{ This little drabble was requested on Tumblr. It got positive feedback so I thought I'd post it over here too because why the heck not.
Present: Asker's muse giving writer's muse a present and being embarrassed about it. }
This had to be one of the worst moments in Kakuzu's life thus far – being forced into spending his not-so-hard earned cash on Hidan of all people. Every muscle in his body felt the urge to reach out strangle the little fucker, and yet… he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. That mind-grating smirk always pulling at his lips, the way his gaze just burns into you, as if screaming with barely-contained bloodlust one moment and the next they're filled with excitement or amusement. It pissed him off, more than any of his other partners could have dreamed doing.
Which was why he was having such a hard time coming to terms with actually presenting the deadbeat with a gift. Chartreuse optics downcast at the neatly prepared platter of different varieties of meat – the one thing Kakuzu's come to realize that Hidan's crazy over other than that damned ritual he's always performing.
With pursed lips, the older shinobi decided enough was enough; he needed to quit fucking stalling and get this over with already. He could already hear the zealot's laughter and what he consider clever insults ringing in the back of his mind as he slipped through the run down shacks backdoor.
Slowly trudging into the depths of the livingroom, Kakuzu glanced over to the Jashinist sprawled out on his side in front of the window. "Hidan," He called, voice low and demanding a response – which he received when Hidan tipped his chin back to look over his shoulder.
"The fuck d'you want now, old man?" A sigh of annoyance left the silverette's lips, violet hues landing on the container resting in his partner's hands. "- the fuck is that?"
Kakuzu didn't offer an explanation. Instead, he shoved the platter into the younger's hands and turned on his heels, mumbling incomprehensive insults under his breath; something along the lines of wasting my money and never doing that again.
"Oi, dickbag, did you poison this? I bet yer tryin' to fuckin' kill me, you bastard!" Hidan practically shrieked at the retreating brunette's back. He took a peak at his assumed murder weapon, fiddling with the lid before popping it off. It seemed normal enough, but that conniving bastard could have done anything to it.
But it looked so good—
"Fuck it. Least it'll do is make me sick." And with that, the zealot shrugged. He'd have to at least thank the heathen later.