A/N Sorry to make you wait so long - this chapter somehow became a mammoth one... Kakuzu and Hidan have some fluffy time - but don't worry, it doesn't last long! Hopefully I can get them all back to London for the next chapter - I'm so tired of Edinburgh now! As usual, I'd love to hear your thoughts, so please review!

After an irritating day of meetings with Scottish Arts Council people and a handful of even more irritating potential private sponsors, Kakuzu was in serious need of a relaxing evening. It had been so incredibly frustrating that he was really obliged to take a back seat throughout most of the negotiations, particularly since he was sure that Konan wouldn't have. But he simply didn't have the information at his fingertips that he needed, and indeed, only had the most basic overview of what Akatsuki Gallery's expansion to Edinburgh was supposed to achieve. Only Sasori was in the least prepared - Deidara and Hidan believing it was possible to take an off the cuff approach to this sort of thing - and Sasori would keep banging on about the reprehensibly casual attitude of the younger generation in a way that wasn't at all calculated to appeal to a funding officer whose primary concern was whether Akatsuki Edinburgh could be considered educational.

Kakuzu ended up sticking his oar a good deal more than he really felt he had the right to, and he hoped he hadn't set in motion anything that Konan and Pein hadn't intended. But he was so angry with Konan for dumping him in like this without so much as a business plan to look through that he found, upon reflection, that he didn't care very much. They left the last appointment more than a little demoralised, and with Sasori once again barely on speaking terms with Hidan.

It was late, although it was still light, and Hidan and Deidara were hungry. Diving through the revolving glass doors, they seemed to be full of happy plans of where to go for supper, but Sasori, following at a more sedate pace with Kakuzu, had other ideas.

"Look!" he said, catching hold of Kakuzu's sleeve as he emerged from the door, having been lying in wait for him, "I don't think I can take Hidan's company tonight - I really don't! After everything he's done today, I just don't think I can stay civil. So Deidara and I are going to head off by ourselves - I'm sorry, Kakuzu."

"That's fine by me," said Kakuzu evenly. Tonight, he did find this attitude of Sasori's irritating. He was sure it stemmed from his disapproval of their relationship as a whole. But he wasn't going to give Sasori the satisfaction of showing his annoyance, or, indeed, of indicating that he'd heard anything but the last sentence. He didn't in the least mind the opportunity of taking Hidan off somewhere. They'd go somewhere low-key and intimate, he decided. Have the kind of evening they should've had last Wednesday.

But by the time they reached a nice looking little Italian restaurant and were eating lasagne next to an artful-looking potted vine, Kakuzu felt lost. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't reach out. Not even after the incident on the train and all its consequences, or after everything he and Hidan had done last weekend. Somehow, last Saturday had seemed to be in its own charmed world. Now, he could barely make himself touch Hidan's arm to get his attention. He felt paralysed.

It was easy, oh, so easy, if Hidan was hurt, if he needed help. Then, Kakuzu could hold him, support him, bathe his face, feel his pulse, and that could easily lead into deeper intimacy. But he needed that excuse. He suspected that he could quite easily treat Hidan with violence, and touch him that way - in fact, he felt sure that a rape scenario would suit him perfectly. But that must not be allowed to happen. In fact, Hidan would probably be more than up for some BDSM, but Kakuzu knew that if he allowed himself to slip into that so soon, he might never achieve real intimacy. He didn't quite know what to do. Even if Hidan flung himself into his arms, he'd probably just awkwardly hold him, maybe run a hand through his hair, but he wouldn't truly reciprocate.

But at the weekend, it worked, a small voice protested in his brain. But then he reminded himself that at the moment he'd kissed him, Hidan had been actually trembling - trembling - with fear, terrified of the dogs, and more than a little unsure of Kakuzu's feelings towards him. He stole a glance at him. He was probably even more unsure now, poor kid. And of course, the next morning, finding him wandering around his house shirtless and barefoot, he'd been like Kakuzu's property - Kakuzu had been able to imagine him as his resident sex slave or, again, his deeply indulged and wayward pet, confined to the house, denied proper clothes so he could never escape... there'd been an edge of vulnerability to him even then, a helplessness and reticence...

Goodness, if Hidan hadn't taken his hand in the bar earlier that evening, they'd probably never have made it back to Kakuzu's at all. He suddenly felt pathetic. He was a successful businessman with a six figure salary! Why couldn't he manage something as simple as an ordinary relationship.

Hidan finished the last bite of his main course, gulped down half a glass of wine in one, and looked at Kakuzu across the table. He brushed his foot against his calf. Then for a moment he wondered if he'd been playing footsie with the table leg instead, because Kakuzu's face remained absolutely immobile. But no… He felt again… There was definitely a shoe on the end. Kakuzu didn't move away - and perhaps there was even the smallest of small smiles on his face - did that mean he was pleased? Respond! Respond! screamed Hidan's mind, but that seemed to be asking too much. Kakuzu just accepted. Luckily he seemed to have the capacity of a giant natural sponge, and he didn't push Hidan away, and he didn't seem put out, but... Hidan was beginning to wonder. Wouldn't he reciprocate? Or couldn't he? Was he one of those repressed types who genuinely couldn't express emotion? And yet, last weekend... Hidan wondered if perhaps it would help if they were alone - and not alone in public, either - completely alone. He smiled across the table at Kakuzu, and he tried to look understanding and reassuring and patient - but he had no idea if it came out like that, because, to be honest, it wasn't an expression he'd ever tried to make before. He began to pick nervously at the the bandages on his wrist.

Hidan seemed to be smiling provocatively at him, with a sort of smug puppy-eyed edge to it... Kakuzu was torn between amusement and despair. How long would Hidan keep smiling at him, if he got no response. Then he noticed his hands. Hidan didn't seem to be aware of what he was doing, and probably didn't even recognise the tension he was betraying, but it went straight to Kakuzu's heart. How could he sit here so wooden, letting Hidan wind himself up, feeling foolish and unloved? Feeling that nice little foot that he'd admired last night slide against his leg, liberated somehow from its ridiculous Gucci shoe, and not being able to answer in kind. It was more than pathetic, and with an effort he got a grip on himself.

"Gently with that," he said, catching hold of Hidan's damaged wrist. "You'll open it up again if you're not careful." He laid it on the table between them, aligning Hidan's hand so that there was no torsion on the wrist at all. "Maybe you'd better give me the other as well..."

Hidan made a sulky face, but laid his other hand on the table. Kakuzu put his two hands together and held them firmly in place with one of his own. He was well aware that he was cheating again - he'd identified Hidan's last remaining point of weakness and fixated both their attentions on it - not to mention giving the poor kid an entirely new insecurity with his inexplicable coldness. But it was a hell of a lot better than no connection at all. "That's better," he said. "Now I can relax..." He smiled, very slightly.

"What, because I can't do myself any more harm, or because you're holding my hand?" asked Hidan, teasingly, but also slightly challengingly.

Kakuzu hesitated a moment, looking down at the tablecloth while about a dozen noncommittal answers offered themselves up for his consideration. Then he looked back at Hidan, and could see him expecting them. "Well, I think probably because I'm holding your hand..." he admitted, smiling a little ruefully. "But you are trouble, you know, and it's quite nice to feel I have you slightly restrained."

"I should fucking know it," Hidan replied. "Everyone's called me fucking trouble all my life..." His tone was light, but the slight curl of his lip told Kakuzu there was a deep well of grievance here somewhere. Perhaps it was the fact that he was holding Hidan's hands, or the intimate atmosphere of the restaurant, or maybe just that they were finally relaxing together after a rather trying day, but Kakuzu found it terribly easy to slip in to that feeling of precarious tenderness for Hidan now. That heart wrenching feeling of needing to hold onto him and protect him.

Or course, he didn't, just stroked the back of his hand infinitesimally with his thumb. "Who called you that?" he asked. He had a vision of a miniature Hidan scooting round Sainsburys riding a trolley, destroying displays, running down old ladies; in constant danger of braining himself in avalanches of falling catfood tins while a harried mother chased hopelessly after him.

"Oh, all my fucking aunts and cousins and my half sisters, and I guess my mum when she could fucking be bothered," Hidan replied. "I grew up in Southend on Sea," he said, half ashamed, as if admitting a guilty secret. "And I was a fucking bad kid. Seriously, I was lucky I didn't get fucking taken into care!" He paused, looking down at the artful bit of trellis next to their table, and Kakuzu was sure he'd've been picking at that too, if he hadn't got hold of his hands.

"Forget care; I was lucky not to end up in juvenile detention," he continued. "I mean, seriously, Southend's a fucking hole; sure, it's not London, but it can be just as fucking rough as Elephant and Castle or Camden. Or these fucking suburbs, Catford, Croydon, fucking Walthamstow, it's where the fucking stabbings happen, man; it's where you get fucking gun crime. And, seriously, I was fucking about out on the streets most of the time from when I fucking learnt to walk."

So maybe his Sainsburys vision was a little too middle class. Kakuzu adjusted it to Iceland, complete with a Croydon-face-lifted sister with a double decker pushchair.

"It's un-fucking-believable now, isn't it," said Hidan, suddenly giggling. "I mean, sitting here in fucking Edinburgh, in a poncy fucking trattoria, holding hands with a banker..."

Kakuzu looked down to hide his smile. "You don't sound very Southend," he ventured.

"No," Hidan agreed. "But I can. Most people are fucking faking the way they speak, anyway. I just want to forget I ever lived in that fucking shithole. It still slips out sometimes, though..."

On the other side of the door, Shikamaru Nara was sitting with Asuma, Kotetsu and Isumo, and listening to Hidan and Kakuzu's conversation rather than taking part in his own. He'd reached that point in the evening where it just seemed like too much trouble to engage. The four of them were in Edinburgh to scope out a venue for the festival, but Shikamaru didn't expect to be showing anything. He'd decided he'd rather be a critic than an artist, and had made a move into journalism after finishing his degree at St Martin's. He was just here to help Asuma out. Asuma had a lot on his plate right now, what with his friend Chiriku suddenly pulling out of the Edinburgh show for 'personal reasons'. Asuma was evading his questions about those, though it was almost certainly something to do with a major collector selling off a vast amount of his work, setting off an avalanche of smaller collectors trying to do the same. And then there was everything going on in Asuma's own private life...

Now, though, the conversation at the other table was getting too interesting not to share. Particularly to someone who had recently taken over writing the weekly gossip page for the Arts section of a major newspaper. He leaned forward and murmured to Asuma, "That's Kakuzu Taki and Hidan Yu over there. I'd heard some rumours they were together, but God, there can't really be any doubt, can there?"

Asuma glanced quickly over and grimaced slightly. "No," he agreed. "Actually I was at Akatsuki Gallery when they hooked up last week - it was pretty nauseating then as well." He paused, giving them another sidelong glance. "Did Hidan just say he was from Southend?" he asked incredulously, chuckling rather mirthlessly. "He's always said publicly that he was London born and bred!" But suddenly he was frowning. "Joking aside, it's since then that Kakuzu's sold all Chiriku's work!" he said tensely. "I'll fucking bet Hidan had something to do with it - Chiriku had a run-in with him last year at a Private View, and later on in his own studio building! I'm going to fucking say something!"

He started to get up, and Shikamaru pulled him back. "Is now really the time?" he asked. "Kakuzu owns a lot of your work as well and you can't exactly afford to lose your representation with Kurenai-"

He shut up fairly abruptly at the look Asuma gave him. "It's not like you to be so rash," he murmured, all the same. "What's got into you?"

"Those two are the reason Chiriku's gallery dropped him! And they're just sitting there canoodling!" said Asuma rather agitatedly and seeming to Shikamaru like he really might have had a little too much to drink. "If we don't take a stand," he continued dogmatically, "then guys like these are going to be walking all over us. We can't afford to get dependent on the big collectors. That's what the project space is all about."

"Okay, well, I think it's pretty tiresome, but I'm there to back you up, of course," said Shikamaru wearily, regretting now that he'd pointed them out. Kotetsu and Izumo were already nodding enthusiastically. They were never going to disagree with anything Asuma said. And to be honest, they weren't really in a position to be made or broken by dealers like Kakuzu. The project space was far more their level, though of course he'd never say that to their faces… "Can I just finish my risotto before you get us kicked out?" he asked wearily. He had a bad feeling about this.

Hidan leant back in his chair, looking at Kakuzu with his head on one side. "It was fucking easy, actually, fitting in with the art student crowd," he told him. "I just sort of wandered in there. I was seventeen, I wasn't really doing anything, I was fucking hacked off with the pointless, turf war shit in the suburbs - I mean, what kind of a reason is that for fucking fighting! I'd moved into a bedsit in Walworth by that time, and I just wandered into Camberwell one day - they needed a model, so I stripped off and, bingo, I had a job."

"I've heard you're quite special as a model..."

"Yeah, man, people say. I mean, I don't mind giving anything a try, and I don't have a problem holding poses, and I'm quite good at coming up with good ones, I guess, I mean, if they don't have specific ideas. I don't know, man, I just kind of like it, I guess. You don't have to do anything, and everyone's looking at you with this weird detached intensity, and they point heaters at you and bring you cups of tea... It's peaceful. Not like fucking fashion."

"But fashion's where the money is, of course..."

"Fuck the money, man, I don't want to fucking do it anymore. I swear, I am not getting into fucking catwalk stuff. That stuff sucks balls, man. Photoshoots, OK, I can take that, ad campaigns, OK, but I am not prancing around on a fucking runway. Anyway, they want fucking anorexic fourteen-year-olds for that, now. I'd have to do fucking underwear modelling, and that's fucking degrading shit. I want to do more stuff like I did with Dei! I'm fucking excited about doing a live piece with him. That is going to be totally fucking awesome, man, seriously!"

Kakuzu considered, taking a sip of his wine. Fashion was lucrative, and obviously Hidan should keep a foothold there, but equally, it could do no harm if he had a reputation for picking and choosing his jobs... nothing was worse for a model financially than appearing in the Boden catalogue, or in an M&S campaign... though it didn't seem to have destroyed the credibility of Erin O'Connor, it was true. "Well, no harm in being particular," he said. He refilled Hidan's glass, still keeping hold of his hands.

"Hey!" said Hidan. "How am I supposed to drink that? You're doing it to tease me, aren't you?" But for the first time, he was able to keep the undercurrent of actual grievance out of his voice. He could feel that Kakuzu was truly relaxing now, too, and he leant forward, shifting his hands around so that he was holding Kakuzu's, rather than Kakuzu holding his.

"I like you Kakuzu," he said. "You know that." He tilted his head to one side and looked at Kakuzu quizzically. "So, am I still your sweetheart today?"

He looked a little over-innocent, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity to his words, and Kakuzu almost blushed. "I wasn't sure you'd even remember that," he said. "But yes."

"What about yesterday? On the train?" Hidan's tone was slightly challenging, slightly hopeful.

Kakuzu's heart melted entirely. "Especially on the train," he said. He got up. They'd managed to drink almost the entire bottle of wine, plus, for Kakuzu, several mineral waters. It was making a trip to the gents a necessity. "Back in a moment," he murmured. He thought he might as well settle up at the same time. He was looking forward to getting Hidan back to the hotel...

Hidan poured himself the last of the wine and, entirely unabashed, stared around for something to amuse himself with until Kakuzu came back. The restaurant was still quite busy inside, but the few other people who had opted for the outside tables this early in the year had mostly gone now. There was only one other table occupied - just on the other side of their potted vine trellis arrangement. It caught his eye as it was occupied by four blokes, and they were all looking at him. In perhaps a not particularly friendly way, either.

Did they recognise him, he wondered? The first of the Comme des Garçons ad series was going out on billboards this weekend... But they looked far too hostile to be interested members of the public who'd spotted a celebrity. Were they just rabidly homophobic? He and Kakuzu had been being rather obvious, it had to be said... But actually, now he thought about it, he recognised one of them. Bearded fellow, big nose... He'd seem him around on the PV circuit; he was an artist of some kind.

All this time, he'd been staring back at them with just as much hostility as they were offering him, and finally, the bearded bloke got up and came over to him.

"And what the fuck do you want?" said Hidan, remaining seated in a nonchalant pose, slightly tipped back in his chair. "Do I know you?"

"Sarutobi Asuma," said beardy tersely, as though Hidan ought to have known. Which perhaps he should… the guy was fairly well known. "Did you know that last week your boyfriend sold his entire collection of work by an artist named Chiriku, and his gallery's dropped him as a result?"

Hidan hadn't known that, but he knew Chiriku. They'd clashed several times, as Chiriku was a religious artist - a fucking Christian fundamentalist in Hidan's opinion - and they didn't really see eye to eye. Their ideologies opposed each other on pretty much every point, and to make matters worse, the fucker had a studio in the same building as Deidara… Anyway, his kind of shit was going right out of fashion, and he wasn't surprised if Kakuzu had decided to make a quick buck out of it. "The Stanley Spencer of the Noughties?" he said mockingly, quirking an eyebrow. It was a nickname Chiriku was known to particularly dislike, probably preferring to think of himself as a latter day Fra Angelico. "I'm surprised Kakuzu had any in the first place. Why?"

"It's no secret that you and Chiriku didn't get along," said Asuma. "Did you ask him to sell them?"

"No." said Hidan insolently. "I expect he sold them because he finally realised they were shit."

He realised a little late that the other three had come around him: two fairly tough-looking younger guys - Asuma's goons, he thought dismissively - and one little sardonic-looking one. Suddenly the little one had his arm in a surprisingly tenacious grip. He hadn't been expecting an attack from that quarter and found himself jerked to his feet and pushed up against a wrought-iron gate just out of the pool of light spilling out from the restaurant's windows. As he made to get the guy off him the other two rushed to his defence, one hitting him in the stomach, the other going for a kidney shot.

"Ouch, man," he said languidly, letting the pain flood slowly through him, trying to relish it rather than let it overcome him, "that fucking hurt, you know? You people are so fucking rude!"

The goons hissed like scalded cats at his cool reaction to an attack that ought to have had him doubled over and gasping for breath. They drew back with expressions of dismay, narrowly avoiding an elbow to the face and a knee to the groin respectively. They still kept hold of his arms though, and Asuma stepped forward, to Hidan's surprise actually holding a knife. He hadn't really thought the guy would have it in him, but there it was, large as life and twice as shiny. This is really hotting up, he thought languidly. Somehow, he wasn't even worried. He didn't truly believe Asuma would really cut him, and anyway, there was a voice at the back of his head saying, if he slices me up bad enough, I won't have to do any more fashion modelling… Even if Kakuzu does think it's lucrative.

"I don't think you can even comprehend the value of a man like Chiriku," said Asuma with a solemnity that seemed somehow hilarious to Hidan. He felt almost as relaxed as when he was in the middle of a ritual now - like he'd managed to get high on pure violence. Is this some kind of stag do? he wondered irrelevantly, the thought just popping into his head. Asuma somehow had the air of somebody enjoying his last moments of freedom. And actually seemed just a little the worse for wear… He was talking again, and Hidan had to make a real effort to concentrate enough to take in what he was saying. He smirked with amusement - Asuma looked like a fish out of water when you zoned out the actual sound coming from his mouth…

"… but you can watch your filthy mouth when you speak about him," he was saying, when Hidan finally managed to force himself to pay attention, and his voice was getting angrier by the second. "I'm not making allowances for your limitations! I don't know what you think is funny right now, but if you think it's a bit of a laugh to finish someone's career - how about I finish yours?" He raised the knife so that it glinted in the light from the streetlamp. "You might need to be even more special than your dealer boyfriend thinks you are to carry this off!" He spoke through gritted teeth, as though holding back a weight of emotion.

Kakuzu had stepped through the restaurant doors just as Asuma pulled his knife on Hidan. He looked at the vacant table for less than a second before taking in the situation in the shadows behind it. He even had the presence of mind to take a photo on his iPhone.

He didn't really feel the need for any cheesy lines - he just appeared behind Shikamaru and took him down silently with a blow to the small of the back, leaving him writhing on the pavement. He caught Kotetsu and Izumo by their throats as they turned to see what had happened, making them loosen their grip on Hidan, and it was all the time Hidan needed to force Asuma's knife hand upwards to slash across his own face.

Asuma dropped to his knees as a quite incredible amount of blood sluiced down his cheek, immediately soaking his collar, the red stain then spreading, spreading, spreading over the expanse of his shirtfront, the colour of poppy petals.

Hidan gazed, mesmerised, licking a trickle of blood from the back of his own hand. It felt better than he could possibly have imagined. "Hidan!" he heard Kakuzu's insistent voice in his ear. "Hidan. We need to go now."

"Hey, just let me just finish this," he pleaded, not feeling the urgency at all despite recognising it in Kakuzu's voice.

Kakuzu's voice became stern. "Hidan. Now."

Hidan gave in and let himself be guided by Kakuzu's hand under his elbow, by his little steering touches in the small of his back, still so keyed up, so excited by the sight-smell-taste of Asuma's blood. He could hear the silly, terrified voices of his friends behind them, "Asuma!"… "Asuma!" …"Call an ambulance!"… "Someone dial 999!"

Once they were round the corner, that was what Kakuzu did. "I'd like to report an incident," he said calmly. "Yes, an assault. My partner was attacked physically and verbally and threatened with a knife. We suspect it might have been homophobically motivated." … "I think that one of the four may be injured - when my friend threw his arm up to protect himself, the blade may have make contact with him." … "I'm not certain - we left the scene as soon I'd managed to free him from them." … "No, he's not badly hurt."… Hidan barely seemed to register what he was doing, for which he was grateful. He wasn't at all sure he'd appreciate the necessity.

No-one seemed to be following them. It was late and the off-season; once they were off the High Street it was quiet and almost deserted. Kakuzu didn't take his hand from Hidan's arm as they made the five minute journey back to the hotel, and Hidan was in too much of a blood fuelled haze to resist his urging. He still had his fingers at Hidan's elbow when they reached the door of his hotel room, and he awkwardly turned the key with his left hand so as not to have to let go.

The door closed behind them with a muffled click, and Kakuzu finally let out a sigh of relief. It felt incredibly peaceful - quiet, warm and private. He wondered whether Asuma and his friends would try to press charges. It seemed likely that Asuma would be too scared of counter-accusations to want to involve the police, given that the knife was his and he'd initiated the attack, but there was no way that the hospital would let something like that go unreported…

He stopped thinking about this quite abruptly when he felt Hidan's arms go around his neck, and lips hot and urgent against his own. Hidan was pressing hard against him, and he could feel himself become just as aroused almost instantly. The excitement, the adrenalin, the heady thrill of fear that Kakuzu barely ever felt in his day to day life, they all suddenly merged together and converted into a purer need to fuck than he could ever remember feeling before.

They didn't even make it over to the bed - they crashed onto the floor, fumbling with each other's zips and buckles, then Hidan was face down on the floor, fingernails digging deep into the thick pile of the hotel carpet, Kakuzu thrusting hard into him, and he thought as he just barely managed to hold himself back from coming shamefully early that it was the first time they'd had sex for a week, and it was actually all he'd been wanting to do ever since last Saturday. No wonder they'd been at each other's throats! What the hell had they been thinking?