Disclaimer: I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this innocuous interlude. Oodles of respect for Masashi Kishimoto, the creative force behind Naruto. Please do have patience with me and with the ninja who can be gentle. Sorta.
FOUR: HOT STUFF
Iruka was peripherally aware that Sukea had spent a lot of time deflecting Kisame's interest when they were all together the previous summer. Gratitude may have been belated, but it was real. With his partner gone, Iruka had no defense against Kisame's concept of friendliness.
A heavy hand thumped his back. "This is so much better, don't you think?" bragged Kisame.
"I had no idea there would be suites," Iruka answered cautiously.
The Mist nin had moved them to a set of connected rooms. Two bedchambers opening onto a shared sitting room, an arrangement that ensured he and Sukea would have next to no privacy from their erstwhile voyeur.
"You're here. We're there. Though if you don't want to be alone, you can bunk with us tonight," Kisame offered with an expression that was hard to read.
"That's very kind," Iruka murmured, shaking his head.
Kisame nodded once, then jutted his chin at the window. "Best view the place has to offer."
They were on the top floor of a prosperous beachside inn. Below, residents were soaking in the sun-warmed tide pools that were one of the establishment's much-touted healthful luxuries.
"Let's go down," suggested Kisame. "I'll show you how it's done."
"Now?" Iruka tried to stall. "I haven't unpacked …."
"Leave it for later. You don't need to bring anything down." Kisame herded him toward the door. "This is a classy place. Everything's provided. Coming, Itachi?"
"May as well."
So Iruka meekly fell in step behind Kisame. They took the stairs without rushing. Iruka offered Itachi his arm, and Kisame glanced up at them at every landing, silently gauging their progress.
"Would first floor have been better?" the big nin muttered.
"Don't be tiresome," Itachi warned.
Kisame frowned. "The climb …?"
Itachi's eyes narrowed. "Leave it, Kisame."
His partner's expression closed off. Kisame took them the rest of the way in silence. But once they strolled onto sun-hot sands, toward a long row of striped tents, Kisame cheered up.
"Over here, Iruka. Start with the salt."
Iruka peered curiously at a shallow pit where a slurry of fine crystals glittered in the sun. Other guests sat on low benches while attendants in uniforms used handfuls to scrub at bare skin. There was a lot of bare skin.
Kisame was already halfway out of his clothes. "Strip," he ordered.
Okay. He could manage this.
But then Kisame was looming over him with a handful of salt goop. "Best thing for you," he promised.
"Should we really …?" Iruka managed, trying to protest.
Itachi had moved farther along, and an attendant was helping stow his clothes. Those who probably should have been helping him and Kisame were watching from a safe distance.
"You don't mind, do you?" challenged Kisame.
The skittish attendants bowed and backed off. Abandoning Iruka to his fate.
Kisame must have picked up on his uneasiness, because he gruffly murmured, "It's fine. You'll see. This is good for what ails you."
Abandoning the last of his clothes, Iruka dredged up a sheepish smile. "Be gentle?"
A rumbling chuckle. A twirling finger. "Face away."
Iruka obeyed. What else could he do?
And it was … nice. Because Kisame clearly took salt scrub seriously. He was all business, just like the attendants. And all the while he scooped and slathered and kneaded, he took it upon himself to educate Iruka about the many gifts that the ocean provided.
The stuff scraped, leaving his skin sensitive.
Slowly, Iruka relaxed. His head drooped. His eyes closed.
"Better sit before you fall," teased his self-appointed attendant.
Again, Iruka obeyed, shuffling to the nearest bench. Kisame knelt before him, turning his attention to Iruka's feet, calves, and thighs.
"Doing better? Since summer?" Kisame's tone was neutral.
"My doctors are optimistic."
"Good." A quick smile. A nod. "Good to hear."
"How's Itachi?" Iruka murmured.
Kisame hummed. "He doesn't let on."
"But you know him better than anyone."
Another hum. A quick glance toward Itachi, who'd already moved toward a rinsing station. "The sea will do him good."
"I'm sure it will." Iruka touched his arm. "Let's stay together? The three of us?"
He grunted and hauled Iruka to his feet. "Feels amazing, yeah?"
"Very relaxing."
Which it was. Up until Kisame sloshed a bucket of cold water on him.
Iruka swore.
Kisame guffawed and led Iruka toward a nearby smear of black. "You'll like the next part. Itachi! Stay with us, would you?"
Itachi paused and half-turned, his face completely blank.
"Get over here. I'll show you how it's done, then you help Itachi."
The black stuff proved to be some kind of mineral-rich mud, and the application was self-serve. But that didn't stop Kisame from smearing the stuff all up Iruka's arm and over his shoulders. It was warm. Almost hot. And after the cold water, it was welcome enough to elicit a groan from Iruka.
"Right?" Kisame beamed.
With a steadying hand on Iruka's shoulder, the Mist nin proceeded to apply a thick coat—chest, back, buttocks, legs—explaining how long to leave it, where to rinse it, and so forth. Iruka listened with interest. This was all new territory for him. And then … Kisame was in new territory, and Iruka couldn't quite hold in a squeak of surprise.
"That's everything," Kisame reported, nodding his satisfaction. "You do Itachi. I'm going back for salt. Meet you over there."
And Kisame swaggered off.
Iruka glanced down at himself, then watched the big nin's retreat. He'd just been thoroughly groped and possibly fondled by a member of Akatsuki.
"May I?" inquired Itachi. He lifted a handful of mud, two fingers already dipped in. "Your face."
"S-sure."
Itachi daubed the mud onto Iruka's cheeks and over the scar that bridged his nose. "You are blushing," he remarked softly.
"He …!"
"Yes." Brows lifting slightly, Itachi blandly said, "Be gentle."
Iruka whispered, "You really want me to …?"
He simply inclined his head.
So Iruka scooped and slathered. It was kind of fun.
Itachi hissed softly and swayed toward him.
"Gotta admit. This stuff's great." Iruka cleared his throat. "Want to do your own … uhh …?"
"Shy?" It was a challenge.
Iruka tried to frame an answer that wouldn't offend. "Maybe if you do Kisame's?"
Itachi snorted softly and turned away. But he was smiling. Maybe the sea really was doing him some good.
End Note: originally posted on October 14, 2021. 1,059 words.
