Keri: Wuzzup? Okay, I've been in a fan-fic-y mood lately, buuut, my mom's going on a cruise so I'm going to be at my Grandmother's for two weeks. I was HOPEING to update ZiPT, but now I can't. sighs Oh, and I originally wrote this at 10:30 at night, by the light of my cell, re-wrote and betaed in school, then typed up just now. lol

Warnings: Kakuzu/Hidan, one-shot.

Disclaimers: Kakuzu and Hidan are Kishimoto's.

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From morning to evening they did nothing but fight. Curses and complaints, insults and bitter words spewed from their mouths like water from a pipe. Punches were thrown at the younger, always finding their mark on his nose or stomach. But ones tossed at the older were always blocked. Always.

Hidan would grumble as he tilted his head back to try and stop the bleeding; or would have to sit and fight tears as he attempted to catch his breath. Using what energy he could to swear at his partner, calling him every name he could think of.

Although, when Kakuzu was the subject of such violence, he would just stare down at the shorter man, looking utterly annoyed with the young preacher. He would twist Hidan's wrist as he held back the punch, watching as the man fall to his knees, holding the sprain as he hissed out curses at both Kakuzu and the pain.

But after fights, when Hidan needed to rest - giving his stitches time to settle and his body time to start healing – there was nothing. Kakuzu would lean against anything he could and hold the weakened man; Hidan would curl up against the other's wide, muscular chest and relax.

These moments of peace were rare, only happening when Hidan was badly injured, and the silver haired Jashinist would take it when he could get it. Hidan buried his face in the nape of Kakuzu's neck, breathing in the scent of burnt pine and the fresh blood of the dead men only a few feet away. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Kakuzu's neck.

As he did so, Kakuzu lifted his hand up to ghost callused fingers against soft flesh. The elder could feel goose bumps form at the initial touch, but as Hidan relaxed, they disappeared.

Hidan sighed. "Convert to Jashinism, Kakuzu-san," he said quietly. "Otherwise, when you die you'll go to hell and when I get taken up in the rapture I'll go to heaven," he breathed in the man's scent once more.

"If your god really loves you," the stitch man said flatly, "he'll let us be together." His movements stopped as he let his hand rest on Hidan's back. The smaller's Akatsuki cloak having been discarded for the medical attention he had received. When no reply came from his partner, he muttered: "Let's get going."

But that only had Hidan clinging tighter. "No," he protested. Arms tightened around Kakuzu's neck and legs wrapped around his waist. "I know that once we start, we'll hate each other again," he nuzzled his nose deeper into Kakuzu's neck. "Please, love me just a little longer," he quietly begged, pushing the usual swears from his words so as not to ruin the moment.

Kakuzu stayed as he was, green eyes – surrounded by a sea of black – glanced at his rotting bounty. The accountant's mind calculating how much he had lost due to damages in a fraction of a second. "Fine," he mumbled, "five more minutes." He wrapped his arms around the clinging body; the words more an order to himself then a suggestion to the other.