A/N: For Kisame Birthday Bang, prompt: birthday [redacted] + KisaIta Week, prompt: modern AU


There is a refuge out in the open sea, known only to those who haven't yet found a place to belong to; Kisame realizes this about himself, but he isn't too ashamed by the fact. There's no safety like being entirely at the ocean's mercy, nothing around to keep company with but the other divers — distance and danger beyond them. Despite his suit, the saltwater fills Kisame's head and envelops his chest. Takes him into the depths of its blue embrace.

Only now, in the place of allure there's a sting of absence as he decompresses above the man-made debris. Floating adrift. Hollowed and lonesome.

Longing.

If he closes his eyes, he can imagine someone reaching out to him through the murk to pull him back to solid ground: painted fingernails wrapping around his wrist, black hair framing bottomless black eyes.

And if he's lucky a stray shark will console him instead — great white — real and reassuring as a long-lost relative, and it's no doubt his favorite part of the job by far. He'll greet them nose-to-helmet and there won't be an ounce of fear — only an awe and strange solidarity with these lovely creatures that know nothing but a vagabond life, infinitely swimming forward and chomping their way through all troubles. Ignoring his team's warnings Kisame will lay his gloved hands tenderly on that rough, marred skin, and it'll feel as familiar as home.

When it's time to leave this mystical underworld for the day he'll lean over the boat's railing and gaze out into the evening. Watch as the last remnants of sunlight shatter on the water's surface. Salt and wind in his hair and skin. One with the elements, and he'll wonder at the ocean's uncanny way of reflecting the soul. Waves lap at the hull in natural rhythm, and Kisame pictures them washing away the reveries of that haunting face, gently dragging them back into the sea.

But this is not the ocean.

His work now reels him to freshwaters inland, to more rusty metal pipes and algae-coated concrete beasts. But here, he's in the water only a fraction of the time and cramped in an office the rest of it; the opportunities for catharsis just aren't the same, Kisame thinks, and the longer it goes on the more restless he inevitably gets. The bright side being that he now gets to return home every night, to a real bed, real solitude, and as he steps into his apartment the loneliness billows over him like a dense fog.

Comforting.

He almost wishes it wasn't his birthday; then, at least, he'd only feel half as pathetic. But it's fine. He'll celebrate with a few drinks, order takeout, numb his mind to a film or two. Except the more he considers it the less appealing it sounds, and more than tired after a long week, he's bored.

Kisame struggles to remember the last time he'd gone out somewhere other than the gym or the supermarket. He doesn't think he's even spoken to another soul in the past week, aside from coworkers, but tasks and debriefs hardly count as enlightening conversation. If he were any less considerate he'd call someone, maybe, but he isn't sure who'd be willing to listen to him chatter for the better half of an hour.

But as fate would have it, his phone buzzes. Kisame glances down at it, and he shouldn't be as surprised as he is to see a 'happy birthday' message. One of a few, from close acquaintances: Obito, who promises he'd celebrate with him, but he's working late tonight, sorry. let's go out this weekend; Mangetsu and Zabuza, who extend him an offer to go drinking tonight.

Kisame can't help but crack a slight smile. Gathers the acknowledgements to his chest. And he tries not to let that smile drop as he registers in the back of his mind that there is… someone missing, but at this point he accepts that hearing from them would be a lot more surprising than not. Tonight's hardly a night to be hankering, though, and before he can fall into its jaws he takes Mangetsu and Zabuza up on their offer and jumps into the shower.

The water's hot and clean on his skin, a nice refresher from the chilliness of the lake. It brings a brief respite from the doldrums that Kisame meditates in for a while, the steam clearing away the fog in his heart and head. He eventually steps out, towel around his waist, planning to throw on something casual when his phone starts to ring.

When he sees the name that lights up his screen Kisame's heart drops like a stone.

He has to blink a few times. Make sure he's seeing it right, but the name doesn't change; the phone's still ringing.

Itachi.

It had been months. Several long, sticky months after turning his back on the shipwreck of their old workplace, and Kisame would like to think he's done well for himself since then, in spite of the circumstances. In that time he'd finally landed a job that didn't weigh on his conscience, did a bit of soul-searching. Cut his losses and marched forward, a bit like shedding skin, or lopping off a now-useless limb, which Kisame would have little trouble with otherwise — he'd done this before. Except he'd never quite been able to let go of the one person he'd worked with the closest for the past few years.

All that time, and he still could never force himself to forget his younger colleague: hauntingly beautiful, eerily intelligent, odd. Disregarding their obvious differences they'd quickly managed to find common ground — they had to, as partners —, and ground beyond that, even. On occasion, Kisame will allow himself to think fondly, painfully, back to late nights under smoke and stars. Stolen moments in hotel rooms. Secrets exchanged in whispers on skin.

Kisame does not trust many people. But he trusted Itachi, deeply, and Itachi, it seemed, returned it.

He understands, though. Itachi had always been looking elsewhere, beyond the deluded scope of their dysfunctional little organization. He's young, with a whole life ahead of him, a little brother to protect, and a too-brilliant mind to waste. It makes perfect sense he'd be eager to leave all the mess behind, memories and connections included. Of course. Kisame understands entirely.

But that didn't mean he'd yearn any less.

He takes a breath. Swallows. Then answers. "Itachi-san?"

"Kisame," Itachi says in that low voice, cool, smooth as a pearl. It's both more comforting and damning than it has any right to be. "It's your birthday, isn't it?"

"Ah," A grin breaks onto Kisame's face, despite himself, and if he wasn't interested in today before, he is now. He tries to ignore the way his heart seems intent on beating its way out of his ribcage. "I suppose, yes. Although, I am a bit surprised to be hearing from you."

"Why is that?" It's sincere, bordering on defensive. There's a hundred ways Kisame could answer, but he's the deferential type, especially with Itachi, and he's in no hurry to spill his own guts.

"Sorry, I don't mean to be accusing," he says, placating. Then, "I hardly remembered myself. Besides, I understand you've been quite busy."

"Regardless, it's no excuse. I'll do better to keep in touch from now on."

Itachi sounds apologetic now, and Kisame can't help his own flutter of excitement. He's pacing aimlessly around his room, still nude save for his damp towel. "Same here."

There's a brief pause before Itachi speaks again. "Kisame, I…"

He doesn't finish, whatever it is hanging on his tongue. It's a rare occurrence — one of the only times Kisame will prod. "Itachi-san?"

"Have you already made plans tonight?"

Kisame blinks. "I'll cancel." He doesn't think twice about it. "Did you have something in mind?"

"That sushi restaurant by the river. Is it still your favorite?"

"You remembered!" Kisame laughs, a bit touched, honestly, to think that Itachi would hold on to such a piece of info.

"Of course. Can you meet me there in an hour?"

"I'd love to."

Kisame's stopped pacing but he's no less giddy, anxious; he hopes it wasn't too evident in his voice. Before he runs to his closet, he shoots Mangetsu and Zabuza an apology and admission that he's had a sudden change of plans. ;)

They tease him in the snarkiest way possible.


Kisame wears his best shirt. Itachi had dressed up a bit himself, Kisame notices with glee, but in honesty could have been wearing a paper bag and still be the most gorgeous thing Kisame has seen in a long time. It's almost surreal, having him in the flesh and no longer as a phantom in memories and dreams, and Kisame has the silly urge to reach out and touch him.

See if that flawless, pale skin is as soft as he remembers.

A tension undercuts the mood, the type where both parties have too much to confess and neither has the nerve to yield first, which doesn't dissolve but lessens as they eat, eventually slipping into a familiar energy: that comfortable companionship that has marked their relationship over the years. It's almost remarkable, Kisame thinks, just how easy it is for things to fall back into place, nostalgia seeping into his bones.

The chemistry has always been palpable, and tonight it whelms whatever awkwardness may be lingering in the air. Kisame can't quite put his finger on it, but something about Itachi seems… lighter? He's a bit more talkative, the corners of his lips less downcast; whatever it is, it's a stark contrast to the gloominess that draped over him during all the years they'd worked alongside each other.

Kisame chalks it up to the occasion.

"How have you been?"

Itachi takes a sip from his glass and Kisame's eyes trace the movement in his throat. "There were a lot of things I needed to take care of, but I have a handle on them now."

Of course. Getting a straightforward answer from him can be a bit like pulling teeth. Kisame raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Fortunately Itachi knows to take that as a cue to elaborate. He sighs. "I had been going about matters the wrong way, for a very long time. I've made many mistakes, one of them neglecting things that are most important to me, but I've since shifted my priorities. I'm… doing better."

Well. Kisame figures that's the best he'll get for now. Their current standing is a bit too fuzzy at the moment for him to pry, so he doesn't. Settles for that last part.

"I'm going to law school," Itachi says then, entirely nonchalant, but Kisame lights up.

"Ah, that's incredible, Itachi-san! I'm sure you will do very well. You've always been the most intelligent and hardest working man I know." He swells a little with pride as he remembers that—

"It was you who encouraged me, Kisame."

Kisame chuckles. "Well, I can't take all the credit, can I? That was quite a while ago, and it's not like I was around to see you accomplish those things."

Itachi frowns at the statement. Kisame's careful not to let it linger, so he shoves another piece of sushi into his mouth and continues. "But really, that's excellent! You know you have all of my support. And how is little Sasuke?"

For a second Itachi looks taken aback, as though he wasn't expecting Kisame to remember. A finger taps idly on his glass. "Sasuke is well. He's focused on his studies, and I am doing everything I can to support him and see to it that he succeeds."

"He's very fortunate to have you as an older brother, Itachi-san," Kisame says. Takes delight in the way Itachi's cheeks color, just barely. Itachi brushes his bangs out of his eyes.

"And you, Kisame?"

"Ah… I suppose the same as I've always been. Swimming along. Flowing with the tides," Kisame giggles at his own metaphors. "Quite literally. I'm a diver, you know."

"Is that so?" A small smile brightens Itachi's face. "You've always had a penchant for the ocean."

"How can I not?"

And before Kisame knows it, he's launched into rhapsodizing about the sea: its unmatched beauty, how it moves him, reveals to him things about himself he may have not discovered otherwise, how he's missed it despite his own choice to turn inland for more stability, and for his own sanity — he leaves out the part about how it elevates his sheer longing, plaguing him with daydreams and dredging up old memories every evening he spends on a boat, countless miles away from land.

Away from Itachi.

Itachi listens patiently, intently all the while — he always has, and Kisame swears those warm, sable eyes don't leave him once.

"There really is nothing quite like it, but it's something you will need to experience for yourself. I ought to take you out there, some day. Snorkeling, perhaps? Just to get a taste. Scuba diving is a bit more work."

Itachi lets out a laugh. A siren song that dances around Kisame's chest. "I'll be looking forward to it."

Has he always been this stunning, this breathtaking? Kisame's sure, but months of Itachi's absence and the sake in his blood keep him suspended in a liquid state of awe and uncertainty. It's difficult not to sit there and just stare, but it seems Itachi has no qualms about watching him anyway, those intense eyes a vortex, long lashes sweeping like ink brushes over delicate cheekbones. Kisame averts his gaze, instead watches the way those slender fingers caress glass, and he fights the temptation to gently pull them away. Leave a kiss on each knuckle.

He'd like to do a lot more than that, actually.

He busies himself with more sake. Indulges in his favorite seafoods, and in the end, Itachi pays the bill at his own insistence. Neither of them seem ready to end the night just yet, and it's Kisame's suggestion to go for a walk along the nearby river, to which Itachi agrees without hesitance.

Overhead, the moon has already slotted into its nightly shift, light spilling over the water. Kisame doesn't miss the way it bounces off the sheen of Itachi's raven-black hair, slants onto the elegant planes of his face. They're walking side-by-side, keeping a respectable distance between them — not too close, not too far. Kisame chatters about odds and ends, mostly in an effort to distract himself from the very real urge to grab Itachi's hand and close the distance between them.

Capture those soft lips in his own.

"It really has been a while, hasn't it, Itachi-san?"

I missed you, is what he wants to say, caught on a hook between his teeth.

"Yeah…"

I worry about you.

"You look very nice, as always."

"I wanted to look appropriate for the occasion," Itachi says, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "You look nice as well."

"I wanted to look appropriate for the occasion," Kisame echoes him with a grin.

They've stopped walking, having reached the center of the bridge crossing over the river. Itachi's gaze is too heavy on him, eyes deep as a trench, freezing Kisame in place. Kisame knows him too well: there's something Itachi wants to say, something that weighs on his chest but he's biting it down, and Kisame wonders just how much they keep unspoken between them.

It's always been this way, hasn't it?

But Kisame curses himself for being too hesitant to finally tip that balance. Not tonight, anyway.

Not yet.

It's getting late. And though the absolute last thing Kisame wants is to part with him, he opens his mouth to say goodbye, thank Itachi for a wonderful night out, hopes to see him again soon, and maybe this time around they'll make an effort to—

He doesn't know how it happens: suddenly he's got Itachi up against the parapet, large hands anchoring those slim hips, and he's kissing Itachi wetly. Greedily, all courtesy bagged and tossed into the river. Kisame's tasting all he can of him like he'll never get the chance again. Itachi opens for him, reacts like he'd been expecting it this whole time. He reciprocates in equal measure, hands cradling Kisame's face and keeping him there.

"Kisame…" Itachi breathes against his lips. Makes his head spin. Kisame trails kisses down his jaw, murmurs between nips into his neck.

"Shall we take this to my apartment?"

Kisame isn't sure how they manage to get back, either. He blames it on the sake. On the electricity skimming along his veins, alight and alive under his skin. He can sense Itachi matching his own energy amp for amp, lightning striking between them as soon as they step inside. Kisame has him against the door this time: Itachi straddling his waist, arms wreathed around his neck, a spark with every hot lap of Itachi's tongue against his. Kisame pulls out his hair tie, tangles his fingers in that lovely waterfall of black silk.

Kisame drags them to the bedroom, nearly tripping over his own feet, where he lets them fall onto the bed. They're both worked up beyond measure, impatient; they fumble to undress each other, Itachi unbuttoning Kisame's shirt, unbuckling his belt, and Kisame doesn't get far on Itachi before he halts, his fingers catching on something thin, lacy—

He has to pull back to look down at just what the hell he's feeling.

Has to do a double take.

Itachi gives him a devilish little smirk, trailing a hand up Kisame's arm. Lascivious and deadly. "Do you like your present?"

"My, my, I see you're still a minx," Kisame says, half amused, half in awe, and thoroughly aroused. He peels off Itachi's clothes to take it all in: bustier, garter belt, g-string, thigh high stockings. Black lace wrapping white skin. His eyes roam over the display appreciatively, admiring how the lingerie hugs Itachi's svelte frame in a way that's almost regal. Smirks when he sees Itachi's erection straining against the lace.

Kisame has no idea how he got this lucky. "I love it."

He proves it. He grabs Itachi's hands and pins them to the bed so he can explore the exposed areas of his body with his mouth, marking Itachi in all the places he allows. Itachi shivers as Kisame makes his way down, pulls the lacy panties off just enough to free his leaking cock. Kisame nuzzles the shaft, teases the head with his lips before taking it into his mouth. Itachi moans, his fingers finding purchase in Kisame's hair, jerking into him a bit helplessly as Kisame works him with his throat. Brings him to the edge.

But Kisame isn't ready to finish him just yet, wanting to spoil himself tonight and take as much as he can from this beautiful man. He stops, — Itachi groaning when he does — takes in Itachi's face. Flushed like wine. Eyes half-lidded. His pupils dark and blown with unabashed desire.

"Look at you," Kisame teases, as though he isn't coming undone himself. "You've been wanting this all day."

"Longer," is all Itachi manages to get out. He goes to pull Kisame down for a kiss, but Kisame keeps himself propped up on his arms, grin faltering.

"You know you can have this whenever you want, Itachi-san." With a shaky hand he pushes a few strands of hair away from Itachi's face. Caresses the outline of his cheek.

"The same goes for you."

Kisame ducks down to kiss him, and he wonders how they could have ever spent so long apart. How he could have ever let this gorgeous and wanting younger man out of his grasp.

He vows to never let it happen again.

He grabs Itachi's thighs and Itachi spreads them obediently; Kisame folds him a little, descending once more. He pulls the g-string to the side to tease Itachi's entrance with his tongue and Itachi gasps, squirming when Kisame dips it inside. He keeps his hands on both thighs, strong and steady as he delves in, relishing the feel of the hot ring of muscle clenching around his tongue.

How he's missed this.

Every breathy little noise coming from Itachi's throat and Kisame's mouth on his hole shoots heat straight to Kisame's cock, and it's not long before he has to pull away, shoving his pants all the way off and hastily retrieving the lube from his nightstand. Itachi's legs are still open for him when he returns. He's gone, nothing but want in his eyes as he gazes up at Kisame, breathing labored.

It lights a fire under Kisame's skin, that fire roiling up in his gut and forcing out what he's been wanting to say all night.

"Beautiful Itachi-san…" he croons. Opens the bottle of lube and squeezes it onto his fingers, rubbing them together. Steps between Itachi's graceful legs — pale, unmarked skin veiled in stockings. "I've thought about you often. In the early mornings as I step onto the boat. At noon as I step off and sink beneath the waves. At night under the shower or in bed, cock in my hand, thinking only of you…"

He runs a rough, large finger over Itachi's hole. Watches him shudder. "I've missed you."

Itachi's brows furrow, remorse swimming in his eyes amidst the lust. His voice barely above a whisper. "I missed you too."

"Well, you have me now, don't you?" Kisame grins, inserting his finger. "Open up for me, please."

Kisame stretches him out thoroughly, three fingers in, enjoying the way Itachi comes apart for him. Entirely trusting, melting into relaxation under his touch. Then he's slicking up his own cock, rock-hard and throbbing with need. Itachi's delicate hands grip his shoulders, bracing himself as Kisame slides into him slowly. Kisame's eyes slip closed, groaning at the sensation as finally — finally — he's fully sheathed inside the lithe body beneath him, impossibly warm and tight around him in a way that's achingly familiar.

It's been far too long.

Kisame thrusts shallowly at first, shoving his hands underneath the garters and straps circling Itachi's thighs. Itachi's hands roam his back, those painted nails starting to dig and carve into his skin as Kisame's patience slips, driving himself deeper, faster into the man beneath him. He folds Itachi again, stocking-covered legs wrapping tight around him as he angles his own hips. Fucks him like it's his last birthday on Earth.

Before long, Itachi quivers, body-long, back arching as he comes with a breathy moan. Kisame fucks him through it, white-hot, teetering on the edge. Then Itachi's fingers kiss his jaw, whispering his encouragement, and Kisame lets go. He leans forward, buries himself deep as he fills his lover. Groans his name, sans honorific.

They lie for a moment in the afterglow, stationary, sweat-slicked and breathing heavily before Kisame gently pulls out. He's still in a haze, still on the comedown, but he walks to the bathroom to fetch a wet towel to clean them both off, then collapses next to Itachi with a contented sigh. He throws an arm around him, and Itachi looks back somewhat sleepily, somewhat reverent.

Kisame's body is light, humming pleasantly, and he feels so good that he can't keep himself from shooting his shot. "Spend the night."

"Sasuke…" Itachi mumbles, halfhearted.

"He's old enough to handle himself, isn't he? I'm sure he'll understand."

Itachi hums. Mulls it over a bit, then sighs. Rolls over and gets up to stumble to his pile of clothes, and for a moment Kisame fears he's actually going to get dressed and leave. Instead, Itachi retrieves his phone from his pants and starts to type something — presumably a message to Sasuke.

Kisame lays there watching him, thoughts racing. Chest full. Has he always felt so strongly for this man?

A lifetime of detachment and independence ought to have burned its lessons into him. Kisame has no problem severing ties, carving away unnecessary scraps of sentiment. So why, then, has he allowed Itachi to become so pervasive? It should have been no different, keeping each other at a professional distance, shedding their memory over the months, no ties to keep them—

But then Itachi slides back into the bed and into his arms, Kisame's hold on him tight. Distantly, he feels like he's being moored to his lover's shores.

There isn't an ounce of regret.

"Did you have a good birthday?" Itachi's voice is muffled, his face buried in Kisame's chest. Kisame chuckles. Strokes his hair.

"It was perfect, Itachi-san."

And he means it.


It's almost a different feeling, entering the sea this time. Miles of endless ocean welcome Kisame with open arms, like he had never left, but now a newfound sense of dazzle and allure wash over him as if it were the very first time. The waters are shallow here; Kisame lets himself float, but he feels more weighty, stable. Tethered, and he knows exactly where he's tied to.

He knows exactly where he belongs.

They've gone snorkeling, with sharks — blacktip reef, now, circling, timidly assessing before greeting him as a friend. Itachi hesitates, too, at first, but Kisame smiles at him. Guides his hands gently. The sharks don't swim away.

In the evening they stand in the surf, staring out over the undulating surface of infinite blue. Itachi wraps a cold hand around Kisame's arm. Leans against him, shivering. Waves graze their ankles. Sea salt sprays into the air. The sun descends upon the horizon, bringing with her a gift of romantic promise and tranquility. Kisame takes a deep breath, nothing but satisfaction filling his lungs.

An anchor falls into place.