Loyalty

'Taking these last few steps towards his door should not be this difficult. Why are we feeling so uneasy?'

'Because we're spies,' I answer myself, 'It's our job to be suspecting and read between the lines.'

'What's so suspicious about being summoned to Rei-sama's chambers? More than likely it's about our new mission.'

'Maybe.' My hand reaches the door knob and pauses. 'But there is always something uncertain about that man.'

My hand moves up from the handle to rub my throbbing temple. My head aches with the echoes of my thoughts. Before I can make a second attempt to open the door, Rei-sama's voice calls from somewhere beyond the wooden frame.

"You weren't going to knock?" I hate his humoured tones. "Oh well. Come in, Zetsu."

My eyes squint warily at the wooden frame before me, as if I'm trying to see beyond and size up the man within. 'He's waiting right there. Suspicious.'

'He was expecting us to arrive.'

'Yes, but a little too much.'

"Shut up," I hiss under my breath before I swing the door open. After I step into the room, it takes me a moment to locate him as my eyes adjust to the sudden lack of light.

He's standing, face turned to the window, wearing an evening robe. It's black with red accents in a motif parallel to the Akatsuki's uniform. I don't know why I bother taking this in. 'Because this silence is way too uncomfortable.'

Finally, the stillness breaks. "You're a little late."

'So?' ..."I apologize."

He regards me fully for the first time since I entered the closed space of his room. I shuffle slightly by the entrance. The light from the hallway is barely illuminating his features. "Shut the door."

A grin passes his lips before I obediently close the only exit, and it becomes too dark to see clearly. Before he can command me to come closer, I take my first steps from the doorway towards his shadowy form. 'What does he want with us?'

"What is it, Rei-sama?"

"Your next mission," he begins, his eyes reflecting the moonlight and shining eerily, "Takes you far away and requires the gathering of very important information." His hand falls to my shoulder, but I resist flinching backward.

"I am fully aware of this already," I venture after a moment of silence. His eyes are fierce. I want to move away but – 'Step back!' – I won't.

"I need to be one hundred percent sure that you are loyal enough to be trusted with this task." The hand tightens slightly. "Otherwise, I feel ill at else leaving that information to your discretion." The other hand moves up to my corresponding shoulder and he holds me at an arm's length. "I need to be sure you'll do as I say." Then he pushes me to my knees.

'You knew where this was going.'

'Shut up.'

'I told you to get away. You had the chance, but again, you ign–'

"Shut up!' I grit my teeth as I loosen the tie on his robes.

My hands move as languidly as possible as I unfasten his pants and massage him until he's hard. My screaming thoughts command the majority of my attention, so it's almost a surprise when I'm grasping him in my hand.

His hand dares to go past the razor-like edges of the plant encasing me. He has the gall to stroke my hair.

'RIP – HIS – ARM – OFF!'

'No.' I shudder as a tingle runs through me and the toothed plant twitches in anticipation. I ignore the impulse, instead taking him into my mouth. He groans and mutters some unwanted words of praise. His hips rock forward, pushing the erection as far as I can stand.

'We'll kill him. His blood and flesh will taste sweeter than any other–'

'Stop it. We're not some kind of monster.'

'He deserves it.'

'No.'

Oftentimes, my thoughts make me weary, and I want nothing more right now than to finish this and go to bed. His breath is becoming ragged and disjointed, and his fingers tighten painfully in my hair. "Swallow it," he hisses.

I feel the warm fluid shoot to the back of my throat, and swallow mindlessly. He lowers to his knees shakily and looks my in the eyes with a smug grin.

'Tear him to shreads.'

I shake my head.

His face comes close and he devours my lips with his. As his tongue invades my mouth, I grip my cloak at the knees, willing my mind to be silent and for my plant jaws to stop convulsing. Images of the sharp, leafy razors clamping shut at his neck flash through my head. I can virtually feel the blood – warm and thick – bubbling forth from his decapitated body.

One of the pointy, green tips grazes his shoulder, sending a shiver up my spine. 'Imagine killing him now, his blood spilling over our face and hands. Imagine the smell and the taste.'

I try to lick the imaginary blood from my lips, but instead I find my tongue moving against his and feel sickened. Soon, it's too late; his form moves away from me. He tells me I may go and grants me good luck on my mission.

Between the sharp urges to slowly rip each limb from his body, I will myself to bow and thank him before taking my leave.