[ 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. ]
[Recognition bleeds into surprise, and then into a deeper reservoir of arousal. His own encounter with the same boy had felt electrically charged, some inexplicable lure that continually drew them together—he's been made aware of Guanshan's interest even if he does not yet understand it. Perhaps if he had less control over himself, in the woods, Stiles would not be the only one admitting to intimate trespass now. More interesting is the fact they've crossed paths with the same individual, in equally fraught exchanges; Itachi is not often one to believe in coincidence.
Less shocked to hear Stiles' transformation has taken a similar shape as his monstrous designation in Aefenglom, the image described burns bright in his mind. He leans his weight heavily, sealing chests to pelvic bone, eyelids slitting at the fingertips up his flank. Remaining imperially still despite Stiles' bold grind of hips, he tilts his head. The gesture is almost bird-like as it takes his mouth out of proximity in his own version of a tease.]
That does sound like you. [Itachi isn't soon to forget one of their first encounters on that city rooftop, being bound up in silk web and clumsily transported to his younger brother, "for his own good."] Had you ever done anything like that before, as an Arachne?
[ Though he doesn’t give chase, his gaze remains lazily focused on the enticing shape of those lips as they form the words of Itachi’s drawling response. He thinks he could waste a lifetime just like this, breathing in the other man’s scent and recycled air, bodies intertwined like two coiled snakes in the underbrush. The deadly presence shadowing him tames his usual restless fidgeting into domesticity, keeping Stiles uncharacteristically still himself as he reclines in the cage of strong arms and long legs. As much as he wants to kiss Itachi, he’s not ready to beg for it yet. ]
On my birthday. [ There’s a dreamy quality softening his voice now. ] It was a full moon. I hadn’t Bonded with anyone yet, so it was getting harder and harder to control myself. Sasuke and Jonas were having dinner at the cottage.
[ Home away from home, as he’d come to know it. Potential for the memory to take on a darker, melancholier note threatens Stiles only for a moment; the solid, hard press of a body against his, tethering him to reality, prevents him from trailing down the rabbit hole of Jonas’ tragic fate. Nails biting, he drags his fingers back down Itachi’s sides before crawling them up again. ]
Sasuke needed to feed, bad. It was too dangerous to bring Jonas along and I knew he’d come after us if I didn’t do something, so I webbed him to a wall to keep him safe. [ Or maybe, simply to keep. ] Then I took Sasuke to a local pet store, where we wined and dined.
[ Their looming feral nature had lent the night a more sexually charged atmosphere; Stiles remembers how both of them had become hard, feasting on the animals in Sasuke’s thrall. ]
If it happens again, [ he continues in a low, sly tone, referencing the transformation, ] I can’t promise what’ll happen to you.
[Thoughts falling backward into reverie, he wonders if that was the same night Stiles had also delivered him to Sasuke's bed, and if their later interaction—a soft, gentle memory of a tiny, tender-winged bat in his hands—followed directly after the feeding session with Stiles. Yet reflecting further on his younger brother only calls to mind their more recent exchange like a splash of boiling water down his spine: the memory of Sasuke in his arms, scaled snake-tail ropey and possessive around him, a mouth covering his own in the cross over prohibited boundary.
Highly inappropriate in the given context. Itachi shudders, emotional response a static flash through their Synced tether that feels like a snapped rubber band, sharp and brief and stinging, easily disguised as a reaction to Stiles' low-toned insinuation.]
It sounds as though you are threatening me, Stiles, [said in his own quiet murmur, head turning to tuck a cool cheek into the joining of Stiles' throat and shoulder.] What are you suggesting you'd do? Do you think I would allow you to restrict me in webbing as you did once before?
[The idea thrums trepidation, tempered by trust; he's been bound under Stiles' hands now already, though to significantly lesser degree. The shape of Itachi's mouth is felt on skin as it curves into a subtle, unseen smirk.] I'm not easy prey. [Shifting up, his lips graze the delicate shell of the boy's ear before taking the lobe into a gentle pinch of teeth.]
[ That brief albeit vicious bite of unexpected emotion ricocheting through Synchrony leaves Stiles reeling, eyes wide as he stares at Itachi. He wonders if he’s misstepped, if maybe the idea of vulnerability in the hands of an Arachne is asking too much. But then the shinobi moves on as if the moment had never occurred, skin-to-skin contact a balm on his nerves. Gradually, the shoulders that hiked up with tension begin to relax once more. Whatever happened, Itachi doesn’t seem to be too perturbed about it. So, in the interest of seeing where their current conversation leads, Stiles lets it go. For now, at least.
The nibble at his ear may have something to do with his magnanimous decision.
A soft sigh escapes him as he melts into the touch, his head tilting away to bare his throat in silent supplication for Itachi. With his face turned aside, now would be an excellent time to catalogue the space that the shinobi now uses as a base of operations – calling it the man’s home would be a severe misunderstanding of Itachi’s personality and character. And yet Stiles finds his gaze going glassy as the flames of desire lick up his spine. ]
You’re not, [ he agrees appreciatively, hands slipping under the hem of Itachi’s sleeveless shirt to palm smooth hips. ] But I think you’d find the experience…rewarding.
[Incredible to consider how accustomed to physical intimacy he's grown since those first few, tenuous exchanges in Hell. He does not flinch or stiffen beneath the broad stroke of hands over hips, shirt hiked up in a brief glimpse of skin, allowing his guard to ease with desire for the boy in his arms. Itachi drops his head into the slope of that offered throat to inhale the familiar, clean scent of skin, warm against his cheek and flickering eyelids. A push of strength crushes Stiles' waist to the island's cold edge, immobile. His feet nudge apart ankles, bullying for space between knees, aligning their stomachs in one warm press. Then a roll of hips to grind against Stiles' groin with deliberate purpose meant to help in getting him hard.
There's no preliminary flirtation left as Itachi reaches down with both hands to close a powerful grasp under the boy's thighs, intent to clear his feet from the tile and deliver him seated to the counter. Widening legs further to allow himself within them, his own body a solid wall of lean muscle fitting well and with the confidence of belonging.
Stiles' promise hangs in his mind—rewarding, as though he's done something to deserve this sort of feeling and trust and loyalty from someone else—as he lifts a hand and snares short, ruffled brown hair to steer into an abrupt kiss. patience run dry. It forces Stiles to bend down slightly forward to reach. The pressure is solid, mouths sealed corner to tight corner, tongue prying for wet depth almost immediately.]
[ Again Itachi moves with that singular feline grace, all sleek muscle rippling beneath the loose folds of clothing. The dwindling space between them abruptly evaporates, dried up in the flare of heat that banks and builds between them as hips meet. There’s no opportunity to chase the sensation; Stiles is lifted with an ease that goes straight to his dick, the back of his thighs sliding against marble as he’s seated on the island. Without protest he allows his legs to be spread, though knees swing shut on a slender waist imperiously, feet locking at the ankles behind the man – trapping Itachi in the prison of his limbs. Already he’s squirming, inching forward on the counter until he’s flush against the long body before him.
Pliant lips give way under the pressure of a hungry tongue. Stiles groans into the kiss, his own tongue licking up the length of the shinobi’s in an eager greeting. The taste of Itachi is intoxicating, enough to get him drunk off of. His body undulates in want of a groin to grind against, but on the island he’s forced to make do with a navel instead. It reminds him of the preparations he made before coming here, of fingering himself open in the shower while thinking of Itachi, of the tube of lubricant in his back pocket. Scrambling, he reaches for that pocket now, retrieving the item simply to place it pointedly in the palm of Itachi’s hand.
He breaks from the kiss, rubbing their foreheads together. ]
Gonna take care of you tonight. [ Stiles closes Itachi’s hand around the lube. ] You, inside me. You want that, sweetheart?
[Somewhere in the hot collide of tongues and humid breath, devouring the mouth against his own with a familiar hunger reserved only for Stiles—they've had enough practice by now to make the act nearly innate—Itachi's mind wanders to the wild absurdity at what he's just agreed. He questions whether it was the correct decision, if instead he should have refused and turned Stiles out the door with more permanent severance to these uncharted waters of intimacy. It's become challenging to identify the pattern of emotions within himself, as though they've taken on complexity with time, hued in new colors he's never experienced and cannot immediately decipher. He understands that, perhaps, he's acted selfishly. The simple animal desire to have Stiles' up against his body seems to override all reason. It's terrifying, and in a moment of lucidity he acknowledges the danger he's created by allowing this to progress for the simple fact that Stiles has become irreplaceable in his narrow world.
So the inevitable pain of loss, when it does someday occur, will be nothing but deserved.
Itachi's lashes flicker as something solid it pressed into his hand. Reflexively, fingers curl around it. A line creases his brow in bemusement, then clears in a second's comprehension, and his expression darkens with a tide of acute understanding. He manages a short exhale and doesn't move in the trap of legs.] ... You enjoy calling me that. Was this planned? I would imagine, for you to be so prepared.
[The voice he uses is soft, very low, almost rasping and metallic in the whisper, dark gaze fixed on Stiles' face with intensity. He closes his hand into a fist and then circles the arm around Stiles' back, other hand tucking again under one of the boy's thighs, grip like iron in such slender fingers.] Hold onto me. [All the warning he offers before he's hauling Stiles against the front of his body and lifting, removing him from the counter to carry him across the tile, out through the living room, into what is presumably his bedroom. It's very dark past the threshold; curtains are closed on the window. He gets a knee on the mattress edge and delivers Stiles down onto it in one fluid movement.]
[ Itachi’s voice is made for the night, for unspeakable acts of passion lost to the winding dark. It drives a helpless little shiver from Stiles where he sits, trembling inside in want of that voice washing over him a hundred million more times. The command is obeyed without second thought, hypnotized as he is by the sheer magnetism of desire binding them. He drapes his arms over the shape of sculpted shoulders just as he’s yanked off the island in another casual display of strength. Oh, but Stiles can’t help the small noise he makes at that, hips angling forward to rub his stiffening dick against Itachi’s front. The trap of denim doesn’t permit him much movement in that regard, and by the time he’s deposited on the bed there’s a noticeable bulge creasing his jeans. ]
Hoped for, [ he corrects shakily, barely hanging onto the thread of conversation from the kitchen. ] Even stretched myself in the shower, just for you.
[ Brown eyes struggle to adjust to the lack of light in the bedroom, Itachi little more than a silhouette menacing him from above. Stiles pulls the man down onto him anyway, this shadow that’s crept into his life, still-locked ankles sliding down the small of Itachi’s back to push impatiently at hips. Arms unwinding, he moves again to cradle the man’s skull and draw their mouths together, only for fingers to brush against the swollen skin of two puncture wounds. Pausing, he tries to scrutinize Itachi in the pitch black, his own expression twisting with uncertain inquisition. An attack, or…? ]
Guess I’m not the only one who was getting frisky.
[ After all, the idea of anyone getting that close to Itachi while aggressive seems impossible – barring Sasuke, of course. Trying not to allow insecurity get the best of him, he moves on from the area, hands instead slipping down the shinobi’s chest to tug the sleeveless shirt off him. ]
Invite me next time, [ jests Stiles with a wink, hoping he doesn’t sound nearly as clingy as he feels. ]
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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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Less shocked to hear Stiles' transformation has taken a similar shape as his monstrous designation in Aefenglom, the image described burns bright in his mind. He leans his weight heavily, sealing chests to pelvic bone, eyelids slitting at the fingertips up his flank. Remaining imperially still despite Stiles' bold grind of hips, he tilts his head. The gesture is almost bird-like as it takes his mouth out of proximity in his own version of a tease.]
That does sound like you. [Itachi isn't soon to forget one of their first encounters on that city rooftop, being bound up in silk web and clumsily transported to his younger brother, "for his own good."] Had you ever done anything like that before, as an Arachne?
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On my birthday. [ There’s a dreamy quality softening his voice now. ] It was a full moon. I hadn’t Bonded with anyone yet, so it was getting harder and harder to control myself. Sasuke and Jonas were having dinner at the cottage.
[ Home away from home, as he’d come to know it. Potential for the memory to take on a darker, melancholier note threatens Stiles only for a moment; the solid, hard press of a body against his, tethering him to reality, prevents him from trailing down the rabbit hole of Jonas’ tragic fate. Nails biting, he drags his fingers back down Itachi’s sides before crawling them up again. ]
Sasuke needed to feed, bad. It was too dangerous to bring Jonas along and I knew he’d come after us if I didn’t do something, so I webbed him to a wall to keep him safe. [ Or maybe, simply to keep. ] Then I took Sasuke to a local pet store, where we wined and dined.
[ Their looming feral nature had lent the night a more sexually charged atmosphere; Stiles remembers how both of them had become hard, feasting on the animals in Sasuke’s thrall. ]
If it happens again, [ he continues in a low, sly tone, referencing the transformation, ] I can’t promise what’ll happen to you.
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Highly inappropriate in the given context. Itachi shudders, emotional response a static flash through their Synced tether that feels like a snapped rubber band, sharp and brief and stinging, easily disguised as a reaction to Stiles' low-toned insinuation.]
It sounds as though you are threatening me, Stiles, [said in his own quiet murmur, head turning to tuck a cool cheek into the joining of Stiles' throat and shoulder.] What are you suggesting you'd do? Do you think I would allow you to restrict me in webbing as you did once before?
[The idea thrums trepidation, tempered by trust; he's been bound under Stiles' hands now already, though to significantly lesser degree. The shape of Itachi's mouth is felt on skin as it curves into a subtle, unseen smirk.] I'm not easy prey. [Shifting up, his lips graze the delicate shell of the boy's ear before taking the lobe into a gentle pinch of teeth.]
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The nibble at his ear may have something to do with his magnanimous decision.
A soft sigh escapes him as he melts into the touch, his head tilting away to bare his throat in silent supplication for Itachi. With his face turned aside, now would be an excellent time to catalogue the space that the shinobi now uses as a base of operations – calling it the man’s home would be a severe misunderstanding of Itachi’s personality and character. And yet Stiles finds his gaze going glassy as the flames of desire lick up his spine. ]
You’re not, [ he agrees appreciatively, hands slipping under the hem of Itachi’s sleeveless shirt to palm smooth hips. ] But I think you’d find the experience…rewarding.
[ Unlike Guanshan, may he rest in horny peace. ]
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There's no preliminary flirtation left as Itachi reaches down with both hands to close a powerful grasp under the boy's thighs, intent to clear his feet from the tile and deliver him seated to the counter. Widening legs further to allow himself within them, his own body a solid wall of lean muscle fitting well and with the confidence of belonging.
Stiles' promise hangs in his mind—rewarding, as though he's done something to deserve this sort of feeling and trust and loyalty from someone else—as he lifts a hand and snares short, ruffled brown hair to steer into an abrupt kiss. patience run dry. It forces Stiles to bend down slightly forward to reach. The pressure is solid, mouths sealed corner to tight corner, tongue prying for wet depth almost immediately.]
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Pliant lips give way under the pressure of a hungry tongue. Stiles groans into the kiss, his own tongue licking up the length of the shinobi’s in an eager greeting. The taste of Itachi is intoxicating, enough to get him drunk off of. His body undulates in want of a groin to grind against, but on the island he’s forced to make do with a navel instead. It reminds him of the preparations he made before coming here, of fingering himself open in the shower while thinking of Itachi, of the tube of lubricant in his back pocket. Scrambling, he reaches for that pocket now, retrieving the item simply to place it pointedly in the palm of Itachi’s hand.
He breaks from the kiss, rubbing their foreheads together. ]
Gonna take care of you tonight. [ Stiles closes Itachi’s hand around the lube. ] You, inside me. You want that, sweetheart?
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So the inevitable pain of loss, when it does someday occur, will be nothing but deserved.
Itachi's lashes flicker as something solid it pressed into his hand. Reflexively, fingers curl around it. A line creases his brow in bemusement, then clears in a second's comprehension, and his expression darkens with a tide of acute understanding. He manages a short exhale and doesn't move in the trap of legs.] ... You enjoy calling me that. Was this planned? I would imagine, for you to be so prepared.
[The voice he uses is soft, very low, almost rasping and metallic in the whisper, dark gaze fixed on Stiles' face with intensity. He closes his hand into a fist and then circles the arm around Stiles' back, other hand tucking again under one of the boy's thighs, grip like iron in such slender fingers.] Hold onto me. [All the warning he offers before he's hauling Stiles against the front of his body and lifting, removing him from the counter to carry him across the tile, out through the living room, into what is presumably his bedroom. It's very dark past the threshold; curtains are closed on the window. He gets a knee on the mattress edge and delivers Stiles down onto it in one fluid movement.]
cw: nsfw
Hoped for, [ he corrects shakily, barely hanging onto the thread of conversation from the kitchen. ] Even stretched myself in the shower, just for you.
[ Brown eyes struggle to adjust to the lack of light in the bedroom, Itachi little more than a silhouette menacing him from above. Stiles pulls the man down onto him anyway, this shadow that’s crept into his life, still-locked ankles sliding down the small of Itachi’s back to push impatiently at hips. Arms unwinding, he moves again to cradle the man’s skull and draw their mouths together, only for fingers to brush against the swollen skin of two puncture wounds. Pausing, he tries to scrutinize Itachi in the pitch black, his own expression twisting with uncertain inquisition. An attack, or…? ]
Guess I’m not the only one who was getting frisky.
[ After all, the idea of anyone getting that close to Itachi while aggressive seems impossible – barring Sasuke, of course. Trying not to allow insecurity get the best of him, he moves on from the area, hands instead slipping down the shinobi’s chest to tug the sleeveless shirt off him. ]
Invite me next time, [ jests Stiles with a wink, hoping he doesn’t sound nearly as clingy as he feels. ]
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