A/N: Hello! This is only my third Naruto drabble, but it's my first KisaXIta. Seriously, I had never really thought of them as a couple—in fact, I might have been adamantly against it, if not for the fics I've read. You've converted me! Good job to all you KisaXIta writers! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, and I'm not making any money off this

Ratings: R

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Yaoi, drugs, citrus

Main Characters: Kisame and Itachi (of course this is KisaXIta!)

Additional Notes: Somehow inspired by The Medic Droid's song "Fer Sure," and a KisaXIta slideshow on YouTube.

Falling Disguises

They were not in love. This was not love. His mind continued the mantra—"This means nothing; he means nothing." Never ending, never failing: his disguise was perfect. He moaned into Kisame's mouth, pressing the length of his frame against the taller man's, nearly frantic in his need for the touch. He could feel his body shaking with the ache of need, his hands trembling. This means nothing. . . Every motion was desperate, bringing them closer and closer to the precipice that was far too dangerous to realize. And yet, somehow they didn't seem to care—or even notice. Kisame's eyebrow rose at the action—Itachi allowed his lips to explain.

When he had pulled away, Kisame smirked, eyes glinting. "Here, Itachi-san? There isn't even a bedroll."

The ache only grew worse the longer contact was withheld and he scowled. "When has that ever mattered?"

Kisame laughed and the sound reverberated in his head, his migraine worsening. The pain must have showed on his face for the laughing stopped and his partner frowned. "Itachi-san? Are you all right?"

He sucked in a breath that sounded like the hiss of a snake. "My head," he answered shortly, pressing his forehead into shark-nin's broad chest in an attempt to stop pounding.

A nod of understanding. "Another dose then—it's better that way in any case." The tatami of the Akatsuki's small guard house was not the best kept but dirt and dust had never bothered the pair before and didn't now as Kisame pulled Itachi down with him amongst the piles of old supplies. He leaned against the wall, the younger nin pressed to his side, as he pulled the syringe from his cloak's pocket, the small glass bottle soon after. Itachi watched silently with narrowed eyes as Kisame filled the syringe and tied the make-shift tourniquet on his upper arm. It was tight but Itachi didn't flinch, nor did he show the slightest discomfort when the needle entered his vein, emptying it contents. Of course, that didn't mean that it didn't hurt. The effect was immediate and very much welcomed. The pain was gone and he could breathe—but the ache was unaffected. It had grown, if anything. By the time he had adjusted, Kisame had already administered his own dose and shed his cloak with the syringe and bottle. He sent Itachi a hungry look, his grin dark and his eyes clouded.

This means nothing. . .

Those rough lips found his and those fingers twisted into his hair, pulling his head back for better access to his white throat. Itachi could feel his breath hitch as Kisame's teeth found a tender spot where his neck and shoulder met; his fingernails dug into his partner's bare back. He moved to sit with his legs on either side of the shark-nin's waist—Kisame grinned against his shoulder, flinging the smaller body to the floor with ease. He was heavy, but Itachi was used to the weight. Sometimes he wished it would crush him and perhaps, someday, it finally would. At the moment, however, all he could feel was Kisame's body and the cold floor against his bare back, each sensation magnified almost unbearably. He struggled for breath, gulping softly and getting little in return. Yet he was calm as he drowned in the scent of the shark-nin.

He means nothing. . .

Kisame had never really been one for gentleness and sex was no exception. His short nails bit into those thin shoulders as the shark-like nin attacked the Uchiha's throat, his sharp teeth tearing that pale flesh; Itachi groaned, his back arching. Complying entirely, the taller man began to grind his hips into his smaller partner's, earning himself a gasp—though of pain or pleasure, he wasn't certain. Nor did he care. Lips met once more and Itachi could feel those same rough hands begin to remove his clothes, starting with the cloak. He shifted himself to accommodate the motion, fingering the tie that held Kisame's pants on—Kisame was too absorbed in disrobing the nin's thin body to help. Even so, both pairs of clothes were soon in scattered about the small room and Itachi couldn't stand waiting any longer and bucked beneath the older nin. Kisame merely smiled wickedly, taking both the Uchiha's delicate wrists in one hand, forcing them above his head, and twisting. Itachi cried out, feeling the bones of his left wrist fracture; and yet he turned compliantly, not a word of protest passing his lips. Above him, Kisame laughed and he closed his eyes, pressing his face into the cold stone.

I'm not in love. . .

He screamed hoarsely as Kisame slammed into him, entering him with such a harsh force that he could feel his skin tear. Tears began to collect in his eyes as the shark-nin continued, showing little care for the smaller nin that did nothing but comply, attempt to please . . . and smile with tears in his jet black eyes. It was odd, Itachi noted as he retreated from the pain into himself. He could feel it all, but at the same time, he felt content. The ache was gone, though a physical ache had replaced it. But that was much easier to live with, he decided. Each thrust from Kisame drove him into the ground and his very bones strained not to shatter—but he reflected that he might not care if they did. He almost wanted them to. I mean nothing. . .

. . . I'm just falling apart. . .

It continued and it seemed that there would be no end. He supposed it was the drugs that made him feel that way. He dragged in a ragged breath as Kisame removed himself, sated for the moment. No words were said, but none were really needed. Strong arms wrapped themselves around the smaller nin's body and pulled him close, one leg tangling with his own in a possessive manner. He felt Kisame's chin on his shoulder, and soon the sound of deep, even breathing filled his ear. He smiled faintly, curling slightly in Kisame's hold. I'm warped. . .

He sighed and soon joined his partner in sleep.

But that's all right. . .

Owari

A/N: Wow. This is only the third smut-like fic I've ever posted. Don't know why, but this was written while I was listening to "A Box Full Of Sharp Objects" by The Used, "Fer Sure" by The Medic Droid, and "THE FINAL" by Dir En Grey (and Nightmare's "The World," too at the end).