A/N: Another birthday gift for ya, Caite.
Disclaimer: I don't own.
Itachi's hair wasn't quote as nice as Neji's. Itachi's was a bit courser, a bit thicker, a bit shorter. It was more prone to tangles and bed head, and Itachi had to wash blood out of it before it dried, or it frizzed for weeks.
Neji's hair was fine and silky, falling in a stunning sheet of dark chocolate to his waist. Itachi couldn't remember ever once hitting a tangle while running his fingers through the satin strands; frizz was completely out of the question. It always seemed to be perfect, even when in disarray from a long night or a bloody melee.
It occasionally miffed the Uchiha. It wasn't that he was vain. He just acknowledged the fact that he was far more intimidating when well-groomed (an incident with Kisame several years back had proven just how seriously people took men with funny hair – that is to say, not at all). His hair took work to maintain. He had rules to remember (like the blood thing. Nothing tamed blood-induced frizz). Neji washed his every other day and could usually tame it with his fingers alone. It wasn't fair.
Itachi frowned, watching the dark stands slide from his fingers once more. Neji stirred slightly at his side, curling further into the Uchiha's warmth as he mumbled, "You're always playing with my hair."
"It's beautiful," Itachi answered, running fingertips through it yet again. Neji hummed sleepily, moving his head to a more comfortable place on Itachi's chest. Itachi adjusted his grasp on Neji to keep his arm from falling asleep.
"I like yours better," Neji admitted, already dozing off again. "It's more masculine."
Itachi looked down at the Hyuuga's sleeping form, the long, silky locks draped around him, highlighting pale skin and a nearly feminine bone structure. Itachi smirked, pulled Neji closer, and closed his eyes.
That was true.