.
I Know You've Got The Moves
.
So, he's been arrested again. Wonderful.
Shisui swears under his breath and tests the rope binding his wrists, scratching at the skin there. It'll be raw as hell tomorrow. 'Course, that might be the least of his worries.
God, but he'd kill for a drink right about now.
This is so unfair. He hadn't even been getting drunk and belligerent this time. He hadn't been trying to borrow another man's horse, or saddle, or spurs, or—well, he hadn't been trying to borrow anything, and the sheriff can bite him if he wants to call it attempted theft one more time. Honestly. What's the point of this new frontier of theirs if one boomtown man can't help another out?
Speaking of points, Shisui's pretty sure he had one. Oh. Right. His so-called crime. It's not even worthy of the name, really.
All he'd been after was a little company. A man's got to have friends. They can't condemn him for having friends.
He's breathing in to swear again and ends up coughing for a good minute. What the fuck. If the preacher's right about the Devil coming up from Hell and making himself cozy here on Earth, Shisui's betting he's found old Lucy's first stop. The dry, arid desert air would make him feel right at home. Shisui's throat feels like sand.
He tries to yank his hands apart, once, more out of frustration than any real hope of wriggling free, and feels a muscle in his neck wrench as a result. Fucking fantastic. He's going to pay for that one later. Again, though, discomfort might end up being the least of his worries if he gets the sheriff in a pissed off mood. Not that Fugaku has any other mood, all honesty. A night in the little jail cell taking up half the sheriff's office, that's fine and dandy; Shisui's done it half a dozen times for various sundry offenses. Other than a little backache in the morning it's not too bad.
One of these days, though, Fugaku might just make good on his promise to hang him. And this is Shisui's third strike in a month. Fuck. He might be in trouble.
Eyes going to the door he thinks about running, but there's less than no point in that. Can't get too far with no hands. Can't ride with no hands, and sure as hell can't cross miles of desert between boomtowns without riding. All he'd do is make an idiot of himself and maybe end up dying of thirst to top it off. So, no running. But he'd appreciate the sheriff giving him something to work with here. He's gonna die of thirst anyway at this rate.
He opens his mouth to yell, make a fuss, maybe piss Fugaku off enough that he remembers he's got a guy awaiting sentencing in here, but the damn sand gets in before he can get a word out and before he knows it he's coughing again, hacking up what's probably a couple pieces of lung in the process. He can't seem to quit. Distantly he wonders if maybe it's possible to cough to death.
A canteen appears before his eyes, like a fucking gift from Heaven itself. Shisui looks up with a start.
It's not Fugaku. It's a—it's a kid, actually, Shisui's age if he's a day, and pretty enough Shisui has to blink hard a couple of times to make sure it's actually a man he's looking at. It is, and he's looking down at Shisui with dispassionate dark eyes.
"Drink," he instructs, and puts the canteen to Shisui's lips before he can protest.
Not that he'd actually protest. As the cool water trickles down his throat, soothing the harshness in his lungs some, Shisui reconsiders the existence of the God their preacher's always going on about.
(It's nothing personal. The God thing. The—belligerence again, as Fugaku calls it. Shisui's got nothing against whatever helps people to sleep at night. But if the preacher tells it right God's got no love for people like him, and Shisui's never been one to argue that particular point. Live and let live, and all. Too bad some around here don't think that way.)
He drains the canteen dry and tips his head back, pokes out his tongue, tries to catch the last drops before they slide away. The hand holding the now-empty canteen retreats.
"I wasn't aware we were now executing criminals via dehydration," Pretty Boy muses. Shisui snorts.
"Wouldn't put it past Fuga—the sheriff." He clears his throat, remembering all of a sudden that oh yeah, he still has no clue who this kid is or what he's doing here. "Speakin' of our favorite lawman—"
"Called away," the kid interrupts smoothly. "Urgent business elsewhere. He rode out before dawn this morning."
Shisui takes a second to mull this over. "Huh. Guess that explains why he hasn't bitten my head off yet." He squints up at Pretty Boy. "Doesn't explain you, though. You and your big words."
Pretty Boy doesn't blink. "I am to serve as interim sheriff in my father's absence."
Shisui's eyebrows hit his hair at that, he's pretty sure. "You're Itachi Uchiha?"
The kid—Itachi, it's gotta be—frowns. For the first time Shisui registers the star-shaped badge on his vest. Shiny. Like he's been polishing it or some shit. "I've only been in town a day. Surely that isn't long enough to gain a reputation."
"Are you kidding?" Shisui knows he's having way too much fun with this, especially for a man whose hands are still tied behind his back, but he can't help it. "Fugaku's famous kid. Singlehandedly kept bandits off the last wagon train out, to hear him tell it. Any of that shit true?"
Itachi coughs. Shisui wonders with some delight if he's managed to embarrass him. "True or not, it's hardly relevant here. I am to take my father's place and uphold the law. That is all."
Shisui looks him up and down. "So it's your job now to deal with criminals like me, yeah?"
"So it would seem," Itachi replies.
Shisui sees it then where he didn't before, the slight flicker behind those dark eyes. A tremor in the foundations. Pretty Boy here walks into town with a big reputation and bigger boots to fill, walks into a town where basically everyone but the preacher and Fugaku himself, that patron saint of sticks up asses, is a criminal for one reason or another.
He's got no clue what he's walking into. And he's terrified.
Oh, this could be fun.
Shisui leans back in his chair, languid, suddenly feeling much more relaxed. "So what you're saying is, I'm your first?"
Itachi looks at him sharply. "In a manner of speaking," he says, stiff as anything in a way that makes Shisui think the innuendo wasn't inaccurate either. "Yes."
"Huh." Shisui smirks. He can't stop himself. After months, years of dealing with Fugaku's one-word responses and perpetual control, here's someone he might actually be able to have some fun with. "So, your first. Did they even tell you what they brought me in for?"
Another flicker. Apprehension, maybe. God, Shisui thinks with an uncharacteristic tug of sympathy, this kid's gonna have to learn how to hide his emotions better, or this town'll eat him alive and spit the bones back out into the desert.
He considers Itachi, considers how best to handle this one. He ends up just going for the blunt approach, which is what he usually ends up going for.
"Whoring," he says.
Itachi does blink at that. Rapidly.
"Pardon?" he asks at last.
"Whoring," Shisui repeats pleasantly. "I was trying to make friends by way of cash but, y'know, it's against your dad's rules so they tossed me in here. And all I was doing was supporting local businesses. Seems to me you lawmen haven't thought that one through. Economy, and all."
Itachi stares at him. No words are coming out of his mouth, and none seem like they're about to. Shisui wonders if he's broken him already.
He thinks of something. Testing the hunch, as it were. "You ever been, Sheriff? To our lovely establishment?"
"As I said," Itachi says coolly, apparently finding his calm again, "I only got into town this morning."
"'Course, 'course." Shisui leans forward, smirk widening. "Seems like you need someone to show you around. Can't have our sheriff wandering anywhere disreputable, can we? Wouldn't look too good."
Itachi bristles. "I have no intention of—"
"Really." He lets the skepticism drip off his voice. "No need to play saint for us, Sheriff. Your dad always did and it never worked for him. We're all pieces of shit here. We don't trust anyone who smells too rosy, you feel me?"
And it's true. He usually doesn't think on it too hard, but that's the way this town works. Place this small, everyone knows everyone else's business, and the only way that doesn't get ugly real quick is if people know that everyone's got shit they'd rather keep under wraps. That other people's business is none of theirs. Even Shisui, who's been accused more than once of being too free and loose with his tongue, has one or two secrets he'd rather not got out.
Pretty Boy must have a few too, even if he likes to pretend otherwise. Looks like whores might not be one, though. Too bad. Shisui's friends with all the girls; he probably could've gotten Itachi a discount if Itachi'd agree to loosen the damn rope around his wrists. They're starting to chafe something fierce.
So, no whores. Maybe their new sheriff really is a virgin after all.
They've been talking too long, anyway. The dryness is starting to get to Shisui's throat again, making his voice rasp, sapping all the liquid out of him. It's making concentrating hard. He licks his lips before he speaks again.
Itachi's eyes flicker towards the movement and Shisui thinks, Now wait just a minute.
He's grinning again.
"You aren't gonna ask?"
Itachi seems to snap out of it. "Ask about what?"
"What she looked like." Shisui tilts his head. "Blonde, brunette, redhead—I mean, shit, not even the basics? What kinda man are you?"
"The kind with respect for women," Itachi says warily. "Unlike you, evidently."
Shisui whistles softly. "There you go again with the big words, professor. And I've got loads of respect for those girls. They're the only ones around here that don't look at me like I'm dirt on their skirts."
He frowns at himself, and at the minute softening in Itachi's expression. He hadn't meant to let that one slip. Ah well. All for the cause.
"Anyway," he continues. "I don't think that's it. Your profound respect, that is. I'm just not seeing it. I think it's something else."
He notices with satisfaction that Itachi swallows twice before he answers. His Adam's apple moves in his pale throat and Shisui notices. He knows Itachi notices him noticing. His level of caring is so fucking low right now; it's making him sloppy.
"I'm fairly certain," Itachi murmurs, "that I'm meant to be cross-examining you, not the other way around."
"Ain't that something?" Shisui replies. "Don't you wanna hear my theory?"
"Not especially, no."
Shisui makes a face. "You're no fun, Sheriff. Fine. I'll just tell you about who I went there to see, how's that? Then you can pretend you have no interest."
"I could not possibly be less interested," Itachi agrees flatly. Shisui ignores him.
"Brunette, in case you were wondering. Tall too, almost as tall as me. Not much in the way of curves, but legs like you wouldn't believe." Shisui closes his eyes for a second and breathes the memory back in. "I was pretty pissed when your dad's men dragged me out, but at least they didn't catch us getting up to any shit. Would've fucked me over—and not in the good way. Ruined his business too."
"Whose business?" Itachi's brow furrows. "The man who runs the bar?"
"Thought you didn't care," Shisui says cheekily.
Itachi glares. "And you barreled on anyway, so I might as well hear the end of it. Whose business would have been ruined?"
"The whore's," Shisui says with a shrug. Itachi's frown deepens.
"I thought you said—"
"I did. The guy was the whore." He waits impatiently for understanding to dawn on Itachi's face. All he sees is that mask of caution, that piss-poor attempt at hiding whatever he's thinking, and suddenly Shisui is sick of it.
So he shoves down the instinctive twist of fear in his gut and says, "I like fucking men."
Itachi makes this noise like he's choking on his own spit, and—yeah, okay, Shisui's willing to admit that was blunt even for him. But there's a flush spreading over Itachi's cheeks now, finally, pink spilled on white. Can't hide that behind his eyes. Can't hide that worth shit.
Oh, yeah. Shisui is going to have so much fun with this one.
"That's illegal," Itachi croaks. Sounds like the dry air might be getting to him too—or maybe it's something else. Shisui hums thoughtfully.
"You've already arrested me," he points out.
Itachi raises an eyebrow. "And the moral implications?"
"Look," Shisui snaps, "if I like doing something, I do it. Seems to me that if God's gonna save or damn us all on Judgment Day that's for him to do, not anyone else. Sure as fuck not anyone else in this piece of shit town. You're no better than I am. Don't fucking pretend you are."
Itachi's mouth goes slack for a moment before he remembers to close it. "I don't know what you—"
"Bullshit," Shisui cuts in. "I've seen you looking at me, professor, so don't even try."
Itachi swallows hard. "I—I'm—"
He's stuck for words, finally, and Shisui sorta feels sorry for him.
"Not like I'm gonna tell anyone," he mutters. "Nothing wrong with it, but I know not everyone thinks like that. I'm not gonna make it any easier for you to get yourself killed out here."
"Why?"
"What?"
Itachi fixes him with a fierce stare. Shisui wonders how he turned the tables so fast. "Why should you give a damn whether I'm killed out here or not?"
The swearing is new. Shisui likes the swearing, much more than he does the actual question.
Well, being blunt might be what Shisui does best, but the second thing he does best is distraction.
"So are you gonna cut me loose or what?"
Itachi's eyes narrow. "Cut loose a self-professed lawbreaker," he says.
Shisui offers his most winning smile. "Sounds about right, yeah."
"I fail to see how I would benefit from this."
Shisui's eyebrows meet his hair again. The corner of Itachi's mouth is quirking up.
Well. How about that.
"Sure I could think of something," Shisui muses, leaning forward again, grinning like a damn fool. "You're gonna fit right in here, Sheriff, you know that?"
"Something to be proud of, I'm sure," Itachi deadpans, and leans down to meet him.