It's sweet and soft and slow, slow slow- a long, soft fall into the stinging whiff of antiseptic and the soft rasp of wool across exposed skin. It starts out with a simple grasping of hands at the end of a spar, one lifting the other from the knobbly roots of one of Konoha's trees.
Itachi's hand in Yayoi's, the stark burn of his muscles all but forgotten in the cool rush of her hand in his, her chakra so near to his. The smell of her, all sweat and sweet and delicious, want to bite in deep and never let go. The taste of blood in their mouths- frenzy.
The moments of that sweet, innocent touch of hand to gentle hand and the sudden rush of blood dripping joy of mouth against mouth to the scrape and rasp of callused palm against skin so long hidden by prudish clothing will forever remain private between Itachi and Yayoi. The feel of bark scraping bruises raw and blood-dripping, the melt-metal tang of blood and fire in their mouths. His smell of oil and whetstones, that special hospital-grade soap that kills all the contaminants. He specifically smells like sweets, like candy- pediatrics are oddly specific.
The fact that the both of them were nearly disqualified for their Jonin bout- wherin one would fight the other- due to their sudden discovery of the joys of youth is a matter of public record. As is the fervor of their fighting during the aforementioned bout, the fact that it ended in a draw, and the fact that neither were seen for several hours after the matchup; Itachi was later seen wearing Yayoi's shirt, but that is a matter of gossip and hearsay, not actual record.
Tsunade won several hundred thousand ryo that day. The events that followed marked her belief in her "Lucky Streak".