"Itachi-san, why are you so polite all the time?"
The older of the two remaining Uchiha rose his head, his scarlet eyes raising to two milky-white ones; most would turn and run from eye-contact from the infamous Uchiha Itachi himself, but, Kisame knew Itachi would not kill him. Not yet, anyway.
Itachi shifted his hands into his lap: he was sitting comfortably on a leather couch, his ankles together, his back strait, his coat pooling around him, Kisame standing a little further than arm's length in front of him.
Kisame watched the famed sharingan to see into Itachi's mind, and what he was thinking. Kisame was the only one who knew how to 'read' Itachi's mind, he'd been around the younger man long enough to know, every subtle movement was deliberate, an had a specific meaning.
When Itachi placed his hands into his lap, that meant he did not mind Kisame knowing this information, but didn't particularly like telling him so.
Itachi's eyes were unfocused, cast downwards and to the right (Itachi's right. Kisame's left). This meant Itachi was thinking about the past.
Kisame shifted his weight onto a different foot, waiting for an answer, but not impatient to get it, his eyes still fixed on Itachi's.
The sharingan floated to the left now. That meant Itachi was thinking about recent events.
Finally, the sharingal floated ever so slightly upwards, but not outstandingly so, Itachi's eyes focused to the left, but off into the distance, and no longer at the floor. This meant he was now articulating an answer.
Finally, Itachi's eyes floated back up to Kisame's, blood-red meeting pure white.
"It's the only thing I have left, Kisame."
Though, the older man didn't really understand it that answer, he didn't prod Itachi for more questions: Itachi's eyes had fluttered closed, his slender hands slowly curling into gentle fists and his chin tilting slightly upwards.
Kisame knew what that meant too.
Sliding onto the couch beside the younger man, Kisame opened his mouth and gently raked his razor-sharp teeth over the shell of Itachi's ear, leaving thin scarlet lines and beads of blood in his wake, pale tongue lapping up the blood greedily.
Kisame showed no politeness to anyone other than Itachi, always referring to him with respectful pronouns, asking his opinion, even if he never gets an answer. Itachi was all he had, and he showed that to Itachi in his speech and movements.
Itachi was never polite with him, merely neutral. He never used pronouns with Kisame, and never asked his opinion; only when it was truly and utterly necessary. Maybe Itachi was trying to show Kisame something too.
Kisame pushed the younger man onto his back on the couch and straddled him, tongue and teeth against a lively vein under Itachi's jaw.
"You've have me, Itachi-san..." Kisame mumbled into the younger man's neck, arms placed on either side of his head, Itachi's pale fingers tangling in Kisame's dark hair.
Itachi made an almost inaudible noise of agreement. Kisame didn't hear it.
((END. KisaIta is my OTP. My god, how long has it been since i've written any KisaIta? THREE YEARS?! Ho shit. This isn't even any good!))