I'm riding shotgun in Kisame's truck right now. He's kept the radio turned off, like always. He knows full well how I feel about listening to music in a car, and has never once gone against my wishes for a silent car ride. The only things I hear are the hum of the vehicle's engine, the sound of the tires driving over the pavement, and Kisame's soft breathing.
It's not the sounds that interest me so much, though, as it is the sights. We're driving down a winding country road that's so narrow I can't help but wonder how two vehicles can possibly drive along it at the same time. We left the city behind long ago, so the only scenery I'm being offered is thick trees growing alongside the highway, obscuring the setting sun from my sight. This is fine by me; it allows me to press my face right against the passenger-side window without fear of the overhead star scorching my pupils.
This is how I always ride in Kisame's truck; sitting on my side, schoolbag at my feet, hands neatly folded in my lap and cheek resting against the cool glass of the window. The gentle lull that comes from riding in a silent vehicle coupled by the heat and movements are relaxing; so much so, that I nearly fall asleep.
"Itachi."
The sound of my name yanks me back to the land of the conscious. I turn my head, and hum in reply as I look to Kisame.
His eyes are glued to the road, both hands firmly on the steering wheel. Neither hell nor high water could make him look away or release the wheel; he lost his parents to an auto accident years ago. The only bright side to the loss was that it made Kisame a very good, very careful driver.
When he doesn't answer me, I actually call out his name. "Kisame."
"Where to?" he asks, eyes never once leaving the road.
He knows that I don't want to go home. He knows that I want to be here, near him, spending as much time as I possibly can with my lover before we're separated, and I have to leave. But he also knows that gas is expensive, and if we don't want to hitchhike back into town, we need to stop somewhere and conserve the fuel in his truck.
My head returns to its previous position against the cool glass, and I shut my eyes. "Anywhere." Kisame ought to know by now that I don't care. He's the one who always picks where we go, what we do, everything. Places and events are meaningless to me; just temporary breaks in the monotony of my life.
We drive along for another five minutes or so, before I feel the car slow down and turn. I'm jarred out of my drowsy state when Kisame hits a pothole on the dirt road we're now traveling down. He drives on for about another minute or so, before he stops in the middle of a clearing and shuts off the engine.
The area's somewhat barren; nothing but a few scraggly patches of grass on the ground, surrounded by oak and elm trees. I can hear a few birds in the trees, and for an instant I see a flash of a squirrel's tale scurrying up a tree, but that's it.
Once I've taken in the sights, I grab my bag, pop open the car door, and leap out. My feet sink down into the ground, making me frown. That's right, it rained yesterday. This place must still be drying out from it.
Realizing that I wouldn't be able to sit on the ground like I'd originally planned to, I turn to my right and walk alongside the truck. It looks beaten up, and the burgundy-colored paint is peeling away in several places, but it still runs, and that's what counts.
Once I reach the back of the vehicle, I open the tailgate and climb into the truck bed. Minutes later, I've made my way forward and now lean the left side of my body against the rear window, eyes focused on the sky above. There's not a cloud in the sky; you'd never think that only the day before it had been pouring down rain.
As I sit there, daydreaming, I absent-mindedly slip my hand into my jeans' pocket. Moments later it reemerges with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. A slight ruffling of the package, the click of my lighter, and now I'm smoking a death stick.
Smoking's become more than a physical addiction to me. Knowing that I'm slowly poisoning my body, filling my "flawless" being with all those toxins helps ease the pain that comes with having to get up every morning and keep living. A gentle exhale allows a small cloud of smoke to pass my lips, slowly spiraling upwards and disappearing from my sight moments later.
"Itachi."
I look over my right shoulder and see Kisame staring at me. His arms are crossed and resting comfortably on the side of the truck, and he's frowning at me. Kisame hates my smoking habit; honestly, he spends too much time worrying about me.
I smirk and blow a cloud of cigarette smoke into his face. His eyes squint, and his frown deepens, but he says nothing. As long as I smoke back here, and not inside his truck, he won't complain.
Another drag and I'm finished, grinding the butt of my cigarette into the truck bed. Almost as soon as it's out, Kisame swings a leg up and hops into the back of the truck with a rather audible thump. Now it's my turn to frown. His noise has interrupted my daydreaming and startled the local fauna.
If Kisame notices my annoyance, he doesn't say anything. Instead, my lover chooses to stretch himself out and rest his head on my lap. His eyes are focused on the sky above, although there's little doubt in my mind that his wondering thoughts are a sight more pleasant than my own.
The hand that until recently had been holding a cigarette now settles on top of his head. The blue hair is tangled and slightly messy; my fingers begin gently combing through the locks as I look up to the darkening sky again. Night's coming all too fast for my liking, even though it will soon be summer and the days have been getting longer and longer. I hate the dark; it's nature's sign that I have to go home, and part from Kisame again-"Itachi."
I'm given no time to respond before Kisame is sitting upright, his lips pressed firmly against my own. I wish I knew how Kisame learned to read me so well; I suppose it became a necessity to him, given my normal lack of speech.
One of his arms slips around my waist, and the other makes its way to the back of my head. He pulls me towards his body, pressing my thin frame against his muscular chest, holding me so close that I can feel the beating of his heart against my own.
A small part of my mind wonders how he can stand to kiss me, when my breath still carries the odor of cigarette smoke on it, but I push that aside as his tongue playfully pokes mine.
Making out with him is the second-best way for me to relieve my stress. The best way, given the position of his hands, is about to happen now. Like smoking, a lot of my enjoyment comes from the mental, and not physical aspect. Being completely at the mercy of the one person you trust more than anyone else, knowing that they're taking care of your body and deriving a pleasure from the experience that only you can give them; it's an incredible feeling.
My thoughts are cut short when Kisame shifts our position. Now, I'm lying pinned to the truck bed with Kisame's hands lifting up the hem of my shirt.
My eyes are still shut, and my breathing's ragged as Kisame lifts me up and leans me against his chest. I don't even think to protest; rather, I wrap my arms tightly around his body and cling to him.
He chuckles, annoying a small part of me. I can barely tell up from down when he's finished with me, so what else does he expect?
The chuckling is accompanied by calloused fingers smoothing out my now-tangled hair, so I silently forgive him. This time. Next time may be different.
As soon as I can move, I crawl off his lap and to the other side of the truck, where he had tossed our clothes at the beginning of our love-making session. The clothing's become wrinkled, and is now cold to the touch. I blindly toss the shark's items to him before dressing myself.
Once fully clothed, I look up at the sky again and light another cigarette. I'm not surprised in the least to see that the last remnants of the sun have faded away while we were occupied; what does surprise me, though, is the large number of stars decorating the sky now. It looks as though someone sewed hundreds of sparkling jewels onto a midnight black canvas for all the world to see. Even the moon looks brilliant tonight. "Angel."
I tear my gaze away from the breathtaking sight overhead to look at Kisame. If he's calling me by my pet name, it either means that he wants another round, or he's been calling my real name for the last five minutes and has been unable to get my attention. The latter option is much more likely than the former at this point in time, so I decide that my lover deserves a verbal reply. "Yes?"
"Come here," he commands while beckoning to me with one hand. He's already dressed and reclining against the truck's rear window, legs stretched out and spread, inviting me to sit with him.
With a roll of my eyes that I know will make him call me feminine, I put out my death stick and crawl towards Kisame, before taking my place against him; legs comfortably positioned between his own, back resting against his chest, one arm limp in my lap while the other wraps itself around my lover's muscular neck. His own arms make their way around my waist, promising warmth in the already cooling night.
For a time, we sit in silence, basking in each other's presence. I know that we should have left for home some time ago, but I cannot bring myself to mention this detail to Kisame. He probably knows already, and has likewise chosen to ignore this. There'll be hell to pay for our actions later, but if it gets me a few more minutes with him, it's worth it. "Angel?"
Now I know that I've been paying attention this time, so the nickname confuses me. I run through the list of occasions Kisame has for using my substitute title; he has my attention, doesn't want sex…that means he has something to say that I may not want to hear, and is trying to put me in a good humor before speaking. I frown up at him and give a soft "Hn," in reply.
His eyes are no longer looking at me; rather, they're viewing the sky, just as I had been doing moments ago. "What are you gonna do in the future?"
I'm taken aback. Why would Kisame ask such a thing? A few more moments of thought lead me to a likely conclusion. This is our final year of high school. After this, we're going to go out into the "real world" and have to deal with an even harsher reality than the one we dwell within now. In our relationship, I'm the mentally superior, so it's only logical to assume that Kisame expects me to be the one with the plan.
I too look up at the sky. Of course I have a plan for what's to come. Don't I always?
His grip tightens on me, silently begging for an answer. "I'll graduate high school. Then I'll go to college and get a degree in business," I say.
"Uh-huh."
"After that, I shall acquire a job and an apartment, and maintain a stable lifestyle."
"Uh-huh."
"Itachi?"
"Don't leave me."
He starts beneath me. I hadn't meant for my plea to sound so desperate, but that's how it comes out anyway.
My future plans are perfect, but only as long as I have Kisame there with me. If he's absent, there's no point. My life pre-Kisame is nothing but a blur of sounds and colors; I feel like a zombie whenever he's away for more than a few days at a time. Despite the fact that every fiber of my being is screeching that I've made a foolish choice, I've allowed my heart to become attached to Kisame's. I love him.
Kisame chuckles and hugs me tightly, his lips placing a gently kiss on my cheek. "I'm not going anywhere without you, angel."
I smile and lean into my lover's gentle caresses. If I could, I would spend the rest of eternity right here; cuddled against my lover, a pack of cigarettes in my pocket, and the two of us gazing at the stars.