It's 11:30 at night. Itachi's got his sleeves rolled up, sweat on his brows, and a wide flat paddle in his hands. He frowns, annoyed. He really should not be emotionally charged in any capacity. Then things became more complicated.

Itachi despises complicated things.

He walks around the table his client is restrained to and grabs him by the hair.

In a voice so low that yelling is unnecessary, Itachi makes his displeasure known, "Are you struggling?"

Iruka shakes his head as best he can, tears in his eyes, flush on his face. "No, sir."

Itachi taps the paddle against his tear-riddled cheek, "Should I help you count then?"

"No, sir!"

"Start over."

Itachi lets him go, checks his watches, and curses to himself. They have two minutes to get in ten licks. He knows they won't, so he settles for five. Iruka barely makes it for three before the session bell chimes.

Itachi stops.

That's less than before.

Itachi finds his regressive behavior concerning. He eases off the restraints from the man's ankles and wrist, then instructs him to shower as per usual. He doesn't need to look to know his client is aroused. Itachi isn't selling sex here. He takes no part in helping him feel relief on that front. But they do need to talk.

Iruka comes out of the bathroom, fully clothed and smelling like the salonpas patches Itachi leaves for him. There's a seat cushion to help make it easier to get settled. At such a late hour, Itachi offers him a drink.

"No, thanks," Iruka refuses with a slight chuckle, unable to make eye contact. "I have to drive home."

Itachi thinks that perhaps this might be their last session. "How are things with you and your girlfriend?"

He knows that Iruka knows where this is going. Sometimes confrontation is necessary with his clients. The other man wraps himself in the wool blanket next to him, staring down at the marbled floor. It's a long silence, one that Itachi doesn't rush. When Iruka chuckles again, Itachi does not respond.

"So you noticed?" It's not an accusation, more of a confession.

Itachi taps a finger on his knee. "Noticed what?"

Iruka winces, brown eyes tracing the grey streaks embedded in the floor. "She broke up with me. She said she couldn't do this anymore."

"How long ago did she break up with you?"

Iruka's face crumbles, on the verge of tears. "Two days ago."

A fresh wound. A need for relief and comfort, and attention.

"Did she say why?"

The man blinks away tears, huffing out a sigh that says everything and nothing. "It was too much for her. She said she couldn't deal with the mood swings. I tried telling her I was working on it. I was getting help. Went straight over her head. She just gave up and was gone when I came home from work."

Itachi reminds him of why they are here. "Managing your mood so you could maintain your relationship was one of your goals. This seems to be causing you great distress since she left."

Iruka mutely nods. Itachi lets silence take over, a counseling technique to allow for reflection. And also to see if Iruka will respond the way he used to if he will start ruminating or projecting again.

"Anko wasn't supposed to leave," Iruka grumbles and glares, and Itachi prepares, regrettably, for what he knows is coming, "I did everything, everything she asked. I came here, humiliated myself, put myself in compromising positions for her. And she didn't even notice or care to notice or anything!"

"You wanted her to acknowledge you," Itachi summarizes.

"Yes!" Brown eyes glare at him now, burning with anger that really comes from hurt, "That's what this is supposed to help with, right? I'm not laying across a table so you can beat me for nothing! This was supposed to help me. You were supposed to help me. What am I left with? Nothing! Nobody helps me. Not her. Not you. I have to get pissed off and start hitting walls or degrading myself before you notice something was wrong."

Itachi doesn't try to defend himself. He doesn't need to. Iruka isn't really upset with him. And because his whole modality is to help clients deal with acute emotional distress, recognize and regulate and be present, he reminds him of why they are here.

"I can see that you're angry with me because you think I am similar to Anko," the Uchiha smoothly states, "I don't see it that way. I feel very much on your side, but I also feel a duty to help you look at what you are doing. And I can see where your anger and attention-seeking behavior is hurting your relationships. At the same time, I need to tell you that sexualizing therapy sessions is also unhelpful. I don't want to hurt your feelings, and I don't want to make you feel embarrassed. I also don't want to lose the closeness we have built over the past year. Perhaps a different form of therapy will be more beneficial."

His client almost looks panicked when Itachi stands.

"Is it because of what happened tonight? It–I–that wasn't on purpose. I mean, it was, but I just needed someone to pay attention to. I just wanted to feel something, for you to see that I am willing if…if…"

"It is," Itachi doesn't mince words, grabbing the referral information, "And I am aware. I pay attention to everything you do and say, Iruka. But in the contract, it is stated that arousal during a session is a means of termination. That's not to say you can't return but, a break is in order in such cases. Take these."

Iruka's docile demeanor only reaffirms Itachi's conclusion. The man takes the paper and sits it in his lap. "So you're getting rid of me too now? You don't want me either."

"I want to help you," Itachi corrects, "Which is why I am recommending you to someone I trust. This is not to say that you can't return. However, we have to maintain boundaries. This is one of your goals as well."

"Yes, I remember," Iruka mutters because Itachi explains this to every client.

Every time, they deny that they will feel anything for him other than necessary emotions. But the chances of things going beyond that always exist with the nature of his line of work.

Then things become complicated.

Itachi despises complicated things.

"I'm pausing your account for four months. You have the option to go to the counselor or not. I'll call you for reevaluation."

Iruka only nods as Itachi handles the administrative task. He gives the man some time with his thoughts. It's past midnight when he leaves. Itachi doesn't care too much for the slight limp Iruka has on his way out. That was too much for him today.

This is the second client this week that he's paused for the same reason. When a female client had a fucking orgasm on his floor, Itachi stopped the session altogether. He is not that kind of service. Clients need to understand the severity of making this sexual. His form of therapy is stress relief and emotion management through voluntarily giving up power or occasionally causing pain. This is not some BDSM sex show where he gets his fix out of hurting people who are hurting.

He mutters in frustration, adding Iruka to the reserves lists and pausing his file. After that, he sanitizes his equipment, packing the things that need to be taken home and cleaned more thoroughly. He takes his time, hoping his client will be long gone by the time he makes it out of the building.

Itachi's car waits for him at the door. He loosens his tie and checks his watch. It's nearly 1 am. When he gets home, Sakura's white car is once again parked in front of his house. He frowns, hoping that Sasuke is not trying to have an all-night party. He's too tired and too out of it to deal with them.

But as he opens the door from the garage, all the lights are off. Blue light filters from the living room, followed by muffled voices and noises. He sheds his coat, suit jacket, and shoes, carrying them to the genkan at the front door. As he passes through the kitchen, Sakura's head pops up. She looks over the couch at him.

"Oh, it's you."

Itachi finds her observation ridiculous because who else would be wandering in his house this time of night. He places the shoes in the cupboard then hangs his coat.

"Where's Sasuke?"

Sakura nods towards the ceiling. "Sleeping. We're ridesharing in the morning and it's his turn to drive."

"Hnn."

Itachi tosses his suit jacket on the back of the sofa, then goes to the minibar to pour himself a drink. This is the first time he's seen her since that night at the bar. Sure, she's been here at his house, using his things. But Itachi was too busy. Or, Sakura was just leaving. He hasn't given much thought to what happened that night and doesn't really care to do so right now. He's too wound up and in need of a moment to decompress.

He carries his drink between his fingers to the chair near the sofa. With a grunt, he takes a seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Itachi sips slowly, letting it burn down.

Diagonal to him, Sakura's half wrapped in a blanket up to her waist, a pillow at her side. He assumes she's sleeping downstairs again even though they have a perfectly functioning guest room upstairs. But it doesn't have a TV. He supposes that's why she takes to the couch every time.

Itachi probably wouldn't have cared much if she weren't doing her best statue impression. Eyes forward, face neutral and very stiff, too stiff. He shifts his legs. Her eyes flutter away from the TV for a second, fingers fidgeting with the blanket. He had no intention of giving her any of his attention. He's paying more attention now. Once again, establishing boundaries is in order. Itachi's been doing this all day. Having to come home and do it only makes him more annoyed. Sakura never fidgeted or even cared when he was around before. She never actively avoided looking at him before. Itachi admits, to himself, that he doesn't like this new behavior she's exhibiting. Maybe because he's already in a mood; it just bothers him.

He tuts. She blinks. Itachi rolls his eyes, finishes his drink, and stands to get another one.

When he comes back, Sakura finally stops pretending she doesn't want to look at him. Eyeing his descent back into the chair with furrowed brows.

Several seconds go by before she perks up. "Long day?"

Itachi's gaze lulls towards her, eyeing the t-shirt she's wearing over the rim of his scotch glass. "Something like that, yes."

Sakura nods, glancing at the movie and then at him. Itachi watches and waits for what she's not saying, giving her time to work up the courage.

"Do you want a massage?" She finally says, "I always give Sasuke massages when he's stressed out. He says I give the best massages."

Itachi blinks at the proposition, thinking perhaps she's joking. But no, she's dead serious. He wants to laugh. Why is that the first thing that comes to mind? What makes her believe he needs such a thing?

Shaking his head, he finishes his drink then deposits the glass on the table.

"Do you always offer strange men massages?" Itachi says dryly, resting his chin on his knuckles.

Much to his gratitude, that defiant spark comes back. He just barely makes out the set in her jaw with the movie flashing across her face.

"First off, no. Second, you're not strange, Itachi. I've been knowing you nearly my whole life. I only asked because I feel you glaring holes into the floor. Since your job requires you to help people all day, I figured being helped would help you. But since you had to ask stupid questions, forget it."

"I never told you where I worked." He points out, sort of shocked that she knows.

Sakura grabs the blanket and pulls it up to her shoulders. "Sasuke told me."

Well, that's interesting. "Voluntarily or because you asked?"

"I asked." she bites out.

He follows up his question with what he thinks is a more pertinent one. "Before or after we kissed?"

She glares at him. "Why the hell does that even matter?"

"I want to know," Itachi explains.

"Oh yeah? Well, screw you and what you want."

Sakura's glare turns positively murderous. Itachi may have been more affected if not for the fact that he incited her anger on purpose. By force of habit, really. Because his job requires him to incite emotional distress, to confront uncomfortable emotions. If Sakura is going to stop pretending he doesn't exist, they need to address the reason why.

But before he can properly get to the heart of the matter, the woman frustratedly throws off the blanket, stomping past him towards the kitchen. At which point, Itachi notices several things and questions several other things. Sakura's not wearing pants or a bra for that matter. The former is easy to spot when bare legs stick out from beneath a shirt twice her size. He doesn't really try to notice the latter but his job gives him observation skills. Sakura's chest is notably small but that doesn't make it any less obvious. Which has him wondering why she feels comfortable massaging him in such a state. Especially when said massage cause for proximity where he would have no doubt noticed her lack of underwear.

Itachi considers his next course of action then reluctantly follows after her despite her lack of dress.

She's cracking open a can of one of Sasuke's beers when he pulls out a barstool to take a seat. Sakura acknowledges him by not acknowledging him and walking around the counter and him. Itachi simply swivels around and forces her to address him regardless.

"I suppose the only person's wants who matter is yours," he says with such smooth indifference that he knows she can't ignore it.

Sure enough, Sakura jerks around, flush on her face and fire in her eyes. "Excuse me?"

Itachi crosses his arms and leans his back into the grey countertop. "You wanted the men to leave you alone and kissed me as a means to do so."

"How the hell did this get to me and that? I asked you if you wanted a massage because I was trying to help. You said no. That's it. End of discussion."

"Absolutely not," it slips out because Itachi has neither the time nor the patience nor the wherewithal to hold back taking that authoritative tone, "I am not done."

Sakura completely disregards it. "I don't care!"

"Calm yourself," Itachi advises, eyes narrowed, "My brother is sleeping."

Sakura has enough wits to realize her error but not enough to stay away. She lowers her voice but closes the distance, still testing his patience, still not caring about the fact that she's barely wearing any clothes. "I wouldn't have to calm down if you didn't rile me up with stupid questions."

"You were already riled up when I walked in the door. When you avoided eye contact. When you jumped and fidgeted at every little movement I made. Am I lying?"

His words disarm her completely. Sakura's blush is evident of victory. But re-establishing boundaries are still in order. Now that he has her attention, he starts over.

"You kissed me," Itachi says matter of factly, "You did so because you wanted the men to leave you alone. I responded."

Itachi tries to put things back in frame for her, hoping perhaps it will help her realize where things started and where they stopped. Sakura looks at him for a few seconds, not saying anything or doing anything. He takes it as she's thinking about his words, understanding where he's coming from. He thinks. Until her eyes flicker down to his lips and something darkens the green in her eyes. She places her hands on her hips. And, really, Itachi wonders if she's even aware of the effects it has on her minimal clothing. She can't lack that much self-awareness.

"So. Why'd you kiss me the way you did?"

"I told you."

"No," Sakura slowly corrects. After eyeing the counter for a few seconds, she finds the courage to look him in the eyes. "You explained why you didn't pull away, not why you did the way you did. That's different. You could have just stood there and let me do all the work. You didn't. You chose to do it that way."

Itachi doesn't give an inch and turns it on her. "What way is that, exactly?"

There it is again. The tiniest little something skirts across her face. "Like…like you wanted to put me in my place. Like you're trying to do right now."

Maybe Sakura isn't clueless after all.

Maybe because he's tired, Itachi has the fleeting thought to ask her thoughts on it. Judging from her demeanor (which, despite his best efforts to keep his eyes on her face, Itachi takes it in full), Sakura isn't necessarily opposed. Her hands on her hips, that set in her jaw, those open, very green, very curious, very wondering eyes.

Well, shit.

Itachi looks away first because this is his brother's friend who sleeps on his couch from time to time. Who he's known for years off and on (but clearly does not know that well). Who he always sees as a little bit clueless and a lot bit reckless. But maybe he was reckless too? Twice, actually. He really didn't need to kiss her. Maybe he shouldn't have brought it up tonight. Perhaps, on some moral level, he should not be curious about her stance on his particular style of affection.

Itachi denies everything. Deny. Deny. Deny.

Because of boundaries. Or something like that.

A/N: Merry Late Christmas! Despite popular opinion, Itachi is not a sex therapist. He's a bastardized and completely unrealistic mesh between dialectical behavior therapy and play therapy. Or, to put it plainly, he helps people who have extreme emotional instability, regulate their emotions by putting them in situations that require submission of some sort. The 'play' depends on the person with the goal being distress tolerance, accepting situations outside of their control (because he is in control), and managing emotional (usually anger) responses.

Does it help that Itachi has a certain, *ahem*, familiarity in being a dominant partner? Yes. Does he bring that to work? No. But it does mean that his skills in the area of submission are quite refined.

-Cece ^^