A/N: Twisty Kisame drabble to help me get over writers block with some other, longer fics that will be up soon, I promise. Enjoy!
Not canon compliant. Mirror posted on Archive of our own. Featuring an Creepy!Itachi. Once again, I just give no shits about kishimoto's story line.
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
Siren
Kisame wandered into the Akatsuki when he was 19 years old.
It had been quite by accident. You see, The thing about being a Kirigakure revolutionary rebel is that eventually, once the smoke clears and the bodies are taken away, you learn a few things about what being a revolutionary actually means.
Kirigakure never wanted Kisame. They hadn't wanted him when he was small and his gills were nothing but tiny sealed slits in his neck, but he hadn't let that stop him from killing his teammate during one of their class swimming sessions, holding her kicking and screaming with him under the water until the white burn for oxygen seared his gills open and she went limp in his arms, a ragdoll.
Kirigakure is a pretty fucked up place, so all his sensei does is quietly pull the girl from the water and put Kisame on the list for Kiri's ANBU to recruit.
Kirigakure likes a little competitive bloodshed. It shows them the students who are going to be great, going to be powerful.
Kisame participated in the rebellion, carved hundreds of people up and chewed them to pieces underneath a bloody mist, because he liked getting to spit in Kirigakure's Hokage's face. He liked the spite of it, the bite of horror in the faces of fleeing villagers dashing down to the docks trying to escape the creeping, leeching perimeter of Samehada.
He made the mistake of trusting the rebel leaders though, when he should've known that the only thing they needed him for was a little competitive bloodshed.
When an assassin wearing the rebel Kirigakure colors pinned him to his bed with a kunai one night after the coup was completed, Kisame was less than amused.
But to be honest, Kisame had never wanted Kirigakure either.
ooo
Akatsuki was a calling card, a black mark over the faces of missing nin who roamed through the countryside and spread rumors of crimson-lined cloaks, of terrible power, of greatness.
Kisame scoffed at the tales, but when he happened upon Orochimaru only a week later, stretching himself from a snakeskin, even Kisame felt himself to a double take.
Walking confidently into the Akatsuki camp later to seat himself down at their fireside and declare himself one of them was a piece of cake. The Akatsuki laughed derisively, but their eyes lingered despite themselves over the merciless, shiny gold coins of his eyes, the sword wrapped snugly over his shoulder, the slight flare of his gills in the smoke.
Orochimaru strokes a long-fingered white hand up Kisame's neck, fascinated. "You can be one of mine, you know."
Kisame snorted. He always was an overconfident motherfucker. "I'm not anybody's but myself."
Orochimaru's eyes glint in the firelight, his tongue flicking against Kisame's pulse just so. "Of course, Kisame-kun, of course."
ooo
For the most part, Kisame likes working with the Akatsuki. The missions are fast, bloody, brutal-just his style. He uncurls samehada from his back and holds her aloft to the sky, fights back soulless black laughter when his targets plead for mercy. The Akatsuki is still in it's early stages in those days, still building up it's reputation instead of chasing bijuu all over the continent, and Kisame relishes in the freedom.
Kisame is young too, still in his own early stages, and he doesn't need much excuse for a little competitive bloodshed. He quickly learns the Akatsuki has its' own pecking order.
Orochimaru likes to let Kisame fuck him, but he seems to be an expert on topping from the bottom. He sits down on Kisame's cock, grits his teeth at the sting but doesn't let up for an inch, all that silky hair and pale skin, just the way Kisame likes them. Orochimaru uses too much tongue, and is way too bossy when they fuck, but he also knows what he's doing.
He has slim hands with curious fingers, and he smooths them over Kisame's skin like he owns it, hooks fingers under Kisame's gills possessively, stares in avid, clinical fascination at the way the blue of Kisame's chest dapples like diamonds under the camp's firelight.
"Don't you realize the Akatsuki kill things like you?" His voice is slick in Kisame's ear while he rides Kisame's dick, and Kisame doesn't want to say he gets off on it, but the fact is he's always been a pretty cocky son of a bitch.
When he meets Pein for the first time, (Of course the God among them does not partake in nights around the Akatsuki fire-even missing nin need camaraderie occasionally, but it appears that Gods do not need anything except women who can flake into strips of paper, thin as crisp new snow.) it is after he has already completed at least a dozen Akatsuki missions.
The Rinnegan is dizzying to look into for long periods of time, but Kisame tries to stand his ground because that has always been his way and at that point he just doesn't know any better.
Pein is fearsome and powerful. His head cocks to one side slowly, looking Kisame up and down with an air of cooly divine judgement that puts Kisame on edge. Orochimaru, sly as a cat's purr beside him, runs a casual hand down the side of Kisame's neck.
"He's one of mine, Pein-sama, I'm sure you understand."
Kisame slaughters a whole village after that, just to take the edge off his temper. Orochimaru cleans dirt from under his nails with a kunai meticulously, sighing as though Kisame is acting like a petulant child.
"We kill your kind, you know."
Kisame growls under his breath and fucks Orochimaru hard that night, hard like a punishment.
"Marvelous," Orochimaru moans delightedly when Kisame's sharp teeth shred into the white skin of his neck, "Really, just marvelous..."
The fire of the Akatsuki camp burns like beacon, a siren call. It burns and burn and burns.
ooo
When Itachi wanders into the warm glow of their firelight, Kisame sees the way Orochimaru is looking at him and decides right then and there that he wants the boy.
It isn't that hard to get him, really. Kisame is older now, he's seen a lot more than Itachi, prodigy though the boy is. He's drunk more blood.
Besides, Itachi is like a porcelain doll, proud and lofty and really quite a bitch sometimes, snubbing Orochimaru from the first moment he sees him smiling like a wide-mouthed snake across the Akatsuki fire.
It's practically too easy, but there is something different when he fucks Itachi. The boy is all silky hair and pale skin, just the way Kisame likes them, but he stares unnervingly into Kisame's eyes with those pinwheel crimson pupils of his the entire time, and somehow Kisame can't look away, not even for a second.
Granted, Kisame is a masochist, but fuck if the way Itachi scours his nails brutally down Kisame's ribs, dragging little lines of red that sting like a bitch, is anything but devilishly sexy.
Kisame finds himself suddenly being just a little too accommodating to the kid. Itachi looks slowly, calculatingly sideways at him, and suddenly Kisame is standing by his side like a dog called to heel.
ooo
Orochimaru, who is nothing but slick and meaner than ever since Kisame decided to snag Itachi for a partner, asks to brush Itachi's hair in front of the fire one day. Startlingly, Itachi agrees. (Kisame can't for the life of him figure out why, and is a seething, raging wreck until he realizes Itachi probably said yes just to spite him.) Kisame glowers furiously while Orochimaru combs his white hands delicately through Itachi's inky black hair, still soft as babylocks.
Orochimaru hisses with laughter, calls Kisame to him and Kisame can't help but come because the Akatsuki fire is burning and burning and burning against his back, and Itachi is staring at him, staring a brand into his skin under those long dark lashes.
Kisame sits by Itachi, and Orochimaru reaches over and pulls his head back by the hair, hisses a whisper onto his lips. "You were both mine first, you know."
Itachi stands and walks away, calm and fluid as the starry sky above them, clouded by smoke. "I am no one's but myself. Kisame, we are leaving."
Orochimaru is laughing again, cackling and hissing and panting with laughter, and he kisses Kisame viciously, with too much tongue, before letting go.
Kisame opens his mouth, but Itachi is waiting for him at the edge of the fire, the fire that is snap-sparking embers into the sky, high and hot and beautiful.
Kisame can't remember what he was going to say.
Itachi lets Kisame fuck him hard that night, hard and brutal with his long white legs around Kisame's waist and his hands clutching into the grass and his hair a wild mess. Kisame groans and thrusts and feels sweaty, feels dirty, slaking himself like an animal on Itachi's perfect, chinadoll skin.
Kisame has always been fucked up, really.
He's been fucked in the head ever since he was just a kid in Kirigakure and he strangled a little girl under the murky, corpse-cold water.
It doesn't make any sense, because it had only been a routine loss, just a little competitive bloodshed, just something to make his gills split open for the first time, streaking electricity. The girl had locked onto his gaze with her last ounce of struggle, and he'd seen all the life in them drain away slowly, slowly.
He comes hard that night, thinking about it, and he hasn't thought about that in ages and ages and ages. Itachi strokes one hand gently down over the side of Kisame's neck, eyes pinwheeling slowly, slowly.
"The Akatsuki kill your kind, you know."
Itachi's voice is a hot smooth purr in his ear, and Kisame, shivering, thinks perhaps this time he should remember those words.
ooo
When Orochimaru leaves the Akatsuki, Itachi and Kisame have just systematically slaughtered an entire village, which is really just par for the course where the two of them are concerned, because Itachi likes to be thorough and usually once Kisame gets started he won't stop for a while.
They are winding down around the fire when the news comes. Kisame grunts to himself as he cleans flakes of dried blood off of samehada, pleased.
"Good riddance to the bastard, always was a sleazy fuck."
Itachi, as usual, says nothing. He combs one hand through the dark strands of his hair lazily.
Kisame doesn't understand why, he really doesn't, but all at once he feels as though the deep waters of Kirigakure are swelling over his head, as though his hands are clenched desperately around the fragile neck of that little lost girl-child, her silky black hair wild in the water and her skin pale as death around his fists.
He throws his cleaning rag away violently, stands up and paces around the fire, his head shaking as though to dislodge half-surfaced memories. Something is coiled in his gut like a warning, like a bloody knot, like that night when he woke up to a kunai an inch from his neck and the fishy stink of rebel Kirigakure soldiers clogging his nose.
The air in his gills feels sharp, metallic. Kisame rakes a hand over his face, sighs. "Y'know, I've got half a mind to call it quits here too. Might be time to leave."
Itachi watches Kisame from under his lashes, eyes glowing dimly like rusted blood.
"You won't be leaving."
Kisame stops abruptly, shaken to the core.
He spins around to growl at Itachi, ready to let a little more Hell loose, ready to snap his teeth and snarl because how fucking dare he-
Itachi stands up slowly, confidently. He walks carelessly past Kisame to stand by the fire leaping ever higher and higher into the deadened night sky.
Kisame feels like maybe he's missed something, or maybe he's finally just realized something's missing, and it's been missing for his whole life. Something vital has slipped through his fingers like cool droplets of water, and it's far too late to go looking for it now.
Itachi glances over his shoulder, the slightest curve of a smile a secret on his lips and the crimson crescents of his eyes madly spinning. The fire is a roaring silhouette behind him, and there must be smoke in Kisame's eyes but suddenly he can't look away, not even for a second.
"You're one of mine, Kisame."
ooo
The fire of the Akatsuki camp burns like a beacon, a siren call. It just burns and burns and burns.
Fin.
A/N: Thank you for reading! I really love reviews and comments, if you feel like it.
-Lute