Catch-as-Catch-Can

Catch-as-Catch-Can
Chapter 2: Fervent Nocturne

Kisame slumped down further in his chair. One hand was propped up on the carved arm, his jaw resting heavily on curled fingers; the other tugged absently on the curtain drawn back from the window before him. His bad mood had continued uninterrupted since that afternoon, and as he watched the sun descend ever-so-slowly toward the far horizon, he found it worsening when the chorus of tree frogs joined that of the persistent cicadas. The fact that he had to squint directly into the sun just to see the pathway leading up to the pub's entry compounded his aggravation at the current state of affairs.

He growled out a curse. It was not for the first time that hour, and it certainly would not be for the last.

Shifting his gaze to the side to look over the small room, Kisame found it much darker than he remembered it. He swore again, impatient for his eyes to readjust to the sudden lack of a blazing sun. It took several minutes for him to make out the individual pieces of furniture crammed next to one another. A door at the far wall, locked. A table bearing a guest register that was collecting dust. An undersized dresser that had proven useful only for propping Samehada against. A mirror, obligingly reflecting the dying sunlight. An unmade bed with a dark lump of bedding on top of it. It took another minute for him to identify that the lump of sheets and blankets was in fact another person lying on his side, dark robe twisted around his frame. Well, perhaps the bed was made after all.

/Tch.. I bet he really enjoys making me go through the trouble of hauling him all the way back to this pub when he's passed out unconscious like some underage drunk. The bastard's lucky I didn't just leave him lying in the road outside. I'm sure that someone would have just had a ball with some random missing-nin on their doorstep./

Kisame sullenly glared at the other man's prone form. The glare went unnoticed, although it did manage to lighten his own mood. Slightly.

He turned to look out the window again. The sky was on fire just above the tree line, painted with intense hues ranging from bright vermilion to a rich magenta before it faded to the deep cobalt above. A few, thin clouds hung low on the horizon; they looked like unnaturally luminescent tufts of cotton candy suspended against the blazing backdrop. The evening dragged onward slowly, until all trace of the sun's passage faded into dusk. The light breeze that had begun with its departure was cool and refreshing.

Just as the first stars began to appear above, a low groan rose in the darkness of the room. The faint sound of shifting fabric accompanied it.

"Sleeping Beauty awakens at last," Kisame drawled. He eyed the figure on the bed; in the dim light, he could see that the other had rolled onto his back and had one hand pressed against his face.

".. You really need to get your fairy tales right. Aren't you supposed to be some sort of ugly Beast?" Itachi's voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. His hand muffled the words, but not enough to fully render them unheard.

"Something along those lines," came the growled, but half-hearted, response.

A long silence followed. Kisame felt no obligation to continue the unnecessary dialog. He was undecided as to whether his mood was about to improve or worsen with Itachi's return to the world of the conscious. Content to wait and see which of the two it would be, he turned his gaze out through the window again. Off in the distance, he could hear a horse plodding along the main road where it passed by the pub.

"Where.." Itachi began the question but was cut off by a sharp cough. He groaned the rest into his palm.

Kisame snorted. /Well. At least this might be a bit entertaining./ Returning his gaze back to the other man, he replied, "Upstairs at the pub where we ate. Rather, where I ate, and you just sat and drank tea. I managed to drag you back here and convince the woman running it that she had a spare room for the night."

Another groan followed. "Tea.. I.. think I remember." Itachi had begun rubbing his fingertips just above his hitai-ate, mussing the hair that was not still tied back in the process. His voice was still scratchy as he asked, "Any water?"

"Tch." Kisame jabbed his thumb toward his chest. "Who do I look like? Your mother?" Regardless, he lifted himself from the chair, pausing to stretch in front of the window. It felt good; he had been sitting almost motionless for several hours at that point, and his muscles were stiff. He noted with annoyance that one of his legs had fallen asleep. Moving slowly towards the tiny bathroom, he found that Itachi was staring at him between his fingers. /Aw, fuck. Is he going to be moody again now, too?/

His grumbles continued as Kisame passed by the bed, "You're lucky I turned you onto your side after bringing you up all those stairs. I was sorely tempted to leave you face-down where I tossed you, you know. After all, it'd make pretty good headlines if the psychopath behind the Uchiha massacre was found dead, suffocated because he was passed out in some podunk inn in sleepy old Tea Country."

They continued without retort.

Growling a curse under his breath, Kisame ran his hand up along the wall just inside the bathroom until he found the switch, then swore again as he squinted against the light. There were a pair of towels, neatly folded, by the wash basin with a small bottle of shampoo and conditioner resting on top of the fabric; miraculously, a single glass was also placed beside them. It looked clean enough, although at that point Kisame would not have cared less if it had contained paint thinner. Filling it with water, he quickly turned off the jarring light to plunge everything into soothing blackness.

Unfortunately, that also made retracing his steps difficult.

Hitting his shin no less than two times on his way over to Itachi -- once on the corner of the dresser, where he luckily did not knock over Samehada, and once on the bed corner itself -- Kisame finally decided that his mood was definitely worsening as the evening progressed. He sat down on the edge of the bed, thrusting the glass at the other man's face while already moving to rub the calf of his own now half-asleep leg.

"Here's your damned water," he growled.

Gingerly taking the glass in hand, Itachi raised himself up just enough to take a few loud swallows before collapsing onto his back again. He swung his arm out slowly, placing the nearly-emptied glass onto the table next to the bed, then returned the same hand to rest lightly on his brow. A deep breath followed. Then, ".. thank you."

The larger man did not cease massaging his calf, but replied with a grunt. "Yeah."

Another slow breath punctuated the silence that followed, then Itachi removed his hand from his face and let it drop by his side.

Kisame did not notice that the hand had also fallen against his back until he felt the thumb twitch against him. /He must still be out of it. The bastard hates it when people get close to him, let alone touch him. Probably fall back asleep again soon, too, if this is anything like the last time./ The thumb twitched against him again, this time twice in succession, and suddenly Kisame found it odd enough to pause rubbing his calf. Glancing down at the other man, he also found it odd that Itachi was staring directly back at him through half-closed eyes.

"What?"

Itachi answered the question with a shake of his head. His eyes also drifted closed, although Kisame thought that he could just barely make out the glint of the moonlight reflecting off of them between the lashes, as if the smaller man had them open just enough to see through.

Kisame narrowed his own eyes suspiciously. /What's he trying to pull now?/ He knew that Itachi was sometimes prone to odd behavior after chakra strain -- which happened very rarely, but when it did, it was nearly always due to overuse of his Sharingan. This, however, was an unexpected turn of events. Although it was not the first time that--/Don't think about that, damnit. You know how awkward things were for a whole month afterwards./

"Just go back to sleep," Kisame finally said, shifting his weight in preparation to stand up.

A hoarse mumble was the reply, though the larger man thought that he caught 'water' among the words. Growling in frustration, Kisame nearly spat, "Eh, what now?"

The hand that had been lightly pressed to his back came up to grab the cloth at Kisame's shoulder. He found that he was being pulled downwards with alarming force; the grip was significantly stronger than he had anticipated, for someone who by all rights should still be on the brink of exhaustion. Caught off balance, Kisame turned and shot his arm out to brace himself, his own hand planted firmly against the mattress just inches to the side of Itachi's face. The unexpected awkwardness of the whole situation was compounded further when the smaller man tilted up his head, his cheek just barely grazing Kisame's jaw line.

/Oh, shit./

Kisame strained his eyes, rolling them down in an attempt to judge Itachi's next move. He did not notice that he was holding his own breath. He did notice that the room felt warmer than before, as if the afternoon sun were still shining in through the window across from them. And that a good portion of the new heat was concentrated along his jaw where a cheek was poised just a fraction of an inch away. And another good portion radiated from the hot air that was lightly breathed over his ear in a rhythmic pattern. And suddenly his own heartbeat thundered so loudly in his chest that he was sure the other could hear it as the steady breaths were broken by the same hoarse whisper from before.

"I said.. The water was good, but I'd rather have something else right now."

Both remained perfectly motionless until Kisame finally realized that he had not managed to breath once since being pulled down. It made his reply sound much more strained than he would have wanted. "Such as..?" His mind raced, trying to determine the quickest and safest method of stopping what could only be a train wreck -- especially if things continued to grow more and more uncomfortable.

/It's not that this isn't.. Tch, I don't want to have to deal with complications like this after we've worked together so well for this many years now./

Itachi's reply brought him a small sigh of relief, and this time he remembered to continue breathing. "Tea would be good about now."

"I don't--" Kisame started to say, but was cut off as the other man continued musing in his ear. He found that the whisper tickled a little bit.

"Loose Assam green, maybe blended with a bit of Darjeeling.. a dash of white leaf to keep it light.. Or.. maybe some ginger or peach added instead, now that it's moved to evening and has cooled down a bit outside. Or.. maybe just some freshly-steeped barley water. Not left too long, since it can get a bit bitter.. although with a bit of honey.. Or maybe.."

/The fuck? Why is he babbling around in circles about tea?/

Kisame turned his head in exasperation, about to cut off the other man's mumblings, and was instead met with a shock -- and Itachi's lips pressed lightly against his own. They were soft, he noted with detachment, and dry, and very, very warm, just like the breath passing over his cheek now in a slow, steady rhythm. And then they moved against his, ever-so-slightly, as if the other man were mulling over just how rough his own lips were, and..

/And this is Itachi!/

The hand, steel grip still maintained on his shoulder, was the only thing preventing Kisame from abruptly moving back just then. As it were, he only managed to pull back a few inches. It was enough to stare disbelievingly down at Itachi. It was also enough for him to realize that his own breaths had grown hot and ragged, and that even with the slightly increased distance between the two of them, he did not feel any cooler.

Quite the contrary.

"Itachi-san.." he began, his voice cracking under the pressure. "I don't think that.."

"Mmm..?" Itachi closed the distance between them, his lips effectively cutting off Kisame's protest.

This time they definitely moved against his own, and he found it increasingly difficult to not return the gesture. The heat rising in the room seemed to concentrate in that singular point of contact. And they were soft, softer than he had remembered--/No, stop it, damnit, don't think about that now. I've got to../

"Itachi-san.." He tried the protest again. It was hard to talk around the other man's lips, especially now that they grew bolder and took his own lower lip between them, the opportunity only presented because he had attempted to speak. "This isn't a good idea.."

"I'm not really in the mood for barley water, after all." Somehow Itachi managed to whisper his response without losing the unintentionally offered lip. And suddenly Kisame felt the wet tip of a tongue lightly trace along its outer edge. "Or is it that you want me to stop, mm?"

The larger man's breath hitched in his throat. He did not want to answer that question. This new sensation of Itachi's tongue languidly caressing his lip brought another wave of heat over him, this time culminating in his groin; it did not help that the Uchiha had his teeth lightly pressing into the skin, trapping him more by the gesture than by force.

Kisame swallowed audibly.

"You should stop.." He finally replied, although part of him wanted to say instead, "Don't stop, don't stop, don't fucking stop." That part of him screamed in outrage within and kept him still even when he reasoned that now would be the best time to try pulling away again.

"But you don't want me to stop, do you.." Itachi's teeth relaxed the pressure on the lip, but his tongue pressed closer.

Somehow the smaller man's other hand had been brought up to loosely cup his chin; Kisame had not even noticed until the thumb and forefinger were pressed into his cheeks, toward the back of his jaw. It was not painful, but the pressure was uncomfortable enough that he reflexively opened his mouth to relieve it--and was rewarded with Itachi's tongue passing between his lips, darting between his now-parted teeth, and pressing firmly against his own. And then twisting around it, turning a little here, sliding a bit there, urging Kisame to return the attention, or at least to yield to the gesture.

He caught the faint flavor of green tea as the tongue pressed forcefully against him again, except that it was sweeter and lighter than any tea he had ever tasted before. And the pressure was growing more and more insistent with each ragged breath he managed through his nose. And that sensation of no longer caring about vague consequences rushed over him until he found himself returning the kiss with equal force, both tongues tireless and demanding, rough lips crushed against soft, teeth clacking together as both sought to very nearly devour the other.

The hand at Kisame's shoulder had since moved around and behind his neck, thumb pressing up through the short hair at his nape and fingers guiding him closer into the kiss. He shivered involuntarily as the other hand trailed downward from his jaw line; Itachi's fingertips traced feather-light lines along his collarbone, pausing briefly in the small indentation beneath his Adam's apple. Kisame felt his pulse rise rhythmically beneath those fingers as each heartbeat thundered through him. He was suddenly very glad that his own hitai-ate and robe were still draped over the abandoned chair; the room had grown far too warm to wear them comfortably.

Shifting his weight forward, Kisame lowered himself enough to brace with his forearm resting on the mattress. His balancing hand pressed against the side of Itachi's head, fingers roughly running up and under the dark fabric of the other man's hitai-ate and tangling through his hair. He quickly found the Uchiha's jaw with his other hand, forcefully tilting the smaller man's face to accommodate the marginal shift in their relative positions. Never once was the kiss broken; if anything, it grew more aggressive as the two fought one another for dominance.

A low, throaty chuckle rose between them, and Kisame was not certain if it began in his throat or his partner's. He had forgotten his teeth. The kiss had grown hotter, and wetter, and a strong coppery flavor emerged that nearly overpowered the initial taste of tea and shared saliva. He felt a drip slowly make its way out of the corner of his mouth and twisted to catch it with his lips; when he realized that the source was Itachi's bleeding lip, he also found that it was the other man who was chuckling--no, nearly purring--at the damage.

He also found that such an intimate taste and scent of his partner's blood was exceedingly intoxicating.

Kisame growled intelligibly, abruptly dropping his one hand from Itachi's jaw to tug at the man's robe, opening its front from collar to mid-chest in a single motion. Several of the fastenings most likely incurred some damage in the gesture, but neither cared. All that mattered was that it was just one more unnecessary thing in the way. And now that it was almost gone, Kisame found it much easier to mirror the attention bestowed upon his own neck and shoulders and chest, running his hand roughly along the now-partially exposed skin. And sliding his fingers beneath the scaled shirt that just had to erect another barrier between him and the heated flesh that teased his senses beneath him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a part of him frantically insisted that this was taking things too far, that this was only brought on by Itachi's odd chakra drain-influenced mood swings, that this was a serious mistake that would irrecoverably set back the dynamics of their partnership.. But that tiny voice of reason was drowned out by the sheer presence and force of the now, where everything felt so incredibly good, and where he was finally able to taste that one thing he had been unconsciously craving for almost two years now.

And Itachi had started it. Kisame was not a man to let such a presented opportunity go to waste.

Especially when it tasted this good.

Kisame lifted his head up a few inches, pulling back from the insistent lips. Lazily, he traced his tongue across them, exploring every slight curve, every small gash along them--all fresh and still sticky-sweet, drenched in the metallic flavor. Hooded eyes remained unfocused on the face beneath him. He did not want to meet the other's gaze, did not want to see if those eyes were open or shut, jet black or blood red. If this were illusion, he wanted to pretend it were reality as long as possible; if it were reality, he did not want to pull the trigger that would cause it to shatter around them.

Lips made contact with skin again, this time lower as Kisame pressed them in a meandering path along the other man's jaw and then down the side of his throat. He absently registered the sharp intake of breath as his teeth lightly grazed Itachi's collarbone; fingers that were suddenly raking down his chest caught his attention more readily, especially once they repeated the gesture several times over--sometimes a faint whisper of contact, other times a furious attack by well-manicured fingernails.

Light kisses were placed in a daisy chain along his temple. The breath that accompanied them was hot and moist, and he felt a lingering dampness in its passage.

Itachi's scale-padded shirt continued to pose as an extremely frustrating barrier.

Just as Kisame paused to determine best how to remove the current object of his aggravation, several things happened at once. A sharp pain in his side caused him to finally realize just how awkward it was to remain twisted around painfully above the other man, half-seated and half-pressed against the prone form beneath him. Skin made contact with the small of his back, Itachi's other hand having somehow worked its way behind him and up underneath his shirt; while the palm was soft and pliable, the fingernails were not, and they clawed viciously up his spine. And something wet and delightfully warm engulfed his earlobe, sending a intense jolt down his jaw and through his chest, straight to his groin.

Kisame abruptly lost the precarious balance afforded by his forearm and sagged heavily onto the other man, a dangerous growl rising in the back of his throat.

His growl was met by an echoed sound by his ear--in his ear, breath hot and wet and vibrating against him and through him--and teeth clamped down on the sensitive flap of skin at its base. A coppery flavor engulfed him again, the heady rush from it amplifying his other senses; he managed to ease up at the last minute before any serious damage was done to Itachi's shoulder. Kisame had long ago forgotten just how sharp his teeth could be. They left distinct red marks behind, and the shirt material was more than a little bit torn.

The hand running down his back was abruptly removed. Before he could voice a protest, Kisame found himself being pushed back as Itachi struggled to bring himself to an upright position. Lips met his, crushing against him with increased force, and as the ever-insistent tongue emerged again, he felt for a fleeting moment that he might drown in the kiss.

Somehow, he managed to continue breathing.

Cool air caressed his back, and Kisame realized mid-kiss that his shirt was now pulled up to expose his chest. Fingers pressed against him in a chaotic pattern, rubbing into his pectoral muscles; then the kiss was broken and a headfull of raven locks moved beneath his jaw. Itachi half-nibbled, half-kissed at the larger man's newly-exposed chest, paying close attention to the sculpted cleft at his clavicle. Bangs fell forward to graze his skin. Kisame gasped as they brushed against him, feather-light, and he idly wondered if the Uchiha's hair had always been this soft or if perhaps something was different this night.

Kisame gasped again, then broke off into a strangled growl. One hand roughly dug through soft black hair, fingers iron-like as they pressed against the man's scalp; his other hand came to a halt at Itachi's hip with a grip strong enough to bruise. The same hot-sticky-wetness that had found his earlobe not moments earlier had returned to engulf his left nipple. Whatever lingering doubts he had about the evening's progression were promptly dispelled. White light flashed before his eyes as teeth nipped at the small nub of flesh. His pants suddenly seemed too tight, too restrictive.

Itachi made a sound in the back of his throat; his lips reverberated with it against the larger man, and he twisted ever-so-slightly with his teeth. Audibly sucking air in through his nose, Kisame found that the intense heat surging through him were increasing with every passing second.

He wanted more. He wanted more now.

He pressed his hand lower down on Itachi's hip and drew it inward. Kisame noted with smug satisfaction that the tension against the dark fabric was just as great as he imagined it being for his own pants. He felt the bulge twitch beneath the cloth; he felt the blood rushing to his own crotch. He felt that if he did not do something now to take matters into his own hands, he would burst with the built-up tension.

Itachi's own low growl at his touch urged him on further.

The Uchiha's robe was no longer a problem; it must have been shrugged off at some point, but Kisame did not even notice its absence. He did notice the brief absence of tongue encircling his nipple when he pushed the other man away long enough to pull the scale-padded shirt up and over his head. He also noticed the return of those lips, now pulling back against the nub. And he definitely noticed the one hand drift down his abdomen, low, low, lower, until a thumb just barely brushed against the dark fabric holding back his cock.

Kisame growled. He was typically a patient man, even in highly stressful situations. But he also typically did not find himself this aroused with such an eager partner. Nor did he typically find Itachi's hand lightly stroking his length through his pants, fingertips tracing down both sides and promising so much more.

Several witty lines came to mind, most involving untamed beasts or various aquatic life, but Kisame found that the unspoken demands by one another were far more desirable than petty talk. That and he was not about to break whatever spell seemed to have been woven over the two of them.

Plus, his mood had improved drastically since when Itachi had first awoken, and that was always a good thing.

Instead of voicing anything, Kisame shoved Itachi back against the bed, finally climbing up onto it fully instead of remaining half-seated. He was mildly surprised that the Uchiha did not seem to protest at the gesture, although his kisses were still commanding once their lips crushed against one another again. And his fingers increased their pressure, rubbing slowly up and down the bulge at his crotch.

He groaned into Itachi's mouth, tasting the tea-and-blood flavor that he had already grown to crave. His own hand cupped Itachi's cock through the fabric, fingers curling downwards and around the outlined organ, thumb stretching up to press at the button of his pants. Finding it difficult to release it with the single digit, Kisame reluctantly drew back long enough to unfasten the button. Itachi's voiced sigh around his tongue rewarded his probing fingers when they wrapped around heated skin, now freed from its fabric prison.

Inwardly, Kisame grinned like a Cheshire cat. He suddenly wanted to see what other reactions he could coax out of the other man, what other things he would be receptive to.

Slowly pulling along Itachi's length, he stretched his pinky to press against the head, tracing the small cleft to the tip in a languid motion. A small amount of precum welled up, and he caught it with his fingertip, rubbing in small circles while maintaining a slow, even rhythm with the rest of his hand.

Itachi dug the fingers of one hand into the nape of Kisame's neck. His kisses grew more dangerous, tongue forceful and penetrating, lips drawn back to expose teeth that dug into the corners of his own mouth. And that same low sigh grew to an insistent half-growl, half-moan with each stroke.

And then the waistline of Kisame's pants was suddenly much looser than earlier, a hand roughly sliding down to encircle his own cock in a demanding gesture. He forgot to breath, forgot to maintain the kiss; white heat surged through him and flashed before his eyes. The grip was not gentle, but it felt so damned good, and the rhythmatic strokes matched his own at first but slowly increased in speed, egging him on, pressing for more.

Kisame remembered to breath then and gasped for air around Itachi's mouth. Those lips never ceased pressing up against him with a crushing force; that tongue never retreated long enough for him to reclaim his own mouth; those teeth continued to press against his own lips, and he was sure that this time the coppery flavor mingling with their saliva was his own.

Forgetting his previous intentions of not making contact with Itachi's gaze, Kisame pulled back just enough to study the other man's face. Those eyes were jet black, no hint of the Sharingan surfacing, he noted, uncertain as to whether or not this surprised him. He almost spoke, then--almost sought confirmation that the smaller man really was aware of what was happening, was aware of where it was about to go.

He almost spoke, then, but instead resumed the kiss, at first so gentle that it seemed inappropriate matched to the furious pumping of both hands. With each stroke, it deepened, strengthened, until this time he was certain that it was his own sharp teeth that were causing the slashing of offered skin.

Kisame's head swam with the rising sensations that were quickly overtaking him. His hips pressed downward into Itachi's grip, and he found that the other man was mirroring the motion. Each jolt that shot through his body marked yet another ragged gasp for air around a kiss that had finally degenerated into the two knocking teeth against teeth, both far too occupied with the struggle for control much lower down than to focus on their lips.

Another wave surged up through him, and the larger man shuddered heavily, turning to bury his face in the crook of Itachi's neck. When labored breaths thundering past his ear joined with teeth nipping at the lobe, he promptly sunk his own into the exposed flesh. The loud hiss into his ear and sharp pain that followed only drove him to clamp down harder, the warm flavor of blood welling quickly to overwhelm his sense of taste.

Kisame finally discovered the major drawback to using one of his arms to hold himself just above Itachi--he only had the other hand free to use on the other man. Growling into the reddened neck before him, Kisame turned his one useful hand, still rubbing the base of his palm against Itachi's cock, but now fingering the balls partially hidden between heated thighs.

/Interesting../

Kisame smirked at the sharp, almost-voiced hiss in his ear. And at the way that the Uchiha spread his legs ever-so-slightly, permitting him an easier hold of the offered organs.

He never even consciously decided that he was going to press his luck further; it was simply a matter of feeling Itachi offer (well, sort of offer.. maybe..), and a matter of feeling his own body insist on finishing what was started. He simply acted, now long-past the point of confirming with his partner that this really was what he wanted, that this really was not the long-suspected after-effects of charka drain.

He simply acted, running his hand further down to fully cup the smaller man's balls and pressing one finger against the stretch of taught skin behind them. And then against the puckered hole, not an inch further back.

Itachi shifted--nearly squirmed--beneath him, and the growl that invaded Kisame's ear was hot and low. Almost as hot as the flesh tightly contracting around his fingertip. The pumping hand around his cock had stilled--and tightened dangerously, eliciting a matched growl deep in his own throat. Fingernails dug viciously into his back, just beneath his shoulder blade.

Kisame barely dwelled on the fact that this was not going to be pretty .. but it was going to be fun.

The glass resting nearly forgotten on the small table next to the bed caught his eye. Moonlight glinted off its contents. Water. Not enough to be really useful, but enough to start things at least. Kisame withdraw his fingertip and reached over to submerge two digits in what remained of Itachi's drink. Returning his hand to Itachi's ass, he pressed the same finger against him again, this time sliding in just a little further with slightly less difficulty.

That the other man had propped his leg up to make the motion easier did not even register in Kisame's mind. That his hand resumed stroking his length in a slow, firm rhythm did, however, and a rush of dizziness clouded his senses momentarily.

Kisame ran his tongue up and along Itachi's collarbone, nipping now and again with his teeth but not quite drawing blood. He pressed his lips up the smaller man's throat, nibbled at his chin, then fully claimed his mouth in a feverish kiss just as he shoved his finger inside all of the way. Itachi moaned--finally really moaned--into Kisame, despite the way his muscles contracted instinctively around the invading digit. And as the finger was withdrawn nearly all of the way, only to be plunged back in again, those muscles continued to clench around him and the Uchiha's moan rose in pitch, buried in the back of his throat, until Kisame was certain that it was almost a whimper.

/So the mighty Uchiha prodigy can sink this low, eh? Degraded to a writhing, whimpering--/

Kisame gasped as Itachi painfully clenched down on his cock, pulling his hand up the length with nearly crushing force. White light exploded in front of his eyes. Now this was playing dirty.

He growled again, breaking the kiss to stare directly into Itachi's eyes. To his surprise, his partner had an amused expression on his face. And he finally broke the unspoken plea that no words were to be exchanged.

"You should hurry up before I change my mind, Kisame," he said, voice husky and barely above a whisper.

And the way that Itachi nearly sighed his name, the way his eyes closed halfway as the intense stare was returned, the way the muscles finally--forcefully--were relaxed around his finger, the way the thumb of the imprisoning hand lightly pressed up between the cleft of his head to rub the tip--it all made Kisame shudder in anticipation and in pure, unbridled need.

He promptly shoved his index finger back inside of Itachi, this time with the middle accompanying it. Muscles spasmed involuntarily around the invading digits; that the smaller man actually managed to will them to relax again intrigued Kisame. However, he was keenly aware that the water was not quite enough to finger the man, and he knew that it was nowhere near what he needed to prepare for the next step.

Then, an idea struck him, and he grinned toothily.

"If you insist, Itachi-san.." Kisame sat up abruptly, pulling his fingers out. Since Itachi had broken the no-speaking rule, he no longer felt compelled to follow it himself. "Stay here."

The larger man stood up, idly amused at the way both of the Uchiha's hands fell limply to the bed--and at the mildly confused expression he attempted to quickly mask. And at the way that his skin was so flushed that he could clearly make out the change in hue by filtered moonlight alone.

This time, it proved significantly easier to navigate into the tiny bathroom. His eyes had long ago adjusted to the dim lighting; this time he did not press his luck in ruining his night vision and instead left the switch just inside the door untouched. Both of the complimentary bottles were where he had remembered them; they sat, undisturbed, on their nest of towels. Uncertain as to which was which, Kisame grabbed both before making his way unerringly back to the bedside.

He finally discarded of his pushed-up shirt before climbing on top of the mattress. Itachi had started to sit up, but a large blued hand impeded his progress--and effectively pushed him back against the bed again.

/Well, he did say hurry it up.. And I don't think that I want to take my time at this point./

Kisame loomed over his partner, all four limbs trapping the smaller man beneath him. And then his lips trapped the other's mouth, although with the way that Itachi was pressing up and against him, and the way it was his tongue and teeth that were forwarding the kiss, Kisame wondered briefly as to which of the two was really in control.

Moving enough to set one of the two bottles onto the nightstand, he twisted at the cap of the other still clutched in his hands until it opened. Tilting it, a slippery fluid pooled out onto his fingers, dripping between them and onto the mattress. Placing the bottle by its companion on the table, the larger man rubbed his thumb between each digit until all were thoroughly coated. And then he reached down again, eliciting first one sigh into his mouth when he just barely grazed Itachi's cock, then a second sigh when he lightly cupped both balls, and then finally a sharp hiss when he shoved both fingers back inside the puckered hole. This time, they moved inward much more smoothly.

One hand gripped the nape of Kisame's neck, forcing him to maintain the already too-deep kiss, while the other raked fingernails viciously down his chest and across one hard nipple. His cock ached now that it no longer received the other man's attentions, and he moved his fingers in and out of Itachi roughly, impatient for the next stage.

The hiss breathed into their kiss strengthened, suddenly voiced into an all-out moan.

/Looks like I found something, eh?/

Kisame grinned around Itachi's lips, and his teeth cut into the other man's tongue. But the hand grasping his nape increased its grip sharply and once again he lost control of the kiss. And Itachi's hips were moving now, pressing back against his fingers to rub that one spot again, and again.

Separating both fingers a bit, the larger man complied, seeking to call forth another moan from the Uchiha while he worked on stretching the still too-tight opening. Admittedly, Itachi had managed to relax his muscles a bit more, which made the process easier.

Knuckles brushed against his abdomen, up and down, up, down, and Kisame finally realized that Itachi was gripping and pumping the length his own cock, fingers now and again rubbing against the bluish skin poised fractionally above. Kisame chuckled then, the half-growl nearly lost into the smaller man's mouth until he pulled back.

"I said.." Itachi's voice was uncharacteristically strained, although he enunciated each word carefully. "..You should hurry up--" His voice hitched as two fingers rubbed behind his prostrate. "--before I change my mind."

Kisame pressed in him twice more before voicing a response. "Sure." Then both digits were removed, and he yanked at the smaller man's pants, which had migrated downward to mid-thigh. Itachi shifted his hips upward, hand still rubbing his cock, and with a second tug, the pants were removed entirely; his sandals slid off easily with the mass of fabric. Before reaching over to reclaim the opened bottle on the nearby table, Kisame discarded of his own trousers. The evening breeze was chill against his legs, but it felt good. He felt entirely too flushed and heated.

The conditioner or shampoo--whichever he had opened--also felt cool and slick on his hand when he poured some into his palm. And it felt even cooler when he pressed it to his cock, twitching at the sensation. But he knew that both of them would need it; Itachi was nowhere near loose or relaxed enough to fully take him without some measure of pain.

Apparently the fluid felt cool to the Uchiha, too; as Kisame pressed dripping fingers to his ass again, he sharply hissed in a breath.

With both of the other's legs propped up on either side of him on the bed, Kisame took more time than necessary to position himself. It really was an amazing sight to see Uchiha Itachi, of all people, with his head tilted back and eyes half-closed, disheveled hair limp against his sweaty brow, hips shifting upward slightly in anticipation, and hand loosely stroking his own cock. The larger man indulged in another throaty half-growl, half-chuckle before pressing the tip of his head against the offered ass. He guided himself with one hand while the other painfully gripped the hip before him.

Muscles contracted around his head unyieldingly as he pressed inward. So close, yet still nowhere near enough. Itachi started to make a small sound, but muffled it as he bit down on his own lip. A few drops dribbled from the corner of his mouth, dark and slick in the moonlight. Kisame watched as the other's eyes first widened and then stared upward at the ceiling; the dark crimson of the blood was mirrored in flashes in those black eyes, his Sharingan instinctively beginning to activate.

/It's too late to turn back now./

Kisame leaned forward, towering over his partner and pushing inward slowly. Muscles spasmed around him, and the intense pressure and heat that engulfed his cock was almost enough for him to forget himself entirely. He brought up both hands to grip Itachi's hips, shifting them to more easily accommodate his length. The Uchiha's strokes on his own cock had ceased, and he continued to stare upward with unfocused eyes, Sharingan not quite surfacing enough to do more than cast whirls of crimson across jet eyes.

With agonizing slowness, Kisame was finally inside of the other completely. His breathing had degenerated into erratic panting, and it took all of his willpower to not move faster, to not simply tear open his partner with frantic thrusts. To his credit, Itachi had managed to relax his muscles by then, marginally, although the discomfort and hints of pain could still be read in his expression. It was an interesting face, Kisame found, one that he had never before seen on the other.

Rocking his hips back, the larger man started to pull out, only to press forward again when he made it halfway. This time, the stroke was faster and received less resistance; the next stroke was faster yet and wore on his last conscious thoughts to be gentle. By the seventh, Itachi's muffled cry was replaced by a strangled moan as he struck that 'interesting something', and Kisame promptly forgot any notion of caution.

Pounding into the tight ass, the larger man found that he could maintain each thrust with just the one hand gripping the exposed hip--admittedly with a force that was certain to bruise. He brought his free hand down to encircle Itachi's cock just below the other man's fingers, and with only a small degree of difficulty, he found a stroking rhythm that coordinated with each thrust forward. Fingers closed around his as the Uchiha guided his hand, squeezing sometimes and pulling at others, and with each pump both of them panted even more heavily.

Sweat glistened on their skin in the dim light, both figures frantically moving in accord with one another, both too lost in the moment to worry about words or thoughts or even anything beyond the simple act of labored breathing and perpetuating the sensations coursing through their bodies.

Lights danced before Kisame's eyes; he found himself suddenly falling and flying at the same time, his senses overloaded to the point where his entire body tingled and even his face felt numb. With three more deep thrusts into his partner, he came, liquid shooting forth and welling back to coat the head of his imbedded cock. He dimly registered the hitched breathing beneath him as he crumpled forward, still rocking into Itachi; he was barely aware of his one hand, still rubbing along the hard cock that was now pressed against his abdomen, the others' fingers guiding and insistent. And the hot liquid that suddenly shot between his fingers and up his chest, dribbling down onto the writhing form beneath him, was yet another faintly-registered sensation in a world that was rapidly turning dark around the edges and where sound echoed dully in his ears.

Kisame brought his arms up, propping them on either side of Itachi's torso. One hand was sticky, covered in his partner's semen, but both glided easily over slick and sweaty shoulders. His rocking slowed gradually until finally both lay still, the one heavy atop the other. Breaths also slowed and quieted; it was several minutes before Kisame could make out the song of the tree frogs and the cicadas without.

Finding Itachi's neck once again beneath his gaze, the larger man reached out with his tongue, languidly trailing it up from the still-reddened crook and along the side of the Uchiha's throat. He could taste sweat and heat, and the faint coppery flavor still mingling with the others. And then lips found his one more time for a slow, lazy kiss.

Several long minutes passed before both pulled away from the kiss, the mutual conclusion imminent. Kisame shifted his hips, pulling out of the smaller man, before rolling to the side to sprawl out on the mattress next to Itachi. The bed was small, much like the rest of the room. Somehow, there was still enough room for both to lay there in the dark, without touching.

Neither spoke.

The frogs and the cicadas continued their chorus, uninterrupted.

The moonlight filtered in through the half-drawn curtains, bathing the room in a baleful glow.

Itachi finally rose, pausing only long enough to finish his glass of water and to retrieve the unopened bottle before making his way into the tiny bathroom. He closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Kisame lay silently on the bed and did not move. He felt the cool breeze pick up again, fluttering in through the window and caressing his still-sweaty skin. He listened to the frogs croak, and to the cicadas chirrup, and to the falling water of the shower in its endless cascade through the thin wall.

Finally, he closed his eyes, lost in the nocturne.

Sometimes, it was better if no words were spoken.