ix.
Winter is soon to be upon Itachi and Kisame, and they walk side by side as they usually do beneath a cloudless sky so blue that it doesn't quite seem real. There are mountains off in the distance capped with patchy snow, but Itachi must squint his eyes to see even that. He's sure it's a beautiful sight, the air so clear that he imagines one can see the trees swaying in the cold, calm winds. Soon, though, all he will have left of his sight will be memories.
He does not sigh. Punishment, he reminds himself. But just before his brain has the opportunity to launch into its routine to have him wallowing in self-pity for the next week, something catches his attention to the east. There are a few tiny civilian chakra signatures clustered together, and he looks in its direction and narrows his eyes to better see. There is a home there as they walk over the horizon, the roof freshly thatched in preparation for the colder months and a gentle firelight emanating from the windows. They haven't crossed paths with any people nor seen any other buildings for miles, and he reasons that this must be old valley farmlands.
What is more intriguing, though, are the hundreds of persimmons strung up along the side of the little house. Their orange is so bright he can see it there even when he winces from the strain behind his eyes and blinks back to his normal, blurry vision. The fruit in its form as a dried delicacy is the namesake of his partner's family—while Itachi figured long ago that Kisame's appearance was often brought to his attention, he wonders if he'll roll his eyes at what Itachi is about to do.
But he thinks of his lips pressed against the inside of his wrist and uses that to fuel his courage. He turns to Kisame and smiles, and it feels so unbidden and real that he can scarcely believe it. Then he runs off and lands as quietly as he can; the civilian family is none the wiser as he sneaks beneath the window and pops up among the hanging fruits.
Kisame has followed as he always does, watching as Itachi reaches up and plucks one of the fruits from its string. It's plump and not dried at all, but then again he knows nothing of the process to make hoshigaki. He tosses it to the other man, who catches it and turns it in his hands. The way he studies it gives Itachi the impression that he does have knowledge of the process and isn't exactly pleased by what he's seeing.
Itachi takes another and bites into it immediately. It's not an easy task, and though the rough outer skin has been peeled away, what remains is so taut that it gives a light snap when his teeth break it. He widens his eyes in surprise at the sound and the taste, a hint of sweet so light it wasn't entirely expected, and then a thick drop of its juice rolls down his chin.
He makes to wipe it from his face, but has time only to flex his fingers—that is how quickly Kisame reacts. They are staring straight into each other's eyes as his warm, grey thumb presses into the soft flesh of his chin, pushing up slowly until it pauses at the corner of his mouth. There is a brief, electrifying moment where Itachi thinks and hopes and is ready to beg for Kisame to dip that thumb into his mouth. His pulse is so rapid that he can hardly think straight, but then his partner moves his hand and what he does seems far more erotic than Itachi's fantasies.
The liquid is a deep, shining stain on Kisame's thumb as he brings it to his own mouth. His tongue slips out and trails along the tip slowly, then pulls back and disappears behind his closed lips. Itachi can see the shadows along his jaw shift just so as he takes in the taste of it against the roof of his mouth, and then as if nothing at all has just happened he takes a rough bite of his own persimmon and makes his way back to the road.
The few seconds for which Itachi stands there stunned feel like an eternity.