[The lack of words is less alarming than the sudden flood of sentiment, far more than he ever anticipated feeling from the other man. Like sinking feet-first into a deep, unseen ocean, he's swallowed up in sentiment—the most prominent of which leaves him breathless and aching. Loyalty. Not something he deserves, least of all from Kisame. Not after all of his lies. Perhaps it is shared; perhaps his partner understands without explanation. That is the nature of what they are in this world. And yet...
All he can offer in return is surrender. His own emotions are sharp things, little shards of painful feeling—anxiety, lethargy, grief spooling between them in endless threads of connection. Cool relief, too, brought by the simple act of Synchrony after weeks bereft. Bared and vulnerable, he gives himself to the arms that encircle his body, to the solid pillar that props him up, brow resting feverishly warm against Kisame's collar. Several long moments pass uninterrupted as the tide of mutual emotion washes out, almost illicit for how much they've kept from one another. Some boundary has been irrevocably crossed.
Eventually he manages to take in air—swallowing a whole lungful as if for the first time in hours, desperate as it feels. Synchrony does not sever; crystallization is still present along his throat, although it has begun inching back down, receding toward the purple dime-sized gem where it had originated. His head is clearer, less foggy. Fatigue has managed to sweep past anxiety and grief. He's exhausted.
Without word or direction, one of Itachi's slender hands sinks down to bracelet the other man's own, thick in his hand. Then he withdraws only to steer them away from the window, out of the living room. Into the bedroom. There is nothing sexual about his behavior as on the beach. Instead he attempts to maneuver Kisame down onto the bed, then lowers next to him like a cat seeking a comfortable spot to sleep, loath to lose the physical connection funneling Synchrony between them. Please don't ask me what is wrong stands in the ongoing silence. For now, let us stay like this.]
[ Grief is a familiar shadow for Kisame, a creature that lives in his chest and attacks when his guard is down. He has learned to endure it. Yet feeling that emotion from Itachi right now is altogether unexpected. It is sharp; it is fresh. What is his partner grieving? What could have happened that Itachi refuses to share? Despite his curiosity and concern, Kisame doesn't ask. To do so would be profane, a weaponization of shared vulnerability. And while Kisame will prod and push his partner, and even kick down Itachi's front door when slighted, he won't violate this show of trust. He won't spit in the face of this surrender.
So Kisame remains solid, breathing for both of them until Itachi finally manages a deep breath of his own. Still, they stay connected. Kisame follows when Itachi leads him toward the bedroom — a scenario he has played out countless times in idle fantasies … but never like this. There is a slight stiffness to Kisame's movements as he settles down onto the bed, yet there is no hesitation in him; this act, lying beside someone with no sexual element, is simply something with which he has little experience. Under different circumstances, it would be frighteningly intimate. But Kisame is already revealed; he has exhausted that fear — at least for now.
Once Itachi settles down beside him, Kisame wraps his free arm around his partner's slender form, answering Itachi's silent plea with one of his own. I'll stay with you, says that steady strength. So please stay with me. ]
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All he can offer in return is surrender. His own emotions are sharp things, little shards of painful feeling—anxiety, lethargy, grief spooling between them in endless threads of connection. Cool relief, too, brought by the simple act of Synchrony after weeks bereft. Bared and vulnerable, he gives himself to the arms that encircle his body, to the solid pillar that props him up, brow resting feverishly warm against Kisame's collar. Several long moments pass uninterrupted as the tide of mutual emotion washes out, almost illicit for how much they've kept from one another. Some boundary has been irrevocably crossed.
Eventually he manages to take in air—swallowing a whole lungful as if for the first time in hours, desperate as it feels. Synchrony does not sever; crystallization is still present along his throat, although it has begun inching back down, receding toward the purple dime-sized gem where it had originated. His head is clearer, less foggy. Fatigue has managed to sweep past anxiety and grief. He's exhausted.
Without word or direction, one of Itachi's slender hands sinks down to bracelet the other man's own, thick in his hand. Then he withdraws only to steer them away from the window, out of the living room. Into the bedroom. There is nothing sexual about his behavior as on the beach. Instead he attempts to maneuver Kisame down onto the bed, then lowers next to him like a cat seeking a comfortable spot to sleep, loath to lose the physical connection funneling Synchrony between them. Please don't ask me what is wrong stands in the ongoing silence. For now, let us stay like this.]
no subject
So Kisame remains solid, breathing for both of them until Itachi finally manages a deep breath of his own. Still, they stay connected. Kisame follows when Itachi leads him toward the bedroom — a scenario he has played out countless times in idle fantasies … but never like this. There is a slight stiffness to Kisame's movements as he settles down onto the bed, yet there is no hesitation in him; this act, lying beside someone with no sexual element, is simply something with which he has little experience. Under different circumstances, it would be frighteningly intimate. But Kisame is already revealed; he has exhausted that fear — at least for now.
Once Itachi settles down beside him, Kisame wraps his free arm around his partner's slender form, answering Itachi's silent plea with one of his own. I'll stay with you, says that steady strength. So please stay with me. ]