This is the censored version of this chapter-as always, check my bio for where to find the full version, xox

-Vivi

viii.

Itachi is alone in the small washroom at the end of the hall. Their shared room is four doors down, and though this is a public facility here at the inn, most patrons are off busying themselves at the onsen itself.

Kisame was not necessarily a modest man, and the two of them had changed clothes or tended to wounds in many manners of undress. But earlier that day when he'd announced he would lie down for a nap and stripped off his shirt, Itachi's pulse spiked. It was not like him at all to stare so much, but he was transfixed as if taken into a genjutsu at those broad shoulders and the wide gills cutting across them, the definition of his muscles from beneath his thick abdomen, the way his nipples were hard atop his pectorals from the coolness of the room—

He'd turned and feigned interest in the hearth, nodding once. "When would you like me to wake you?"

He could hear Kisame flop down onto the futon and crack his back, then the fluttering of one of the blankets as he pulled it from its neat, folded pile. "I'd like to take a dip in the onsen before long."

"I..." Could Itachi even handle taking a bath with him right now? They'd stayed at plenty of inns before, but when a bathhouse was involved they'd always gone separately—that would not be so easy with a large hot springs to roam around in. "I wanted to see more of the town. I'll wake you when I return from my stroll."

"Very well. I appreciate it."

It had not been the first lie he's told to Kisame, especially if the facade of I've made perfect peace with the horrible things I've done is to be counted in that category. His partner falls into sleep quickly while Itachi pretends to ready himself to go for a long walk. Then he'd all but bolted, and it was how he'd found himself in the washroom.

Even while he sleeps Itachi is on high alert for any chakra signatures that are headed in his direction. His range is not horribly far, but it's better than Kisame's and most any nin save for exclusive sensory types. Secure in the knowledge that he will not be bothered, he reaches one of his hands into his waistband and swallows nervously. He has been aching there for far too often, and this is the only way he can think to ease that agony no matter how much it may embarrass him.

He hasn't touched himself since just after he'd broken into adolescence. In his boyhood he had not been interested, not even when some of his classmates in the academy had been caught whispering of the lewd magazines they'd found in a bin. And in the short teenage years he'd had before he'd ruined his life forever, he'd been far too busy and pulled far too thin between his father's lofty expectations and his secret duty to Lord Third and his involvement in ANBU. There had simply been no time for the more carnal matters of the body, and when he'd gone off alone and wandered the world, he had simply been far too depressed to even think of pleasing himself.

Now, though, it is all-consuming in his brain. He huffs a startled breath as he presses the palm of his hand against his length, already hard there between his legs. Whether it is from the thought of Kisame alone or the small pressure he's applied, he's not sure—and he is not sure which is more humiliating. He tugs down his pants to his hips to free himself of the stifling fabric, and the sheer eroticism of being even this exposed in a place meant to be public makes his heart squeeze.

He holds his breath. Just when he is certain he can take it no more he slows and gasps in shuddering breaths; he stumbles, his back falling against the wall but still he does not stop.

Pour yourself, he says over and over, all over me.

His fantasies become erratic: Kisame sucking at his neck and Kisame moaning his name into his mouth, always that Itachi-san he uses without fail. He imagines it is Kisame pleasing him so deep and so fast and so good, and he imagines what it would be like to lie before him and see what Kisame would look like to drink in the sight of his naked body.

He clenches his teeth and holds the air in his lungs until the edges of his vision go black, each last-second breath he takes sending waves of pleasure all through his body each more intense than the last.

When he's done, it robs him entirely of every other sense. His head rolls back against the wall as he squeezes himself gracelessly to prolong the feeling that washes over him, an ecstasy the likes of which he has never felt. His jaw falls open as he heaves in great breaths to regain his composure as quickly as possible.

It is with a lingering feeling of pleasure and an exhausted tingling in his legs that he strips off his clothes and replaces them with one of the clean robes from the linen closet. He takes his time in washing his pants, trying to focus on the feel of the cool water in which his hands are submerged and scrubbing his fluid from the fabric. He would take anything, really, besides acknowledging he'd just done what he did. With luck it would be a one-off, something he could one day forget with time.

Eventually his heartbeat calms. Satisfied that his clothes are free of the evidence, he makes his way back to the room. Night had fallen in the time he'd been gone, and it is as he slides the door shut that Kisame wakes with a start. Itachi pushes his private romp in the washroom from his mind, trying to convince himself that there is no way his partner can or will ever know what he'd been up to, though just because that's true doesn't mean he isn't still worried by the possibility.

"I apologise," he says quickly, because if he gets the jump on the conversation he has better odds of controlling the narrative. He crosses the room and lights the small oil lamp, the darkness cut through by its soft golden glow. "There were children playing in the street, splashing mud. I wanted to wash it out before it had a chance to leave a stain."

Kisame accepts this explanation, but then smirks. The sight of it sends an electric jolt through Itachi, who swallows thickly as the other makes a suggestion most appealing: "Why don't you come with me for a late-night dip? You're halfway dressed for it already."

He chides himself inwardly for that familiar heat rising in his stomach. But he's just had an orgasm; surely now would be the best time to do such a thing as get naked with the man he can't stop thinking about. All of his pent-up frustration had left him the moment he'd come, hadn't it? And who knows when else they'll get the opportunity to lounge about in a hot springs, especially one as nice as this?

"I'd love to." Itachi is no coward. He smiles over at his partner, absentmindedly pulling his hair from its tie to readjust it. It does not slip past his notice that Kisame is once again staring at him, and he fights to keep from acknowledging it in any real capacity. "Perhaps you could grow out your hair," he comments, as if its length alone were what Kisame is pondering. Small talk is sure to help, at least he desperately hopes so.

"Perhaps," he agrees. "My father, though, liked to keep it cropped short. I know it's an old-fashioned style even as far as Mist natives go, but...it's hard to imagine it any other way."

When he tugs down his pants, Itachi fights not to go wide-eyed, opting instead to turn and untie his robe as if nothing at all is possibly different.

Nothing is, he reminds himself. It is the truth, and he tries to find comfort in that as he snuffs out the lamplight and they step out onto the veranda. He pushes for chakra and finds no one in the vicinity, and he's sure he's missed a sign somewhere he hadn't bothered to squint to read that notes it's off-limits after dark.

"I will go first," Kisame murmurs. He pushes off the railing and drops elegantly into the water. There is no noisy splash, and it is so dark overhead that Itachi's poor eyesight cannot track where exactly he's gone. When he surfaces he flings his head, his hair flying from his eyes as he raises his arms invitingly. Even at a distance and even through his squint, it is possibly the sexiest thing Itachi has ever seen.

Miraculously, though, he manages to keep his cool. He steps onto the railing and drops down, the fall not long at all before he slides his palms across Kisame's shoulders. Those hands, big and strong and hot, take his waist as he finds his footing in the spring. But before his body can even react to the contact the other man has stumbled back and released him, glancing away nervously. Itachi reasons within that it is a fine opportunity to pretend that nothing at all is amiss, and he trudges as quietly as he can manage to a cluster of rocks to sit.

Kisame does not follow, instead sinking down into the water. The lamps are turned low and there are only stars overhead, the moon in its earliest of phases, and Itachi's curiosity and lust are slowly winning against his cold logic and reason. It stings, but he activates his Sharingan anyway and stares clean through the darkness and water to focus on Kisame. His chakra feels anxious, circulating rapidly through his body in time with his heartbeat as the gill slits on his shoulders undulate and flutter in a way that makes him think of trembling fingertips.

He stares more at that gargantuan body. The way the notches of his spine stretch beneath his skin, how his shoulderblades and his lower back give way to small patches of tiny, razor-sharp scales, the way his muscle spreads over his biceps and his forearms and how between his legs sits—

But then he stands, and Itachi cuts off the Sharingan so quickly that his vision is dotted with dizzying starbursts. He blinks them away as Kisame approaches, the inhuman texture of his skin perfectly suited to moving silently in the water in a way that should be frightening. Instead, Itachi's stomach flips with excitement. Kisame chooses a spot to sit that is somehow both much too far away and far too close, Itachi's composure quickly failing him.

He can't help it. To touch Kisame is far beyond a want—it is wholly a need now as he stares into his eyes. But when he reaches out his hand with the intent to caress his face, that approach is stopped by Kisame's own hand.

It's not exactly fair to extract revenge upon someone who hadn't even been aware they'd done anything in the first place. But it's all he wants now, to unravel Kisame in the way Itachi had come unraveled before.

"What you said earlier," he starts as quietly as he can, well aware of the goosebumps breaking out on his partner's body. They stare at each other as if backing down is a challenge that will bring them great shame, but where Kisame has physical endurance, Itachi is positive his mind games are the clear winner. "It's true that only Water can calm a Fire. But as I'm sure you know, when paired in a different manner, Fire is the only force that can bring Water to boil."

Just what the hell is he saying? He doesn't have time to wonder, for in the next moment it is as if something has awoken in Kisame. He tugs on Itachi's hand and pulls his wrist to his mouth, pressing his lips against the thin, frail skin there. Something catches in Itachi's throat as he watches on and feels the heat of the flat sides of those shark teeth at his veins. The other man takes in a slow breath through his nose as if to take in Itachi's scent and commit it to memory.

He fights to keep that hardness between his legs at bay. Not here, not now, he commands, afraid at what sort of reaction Kisame would have to see such a thing. His heart is beating harder and faster than he's ever felt it—no battle or reprimand held even a candle to this.

But then Kisame smirks again, for he has indeed felt the shift in Itachi's body who is just a fraction of a moment from pushing in and kissing him square on the fucking mouth when the voice of a stranger sounds over the hot water.

"Oi, oi!" Though he is angry he's not necessarily yelling, anxious perhaps not to wake any of the other customers. He clicks his tongue in annoyance—Itachi was too distracted to notice before, but the man's weak chakra signature is far too close for comfort. "Don't you idiots know how to read? Get outta the water before I fetch my switch!"

It just cannot be helped. With the combination of the intense arousal and the shock to have been surprised by a mere civilian and the fact that the proprietor had the gall enough to threaten to beat his customers for disobeying the rules, Itachi lets out the most loud and genuine laugh he's had in years. The sensation of it is foreign but not unwelcome, lightening him through to his very soul, and by the time he and Kisame stand and leap back up to the walkway he is still struggling to contain it.

"What on earth is so funny, Itachi-san?" Kisame asks. Though it is too dark for Itachi to see, he can hear the amused smirk on that handsome face. The outline of him there is a sight to behold as he shrugs on a robe and ties it lazily at his hips.

"It's just been so long," he says as he finally quiets, lacing his words with as much duality as possible, "since anyone has managed to sneak up on me like that."