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Take The Pressure
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The view from the penthouse is gorgeous—as it should be, considering what one of Shisui's many aliases paid for it. The room has one of those floor-to-ceiling windows, probably Windexed to within an inch of its life by well-tipped housekeepers, and he can see the whole city through it. A thousand bright lights glowing in the darkness. A thousand cars moving like little fireflies below.
But Shisui's not really appreciating any of that. Right now he's got other things on his mind.
Itachi fucks into him again, deeper this time. Shisui lets out a slow breath, determined to keep any sounds from escaping—he's taken bullet wounds and sucked it up in silence; like hell is he gonna let some pampered politician's kid break him that easy.
"Are you trying to be quiet?" Itachi murmurs. It takes Shisui a second longer than usual to grit out an answer.
"Mind-reading freak," he says, and almost bites through his tongue when Itachi's response is to thrust so hard Shisui sees stars.
"That wasn't an answer."
Shisui tips his head forward to rest against the window. The cool glass feels amazing against his overheated skin.
"Fuck—" He closes his eyes for a second, biting back another sound as Itachi keeps up a punishing pace. "Fuck you."
Itachi lets out a huff of breath behind him. It almost sounds like a laugh.
"Later," he says.
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Let it be known to all and sundry that Shisui does not break out the penthouse treatment for everybody he fucks. The first few times he'd met up with Itachi it'd been in the usual kinds of places—one of Shisui's various less-than-lived-in apartments, upstairs at a bar where the owner owed him a favor, that kind of thing.
That was before Itachi's governor father decided to up and run for president, though. Now the scrutiny on all members of his family is through the damn roof, and it's making Shisui's life all kinds of difficult. He'd half-convinced himself Itachi would quit contacting him after the news broke. And then he'd half-convinced himself that he would be perfectly happy with that. No sex is worth risking your life over.
(Except that with Itachi, it really, really is.)
And make no mistake—Itachi would be in a world of shit if the two of them got found out, but Shisui's associates would kill him in the very literal sense. He might have worked his way up pretty high in the organization, but no asset could ever be useful enough to outweigh having his face plastered across every tabloid and Reddit forum in the goddamn world.
Hence: penthouse. Top floor, high enough that no budding paparazzo is going to get a shot unless they somehow rent out a helicopter. Itachi's paranoia is legendary, but so is Shisui's. It's kept him alive so far. He knows his shit.
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Of course, top floor or not, it's still pretty ill advised for them to be doing stupid shit like—for example—having sex against a clear window. But hey, what's life without a little risk?
Besides, Shisui thinks, digging his teeth into his bottom lip, there's something he finds ridiculously hot about fucking where somebody might see you. And apparently Itachi, despite his immaculate reputation, is in agreement with him there.
"This'd make—ah—one hell of a shot," he manages, kicking himself for letting the tiny sound escape. "Really fuck up your Good Boy image, huh?"
Itachi sinks his teeth into the junction between neck and shoulder, sharp enough to actually hurt. Shisui unsuccessfully tries to smother his groan.
"You talk too much," Itachi says, low and dangerous.
"Yeah?" Shisui twists around just enough to get a glimpse of Itachi's face. He smirks. "Thought you wanted me loud."
"Loud, yes." This time he nips at Shisui's ear. "Not talking."
Shisui flushes.
There's definitely a part of him that gets off on Itachi talking like this. It's just so far removed from the Harvard-attending, suit-wearing, straight-laced interview darling that is Itachi Uchiha in his daily life, the Itachi that Shisui assumed he'd be dealing with when they first met.
(He'd broken into Itachi's apartment trying to find dirt on his then-gubernatorial-candidate father. Instead he'd gotten caught, one thing led to another and somehow they'd ended up having sex against a wall. C'est la vie, he supposes.)
Itachi shifts against him. "Put your hands on the glass."
Shisui does it, and as he does he feels Itachi's hand snaking up to wrap lightly around his throat.
A wave of heat pulses through him. Itachi moves until they're flush against each other.
"There," he murmurs, more to himself than to Shisui, and starts fucking him again. Hard.
Shisui's instinct is to swear, but the pressure on his throat makes that harder than it should be. His forehead hits the window again with a dull thunk, smearing the glass, and through it all Itachi never breaks his rhythm. Shisui can see Itachi's reflection behind him—long hair loose around his face, sweat making the strands stick to his skin; his expression focused like it always is when there's a goal to be accomplished.
Usually that goal is something to do with spreadsheets. At the moment, it's fucking Shisui's brains out against a penthouse window. Shisui can appreciate a versatile man.
He's still holding his own in the noise department, though. At least until the moment Itachi switches angles—finding that sweet spot that would get Shisui going under literally any circumstances—and, at the same time, gently presses the ball of his thumb deeper into Shisui's throat.
It's barely a change in pressure, but Shisui has to slam a hard door in his mind to keep from coming right there. As it is, the dam's broken on his mouth; he's starting to make these soft, breathy little moans, which are somehow even worse than full-on cries would be, but Shisui's pretty much beyond giving a shit about that now. Itachi can rib him about it later. Right now Shisui just wants more.
"See?" Itachi is saying in a strained voice, his breath hot on Shisui's neck. "Not talking is an improvement."
Smug asshole. Shisui wants to say it, but currently it's imperative that Itachi doesn't stop, so he doesn't try. The thrusts are coming faster now and so is Itachi's breathing; his fingers tighten just a little more on Shisui's neck as he pounds into him, and that does it.
He comes hard on the glass, a strangled cry wrenching its way out of his throat as Itachi fucks him through it. Itachi finishes inside him barely a minute later with a groan that he muffles in Shisui's shoulder. That doesn't seem too sportsmanlike, but Shisui's not in a position to complain at the moment.
They don't bother with much cleanup before flopping bonelessly down on the bed; this suite has what Shisui's pretty sure is the best shower in the world, and he intends to take full advantage of it. In a few minutes. When he can walk.
Once he catches his breath he glances over to see Itachi, flush-faced and smirking.
"What?" Shisui asks. His voice comes out rough.
"For someone who makes so much noise in general," Itachi says, "I did not think you would enjoy being…quieted like that. I will keep that information in mind."
Shisui narrows his eyes. "We'll see who's laughing when I fuck you over that desk later."
"Mm." Itachi leans over and kisses him on the mouth. "Shower first."
That order of events makes absolutely no sense, but Itachi's a fastidious weirdo and Shisui's feeling pretty good about the world right now, so he lets it go. His gaze drifts to the window—which they've absolutely wrecked—and he winces.
He makes a mental note to leave housekeeping a really good tip this time around. It would suck to get banned from this hotel when there's still so much fun to be had.