The tension seems to have followed them back to the hotel, though, and leaves Itachi frowning down at his latest book. He is sitting cross-legged on his bed, his damp hair loose and spread out over his back and shoulders to help it dry. Kisame is in the shower now, lingering as he often does when water is involved.
His partner had seemed normal enough on the surface, but Itachi still felt some kind of tension humming in the air as he came out of the shower a little while ago. The feeling raises warnings in part of his mind, but he cannot actually sense any hostility in it. He continues to frown slightly down at his book, not really seeing the words. Kisame seemed mostly fine at dinner and through work, things only became a little strange after Itachi was done washing up, in those few moments before Kisame disappeared into the bathroom himself. He can’t think of anything he might have done or said that would have upset the other man, though, and doesn’t know what else the problem might be.
A cloud of cool steam precedes Kisame out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry and heading for his own bed on the far side of the room. Itachi decides that the best thing to do is probably just to ask his partner what the trouble is and get it out in the open.
He looks up as Kisame is crossing the room, and feels his voice die in his throat.
He has seen Kisame wet and mostly naked hundreds of times over the years they have been partners. Itachi has no idea why tonight is different from all the rest, but somehow it is.
Tonight, his eyes are suddenly wide behind his glasses as he watches Kisame stand by his bed, his thickly-muscled arms raised and flexing as he dries his hair. Itachi swallows, feeling much warmer than he did just a moment ago.
Kisame has not looked at him and his face is hidden by the towel, so there is nothing to urge Itachi’s eyes away from his partner’s body. His gaze tracks down the other man’s bare back from broad shoulders to the edge of his shorts slung just below his waistline. Itachi swallows again, feels his blood pounding heavily in his temples, his wrists, his arousal.
His arousal…because he is aroused. His dreams from earlier in the week come back to him, leave him voiceless again with the sudden knowledge that Kisame is the one he wants, Kisame’s strong body pressed against his, Kisame’s large, rough hands on his skin, Kisame’s-
He isn’t aware of making any noise but he must have because Kisame turns sharply to look at him, dropping the shirt he has just picked up at the sight of Itachi’s face.
They stare at each other in stunned silence. Itachi finds his thoughts hopelessly scattered, and doesn’t know how to pull them back together in the face of the realization that he wants someone. This has never happened to him before.
He swallows and unconsciously licks his lips, hoping to find his voice. Kisame’s eyes flick down to his tongue, his throat, before rising again to meet his gaze.
Itachi’s thoughts scatter again under a wave of heat that accompanies the new realization that somehow, Kisame wants him too.
“Itachi-” Kisame’s voice is hesitant, hoarse with the desire that he can’t (or won’t) hide anymore. Itachi sits on his bed, his long thick hair falling loose around him, trembling with helpless want and the discordant knowledge that he has no idea what he wants.
“Kisame,” He manages at last, his voice low and thick in his throat.
The other man draws in a sharp breath and crosses the distance between them in three quick strides, sinking onto the bed in front of Itachi, holding his gaze as he carefully reaches out to touch the loose strands of Itachi’s hair.
It is an offer, and for a very long moment, Itachi has no idea how to respond.
He has never had sex. He has never wanted to have sex. He never imagined a situation where it could even come up, never thought that there might be a person with whom he was close enough and trusted enough to feel anything like desire. He has never wanted this.
He does now.
It may be surprise at that fact nearly as much as the desire itself that causes him to reach out in return, accepting Kisame’s offer with one hand pressed to the bluish-pale skin of the other man’s cheek.
Kisame’s eyes widen, as if he hadn’t been expecting Itachi to accept. A distant part of Itachi’s mind thinks that he shouldn’t do this, but the promise of rough hands against his aching skin has scattered his thoughts again and he cannot think why.
His dark eyes are still wide behind his glasses, but he meets Kisame’s yellow gaze steadily. His palm trembles slightly against his partner’s face, but he does not move it.
Kisame’s eyes fall closed as he draws in a quick breath and lets it out again.
“Itachi,” he says again, voice low. He reaches out and slides both hands along Itachi’s jaw line and into his hair, tilting his head back. Kisame’s hands feel just as good (better) than Itachi imagined they would, and the other man’s mouth pressed against his throat a moment later feels better still. Itachi feels another sound leave his throat as Kisame’s hot, wet tongue traces his skin.
Kisame growls in response and moves closer, deliberate but slow enough for Itachi to react. He lets Kisame do it, finding that his hands have moved of their own accord to clutch at Kisame’s shoulders and back, moving over the powerful muscles that had entranced him only moments before. They trace over warm skin, counting down Kisame’s backbone and feeling the rise and fall of his breath without conscious direction from Itachi.
That is probably for the best, because Itachi truly does not know what he is doing. He knows that being able to touch Kisame sends pleasant tingling warmth down his own spine, finds that the other man’s hands in his hair and mouth at his neck create longer, hotter waves of sensation, and feels his blood still pounding hot and hard through his erection. This feels good, and he wants more, but beyond that undefined need he is unsure. Kisame presses closer, pushing Itachi back, not far enough to lay down, but far enough that he must use his arms to support himself, forcing him to take his hands away from Kisame’s skin. His head falls back automatically, one of Kisame’s hands sliding deeper into his hair to support it, baring Itachi’s throat further. Itachi shudders at the delicate scrape of very sharp teeth against his sensitive skin, followed by the hot wetness of Kisame’s tongue.
The vulnerability of his position hits him hard in the next breath, and Itachi tenses, hands tightening in the covers. Kisame freezes instantly, drawing away enough to lift his head and look down at Itachi. They are both breathing hard, both aroused (a thought that threatens to send Itachi’s mind spinning again), and Itachi cannot find his voice.
“What do you want, Itachi?” Kisame asks, voice hoarse with want but not harsh.
Itachi isn’t sure what his expression looks like in that moment, only knows that his eyes have gone wide again behind his glasses. Whatever Kisame sees must tell him something, though, because a realization seems to dawn in his eyes.
“Do you know what you want?” he asks then, softly. Itachi swallows and shakes his head mutely.
“All right,” Kisame says, voice rough again. He pulls back and sits up, bringing Itachi with him. He drags large hands down Itachi’s sides and then up under his shirt, and Itachi finds himself arching into the sensation. He lets Kisame push the tank top up, and between them they get it off. Itachi’s skin aches even more for touch, and it makes it easier to forget the vulnerability.
“Here,” Kisame says, his fingers lightly gripping Itachi’s glasses. He waits for Itachi’s nod before sliding them off and rising to set them on the bedside table. He sits down again at the head of the bed, leaning back and beckoning for Itachi to join him.
Itachi twists around to blink at him over one shoulder, his hair still a thick, loose curtain around his face. He cannot see Kisame as well now, without his glasses, so he untwists himself and turns, moving carefully to guard against the shift of his shorts over his erection and the sudden conviction that his movements are clumsy and uncoordinated. They aren’t, not really, even as he moves to kneel between Kisame’s legs, but it feels as though they are, the newness and uncertainty of the situation pressing at his awareness. His hands feel at a loss for where to be.
“Turn around,” Kisame tells him, hands tracing hungrily over Itachi’s skin as they guide him around to sit between the other man’s legs, Kisame’s chest pressed against his back. He can feel the other man’s erection against him now, and bites his lip in uneasy pleasure, the first ideas of things that he might want stirring in his mind.
“All right?” Kisame asks, voice low, and nuzzles Itachi’s neck through the loose strands of his hair. Itachi nods a little, feeling more comfortable in this position and already distracted by Kisame’s hands starting to trace with maddening slowness up the inside of his thighs.
Itachi swallows, and feels Kisame’s tongue hot against the side of his throat. His partner’s hands continue their slow journey, and Itachi finds his eyes riveted as rough fingertips and blunt nails drag along sensitive skin, taking the loose material of his shorts with them.
He shifts, panting, and finds that he has braced himself on Kisame’s legs where they rest slightly drawn up on either side of him. It helps to steady him a little as hot, shivering tingles shoot down his spine. It’s not enough to pull his eyes away from Kisame’s hands, though, so close to his arousal and not close enough. The bigger man lets his fingertips play over the skin of Itachi’s thighs, up and down now, lingering, and it makes Itachi shift restlessly again. He needs more than this, needs something, needs friction.
“Kisame,” he says, his voice sounding low and strange to his own ears, and feels the other man’s hips jerk against him. Shivering at the realization that he does have some control here, he says it again, deliberately letting his voice fall lower, “Kisame.”
The other man makes a choked groaning noise against his throat. “More?” he gets out a moment later, sounding as breathless as Itachi feels. He lifts his right hand to rub maddening little circles on Itachi’s stomach just above the waistband of his shorts.
“Yes,” Itachi growls, his hands tightening on Kisame’s legs. His hips jerk a little, involuntary but the pleasure has distanced his mind too much for him to care.
Kisame makes a noise of approval, and carefully slips his hand under Itachi’s shorts to wrap around his erection.
Caught in the sensation of Kisame’s large, rough-skinned hand around him, stroking with utterly delicious friction, Itachi finds it impossible to be aware of anything else. The arch of his body, his hands braced against his partner’s legs, the noises that spill unchecked from his mouth, all fade under the growing pleasure and the knot of heat low in his belly. Even the prick of Kisame’s teeth in his shoulder is a minor note under the growing wave of heat that threatens to swamp him.
It feels like forever and no time at all before the heat has coiled up too tightly, before the rough friction of Kisame’s hand on him is too much. The intensity of his orgasm (nothing like the past, nothing) effectively clears any remaining coherency from Itachi’s mind. His vision goes white, and then black.
When he opens his eyes a few long breaths later, it is to find himself wrapped in Kisame’s arms, his head fallen back on the other man’s left shoulder. His muscles feel like jelly, and he isn’t at all sure that he could move even if he wanted to. He is trembling, still panting for breath. His right shoulder stings. He is hot, sweaty, sticky, messy.
He feels wonderful.
“Kisame,” he says, voice hoarse and a bit weak. He feels more than hears the other man’s chuckle.
“Itachi,” Kisame says quietly, his right hand resting in the mess on Itachi’s stomach, his left wrapped supportively across Itachi’s chest. “You all right?”
“Yes,” Itachi says, because he is, if beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed again. He hadn’t known it could be like…well, like that. “It was…”
“Intense?” Kisame asks, and Itachi nods. He can think again, finally, but words to deal properly with this situation continue to escape him. He feels his heartbeat begin to calm, though, and lets his breath even out as best he can.
“Good,” Kisame says, his voice low, and Itachi shivers pleasantly at the sensation that provokes.
He moves then, but stops with slightly wide eyes when he realizes that Kisame is still hard. “Kisame, you-” He sits up, ignoring the sticky mess on his stomach, and twists so that he can look at his partner properly.
Kisame’s gaze traces up the spill of long dark hair over Itachi’s shoulder and back, and meets his eyes with a calm that Itachi isn’t sure he can match. At least this close, he can see Kisame’s features clearly even without his glasses on.
“Whatever you feel like,” Kisame says, “or nothing. I can take care of it myself.”
Itachi frowns a little at that. He might not be feeling too sure of himself, but of course he can do something.
He puts a hand on Kisame’s chest, and says “No, I-” his eyes drop to the other man’s still-clothed erection and he finishes in a whisper, “I want to.”
A groan vibrates Kisame’s chest under his hand, and Itachi drags his gaze up again to find that the other man has shut his eyes, sharp teeth biting at his lower lip and drawing beads of blood. “All right.”
Itachi bites his own lip against something he suspects might be a smile, and finishes turning around so that he can use both hands to pull Kisame’s shorts down. His mind and hands stutter again briefly over the sight of Kisame’s arousal, red and hard, but then his fingers are moving almost of their own accord to touch it. It is strange, to touch another man this way when he has only ever touched himself, and that only rarely. His fingers trail along his partner’s erection, exploring, better able to pay attention to how it feels than when he touches himself, for there is less sensation to distract him.
“Itachi,” Kisame rasps, a note of something that must be very close to pleading in his voice. It is not something Itachi has ever heard from the other man before.
He darts a glance up at his partner’s face and is subject to a flash of heat and wonder that he put that expression there, that Kisame looks flushed and sweaty and shaky because of him.
It helps him set aside both his curiosity and his uncertainty enough to wrap his hand properly around Kisame’s erection and begin stroking.
There is something powerful about this, Itachi realizes, letting his free hand roam over the straining muscles of Kisame’s stomach and chest. There is something riveting about the fact that Kisame cannot keep his hips still, the way his hands clench the sheets too tightly. There is something arousing about the way Kisame’s breath is ragged and harsh, the groans that vibrate deep in his chest, the way he gasps out Itachi’s name as he comes.
Itachi watches intently as Kisame slumps back against the headboard, gasping. Absently, he brings his hand to his mouth to lick at the come covering it. It is salty and almost bitter and not altogether pleasant, and Kisame (his eyes open again) makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a chuckle at the sight of Itachi’s face. Itachi shrugs and finishes cleaning his hand off on the other man’s shorts.
“Itachi,” Kisame says, protesting, but doesn’t try to stop him.
Itachi stops anyway, realization of what they’ve just done jolting through him like a shock. He pulls his hand back, and it is shaking. He swallows hard.
He just had sex. (Or something like it.) He just had sex with Kisame. It felt good, far better than he had ever imagined. It felt good…and already the dozen or so reasons why it was probably a bad idea are spinning through his mind. This is so much more complicated than the revelation that they are friends-
Kisame’s hand closes over his right shoulder, jerking him back to the present, and he realizes that he has been staring at the other man with wide eyes, his hands still trembling. The familiar, comforting gesture somehow wipes out the worries beginning to whirl through his mind, and allows him to take a deep breath and meet Kisame’s eyes more calmly.
“I didn’t- I didn’t know,” Itachi admits then, the words out before he can stop them. “I haven’t- I didn’t know.” He frowns then, feeling that this is probably inadequate as an explanation, but the words he needs won’t come. He feels frustrated. He feels vulnerable, much more so now than before, but he would rather focus on the frustration.
Kisame looks at him quietly for a long moment, his eyes darting around Itachi’s face as if looking for more clues. His hand remains on Itachi’s shoulder, steady as ever and still comforting despite everything. It presses a little against the place where Kisame bit him, and Itachi can feel the slight sting. He swallows.
His partner opens his mouth then to say something, pauses as if rethinking it, and at last says, “You’ll feel better if we get cleaned up.”
“No,” Itachi says then, the word surprising him almost as much as it does Kisame. “No, I-” He frowns, determined that his brain will work this time. He forces himself to meet his partner’s eyes. “I feel good now. That’s- That’s what I didn’t know.”
Kisame blinks at him, and then slowly begins to grin a little. “All right,” he says. “Good.”
Itachi feels a slight smile tug at the corners of his own mouth, and doesn’t fight it. They sit there for a long moment like that, just smiling at each other, and strangely it feels a lot like many of the other evenings they have spent together doing something enjoyable.
It is a startling realization, one with implications that Itachi isn’t sure he’s ready to think about. So he pulls in a deep, slow breath and lets his eyes close, the smile fading away to be replaced by a tentative calm. Kisame remains silent while he collects himself, and removes his hand from Itachi’s shoulder with a last, quick flash of white teeth only when Itachi opens his eyes again.
Itachi squints a little as the other man pulls back, but in the next moment Kisame has handed him his glasses, which Itachi slides on gratefully. Clearer sight lets him see the mess they’ve made of both themselves and the bed, though, and he sniffs slightly. It is less pleasant now that he is not immediately involved in the sex that caused it.
“A shower would not be unwelcome,” he decides, and this makes Kisame chuckle.
“Sure. Mind if I join you?” His partner’s voice is light, but there is an undertone of uncertainty that Itachi doesn’t miss. He shrugs as he gets off the bed, but feels a smile curling at the corner of his mouth again. Kisame, catching the expression and understanding as he always does, smiles in return and follows Itachi into the bathroom.
~~~
Kisame’s tongue, hotter than the water beating down around them, laves the circle of red marks in his shoulder. He seems reluctant to take either his mouth or his hands away from Itachi’s skin. Itachi, unable to stop his own hands from running up and down Kisame’s back and sides and chest, is not inclined to protest.
“I may have lied,” the bigger man says, almost thoughtfully, “when I promised not to bite.”
This time, Itachi’s breath definitely comes out as laughter.
~~~
Movement wakes Itachi later that night. He blinks his eyes open, finding that his head is pillowed on Kisame’s warm, solid chest. They had gone to sleep in Kisame’s (clean) bed, close but not entwined like this, so they both must have shifted in the night. The other man doesn’t seem to mind, though. He is slowly running one hand down Itachi’s back over and over again, brushing through the long, loose strands of his hair.
“Kisame?” Itachi asks, staring at his left hand where it rests against his partner’s bare chest.
“Mm?” Kisame responds, just as quiet.
“How long?”
Kisame’s hand pauses briefly in its movements, but he doesn’t pretend to not understand what Itachi means.
“About two years,” he admits softly, and his hand resumes the slow combing motion.
Itachi blinks, wondering that Kisame kept his desire a secret for so long…that he likely would have gone on keeping it a secret had Itachi not brought the issue up so inadvertently and unexpectedly.
“Why?” he asks then, still confused.
He feels Kisame’s slight shrug. “It’s like caring. It’s not always that simple. You’re you, and you’re what I want.”
Itachi thinks that Kisame could say more than that, but he understands all too well that it’s sometimes hard to find the words to talk about this, so he doesn’t press. He nods a little.
He senses that Kisame smiles, but also that it fades again. His hand falls still once more on Itachi’s back. “Itachi…”
“Yes?” Itachi whispers. It is only fair.
“Had you really never…?”
It is Itachi’s turn to pause, and swallow, and then nod again.
Kisame is still for another heartbeat, then says “Okay.” His large hand curls through Itachi’s thick, dark hair to rub at the back of his neck.
“Get some sleep, Itachi,” Kisame says then, even more quietly.
Itachi sighs, relaxing into the touch, and lets his eyes fall closed without another word. He is asleep five breaths later.
~~~
When Itachi wakes again Kisame is asleep and it is still dark outside, though something tells him that sunrise is not too far off.
Gently pulling himself from Kisame’s arms does not disturb the other man, so Itachi pulls on his glasses and whatever of his clothing comes first to hand, and slips out of the room.
The roof is not supposed to be accessible to guests of the hotel, but Itachi does not let that stop him.
The eastern horizon is indeed grey with the first hints of morning, and the warm, heavy night air is relatively pleasant compared to the recent daytime temperatures. Itachi curls up well away from the roof’s edge and stares out at the slowly lightening sky with dark eyes.
He lets the events of the previous evening replay in his mind, distanced as much as he can manage from his immediate feelings.
It is a complication, or at the very least it could be a complication, and with the end of all this coming soon, he cannot afford complications.
That is what the analytical part of his mind tells him.
Another part of his mind tells him (correctly, he suspects) that ignoring their mutual attraction will do nothing to change either his own or Kisame’s feelings about the matter. It would certainly make things more tense and awkward.
A third, quiet part of his mind wakes memories of his day spent with the crows, and his conclusion that they were much the better for having family and friends and-
He is not a crow, but he acknowledges that maybe it is time to stop denying that Kisame is an important part of his life. The crows greet his partner as they would a flockmate, and they are not wrong to do so.
He does not know for sure how Kisame will behave now that they have slept together, but after their quiet conversation during the night, Itachi suspects that the other man will also wish for this to be as uncomplicated as possible. That quiet part of him thinks that, yes, this is certainly another level of intimacy up from friendship…but will dealing with whatever comes really be so different had they not acknowledged this?
Itachi doesn’t know, but he suspects that it is partly up to the two of them.
His body, remembering the touch of Kisame’s hands and the feel of the other man’s against him, makes the point that perhaps he has been missing out on something. At least, now that there is someone he is comfortable sharing that with, he would be missing out not to explore it further.
Itachi swallows, and finds it hard to contradict that thought either. They may not have much longer, but it would still be nice to…experience whatever of this he can before it is over.
He takes a slow, deep breath, and then another.
In the end, it is not so difficult to make his decision. Kisame is important to him, they are close physically now as well as in other ways, and Itachi wants that physical closeness as much as he wants the rest of it. Their time is certainly limited, but they both knew that anyway. They will do what they need to do, in the end, but the end has not come just yet.
Itachi takes one more breath, and then uncurls and rises, sneaking back down into the hotel. It is time for Kisame to hear Itachi’s story.
Mind and heart calmer than he expected, Itachi returns to their room to wait quietly for his partner to wake up.