[ Malachite has awakened from their dream and Sumarlok is slowly returning to normal. All should be well – except Stiles can’t rest with this vicious, ugly guilt pressing on his chest, suffocating him slowly. After what happened with Guanshan, he needs to talk with Itachi. ]
I’m coming over.
[ He doesn’t ask where Itachi lives; the GPS option on the phone has helped him pinpoint the location that the shinobi must be staying at, based on data of where Itachi’s signal idles the most at night. ]
[Not entirely unexpected a message given the events of the past few days, but still he stares at it, intuiting some urgency - wondering if that is only his own mind caught in the web of what has happened between himself and Sasuke.
How did Stiles find the location of his apartment? And how does he know Itachi is currently there? Paranoid questions he'll have to save.]
All right. 17.
[A unit on the highest floor of the building, Stiles will discover, tucked into one corner with close roof access. The building itself is unremarkable, almost interchangeable with the design of Stiles' own.]
[ Having already been en route to the apartment building, it only takes Stiles another two minutes of walking to arrive at the indicated suite number. Hushed murmurs follow in his wake from curious natives, who each gape with open wonder at the housewarming gift that he’s brought Itachi, tucked under one arm. Upon reaching door number seventeen, he knocks briskly – mind wiped clean of all thought, just white noise echoing through his mind – and then tries the doorknob, finding it unlocked. Without second guessing it, he simply lets himself in.
Today, Stiles has dressed to impress. He’s wearing brick red, slim straight jeans to draw the eye toward long legs, combined with a soft, muted gray, long-sleeve henley shirt that accentuates his lean physique. The top definitely is an unusual choice for him; he would be much more comfortable in a loose hoodie or button-up, of course. But he’s here to argue a potentially losing case and is prepared to leverage every meager weapon in his arsenal, regardless of how ineffective they might seem. On at least some level, Itachi is attracted to him. Time to use that to his advantage.
In the nook of his arm is a medium-sized planter, relatively heavy in weight, which currently supports the two-foot-long stalk of a unique plant. With afternoon draining away to the dregs of night, the flowers are beginning to unfurl from their daytime rest along swordlike leaves, funnels a plain white for the time being. Red color is only just beginning to bleed across the petals. Stiles won’t tell Itachi how rare the “Nightmare” is on Noctium, or how much of his winnings he had to spend from his bet against Guanshan. ]
Been meaning to give you this for a while, [ he says in lieu of a proper greeting, setting the planter down on the kitchen island. Stiles adjusts it a few times, avoiding Itachi’s gaze. ] It’ll fully bloom by midnight, every night. The flowers will turn red and glow, kinda like a nightlight.
[ So you’re never alone, he thinks quietly, pushing the planter across the island toward the other man. ]
[The door was left deliberately unlocked, Itachi not far away, stood on the other side of the white-marbled island in the adjacent kitchen. His appearance isn't remarkably different except in subtler details: a black shirt without sleeves reveals both arms, tattoo and scars all, fabric unshapely in its looseness to accentuate the straight line of his figure down to similarly loose drawstring slacks; black hair hanging sleekly free around narrow shoulders; and as he sets one slender hand on the countertop, fingernails gleam with red paint under the globe lights in the ceiling.
His expression changes when Stiles enters, touched by a vivid note of shock. Discernible, for once, in the cool composure of his face, eyes making a snap-quick transition between Stiles' body and the flowers, then back again, lingering on leanly suggested muscle. He remains otherwise still at the approach. Posture inert as stone, he watches Stiles set the planter down with a click of terracotta clay onto the island. Vibrant white petals seem almost to brighten the plain and undecorated room immediately, red like strokes of a paintbrush the same color as the painted nails several inches away.
That feeling comes again, some unreadable weight of intention in the room he can't easily decipher. Something on Stiles' mind—invisible to him, in the moment. Something that causes the boy to be unable to meet his gaze. All of it combined to twist in his gut, anticipation and a cool rush of deeper sentiment he's begun to associate with Stiles.
When Itachi does move, it's to extend a hand toward the gift, fingertips grazing jagged edges of leaves and fragile petals.] … Thank you. [A surreal, hushed tone between them gentled by confusion. His brow furrows.] Are you all right?
[ When he finally manages to look away from the plant and glance up toward Itachi, he stares in open-mouthed shock at what he sees. The curtain of black hair undone from its traditional tie is startling enough, but the sight of toned, bared arms and shoulders on display has his stomach clenching hard in the need to touch. How easy it would be to slip his fingers beneath the hem of that sleeveless shirt and run them teasingly over the planes of Itachi’s chest. Stiles nearly abandons his mission right then and there, overwhelmed with the need to christen the island with their entwined bodies, writhing on the cold marble in the throes of desire.
Swallowing, he pats his back pocket. It’s the wrong one; in this one is a sheet of paper. The other has what he was looking for: a tube of lubricant, since he highly doubts Itachi owns any that aren’t dedicated to weapon maintenance. But the sensation of paper, dry and crinkled, reminds him of why he’s here. So, he sucks back a breath, composing himself reluctantly, then draws the folded paper from his pocket to slide it across the island. ]
No, [ he answers honestly, daring to meet dark eyes. ] We’ll get to that in a minute. Here. It explains everything you need to do to keep the plant alive.
[ The sheet of paper is in fact a highly detailed list, painstakingly written in a clear hand, describing the correct temperature, sun exposure, water, nutrients, and soil for the Nightmare. Itachi will find that Stiles’ nails are likewise painted, though a pale pink, complimentary of Yuri. There’s more color in them than in his ashen face as he rounds the island to stand directly before Itachi, lips bloodless from how tightly they’re pressed together. ]
I almost had sex with someone. [ The confession tumbles off his tongue before he can stop it. ] During the transformation. I almost fucked someone. Someone else.
[Fingers fold open the note, thumb down the crease in paper, studying that list of detailed information written out line by line with a thoroughness to appreciate. Nightmare. What about it brought him to mind when Stiles was searching for a suitable plant? More than that, what inspired the idea at all? He can’t remember the last time he’d received anything like this.
… No, that isn’t true. Sasuke’s bundled gifts for his last birthday are a bright reminder of past thoughtfulness. And like then, Itachi feels almost paralyzed, too-aware of Stiles when he circles to the other side of the island, closer. Their faces are on level. He attempts to gauge that bloodless expression but can’t turn up anything that makes immediate sense.
At the confession, Itachi doesn’t visibly react—although the emphasis placed on the word fucked causes his gaze to slide off, left, onto the wall. There’s a gaping silence that follows. Eventually, his mouth tightens, then his brow forms a neat crease.
In a surprisingly sedate voice:] If that is what you wanted to do…
[He stops there. Thoughts are slippery, difficult to grasp. He’s not someone prone to jealousy, and that isn’t what now wedges itself into his throat like a missed heartbeat—worse is that he doesn’t understand exactly why Stiles is upset or why he’s also upset, the sensation black across his vision when he closes his eyes. A long blink, then they flicker open again. Itachi’s memory flashes to the board in Hell, in the club, remembering what was written on it, the boy’s guilt manifested into need for punishment.
But he isn’t Jonas.
Itachi resumes eye contact, sealing everything else off like a closed door.]
Were you hurt? [Was someone else?] Did you lose control in the transformation?
[ Club Penance may be dimensions away, but the consequences of that night remain suffocatingly close, silhouetting the nebulous shape of their relationship as it exists now. Much like then, Stiles finds himself feverishly consumed by the need to repent for perceived sins. Except, as he watches Itachi absorb news of his questionable infidelity – questionable because they never set expectations of monogamy to begin with – he already understands that he won’t find the judgment he craves. Not here. Not from Itachi. That said, he is quietly surprised by the amount of emotion the man displays in the moment. To an outsider, perhaps Itachi would look like an uninvolved third party, relatively untouched by the information. But after a year of traveling the dimensions together, Stiles has learned how to better navigate the unflinching stone façade.
Meeting Itachi’s eyes is difficult. Shame burns scalding hot through him as he does; it feels as though, once again, he’s failed one of his precious people. His dad, Scott, Malia, Jonas, Itachi. Does it ever end? But Stiles can stew in melancholic, self-loathing rumination another time. There’s a conversation this needs to build into, one that they’re long overdue. ]
I lost control, [ he admits, memories of Guanshan bubbling to the surface before he hastily slams shut the lid on them. ] But I’m fine.
[ Except that’s a lie. It’s always a lie. Dragging a hand down his face wearily, Stiles tries again. ]
No, I’m not fine.
[ The sheet of paper is taken from Itachi to be placed back down on the counter, but Stiles pauses as their hands graze each other and Synchrony lights up like a beacon between them. Itachi’s discontentment and confusion are a bitter taste on his tongue. The urge to kiss those dexterous fingers soothingly is strong, as if he could reassure the man that way. Instead, Stiles clasps them. ]
Can you be honest with me – about what I am to you?
[Honesty is a quality he’s ceased denying Stiles. Since they stood together on the pier in that underground cavern, lit by long shadows, surrounded by an alien landscape as he stripped himself to the ugliest truth—and was not shut out for it—he’s found less reason to lie and conceal himself from Stiles. It was not a linear decision and not without grudging hiccups of dislike. Through the Bond, and now through Synchrony, he’s felt himself almost eroded by their continued intimacy, so that when Stiles takes hold of his fingers he doesn’t withdraw and allows the emotional connection its full flood.
An unsurprising question after everything they’ve experienced, although the gravity of it being demanded from him now inspires a strange, trickling fear, displaced out of logic. He’s reminded of the weeks he’d spent in Aefenglom alone—after Sasuke and Jonas and Stiles were all gone. His passive desire for death continuously ungranted as he woke up in each new dimension, finding Stiles there already waiting. Of all three of them, he hadn’t thought it would be Stiles still at his side. It’s not going to happen like that forever; he’s aware. Any time he spends in some dimensional afterlife is always borrowed.
That fact in mind—what is Stiles to him?
Fear follows the tempo of his heartbeat, palpable through Synchrony. It’s his turn to be unable to look into those warm brown eyes directly. His head turns, but he can’t choose between the wall or the floor or the doors out to the balcony, gaze cycling across all three even as he remains absolutely still.]
Dangerous. [How can he explain it in words?] Unexpected.
[Important. It’s what he should say. The eternal certainty that someday Stiles will be taken away from him, will leave by choice or outside will and circumstance just like everyone else he’s ever known, solidifies the dread in his gut and prevents the admission. He never intended to become attached. He was supposed to be dead and gone. He still will be, someday.]
If you need distance to pursue someone else more permanently, I won’t be offended. I hadn’t considered our relationship a replacement of what you had with Jonas. [An infuriatingly robotic tone, so stark against the dull throb of anxiety and dread from his end of the emotional link that he can’t seem to completely shut down.] You did nothing wrong, Stiles.
[ He watches intently, noting the evasive gaze that can’t seem to settle on one distant point over another. Even while in their periphery, those black eyes – like dark, unfathomable pools from an ancient ruin – drag Stiles down into their depths as surely as Tsukuyomi. The undertow of emotion flooding their open connection through Synchrony threatens to drown him. Itachi is afraid. Somehow, that cold stream of fear only serves to harden his resolve. After all, it’s easier to disregard his own anxieties in the face of someone else’s. They’re overdue this conversation. Communication may not be either of their strong suits, but it’s time to set the record straight, one way or another. ]
That’s not what I’m asking, [ he says in a cool, even tone at odds with the taste of disappointment lingering on the back of his tongue. ] And don’t bring up Jonas, okay? Our relationships aren’t even comparable.
[ Except not in the way that Itachi seems to believe. Because while Jonas might have been like the sun in his life, bright and warm and fulfilling, the sun is always fated to set; it can’t exist in the inevitable dark that follows the light of day. But the moon? The moon is always visible. ]
I had fun with Jonas. We weren’t together long, though. And honestly? I don’t think I could have been honest with him about…
[ Wordlessly, he settles his free hand around Itachi’s since healed throat, a brief touch meant to illuminate his point. Stiles reluctantly drags that hand away, clenching it into a loose fist by his side. ]
He wouldn’t have understood. Jonas wasn’t like us. [ A firm note creeps into his voice as he continues, ] Most people aren’t. And the thing is? Even if they are, I’m not interested. Not like I am in you.
[The hand is a warm passing pressure on his throat. He feels himself swallow under the caress, cartilage working, bereft when Stiles drops his arm and takes the touch away. Eyes chase it, lowering to study those fingers in the memory Stiles means to reference. He recalls the aftermath of painful emotion that overtook the boy as he’d cried, marooned on an island of complex shame unreachable to Itachi—if only for the fact that he has acknowledged his own pleasure in the act of being strangled and was not surprised to discover it in another dark corner of psyche.
Cheating on Jonas was what stood out on Stiles’ board in Club Penance. Itachi hadn’t truly understood the self-imposed sins in the moment; now, with every word between them, he finds the shape of fear changing.
Stiles is interested in him. The concept is as unfathomable as it had seemed when he’d realized Izumi’s feelings in his youth, taken to a new height of impossibility given what Stiles knows of his history and behavior. Automatically his mind begins to calculate every reason he should refuse the conversation before it can progress. Thoughts that vanish like vapor, emotion washing them out.]
Stiles, [comes the quiet reply in a low warning tone,] this isn't wise.
[He’ll know that. He’s far from unaware, far from unintelligent. Itachi hasn’t forgotten the boy’s distress over Jonas’ fate after he’d disappeared—his own will be the same, eventually.]
[ The thing is, he came here knowing that Itachi would fight him on the matter. During the one-sided arguments he staged with himself, pacing back and forth in his apartment restlessly, Stiles prepared for this inevitability. Had he not, he might have lost himself to doubt now when faced with these cautionary, unencouraging words. But even as his anxiety spikes, Stiles lifts his chin in defiance. Some things are worth fighting for. Itachi happens to be one of them. ]
Too bad, [ he retorts with a scoff, intertwining their fingers until he can feel the bony protrusions of knuckles under his fingertips. ] You already said it yourself. “Our relationship.” This isn’t going away just because it doesn’t fit in the tidy little box that you’ll allow yourself of what’s appropriate or convenient.
[ Once again his free hand comes up, this time to push on Itachi’s chest and shove the man backward into a row of cabinets – where Stiles crowds him, stepping boldly into his space as if he belongs there. All the while, he continues to clasp hands with Itachi, thumb stroking an index finger soothingly. ]
It’s too late to claim we don’t have an emotional connection, [ continues Stiles lowly, gaze intent on Itachi. ] We do. You know we do. The natural next step is making it official.
[He allows himself to be herded back and pressed into the cool wood of kitchen cabinets by the lean line of Stiles’ body against his own, familiarity carved out of practical experience. In the handhold, his own fingers are loosely pliant, tactile connection Synced without seeming effort. The dread and fear still flicker vividly between them, but they take on a more muted color as he grapples his mind into order. The conversation isn’t evolving how he expected; he has to cope with that.]
Not ‘appropriate or convenient’— [is the quiet answer, Itachi’s expression touched now with a shade of fatigue,] but still necessary. You should understand why.
[He denies nothing of what Stiles has said, even as it spins his expectations out in a fatal, incalculable slide. All of the barriers between himself and the idea of a committed, intimate relationship with someone else are still present: his concept likely doesn’t align with Stiles’ own. Their cultural backgrounds are different enough to suggest this possibility.
Stiles can’t fully comprehend what he’s asking. With Izumi, it was a whole life, marriage and family and eventual death, and he’d given it to her in the end even if only through the grasp of imaginary illusion. He does not suspect he can agree to this without Stiles understanding its gravity, and its threat, to everything. It’s in his blood, lurking in every corner of his mind. He cannot go halfway. That is why he should deny and end this before it gets any worse.]
What do you imagine in the process of making it official? [Black eyes study the boy levelly and carefully.] What does that mean to you?
[ Necessary because Itachi has no future beyond what Noctium permits him. Brown eyes narrow mutinously at the pointed reminder because Stiles – whether or not Itachi agrees on a relationship with him – already has plans on pursuing ways to circumvent that final game over. These worlds have the ability to pluck someone as powerful as Sasuke from his timestream. Somehow, they temporarily revive the dead like Itachi from their eternal sleep. There must be a means to ensure that Itachi leaves this planet and either returns to the shinobi world with his brother or arrives in Beacon Hills with Stiles. Malachite is the key. One way or another, Stiles will find the answers they need. Itachi’s story doesn’t end here. It can’t.
But he doesn’t voice these thoughts. Itachi once told him that he’d assist Stiles in searching for the truth about these pocket dimensions. Does that extend to searching for information on how to keep him alive? Stiles can’t say – and he’s afraid the man might try and stop him if he knew. Death must have been a kind of penance for Itachi, after all, a penance that Stiles fully intends to deny him. He’s exceptionally selfish like that. Too bad, echoes his mind. Too bad.
With some difficulty, Stiles stirs from his reverie to address the questions. ]
It’s exactly what we’ve been doing, only with a label slapped on it. Taking care of each other, experiencing new things together, everything we promised in our vows during the Bonding ceremony. [ But it’s not as simple as that. Stiles slides his hand up Itachi’s chest, staring at it where it pauses over the man’s heart. ] Except when you leave after we fuck, like that time on the space station…I want to know you’re coming back. I want to know you’re always coming back. To me. I don’t want to doubt how important I am to you.
[ His jaw clenches, a surge of emotion washing through him like a flashflood, scraping him raw. Despairing affection and concern, swelling through the connection they share. His feelings aren’t casual. ]
I want to know I’m as important to you as you are to me.
[As it was with Sasuke, the torrent of vibrant emotion he feels from Stiles is momentarily stunning, enough that he might go under with it—looping into the tender, newer growth of sentiment within himself until it is difficult to tell where his own emotional state ends and Stiles’ begins. The Bond is the cause of this; he was able to keep better distance when their souls were not magically knotted, feeding off of an intertwined existence. He could remain separated and isolated. He was alone.
If Itachi knew it would come to this, would he have ever agreed to the Bond? Would he have severed it in Hell, sooner, at those first flags of attraction between them? Tsukuyomi was its fragile genesis: trust overlaid an encounter free of consequence, lapping at the shores of an illusion as he tested what he’d learned of physical intimacy. Club Penance made it more complicated and concrete. At some point, he’d begun to learn—and relearn—from Stiles what it was like to care for another living person, a part of himself he’d long since cauterized in order to do what had to be done.
Or what he’d believed, as a child, needed to be done. That stood in question now, but he refused to let the thought stray. It would suck them down into blacker terrain. It was the same reason he wouldn’t let himself linger on Sasuke, or what had recently occurred between them.]
I came back. You were already gone. [A faint tug of humor hangs there before it fades. His head inclines, bringing their faces into proximity.] I can meet your request, and give you that promise, but… there is going to be a day I am forced to break it.
I died, Stiles. [I am still dying, he doesn’t say, even as his mind flashes to the secret sealed underneath his bathroom sink, not far away from them now.] Nothing can change that. The past cannot be unwritten. This only has one ending.
[A bare arm lifts to lay itself around the boy’s shoulders, drawing the line of his body closer until their foreheads nudge together, sharing breath.]
Are you doubting my attachment to you, after everything?
[ Information that Itachi had returned to the closet isn’t exactly a surprise – the man would have had to, in order to find his shirt missing and later text Stiles about the article of clothing. But still, the fact that it’s reiterated now in the context of what he’s said to Itachi… His heart begins to pick up speed, trotting along at an uneven staccato as he dares to hope. If he’d remained in the storage supplies closet after Itachi left, would he have been allowed to stay? Would he have been allowed to curl up next to the sex-warmed body on the mattress beside him and covet their proximity? Stiles licks his lips, hungry for the idea. Greed for Itachi’s time, space, and attention seems to guide him these days.
Eyes slide shut as their foreheads gently meet, Stiles almost lulled into complacency through the physical weight draped along his shoulders. Reaching up with his free hand, he slides it through the unbound hair at the base of the other man’s skull, cradling his head with a tenderness he doesn’t have the strength to express through words. ]
Nothing’s written in stone, [ he mutters obstinately, gaze opening on a weak glare. ] And if it is, I’ll break the tablet in half. I died before too.
[ But this is getting off track. Determined to steer them onto the correct course, he continues. ]
Everything ends eventually. Until then, let me be with you. And you, [ a pause as his mouth molds to Itachi’s bottom lip, lingering there in a soft kiss, ] can remind me of your affection for me whenever we’re together.
[It is a foolish idea. To think he can have this, the gentle thing cradled in Stiles’ hands and offered out to him now, as though it won’t come with a price one day. Itachi knows himself well enough, and he acknowledges the pain certainly waiting somewhere at the end of this path—as it had with Izumi, Tenma, Shisui, Sasuke, his parents. All of them drawn into the dark, sinking vortex of his influence.
Chaos will follow you everywhere. Strange that the words of Danzou come to him now, in a situation so outside the memory of that man. But he’s never forgotten those lessons. He doesn’t expect he ever will.
Stiles’ predictable stubbornness is met with a sharp exhale, stuttered, the sound like a tight and close-mouthed laugh. The kiss coaxes him out of the bleaker magnetism of his own thoughts, warmth a humid stamp across his lower lip. A tilt of his head angles it into better and fuller alignment before he attempts a reply.]
There is also the issue of the gem’s influence over us, [hushed impossibly quiet against Stiles’ lips, until he leans away to look him in the eye.] You were not the only one impacted by transformation. I believe it affected everyone, to varying degrees.
[This is the moment to bring up Sasuke. A black gaze drifts to the side, and in the shadow of what they've just discussed, indecision wins.]
The nature of Synchrony alone is intimate. I imagine you’ve experienced it with others, too.
Edited (i used the same word too many times it is a crime ) 2021-03-01 01:52 (UTC)
[ Reluctantly, he draws away from the siren call of the kiss to listen. Warmth lingers on his lips, which tingle from the parting pressure of Itachi’s mouth flush against his. Stiles has to fight with himself not to interrupt the man, to let him speak unburdened by a series of increasingly intimate kisses pressed to the side of that alluring neck. It was never like this with Malia; the difference between his relationships both astounds and frightens him. The fervor of his passion for Itachi seems to steadily rise with every new encounter, with no end in sight. God, does he want this man.
Stiles inhales deeply, clearing his head from the fog of lust that’s seized it. His exhaled breath stirs the loose hairs parted around Itachi’s face. ]
That’s the other half of what I wanted to talk to you about, [ he admits, a hint of uncertain shame creeping into his tone. But he doesn’t release the shinobi. Nor does he move further away. ] It’s like going feral in Aefenglom all over again. I could barely control myself – and the only thing that helped was…was intimacy with people. Except that created a whole new set of problems.
[ Namely, he’d been horny enough to nearly fuck Guanshan in his web. ]
Were you okay? [ His fingers splay at the back of Itachi’s skull, gently massaging. ] What happened on your end?
[He doesn’t disengage the half-embrace, even as his gaze remains angled aside, studying a distant point in consideration of what Stiles has admitted. He was never feral in Aefenglom, so he cannot compare the experience. Still he sees that parallel.]
I seemed to be less afflicted than others, as I was able to keep a clear head in most of my encounters. [Comparatively. In none of those situations had he felt he was going to lose control, but he’d certainly experienced desires and urges disembodied from reason—perhaps with the exception of Sephiroth, who he already acknowledges his attraction to, so his own behavior made sense. Is it something to tell Stiles now?
How, exactly, does this work? Itachi frowns, leaning their temples together as his head slightly turns.]
I calmed someone else with Synchrony when they were behaving erratically at Camp Whitegrave. And I… found Sasuke, later. [Anxiety tightens in the tether between them, but given his emotional state thus far in this conversation, it isn’t a new alarm. Itachi eases over it with a concentrated effort of composure.] We also Synced, although we couldn’t maintain the connection for long. It was… too much.
[The last is little more than a murmur, for how quietly he says it.]
[ Naturally, Itachi remained in control for the majority of his transformation. Stiles might have been envious were he not already so painfully aware of the difference in ability and mental capacity between them. There’s no point comparing himself to someone who’s trained vigorously since childhood in self-discipline and -control. Instead, he’s relieved to hear that the other man hadn’t faced the same difficulties. Maybe that’s something he can assist Stiles with if these transformations are going to become a regular occurrence.
Brows knit together in concern at the mention of Sasuke. The idea that it was “too much” for both Uchiha to Sync makes a tragic kind of sense given their convoluted, bloody history. Sharing that level of casual intimacy is difficult for most people, never mind two estranged brothers awkwardly attempting to rebuild a mangled relationship. Stiles believes they simply need more time. He suspects that the transformations fueled a stream of powerful emotion too raw for either sibling to tolerate. Well, he’s not exactly wrong. ]
This is going to sound so stupid after I came here basically demanding you to commit to – to being my boyfriend, [ he begins with a groan, pressing his forehead against Itachi’s shoulder and leaning his weight against the other man. ] But I think we need to see other people.
As in, other people too. We’re not always going to be around to Sync with each other. And if things get out of hand, like going feral or something…
[ Uncertainty gives him pause, his head rolling so he can glance up at Itachi. ]
[Boyfriend. A pale, shallow word for the way Stiles makes him feel and how he might personally define their relationship—something he only ever heard as a child—but he doesn't know what would stand in better. If that's what Stiles wishes to call him...
The predicament introduced deserves his greater attention, even as it inspires confusion. It feels as though he's walking through the dark, uncertain of boundaries and expectations, unaware of cultural differences Stiles may be acting on without his awareness.]
I'm not certain I understand. [Itachi leans back against the cabinets, searching for eye contact.] You want us to have other relationships as well?
[ The response is immediate, sharp even. A tendril of insecure possessiveness creeps over him and he lifts his head, staring at Itachi with a hard, uncompromising look. It fades the longer he holds the man’s gaze, sensing the confusion that his words have elicited. He’s not being clear here – probably because Stiles himself isn’t entirely sure, or in favor of, what he’s suggesting. ]
…Yeah, I guess, kind of? [ The idea goes against everything he values, but it’s necessary in a world like this. ] Not relationships like ours. More like…
[ Slowly, he disengages from Itachi, pulling their limbs apart so he can lean back against the island, hands on the marble surface on either side of him. ]
Physical relationships. One-offs. Uh, one-offs that may or may not be more than once? I’m not explaining this well.
[ A hand drags heavily down his face. ]
You can screw whoever [ whomever ] you want, but at the end of the day, it’s me you come back to. And vice versa.
[The picture is made clearer by that explanation, although Itachi finds himself wondering about its efficacy in practice. The nature of Synchrony is an emotional connection, beyond the strict realm of physical intimacy—it may be impossible to prevent forging deeper relationships with others. After all, is that not what happened to the two of them? Itachi doesn't necessarily consider this as likely for himself; a natural proclivity for secrecy and distance has shaped his own inner world, where only the most stubborn dare tread. But if Stiles were to discover another person more aligned with his desires, emotionally and physically—someone more suitable as a long term companion—would Itachi be able to step aside? He would have to. He prefers to assume he could.
Resigned to the possible scenarios playing out in a calculative mind, Itachi nods, unmoving against the cabinets as Stiles takes up post across from him. A sleek, still shadow in the bright kitchen.]
All right. [Doubt aside, he's willing to make the attempt. Only one remaining unknown:] ... Do you want to share information about those other relationships when they occur? Or should they be kept private?
[Outlining these stipulations is more comfortable for Itachi than he'd imagined it would be. Easier than looking in the face of his immense affection for Stiles, at least. This part is logical.]
[ Unbeknownst to him, his thoughts run along a similar track. Tactility may be required to initiate Synchrony, but the connection itself is pointless without the willingness to be open emotionally. Stiles, who’s typically obsessive about the potential what ifs, finds himself shying away from further exploration of what he’s asking Itachi. For once, can’t it just be enough to know that the man has agreed to a committed relationship with him? He doesn’t have the mental fortitude right now to spiral down the bleak path of who will catch Itachi’s eye, of the competition he’s creating through this agreement, of the self-doubts he’ll reap.
Behind him on the island, the Nightmare’s petals continue to bleed. ]
I… I’m not sure.
[ His gut instinct is to say no, prone to anxiety as he is, but Stiles is aware that he’ll inevitably break any promise of privacy in order to investigate the people Itachi spends his time with. It’s a serious character flaw of his that he has no intention of working on. So, better to be honest. ]
Let’s share, [ he suggests tentatively, arms folded over his chest in a defensive gesture. ] You don’t have to, like, call me right after and tell me. Just let me know when you can. Does that work?
[In the gap of that indecision and eventual request, Itachi watches the boy's body language as arms cross over a lean chest, taking up defensive posture against the kitchen island. He doesn't need to be linked within the walls of Stiles' emotional experience to see and interpret the response after all these months. Still, honesty is what Stiles is requesting. He won't deny him that.
With another nod, Itachi straightens against the cabinets.] Yes. [Then he prowls closer, distance between them eaten up in one short stride across glossy tile. Just as Stiles had earlier, he crowds him, bare arms to either side of the boy's narrow waist in a barricading spread, palms on cold marble. Their faces loom close as he leans in, foreheads nudging a second time—now with darker insinuation than the calm affection of before. Humid breath fans across mouths, Itachi's loose hair sliding over one of his shoulders.]
In that case, you'll need to tell me of your encounter during your transformation, if you mean to honor this agreement. [His voice is low, one long tone of darkness.] Who was it? What is it you did to them?
[ Breath hitching audibly as Itachi stalks closer with all the latent danger of a predator, Stiles watches the other man through half-lidded eyes. His mood is slow to catch up – it lingers unhappily on the non-monogamous terms they established, wondering if this is really something that he’s capable of. But the nature of this pocket dimension demands it if they’re to thrive; Stiles reminds himself of that fact as hips bully him against the island, pinning him in place. On reflex his hands find the waist opposite of his, settling there comfortably to welcome Itachi into his space. ]
His name’s Guanshan, [ he begins, a hint of embarrassment tinging the thread of Synchrony as he recalls the charged encounter. Sensing recognition at the name, he pauses. ] Oh, you know him? Well…
[ The experience had been one of humiliation for both participants, though for wildly different reasons. Stiles expects Guanshan will hold what happened against him for a long time yet. And yet, as he stands here under the unblinking stare of unjudging black eyes, Stiles is able to review the event in a new light. Shame has nothing to do with why he squirms. ]
I was an Arachne, or whatever this world calls them. He walked straight into one of my webs. So, I pulled him up – [ fingers walk up Itachi’s side, one at a time ] – and played with him a little. You know, just teasingly threatening him. But I think he gets off on that. And when I noticed he was interested, I…
[ A sinuous roll of his hips, denim jeans shifting quietly. Blood quickening, Stiles looks up at Itachi through lowered lashes, their mouths just grazing on an exhaled breath. ]
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text; network name: "Stiles"; perma-private; Feb 26th
I’m coming over.
[ He doesn’t ask where Itachi lives; the GPS option on the phone has helped him pinpoint the location that the shinobi must be staying at, based on data of where Itachi’s signal idles the most at night. ]
What’s your apartment number?
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How did Stiles find the location of his apartment? And how does he know Itachi is currently there? Paranoid questions he'll have to save.]
All right. 17.
[A unit on the highest floor of the building, Stiles will discover, tucked into one corner with close roof access. The building itself is unremarkable, almost interchangeable with the design of Stiles' own.]
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Today, Stiles has dressed to impress. He’s wearing brick red, slim straight jeans to draw the eye toward long legs, combined with a soft, muted gray, long-sleeve henley shirt that accentuates his lean physique. The top definitely is an unusual choice for him; he would be much more comfortable in a loose hoodie or button-up, of course. But he’s here to argue a potentially losing case and is prepared to leverage every meager weapon in his arsenal, regardless of how ineffective they might seem. On at least some level, Itachi is attracted to him. Time to use that to his advantage.
In the nook of his arm is a medium-sized planter, relatively heavy in weight, which currently supports the two-foot-long stalk of a unique plant. With afternoon draining away to the dregs of night, the flowers are beginning to unfurl from their daytime rest along swordlike leaves, funnels a plain white for the time being. Red color is only just beginning to bleed across the petals. Stiles won’t tell Itachi how rare the “Nightmare” is on Noctium, or how much of his winnings he had to spend from his bet against Guanshan. ]
Been meaning to give you this for a while, [ he says in lieu of a proper greeting, setting the planter down on the kitchen island. Stiles adjusts it a few times, avoiding Itachi’s gaze. ] It’ll fully bloom by midnight, every night. The flowers will turn red and glow, kinda like a nightlight.
[ So you’re never alone, he thinks quietly, pushing the planter across the island toward the other man. ]
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His expression changes when Stiles enters, touched by a vivid note of shock. Discernible, for once, in the cool composure of his face, eyes making a snap-quick transition between Stiles' body and the flowers, then back again, lingering on leanly suggested muscle. He remains otherwise still at the approach. Posture inert as stone, he watches Stiles set the planter down with a click of terracotta clay onto the island. Vibrant white petals seem almost to brighten the plain and undecorated room immediately, red like strokes of a paintbrush the same color as the painted nails several inches away.
That feeling comes again, some unreadable weight of intention in the room he can't easily decipher. Something on Stiles' mind—invisible to him, in the moment. Something that causes the boy to be unable to meet his gaze. All of it combined to twist in his gut, anticipation and a cool rush of deeper sentiment he's begun to associate with Stiles.
When Itachi does move, it's to extend a hand toward the gift, fingertips grazing jagged edges of leaves and fragile petals.] … Thank you. [A surreal, hushed tone between them gentled by confusion. His brow furrows.] Are you all right?
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Swallowing, he pats his back pocket. It’s the wrong one; in this one is a sheet of paper. The other has what he was looking for: a tube of lubricant, since he highly doubts Itachi owns any that aren’t dedicated to weapon maintenance. But the sensation of paper, dry and crinkled, reminds him of why he’s here. So, he sucks back a breath, composing himself reluctantly, then draws the folded paper from his pocket to slide it across the island. ]
No, [ he answers honestly, daring to meet dark eyes. ] We’ll get to that in a minute. Here. It explains everything you need to do to keep the plant alive.
[ The sheet of paper is in fact a highly detailed list, painstakingly written in a clear hand, describing the correct temperature, sun exposure, water, nutrients, and soil for the Nightmare. Itachi will find that Stiles’ nails are likewise painted, though a pale pink, complimentary of Yuri. There’s more color in them than in his ashen face as he rounds the island to stand directly before Itachi, lips bloodless from how tightly they’re pressed together. ]
I almost had sex with someone. [ The confession tumbles off his tongue before he can stop it. ] During the transformation. I almost fucked someone. Someone else.
[ Someone not you. ]
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… No, that isn’t true. Sasuke’s bundled gifts for his last birthday are a bright reminder of past thoughtfulness. And like then, Itachi feels almost paralyzed, too-aware of Stiles when he circles to the other side of the island, closer. Their faces are on level. He attempts to gauge that bloodless expression but can’t turn up anything that makes immediate sense.
At the confession, Itachi doesn’t visibly react—although the emphasis placed on the word fucked causes his gaze to slide off, left, onto the wall. There’s a gaping silence that follows. Eventually, his mouth tightens, then his brow forms a neat crease.
In a surprisingly sedate voice:] If that is what you wanted to do…
[He stops there. Thoughts are slippery, difficult to grasp. He’s not someone prone to jealousy, and that isn’t what now wedges itself into his throat like a missed heartbeat—worse is that he doesn’t understand exactly why Stiles is upset or why he’s also upset, the sensation black across his vision when he closes his eyes. A long blink, then they flicker open again. Itachi’s memory flashes to the board in Hell, in the club, remembering what was written on it, the boy’s guilt manifested into need for punishment.
But he isn’t Jonas.
Itachi resumes eye contact, sealing everything else off like a closed door.]
Were you hurt? [Was someone else?] Did you lose control in the transformation?
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Meeting Itachi’s eyes is difficult. Shame burns scalding hot through him as he does; it feels as though, once again, he’s failed one of his precious people. His dad, Scott, Malia, Jonas, Itachi. Does it ever end? But Stiles can stew in melancholic, self-loathing rumination another time. There’s a conversation this needs to build into, one that they’re long overdue. ]
I lost control, [ he admits, memories of Guanshan bubbling to the surface before he hastily slams shut the lid on them. ] But I’m fine.
[ Except that’s a lie. It’s always a lie. Dragging a hand down his face wearily, Stiles tries again. ]
No, I’m not fine.
[ The sheet of paper is taken from Itachi to be placed back down on the counter, but Stiles pauses as their hands graze each other and Synchrony lights up like a beacon between them. Itachi’s discontentment and confusion are a bitter taste on his tongue. The urge to kiss those dexterous fingers soothingly is strong, as if he could reassure the man that way. Instead, Stiles clasps them. ]
Can you be honest with me – about what I am to you?
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An unsurprising question after everything they’ve experienced, although the gravity of it being demanded from him now inspires a strange, trickling fear, displaced out of logic. He’s reminded of the weeks he’d spent in Aefenglom alone—after Sasuke and Jonas and Stiles were all gone. His passive desire for death continuously ungranted as he woke up in each new dimension, finding Stiles there already waiting. Of all three of them, he hadn’t thought it would be Stiles still at his side. It’s not going to happen like that forever; he’s aware. Any time he spends in some dimensional afterlife is always borrowed.
That fact in mind—what is Stiles to him?
Fear follows the tempo of his heartbeat, palpable through Synchrony. It’s his turn to be unable to look into those warm brown eyes directly. His head turns, but he can’t choose between the wall or the floor or the doors out to the balcony, gaze cycling across all three even as he remains absolutely still.]
Dangerous. [How can he explain it in words?] Unexpected.
[Important. It’s what he should say. The eternal certainty that someday Stiles will be taken away from him, will leave by choice or outside will and circumstance just like everyone else he’s ever known, solidifies the dread in his gut and prevents the admission. He never intended to become attached. He was supposed to be dead and gone. He still will be, someday.]
If you need distance to pursue someone else more permanently, I won’t be offended. I hadn’t considered our relationship a replacement of what you had with Jonas. [An infuriatingly robotic tone, so stark against the dull throb of anxiety and dread from his end of the emotional link that he can’t seem to completely shut down.] You did nothing wrong, Stiles.
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That’s not what I’m asking, [ he says in a cool, even tone at odds with the taste of disappointment lingering on the back of his tongue. ] And don’t bring up Jonas, okay? Our relationships aren’t even comparable.
[ Except not in the way that Itachi seems to believe. Because while Jonas might have been like the sun in his life, bright and warm and fulfilling, the sun is always fated to set; it can’t exist in the inevitable dark that follows the light of day. But the moon? The moon is always visible. ]
I had fun with Jonas. We weren’t together long, though. And honestly? I don’t think I could have been honest with him about…
[ Wordlessly, he settles his free hand around Itachi’s since healed throat, a brief touch meant to illuminate his point. Stiles reluctantly drags that hand away, clenching it into a loose fist by his side. ]
He wouldn’t have understood. Jonas wasn’t like us. [ A firm note creeps into his voice as he continues, ] Most people aren’t. And the thing is? Even if they are, I’m not interested. Not like I am in you.
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Cheating on Jonas was what stood out on Stiles’ board in Club Penance. Itachi hadn’t truly understood the self-imposed sins in the moment; now, with every word between them, he finds the shape of fear changing.
Stiles is interested in him. The concept is as unfathomable as it had seemed when he’d realized Izumi’s feelings in his youth, taken to a new height of impossibility given what Stiles knows of his history and behavior. Automatically his mind begins to calculate every reason he should refuse the conversation before it can progress. Thoughts that vanish like vapor, emotion washing them out.]
Stiles, [comes the quiet reply in a low warning tone,] this isn't wise.
[He’ll know that. He’s far from unaware, far from unintelligent. Itachi hasn’t forgotten the boy’s distress over Jonas’ fate after he’d disappeared—his own will be the same, eventually.]
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Too bad, [ he retorts with a scoff, intertwining their fingers until he can feel the bony protrusions of knuckles under his fingertips. ] You already said it yourself. “Our relationship.” This isn’t going away just because it doesn’t fit in the tidy little box that you’ll allow yourself of what’s appropriate or convenient.
[ Once again his free hand comes up, this time to push on Itachi’s chest and shove the man backward into a row of cabinets – where Stiles crowds him, stepping boldly into his space as if he belongs there. All the while, he continues to clasp hands with Itachi, thumb stroking an index finger soothingly. ]
It’s too late to claim we don’t have an emotional connection, [ continues Stiles lowly, gaze intent on Itachi. ] We do. You know we do. The natural next step is making it official.
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Not ‘appropriate or convenient’— [is the quiet answer, Itachi’s expression touched now with a shade of fatigue,] but still necessary. You should understand why.
[He denies nothing of what Stiles has said, even as it spins his expectations out in a fatal, incalculable slide. All of the barriers between himself and the idea of a committed, intimate relationship with someone else are still present: his concept likely doesn’t align with Stiles’ own. Their cultural backgrounds are different enough to suggest this possibility.
Stiles can’t fully comprehend what he’s asking. With Izumi, it was a whole life, marriage and family and eventual death, and he’d given it to her in the end even if only through the grasp of imaginary illusion. He does not suspect he can agree to this without Stiles understanding its gravity, and its threat, to everything. It’s in his blood, lurking in every corner of his mind. He cannot go halfway. That is why he should deny and end this before it gets any worse.]
What do you imagine in the process of making it official? [Black eyes study the boy levelly and carefully.] What does that mean to you?
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But he doesn’t voice these thoughts. Itachi once told him that he’d assist Stiles in searching for the truth about these pocket dimensions. Does that extend to searching for information on how to keep him alive? Stiles can’t say – and he’s afraid the man might try and stop him if he knew. Death must have been a kind of penance for Itachi, after all, a penance that Stiles fully intends to deny him. He’s exceptionally selfish like that. Too bad, echoes his mind. Too bad.
With some difficulty, Stiles stirs from his reverie to address the questions. ]
It’s exactly what we’ve been doing, only with a label slapped on it. Taking care of each other, experiencing new things together, everything we promised in our vows during the Bonding ceremony. [ But it’s not as simple as that. Stiles slides his hand up Itachi’s chest, staring at it where it pauses over the man’s heart. ] Except when you leave after we fuck, like that time on the space station…I want to know you’re coming back. I want to know you’re always coming back. To me. I don’t want to doubt how important I am to you.
[ His jaw clenches, a surge of emotion washing through him like a flashflood, scraping him raw. Despairing affection and concern, swelling through the connection they share. His feelings aren’t casual. ]
I want to know I’m as important to you as you are to me.
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If Itachi knew it would come to this, would he have ever agreed to the Bond? Would he have severed it in Hell, sooner, at those first flags of attraction between them? Tsukuyomi was its fragile genesis: trust overlaid an encounter free of consequence, lapping at the shores of an illusion as he tested what he’d learned of physical intimacy. Club Penance made it more complicated and concrete. At some point, he’d begun to learn—and relearn—from Stiles what it was like to care for another living person, a part of himself he’d long since cauterized in order to do what had to be done.
Or what he’d believed, as a child, needed to be done. That stood in question now, but he refused to let the thought stray. It would suck them down into blacker terrain. It was the same reason he wouldn’t let himself linger on Sasuke, or what had recently occurred between them.]
I came back. You were already gone. [A faint tug of humor hangs there before it fades. His head inclines, bringing their faces into proximity.] I can meet your request, and give you that promise, but… there is going to be a day I am forced to break it.
I died, Stiles. [I am still dying, he doesn’t say, even as his mind flashes to the secret sealed underneath his bathroom sink, not far away from them now.] Nothing can change that. The past cannot be unwritten. This only has one ending.
[A bare arm lifts to lay itself around the boy’s shoulders, drawing the line of his body closer until their foreheads nudge together, sharing breath.]
Are you doubting my attachment to you, after everything?
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Eyes slide shut as their foreheads gently meet, Stiles almost lulled into complacency through the physical weight draped along his shoulders. Reaching up with his free hand, he slides it through the unbound hair at the base of the other man’s skull, cradling his head with a tenderness he doesn’t have the strength to express through words. ]
Nothing’s written in stone, [ he mutters obstinately, gaze opening on a weak glare. ] And if it is, I’ll break the tablet in half. I died before too.
[ But this is getting off track. Determined to steer them onto the correct course, he continues. ]
Everything ends eventually. Until then, let me be with you. And you, [ a pause as his mouth molds to Itachi’s bottom lip, lingering there in a soft kiss, ] can remind me of your affection for me whenever we’re together.
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Chaos will follow you everywhere. Strange that the words of Danzou come to him now, in a situation so outside the memory of that man. But he’s never forgotten those lessons. He doesn’t expect he ever will.
Stiles’ predictable stubbornness is met with a sharp exhale, stuttered, the sound like a tight and close-mouthed laugh. The kiss coaxes him out of the bleaker magnetism of his own thoughts, warmth a humid stamp across his lower lip. A tilt of his head angles it into better and fuller alignment before he attempts a reply.]
There is also the issue of the gem’s influence over us, [hushed impossibly quiet against Stiles’ lips, until he leans away to look him in the eye.] You were not the only one impacted by transformation. I believe it affected everyone, to varying degrees.
[This is the moment to bring up Sasuke. A black gaze drifts to the side, and in the shadow of what they've just discussed, indecision wins.]
The nature of Synchrony alone is intimate. I imagine you’ve experienced it with others, too.
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Stiles inhales deeply, clearing his head from the fog of lust that’s seized it. His exhaled breath stirs the loose hairs parted around Itachi’s face. ]
That’s the other half of what I wanted to talk to you about, [ he admits, a hint of uncertain shame creeping into his tone. But he doesn’t release the shinobi. Nor does he move further away. ] It’s like going feral in Aefenglom all over again. I could barely control myself – and the only thing that helped was…was intimacy with people. Except that created a whole new set of problems.
[ Namely, he’d been horny enough to nearly fuck Guanshan in his web. ]
Were you okay? [ His fingers splay at the back of Itachi’s skull, gently massaging. ] What happened on your end?
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I seemed to be less afflicted than others, as I was able to keep a clear head in most of my encounters. [Comparatively. In none of those situations had he felt he was going to lose control, but he’d certainly experienced desires and urges disembodied from reason—perhaps with the exception of Sephiroth, who he already acknowledges his attraction to, so his own behavior made sense. Is it something to tell Stiles now?
How, exactly, does this work? Itachi frowns, leaning their temples together as his head slightly turns.]
I calmed someone else with Synchrony when they were behaving erratically at Camp Whitegrave. And I… found Sasuke, later. [Anxiety tightens in the tether between them, but given his emotional state thus far in this conversation, it isn’t a new alarm. Itachi eases over it with a concentrated effort of composure.] We also Synced, although we couldn’t maintain the connection for long. It was… too much.
[The last is little more than a murmur, for how quietly he says it.]
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Brows knit together in concern at the mention of Sasuke. The idea that it was “too much” for both Uchiha to Sync makes a tragic kind of sense given their convoluted, bloody history. Sharing that level of casual intimacy is difficult for most people, never mind two estranged brothers awkwardly attempting to rebuild a mangled relationship. Stiles believes they simply need more time. He suspects that the transformations fueled a stream of powerful emotion too raw for either sibling to tolerate. Well, he’s not exactly wrong. ]
This is going to sound so stupid after I came here basically demanding you to commit to – to being my boyfriend, [ he begins with a groan, pressing his forehead against Itachi’s shoulder and leaning his weight against the other man. ] But I think we need to see other people.
As in, other people too. We’re not always going to be around to Sync with each other. And if things get out of hand, like going feral or something…
[ Uncertainty gives him pause, his head rolling so he can glance up at Itachi. ]
Does… What do you think? Am I asking too much?
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The predicament introduced deserves his greater attention, even as it inspires confusion. It feels as though he's walking through the dark, uncertain of boundaries and expectations, unaware of cultural differences Stiles may be acting on without his awareness.]
I'm not certain I understand. [Itachi leans back against the cabinets, searching for eye contact.] You want us to have other relationships as well?
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[ The response is immediate, sharp even. A tendril of insecure possessiveness creeps over him and he lifts his head, staring at Itachi with a hard, uncompromising look. It fades the longer he holds the man’s gaze, sensing the confusion that his words have elicited. He’s not being clear here – probably because Stiles himself isn’t entirely sure, or in favor of, what he’s suggesting. ]
…Yeah, I guess, kind of? [ The idea goes against everything he values, but it’s necessary in a world like this. ] Not relationships like ours. More like…
[ Slowly, he disengages from Itachi, pulling their limbs apart so he can lean back against the island, hands on the marble surface on either side of him. ]
Physical relationships. One-offs. Uh, one-offs that may or may not be more than once? I’m not explaining this well.
[ A hand drags heavily down his face. ]
You can screw whoever [ whomever ] you want, but at the end of the day, it’s me you come back to. And vice versa.
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Resigned to the possible scenarios playing out in a calculative mind, Itachi nods, unmoving against the cabinets as Stiles takes up post across from him. A sleek, still shadow in the bright kitchen.]
All right. [Doubt aside, he's willing to make the attempt. Only one remaining unknown:] ... Do you want to share information about those other relationships when they occur? Or should they be kept private?
[Outlining these stipulations is more comfortable for Itachi than he'd imagined it would be. Easier than looking in the face of his immense affection for Stiles, at least. This part is logical.]
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Behind him on the island, the Nightmare’s petals continue to bleed. ]
I… I’m not sure.
[ His gut instinct is to say no, prone to anxiety as he is, but Stiles is aware that he’ll inevitably break any promise of privacy in order to investigate the people Itachi spends his time with. It’s a serious character flaw of his that he has no intention of working on. So, better to be honest. ]
Let’s share, [ he suggests tentatively, arms folded over his chest in a defensive gesture. ] You don’t have to, like, call me right after and tell me. Just let me know when you can. Does that work?
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With another nod, Itachi straightens against the cabinets.] Yes. [Then he prowls closer, distance between them eaten up in one short stride across glossy tile. Just as Stiles had earlier, he crowds him, bare arms to either side of the boy's narrow waist in a barricading spread, palms on cold marble. Their faces loom close as he leans in, foreheads nudging a second time—now with darker insinuation than the calm affection of before. Humid breath fans across mouths, Itachi's loose hair sliding over one of his shoulders.]
In that case, you'll need to tell me of your encounter during your transformation, if you mean to honor this agreement. [His voice is low, one long tone of darkness.] Who was it? What is it you did to them?
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His name’s Guanshan, [ he begins, a hint of embarrassment tinging the thread of Synchrony as he recalls the charged encounter. Sensing recognition at the name, he pauses. ] Oh, you know him? Well…
[ The experience had been one of humiliation for both participants, though for wildly different reasons. Stiles expects Guanshan will hold what happened against him for a long time yet. And yet, as he stands here under the unblinking stare of unjudging black eyes, Stiles is able to review the event in a new light. Shame has nothing to do with why he squirms. ]
I was an Arachne, or whatever this world calls them. He walked straight into one of my webs. So, I pulled him up – [ fingers walk up Itachi’s side, one at a time ] – and played with him a little. You know, just teasingly threatening him. But I think he gets off on that. And when I noticed he was interested, I…
[ A sinuous roll of his hips, denim jeans shifting quietly. Blood quickening, Stiles looks up at Itachi through lowered lashes, their mouths just grazing on an exhaled breath. ]
…Well, I played with him a little more.
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