Itachi parted his lips for air, his eyes looking up at him, clear as water.
His skin would be delicious to drink, Sasuke thought, white as alabaster, fluid as mercury. The moan that escaped played like a symphony of the muses, as he pushed Itachi deeper into the bedding. His grip caused bruises, but it seemed his hold was still not quite tight enough. As if he had not touched him enough.
"Sa..." came the weak gasp, "suke..." Itachi's lip trembled, and his gaze finally left him, his body curled into the folds of the coverlets.
If nothing else, Sasuke wished Itachi would look at him a little longer.
Just a little longer.
By dawn, Sasuke stared into the rising horizon, Naruto's form sprawled against his. Finally with an uncharacteristic groan, he ran his fingers through his hair, and knew it was time he finally went back to the blasted potter's place. Not a hetaera for pleasure, nor a pallaka for need, nor a gynaeke for children. He is driven mad by dreams of a cheap slave, and the thought is so laughable he cannot even rise the air for a single chuckle.
"Oho, you have done it! Tis a beauty!" the potter praised, holding the new psykter to the morning sunlight.
"I made no mistakes?"
"Mistakes? You? No, never!" the potter laughed, as he laced his worn buskins and prepared for his trip, saddling the pot on his back.
"You are delighted," Itachi commented with a smile.
"Why Euphrosyne will tickle me through and through! I tell you, Itachi, if there is any man knowledgeable of other men, it will be Jiraiya. And he owes me a drink, ha!" With that, he set off in a dash of giddy, the clatter of his steps lost in the distance.
Itachi chuckled, then readied for his routine duties. He had not expected to hear a curious set of footsteps approach the door, halted still outside. His hand lowered the rag back into the water basin, waiting. But the footsteps walked past, only to circle again back sometime later midday.
By the third circle, Itachi smiled. There was finally a knock. Cautiously, he stepped before the door in silence, and listened to the uneasy rebalancing of weight, an exhale of impatience. There came a second, louder knock.
Itachi pursed his lips and contemplated what to do, and decided his best course of action would be nothing. That is, until his guest began a pounding that would surely be heard throughout the entire residence, and disturb all neighbors.
"About time, listen you-!"
Sasuke stopped himself and cursed when he saw who answered. Itachi remained careful to not step beyond the door, and bowed his head courteously.
"Sasuke. Of Uchiha," Itachi murmured, a benign smile upon his lips. "May I ask what troubles you for a second trip here?" Or fourth.
"I-" After a pause, Sasuke reconsidered his choice of words, and said, "I need to speak to your... master." The last word elicited an unpleasant shudder down his spine.
"My master is away."
Sasuke snorted. "By that, do you mean away in hiding?"
"From what is there hide?" Itachi entertained him, tilting his head.
"His debt!"
"Debt?"
"I do believe," Sasuke said, leaning against the door to prevent it from closing, "that I am still short four drachmae." And with that, he pushed the door open and invited himself inside.
Itachi closed his eyes. He was not a guardian nor gatekeeper, his hands held no strength to stop Sasuke from entering if he wished. "Look as you want, but my master is not here."
Sasuke examined the variety of pottery, the workshops of clays and brushes. Although he had never appreciated pottery before in the past, he could still tell the craftsmanship were of notable higher quality, in their symmetry, detail, and gleam. Still, potters were potters, and they lived day to day, meal to meal. The rest of the residence was bare, clean but poor. His eyes darted to Itachi, worthy to be in the bedchamber of a king, and grew suspicious.
Settling down in a chair, he commanded, "Then I shall wait for his return. Serve me, slave."
His presence was fierce and imposing, but when Sasuke peeked open an eye, he saw Itachi was not outraged. Then again, neither was the slave intimidated nor made quick use of his feet.
Instead, Itachi simply shut the door. Each of his movements was smooth, a light tread when he passed by. His gaze subtly shifting in his direction, before there was a hidden smile, and he knelt down. Sasuke watched his fingers glide through a set of stored pottery until they stopped at an amphora.
Itachi poured for his guest a cup of water with wine. "Pardon its quality. But as you can see, we have little to offer."
Sasuke did not touch the drink. "Your master caused me trouble. I care not what wealth he possesses."
"If I may," Itachi said, keeping his eyes lowered, "is it not better to seek compensation from the offender than the bystander?"
"Hm, even stripped bare, the thief had not another obol left. And I have little need for shoes."
"And so, you turn to us."
"Had your master not been there, none of this would have happened. He is responsible."
Itachi smiled courteously. "Yes, you are right. But then again, had the sun not blinded your eyes, had the crowd not been so full, had the knot not been so loose..."
"What do you insinuate, slave?"
"Nothing said, of course."
Sasuke seized hold of Itachi's arm, and pulled him down. "You think yourself clever?"
Itachi lowered his eyelids. "I am not to think myself as anything. You give me the contemplations of a philosopher."
Sasuke misjudged. It appeared this slave was not as yielding and obedient as his appearance deceived, slow in movement but quick in tongue. How he wanted to give a kiss to the mouth, silence him with lips upon lips, push Itachi into the round and rip away his garments.
"No, I give you the trivialities of a slave. Now, serve me, before I serve you lashes!" He shoved Itachi away, with enough force that Itachi momentarily stumbled, his eyes dilated in anticipation of violence. But Sasuke did not move from his chair, and Itachi's hand quickly found the edge of the potter's wheel. With no more words, Itachi let his hair obscure his face, and removed himself from sight.
As he watched him go, Sasuke inwardly sighed to himself, well aware he acted in a manner that would make his tyrannous father proud. He would not put it past Itachi to swear his name and knock the floor for favors below. But then again, when did Sasuke fear anything, let alone the resentments of a mere slave.
Across the city, a second table was drawn, as a maid slave brought in an ewer of water, bread and fruit. The carver served meats, and cups of wine were generously abound.
"Oho, why he is right below your nose," Jiraiya laughed, as fanciful women caressed his chest, their fair arms hung around his neck.
"You don't say!"
"Sasuke resides directly with my beloved eromenos within these walls."
"You jest!"
"Now, give me reason to."
The potter jumped to his toes. "Why, I cannot find one! Dear Jiraiya, you must do me the favor!"
"Yes, yes, stay to your heart's content." Jiraiya gave a languid wave, before he leaned aside of his recline and spoke solemnly, "But brace yourself for disappointment, my friend. He is the heir apparent of Uchiha, and not the most forgiving of men. You will need a favor from the gods to persuade for even a moment of his time."
"A moment, a glance, a drop of rain or brush of wind, I'll take it! I shall wait here for his return!"
Near nightfall,
"It has been a day, where is that potter!" Sasuke fumed from his seat, his body long since rigid and numb.
"Patience," Itachi murmured, a pleasant smile upon his lips, as he refilled his wine yet again.
Sasuke slammed the cup down. In the time of his wait, he could have raped this slave thrice, bound him to the temple of Athena, fetched his horse and shipped him back to his kingdom.
But nay, instead, he set foot on the noble path, ate stale bread and gorged on dirty wine, all while enduring temptation in its face. He lost count the times his mind played tricks, the times Itachi crawled to his lap, pressed his inner thighs against his burning loins, kissed down his neck with soft lips. Or the times he himself snapped and rammed the slave into pottery and violated him amidst the shattered ceramic.
The very least, he could blame his flush of his cheeks to the wine.
"Where is that blasted potter!" he demanded again.
To his frustration, an unravished Itachi leaned in teasingly, curls of hair fallen in waves, and spoke to him, "Perhaps you should try the morning."
"Ah, your will still stands like iron," Jiraiya sighed, as he tossed the potter a cloak. "It is late. Why not try another day."
"Passion provides all the light and warmth of day! I move not!"
Sasuke had won battles on less time. After this torturously long, he will not relent until Itachi was brought to his bed as compensation. He will not move. He will not, not, NOT!
"Unhaand me peasan..." Itachi ignored the slurs, and gently wrapped a blanket around the youth.
"Please guide him a safe return," he told the delivery boy, paying an obol.
Deidara bit the coin, and upon deciding it was fair, hooked the drunk over his shoulders. "This ain't an easy job you handed me, and this late. You owe me, ya?"
Itachi brushed his fingers down the side of Sasuke's face, and gave a saddened smile.
"Yes, thank you."
