[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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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.]
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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. ]