[ The touch to Kisame's hip is all it takes; Itachi's meaning is as clear as if the words were spoken aloud. Clearer, perhaps, stripped of the messy ambiguities of words. And Kisame obeys, keeping his body pressed firmly against the mattress — though not without some effort. Stillness in bed is as unnatural to Kisame as stillness in combat. His every instinct tells him to move, to touch, to hold, to taste. But instead, his abdominal muscles tighten and thighs tense, forcibly subduing a reflexive jerk as Itachi strokes his length, base to tip.
Those hands are among the deadliest that Kisame has ever known. Yet as they touch him, he trusts them more than anyone else's. It is a feeling that ought to terrify him. Here and now, he does not question it.
A breath that is not quite a giggle escapes, trailing off as Itachi leans in, a shadow that has haunted countless nightmares. Kisame merely grins, wide and eager, wishing that silky hair was just a bit closer. Perhaps it is greedy to want that feather-light touch when Itachi already has his cock in hand, slender fingers keeping him slick, keeping him ready. But truthfully, Kisame cannot help but feel greedy when it comes to his partner. He is always hungry for more with Itachi, even if "more" is simply an upward curve of those solemn lips.
Itachi moves, then, thighs spread wide, his hand directing Kisame's cock until it presses against his entrance. Itachi has prepared himself, Kisame knows, but it hardly feels like it. His thoughts swim, yellow eyes dropping to the hem of Itachi's (his) shirt where it tantalizingly conceals what he most wants to see. His muscles have gone rigid with the effort to remain still. If Itachi's entrance feels this tight, what will it be like once Kisame is sheathed inside…?
The slight catch of Itachi's breath brings Kisame's gaze back to his partner's. The strange sunlight, fresh and bloody all at once, captures strands of Itachi's hair, framing his pale face with red and gold. It is beautiful. Itachi is beautiful. How is it that after all these years, that simple fact can still render Kisame speechless?
He laughs again, softer now, a little breathless but no less happy. ]
Can't both be true? [ His tongue darts out to moisten his lips before he adds, ] I can keep still for you, Itachi.
[There is discipline in the way Kisame obeys him. Discipline, and deference, that no other Akatsuki coupling has seen—or will ever see again, once they both are gone from the world. It seems to him that Kisame fills all of the corners of his life before, shielding every weakness and enhancing every strength. It was not what he expected when he left Konoha. He surrendered himself to an existence alone, and he knew he deserved no better than miserable solitude up to the point of death. Yet Kisame had stepped in to occupy the place at his side without question or demand. And he settled there so perfectly.
The past rises up inside of Itachi, but only for a moment—it causes him to pause and sweep a look across their surroundings, as if the smallness of the room has finally occurred to him, the strange redness, the dream-like spell of quiet. It passes quickly. Kisame's voice, that breathy laughter, draw him back in. If it was anyone else... But he can trust Kisame, and he's loathe to leave this moment, real or not. Suspicion dissolves into hot, glazed pleasure.]
Good.
[And the eyes that turn down onto the other man are bright red, whirling Sharingan like a weapon laid across his throat—not yet threatening, but a promise, or a dare. It is an intimacy few have experienced, and none with the full and total knowledge of what he's capable. Kisame is one of the very few who have ever looked him in the eye, after all.]
I know you can, [comes out in a slow exhale, a sigh of relief as he fits himself over Kisame's cock, nudging the crown into place, feeling it breach that tight ring of muscle. He's forced to place one hand flat to Kisame's broad chest for support of his own slight weight.] Still, there are times I would rather hear you say it.
[It feels impossibly tight, impossibly too much, as he pauses with Kisame's cock barely an inch inside of him. He inhales a rattling breath. Another inch, slower, greased enough to slide with the movement—his expression cracks at the burn of penetration. Just the subtlest flinch to an impassive, composed face.]
[ Just when Kisame thinks his partner could be no more beautiful, Itachi proves him wrong. Scarlet eyes gleam down at him, glittering like a blade carved from the most precious of jewels. It is the greatest weapon of any Uchiha — the greatest, perhaps, of all Konoha. But when Kisame trembles before it, a shiver that is unmistakable with no clothes to conceal, there is no fear in him. Instead, his eyes are filled with wonder, his smile euphoric.
Perhaps there is something twisted in him, some flaw in his survival instincts that makes the Sharingan so alluring. Or perhaps the reason is both simpler and far more dangerous than that. Those eyes could burn him alive in an instant, but they are Itachi's, and Kisame trusts his partner.
Then Itachi begins to lower himself, enveloping Kisame's cock in an agonizingly slow slide, the tight, molten heat so much more intoxicating than Kisame could have imagined. His wrists flex above his head, hands curling into fists, painted fingernails biting into his palms. It is no sign of anger; it is a sign of how much he wishes to grasp the hand laid upon his chest, entwining slender fingers with his own, or else wrap his hands around Itachi's waist. He can imagine it vividly: the breadth that he would cover, the way his fingertips would press in just hard enough to leave the faintest of bruises, a compliment to crimson bites. Yet his restraint holds, and he does not snap his bonds. ]
You… You feel perfect. I've wondered for so long…
[ Words spilled out of him like a confession. Encouraged, perhaps, by that crack in his partner's composure, the subtle sign that Kisame burns into his memory. ]
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Those hands are among the deadliest that Kisame has ever known. Yet as they touch him, he trusts them more than anyone else's. It is a feeling that ought to terrify him. Here and now, he does not question it.
A breath that is not quite a giggle escapes, trailing off as Itachi leans in, a shadow that has haunted countless nightmares. Kisame merely grins, wide and eager, wishing that silky hair was just a bit closer. Perhaps it is greedy to want that feather-light touch when Itachi already has his cock in hand, slender fingers keeping him slick, keeping him ready. But truthfully, Kisame cannot help but feel greedy when it comes to his partner. He is always hungry for more with Itachi, even if "more" is simply an upward curve of those solemn lips.
Itachi moves, then, thighs spread wide, his hand directing Kisame's cock until it presses against his entrance. Itachi has prepared himself, Kisame knows, but it hardly feels like it. His thoughts swim, yellow eyes dropping to the hem of Itachi's (his) shirt where it tantalizingly conceals what he most wants to see. His muscles have gone rigid with the effort to remain still. If Itachi's entrance feels this tight, what will it be like once Kisame is sheathed inside…?
The slight catch of Itachi's breath brings Kisame's gaze back to his partner's. The strange sunlight, fresh and bloody all at once, captures strands of Itachi's hair, framing his pale face with red and gold. It is beautiful. Itachi is beautiful. How is it that after all these years, that simple fact can still render Kisame speechless?
He laughs again, softer now, a little breathless but no less happy. ]
Can't both be true? [ His tongue darts out to moisten his lips before he adds, ] I can keep still for you, Itachi.
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The past rises up inside of Itachi, but only for a moment—it causes him to pause and sweep a look across their surroundings, as if the smallness of the room has finally occurred to him, the strange redness, the dream-like spell of quiet. It passes quickly. Kisame's voice, that breathy laughter, draw him back in. If it was anyone else... But he can trust Kisame, and he's loathe to leave this moment, real or not. Suspicion dissolves into hot, glazed pleasure.]
Good.
[And the eyes that turn down onto the other man are bright red, whirling Sharingan like a weapon laid across his throat—not yet threatening, but a promise, or a dare. It is an intimacy few have experienced, and none with the full and total knowledge of what he's capable. Kisame is one of the very few who have ever looked him in the eye, after all.]
I know you can, [comes out in a slow exhale, a sigh of relief as he fits himself over Kisame's cock, nudging the crown into place, feeling it breach that tight ring of muscle. He's forced to place one hand flat to Kisame's broad chest for support of his own slight weight.] Still, there are times I would rather hear you say it.
[It feels impossibly tight, impossibly too much, as he pauses with Kisame's cock barely an inch inside of him. He inhales a rattling breath. Another inch, slower, greased enough to slide with the movement—his expression cracks at the burn of penetration. Just the subtlest flinch to an impassive, composed face.]
no subject
Perhaps there is something twisted in him, some flaw in his survival instincts that makes the Sharingan so alluring. Or perhaps the reason is both simpler and far more dangerous than that. Those eyes could burn him alive in an instant, but they are Itachi's, and Kisame trusts his partner.
Then Itachi begins to lower himself, enveloping Kisame's cock in an agonizingly slow slide, the tight, molten heat so much more intoxicating than Kisame could have imagined. His wrists flex above his head, hands curling into fists, painted fingernails biting into his palms. It is no sign of anger; it is a sign of how much he wishes to grasp the hand laid upon his chest, entwining slender fingers with his own, or else wrap his hands around Itachi's waist. He can imagine it vividly: the breadth that he would cover, the way his fingertips would press in just hard enough to leave the faintest of bruises, a compliment to crimson bites. Yet his restraint holds, and he does not snap his bonds. ]
You… You feel perfect. I've wondered for so long…
[ Words spilled out of him like a confession. Encouraged, perhaps, by that crack in his partner's composure, the subtle sign that Kisame burns into his memory. ]