The unspoken form of their trade is the catacombs they construct deep within the heart, never to be unearthed or explored. Though they fight as a monolith, an extension of the village's will, the path they walk is solitary. A wind-chilled path of endless devastation. Accordingly, a shinobi blackens his heart. Shuts his world to love and sorrow. Buries injuries of the past as if they were skeletons.
It's hardly an easy task.
Itachi throws another glance over his shoulder to see his partner still lagging behind. Kisame trudges forward unseeing, posture dragging like mountains. He's quiet, which would hardly bother Itachi otherwise: there are often times when they simply respect and enjoy each other's companionship. But it's when those moments are stretched beyond hours that it becomes unnerving. It's only unnerving because Kisame is a chatterbox, and his silence is deafening.
These days it shoots a pang of concern through Itachi that he no longer denies.
Itachi stops walking. Turns to Kisame, who halts his own steps as soon as he notices, just a moment too late. He looks at Itachi expectantly, and Itachi takes in the severity of his features, inked in stark shadows.
"What is it?" His voice is gruff, weary. Not a trace of color or his usual odd humor Itachi has come to appreciate.
"We should find a place to rest for the night."
It's late, and cold, but more than that it isn't ideal for either of them for Kisame to be so inattentive while they travel, and Itachi doesn't know how much more of his brooding he can take.
"Alright," Kisame says, and he's already turning to leave, clearly seizing the opportunity to run off and find some privacy. "I'll start searching."
Itachi shakes his head. "Let's stop at the nearest inn."
A parody of a grin twists into Kisame's face—muscle memory, Itachi recognizes now, but Kisame's eyes cast a pall over any expression he can muster. "Feeling fancy, eh? Fine by me."
They waste no time getting there: a seedy inn on the outskirts of an equally seedy village in the Land of Earth half a mile away. The interior is hardly warmer and more welcoming than outdoors, an inconvenience that neither of them are strangers to; this is their normal.
The woman at the front desk looks them over in silent, wary judgment. Her eyes linger on Kisame, whose unfavorable mood makes him appear perhaps more dangerous than usual, and he does himself no favors by staring her down. Itachi pays for a double room, if only not to rouse further suspicion.
Of course, they won't be needing two beds, and he half expects Kisame to make an unoriginal quip about it.
Of course, Kisame doesn't utter a word.
There's a line of tension running between them that Itachi takes it upon himself to snap almost as soon as they enter the room: small, no-frills, chilly, with rotted wooden floors and cracked walls he's sure are thin. Itachi gives the worn beds a once-over, decides that they'll make do, as always. Then he turns to Kisame, who stands idly by the door as he waits for Itachi to make the first choice.
Itachi chooses to shove him against the wall.
Kisame startles at first, understandably, but surprise is quickly overtaken by lightning-fast shinobi instincts that spring to life like a cobra. His large hands fly up to wrap around Itachi's slim wrists, firmly, but loose enough that Itachi can free himself with little effort. Itachi is not ignorant of how easily Kisame can crush him, if given the opportunity. Strangely, he finds the prospect far more riveting than terrifying.
Because beneath those killer instincts is an undercurrent of trust that runs deep. Kisame is hardly defending himself. Despite whatever darkness may be pervading his heart and mind, he trusts that Itachi's intentions are not malicious. And they aren't. His deadliest weapon dispelled, an equal measure of trust, Itachi's black eyes bore directly into his partner's, where he catches a curious flicker of light through their heavy fog. A question.
A request.
Itachi is not good with words—warm ones, anyway. His tongue has been sharpened for lies, control, and brutal truths. It frustrates him that there isn't a response he can think to craft that would help Kisame more than hurt him. Comfort lies far outside a shinobi's skillset.
So he instead chooses a language that Kisame is most familiar with.
He brushes soft fingers over Kisame's gills. Feels them flare and flutter timidly. Feels Kisame start to relax against him. A silent understanding passes between them with the softening of Kisame's yellow eyes and Itachi resolves to grant him his wish.
Their lips meet roughly, fiercely. Kisame's hands fall from Itachi's wrists to snake around his waist, pulling the Uchiha as tightly as he can against his large frame, as if afraid he'll flee at any given moment. Itachi melts into the embrace, Kisame's overwhelming warmth and physicality that never fails to steal all the air from his lungs. He reaches up to remove Kisame's hitai-ate and run hands through his hair as he savors their every point of electric contact. Kisame returns in kind, tugging out Itachi's hair tie to thread his fingers through the cascade of black silk.
Itachi naturally finds himself craving more. He rips Kisame's cloak off without ceremony, always amused by Kisame's decision to forgo a shirt underneath. Always admiring the chiseled musculature of his body, forged like the world's most perfect blade. He smooths gentle hands over Kisame's muscles and feels their tension slowly melt into water.
Then feels them flex as Kisame lifts him up. Itachi straddles him immediately as Kisame reverses their roles and pins him up against the chipped wall. Kisame kisses like he's been starved of him, bites at Itachi's lips with sharp teeth, knowing Itachi won't complain. Knowing Itachi hardly minds the taste of his own blood. Kisame grinds into him, grinds gasps out of him.
"Itachi-san," Kisame breathes. He's nipping at Itachi's throat, tonguing the rings of his necklace, and there's a whirl of emotions going through Itachi's head within the haze of heat, none of which he currently has the coherence or discipline to handle. Kisame isn't faring any better, but he manages to peel them away from the wall and carry them to the closest bed.
Where Kisame continues to kiss him senseless, strips Itachi of his shirt, and with his mouth starts staking claim to the rest of him. Generating pools of heat with every lap of his tongue against Itachi's skin. Marking him with a sprawling trail of bites, down to mouth at Itachi's hardened cock through the fabric of his pants. Normally Itachi would indulge him, let Kisame do whatever he wants with him, but tonight more than anything he wants to grant Kisame his request as best he knows how. Wants to take this man apart, if only to stitch him back together.
Itachi wills himself to push him away. "Kisame…"
Kisame recoils; his eyes flash with remorse like he's just been scolded. It makes Itachi's heart wrench unfairly. "Itachi-san? What's wrong?"
In a fluid movement, Itachi stands and maneuvers them to push Kisame onto the edge of the bed. "Sit down," he all but orders, and Kisame falls back obediently, the bed giving an undignified squeak. And he looks up at Itachi in awe and anticipation. Looks at him like he's unworthy of whatever Itachi plans to do with him, and Itachi knows right then where Kisame has been in the past several hours.
Ensnared in a self-spun tangle of lies and insecurities. Tripping over phantom hands of the past that have come back to try and steal him away.
Itachi knows what Kisame thinks of himself. He wants Kisame to know how much he disagrees.
Itachi kisses him again, greedy. Runs his tongue along the fascinating pointed edges of Kisame's teeth. Kisame groans and it shoots sparks down Itachi's spine. Kisame follows those sparks with his hands, and Itachi leans into it, pulling back to lick roads down Kisame's rough skin, over the curvature of his muscles from neck to broad chest, the contours of his abs to the hem of his trousers. There Itachi unbuttons and tugs them down, freeing Kisame's double erection.
The anomaly has never deterred Itachi before and won't do so now. He still remembers Kisame's hesitance early on, dissuasions of we don't have to do this if you aren't comfortable, Itachi-san, and Itachi had only kissed him harder, took him with all the stubbornness the Uchiha are known for. When Itachi takes Kisame into his mouth this time, there is no resistance.
He enjoys the feeling of Kisame's large hands tangling in his hair again, guiding him just roughly enough as he works both cocks carefully. Itachi deliberately takes his time, one hand feeling up the expanse of Kisame's clenching thighs, fingers skimming along the tight flex of his abs. Though his Sharingan is absent, Itachi is sure to commit the scene to memory: Kisame groaning low in his throat, heated desperation in his half-lidded eyes. The ripple of his muscled frame as he comes undone.
Itachi only pulls away once he's sure Kisame is properly wound up and peels off his own pants, finally freeing the ache between his legs. He hastily goes to retrieve the lube and presses it into Kisame's hand when he returns, pushing on Kisame's chest to lie down. As he climbs over him he hears the pop of the lube bottle behind him and knows Kisame is wetting his fingers with it. Enjoys the tease of Kisame circling his entrance, moaning when Kisame dips thick fingers into him and works him open diligently.
Kisame growls low in his ear, wrought with desire. "Which one will you take tonight, Itachi-san? Your favorite?" He pointedly slaps one of his cocks against Itachi's ass. "Or perhaps both?"
Itachi can feel himself unraveling alongside him, pushing back on his cock. Breathless. His mind swimming in lust and his partner's salty sea-breeze scent.
"I want all of you," he confesses.
Kisame grins, already slipping into him. "Then let's get you stretched out properly."
They're both impatient, Kisame even more so as he fingers Itachi with noticeably a little less care than before, one cock in. The stretch is already a bit uncomfortable, but before Itachi can start to have any second thoughts he lifts himself up, breath hitching as he slowly guides Kisame's other cock into him. The sensation is near overwhelming—rarely does he take both, but he's determined to fall apart with this man tonight. He savors the dull burn. The impossible fullness.
All the while Kisame grunts, whispers exaltations and encouragements of beautiful, Itachi-san… You always take me so well… Open your eyes. Kisame is good with words and even better with his hands, fingertips shooting hot needles through Itachi's skin, his touch always reverent. More gentle than he has any right to be. More gentle than what Itachi deserves.
Kisame's thumbs rub the inside of Itachi's thighs, coaxing noises that Itachi makes a semiconscious effort not to suppress, since he knows how much Kisame enjoys hearing him. Kisame echoes him as Itachi rides his partner to near completion. The edge of oblivion.
And back.
He's ready to let go. Itachi bends down, lips brushing Kisame's ear as he whispers his desire for his lover to fuck him. That lights a fire in Kisame, who lifts Itachi up and manhandles him onto his front. Bends him over. One heavy hand on his back holding him down as Kisame enters him from behind. Fucks Itachi with deep, angled thrusts, punctuated by the creaking of the cheap bed beneath them. Fucks him like he's trying to forget all about the cold ugliness of the room, of the world outside. Like he's trying to forget the feel of the bitter winds that blow through the lonely chamber of a shinobi's heart.
Itachi finds himself forgetting just as well.
When he feels a calloused hand wrap around his cock he jerks into it desperately, knowing he won't last much longer. He shudders. Comes with a drawn out moan. Barely registers Kisame still fucking him through the white noise between his ears. Soon after Kisame stills, powerful thighs shaking. He bends down to bite into Itachi's shoulder as he floods him with a deep groan.
Kisame cradles him to his chest in a languid moment, before pulling out as gently as he's able and collapsing next to him. Kisame swathes his partner in his arms, and it takes Itachi a moment to recover before he turns, lazily traces the sculpt of his partner's jawline. And Kisame smiles—not grins, for once—smiles at him, an oddly tender look, but it's not long before Itachi spots the embers of mischief in his gaze. He looks like he wants to say something.
Itachi taps a finger against his blue lips. "What?"
"Heh…" Kisame's smile finally morphs into a familiar, crooked grin, the same expression he makes when he's about to say something he thinks is funny. "If that's all it takes to get you in the mood, perhaps I should mope more often."
Itachi narrows his eyes and exhales, but rather than shoving Kisame away he turns his back to him. Kisame just chuckles, pulls him closer. Itachi hates that he can offer no resistance, or even a retort, feeling warm, sated, and completely spent. He's sure he'll be sore tomorrow.
"Thank you, Itachi-san," Kisame says with open sincerity, lips on his shoulder.
A strange warmth begins to bloom in Itachi's chest and he allows it.