Divided Loyalty

A/N: Erm... I think that Fugaku turned out a bit over the top, but I just couldn't help it. I just hate this character SO. DAMN. MUCH. that these were my best efforts to be impartial when writing him. Obviously I failed completely.



CHAPTER 7







Feeling relaxed from the hot shower, Kisame wrapped the towel around his hips and headed for his room using another smaller towel to rub his hair dry. Just as he left the bathroom, a movement at the very corner of his vision caught his attention and he turned, but the corridor was empty. Maybe he had just imagined it? But then again, being what he was, Kisame hadn’t survived up to this moment by believing that he was imagining things – most of the still surviving Nins, regardless of their origins, possessed a healthy dose of paranoia. In some, the dose wasn’t even so healthy.



Pressing his lips together and wondering why Sasuke didn’t want him to know that he was lurking around, he opened the door to his bedroom and entered. At first glance, everything appeared as it should, nothing seemed to be touched or disturbed. He carefully moved through the room, extending all of his honed senses, trying to find faint chakra signatures, something to prove that Sasuke had been going through his things. Again nothing. He moved closer to the window and tried again, and then he felt it – a very faint trace of something, an echo of a shadow. Such, he knew, appeared when someone with sufficient chakra reserves felt very strong emotion, which in turn left their psychic print behind. Itachi had been very good at reading those, but Kisame too wasn’t completely talentless in the area. He could definitely sense Sasuke’s presence here.



Kisame looked down to his desk and stared, cursing his own utter stupidity and absent-mindedness. He went through the contents of the box this morning, while Sasuke was preparing food, unable to resist the pull of his memories, needing so much to touch a part of Itachi, to remember his scent, his image… In his haste, his need, he had forgotten to replace the locking seals on the box, had even forgot to put it away, and had instead left in plain view like this.



He reached for the lid and paused, his large hand trembling despite his best efforts to calm down. He curled it into a fist and took a deep breath, then opened the box. Its contents had definitely been disturbed, as if someone had been going through them and then had hastily tried to put them back in order but hadn’t had enough time to do so, and on top of the whole mess was Itachi’s photograph, the one had taken in the morning after Itachi turned seventeen, after he gave him that necklace as a gift, after he took him to bed for the first time…



Unbidden, memories assaulted him, memories of that very night, of the little dinner they had had at the base, of him presenting Itachi with a little unadorned box, containing the beaded necklace. He had thought long and hard about what to get him for his birthday, at first considering weapons, all sorts of them, but being a Genjutsu specialist, Itachi had little use of anything more complicated than a simple Kunai. The necklace had seemed like a good choice in the end – something harmless and neutral, something which didn’t betray the violent lifestyle that they had.



Itachi had opened the box and had given Kisame a kiss on the cheek, then had presented his neck – a gesture that had floored him there and then, implying Itachi’s deep trust in him – and he had carefully fastened the gift around the elegant column of flesh, unable to resist giving him a tender kiss, swiping his tongue over his jugular, feeling the young man shudder under his touch. Things had been growing between them for the past year, when he finally allowed himself to view Itachi as a young man, rather than a teenaged boy, but other than a few stolen kisses, he had been determined to wait until his partner turned seventeen at least, as frustrating as it had been to deny himself for months.



He did not regret his choice though, when he finally took his partner to bed later that night. Despite having witnessed and participated in so much violence for so many years, Itachi’s inexperience in that area became obvious soon after he undressed him. He had asked, unable to contain his curiosity, and his would-be lover’s answer had been yes, he was untouched, an admission accompanied with a blush and shy smile.



He shuddered at the memory of the pleasure they shared that night, despite Itachi’s clumsiness and awkwardness, or perhaps because of them. His own arousal had been almost vicious in its intensity, burning even brighter at the admission that he would be his lover’s first. There had always been something animalistic, primal about Kisame, and although he knew how to keep it on a tight leash, that night that possessive nature had come to the fore.



He ran his fingers over the contents of the box once again then firmly shut the lid, pushing away the memories. There was no point in dwelling over things that could no longer happen, it was a lesson he had learned a long time ago. Kisame had always been a man who lived in the present, not in the past.



And the present problem was that there was one very pretty, moody, temperamental and nosy brat living in the house with him. Sasuke’s occasional complete lack of maturity still tended to amaze Kisame, and not in a good way, but this was pretty much the final straw. He put the box away and sat down on his bed, still only wrapped in the towel and debated how to deal with Sasuke. Should he confront him head on, tell him that he knew that he had gone through his things? And then… do what? Punish him? As tempting as it was to just take Sasuke over his knee and spank him like the brat he was, he knew that it was probably the wrong approach. The boy – and he still called him a boy, even if he was older than Itachi had been when they became lovers – was prideful and haughty and would probably just try to lie to him if he tried to confront him, which in turn, he knew, would infuriate him to the point of losing control. And from experience Kisame knew that when he lost control, Bad Things happened.



No, direct approach wasn’t right. But then again, he couldn’t just sit and do nothing in the face of such terrible manners, to put it mildly. He lied back on the bed, his feet still on the floor and began to devise a plan.



Outside, the weather finally decided to show that yes, it was storm season, because after several bright flashes and window-shaking thunders heavy rain began to pelt against the glasses and the roof, the wind whistling in their chimney like a mad hag. If it went on like this, tomorrow might be too stormy to go fishing anyway – the currents would go wild and while he had no problem going out in the storm, it would be useless to catch the fish which would’ve probably hidden as deep as possible to avoid the turmoil on the surface of the ocean.



Indeed the next morning the weather hadn’t changed at all, the wind still blew wildly, the downpour so intense that Kisame could barely see their small pier and the boat docked on it – he sincerely hoped that the little vessel would withstand the constant abuse.



Staying home suited him just fine. He could get on with his plan.



When he went to the kitchen, he realized that he had woken up before Sasuke, whom he could hear puttering around in the bathroom, doing his morning ablutions. As it was his turn to cook, Kisame started breakfast, opting for a less traditional approach this time - toast, butter, cheese and tea. By the time the boy appeared, he was already halfway through his food.



“Good morning.” Sasuke said quietly. Kisame nodded, but made no effort to respond verbally, despite his mouth not being full at the moment. Feeling slightly awkward, the Uchiha quietly sat down and began to pick at his own breakfast, clearly deep in thought, occasionally sending Kisame odd, lingering looks.



“The weather today is too bad to go fishing, isn’t it?” he tried to start a conversation, but once again all that he got was a nod in return. Kisame gathered his empty dishes and put them in the sink, then left the kitchen.



Sasuke watched the older man leave without a word, the door of the kitchen slamming after him more forcefully than it was necessary or polite, and felt his gut twisting with a horrible suspicion. Did he know? Had he found out that Sasuke had been in his room, going through his things without his permission? Was that why he was acting in such a cold, dismissive way? Coming from the normally chatty Kisame, such silence was almost ominous.



Still, if he knew, why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t he come and yell at Sasuke, accuse him of being rude and sticking his nose where it didn’t belong? It seemed like the kind of thing Kisame would do, and yet, he had done nothing of the sort. Perhaps he had got up from the wrong side of the bed this morning, mused Sasuke sourly.



He washed all the dishes when he was done with his food and put them in the drier, then busied himself for a while with scrubbing the stove clean, a chore that he had promised to do weeks ago but had put off up to now because, really, a highly trained missing Nin scrubbing stoves was just undignified. Not that Kisame had any problem doing the laundry or washing floors or any of that domestic stuff, but still… At least it gave him time to think, as if that wasn’t all that he had been doing since he saw that picture in Kisame’s box. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the possibility that Itachi could have had a lover, that he was even interested in things like that. Imagining his brother as a sexual being, and with Kisame no less, was more than a little odd. Had they loved each other? Or was it just a physical thing, something to relieve stress after a difficult mission?



His mind was churning with possibilities and he wasn’t sure what disturbed him more – the fact that his brother had had a lover, or the fact that he, Sasuke, now wanted that lover. Not to mention that once again he’d be in his shadow, that even if for some miraculous reason Kisame did show interest in him in that way, he would constantly compare him to Itachi and that thought filled him with jealousy and indignation.



By the time he was done with the stove, he felt like bashing his head against it in an attempt to relieve his frustration and confusion. Taking a deep breath, he washed his hands and headed for the living room, hoping that Kisame would be there and that his foul mood would have dissipated by now.



Indeed, Kisame was there, sitting on the sofa, a book in his hands, eyes firmly on it, his feet casually propped up on the small coffee table. He didn’t look up at all when Sasuke entered, in fact, he made no indication that he noticed his presence even when Sasuke chose a book of his own and sat down next to him with it.



In the next hour, they remained like that – Kisame reading silently, Sasuke sitting and pretending to read silently, all the while thinking about why Kisame was acting the way he did and reaching only one conclusion over and over again. He knew. And he was angry.



Sasuke cast a furtive glance at the older man, taking in his harsh, chiseled features, the calm line of his mouth, the odd eyes. Kisame had taken him in when he had lost his entire team, when he had had nowhere to go, hunted by Konoha’s dogs, without allies, without friends, without family. He had given him all that, had somehow, without Sasuke even noticing when, slid into the role of a mentor and a teacher, becoming an authority figure that he could actually respect. It was a role Itachi had once filled, a long time ago, a role their own father had never been able, or willing, to fill. And of course, there was the fact that Sasuke felt immensely attracted to him, perhaps exactly because of the role he had begun to play in Sasuke’s life.



And now, it seemed, he had done something that made Kisame angry at him. Sasuke didn’t want Kisame to be angry at him. The realization hit him like a jackhammer, but he felt no surprise at it, only quiet acknowledgement.



“Kisame.” He said quietly.



“Hmm?”



“Will you look at me?”



Slowly, Kisame lifted his eyes from the book and looked at the boy, his expression still withdrawn and slightly disinterested.



“Are you angry at me?” Sasuke asked softly.



“Have you done something to make me angry at you?” Kisame asked in return, voice just as quiet but a lot less timid than Sasuke’s.



The younger man stared at him, but Kisame made no indication that he would say something more. He wanted to look away, not to look into Kisame’s eyes when he confessed but he felt trapped by that gaze.



“I went through your things while you were in the bathroom yesterday.” He confessed. “I didn’t mean to pry.”



Kisame noted the page he was on and closed his book, setting it on the coffee table, then turning to Sasuke again.



“Prying, Sasuke, was exactly what you meant to do.” He pointed out calmly. “And you did so without asking me first.”



“I know.” He finally looked down at his knees. “I was curious. I’ve always been too curious for my own good.”



“So Itachi said too.”



“He spoke about me?”



“All the time. Don’t change the subject.”



“An apology wouldn’t be enough, would it?” Sasuke asked, sliding his fingers between his knees to hide their sudden trembling.



“What do you think?” Kisame sounded patient, calm, soothing even. Sasuke began to relax.



“I don’t know.”



“Alright. Let me rephrase the question. What would Itachi do if you displeased him?”



“Before or after he massacred our family?” he couldn’t help being cheeky.



Kisame didn’t fall for it.



“Before that.”



“Oh. I don’t know. I never wanted to displease Itachi, back then. I loved him too much, wanted to be like him too much.”



Kisame paused, pondering over his next question.



“What would your father have done, if you displeased him? If you went through his things without permission like that?”



Sasuke had done such a thing only once in his life but the results of it had been so severe that he had never even thought about it again.



“He would spank me.” He finally answered, voice barely audible. That wasn’t the whole truth, what his father had done back then had been a lot worse than a mere spanking, but he was too proud to confess that, and more than a little afraid – if Kisame chose to repeat his father’s punishment, his far superior physical strength could cause a lot of damage.



Kisame nodded thoughtfully and looked at Sasuke expectantly. The Uchiha wanted to protest, to say that at eighteen, he was far too old to be disciplined like that, but the truth was, he had acted like an immature brat and deserved to be punished like one.



“I… How…?” he stuttered, heat rising to his face.



For a moment, even Kisame seemed unsure, but then he said:



“Take off your pants and bend over my lap.”



The heat on Sasuke’s face intensified, but he did as he was told, grabbing the hem of his pants and pulling down until they reached his knees, remaining only in his dark boxer shorts. Kisame patted his knee and tentatively and Sasuke bent over them, shuffling until he was comfortable, grabbing the edge of the sofa for leverage. Kisame’s large, warm, callused hand settled on the back of his neck, and it made him feel safe, rather than trapped.



Even though he knew what would follow, he was taken by surprise by the first slap. It didn’t hurt, not exactly, but it stung and he gasped quietly. The second landed on the other cheek, just where his ass met his thigh, a place that was most sensitive. He clutched the sofa harder and closed his eyes when the stinging sensation spread though his skin. Kisame built an even, unhurried rhythm, alternating between his sides and covering the entire area of his buttocks and the upper part of thighs. The stinging did turn to pain after a while, a heated, throbbing sort of pain that seeped through his body and pooled heat low in his stomach, much to his mortification. Despite the fact that he had gone through a lot worse in his life, he couldn’t help the tears that sprang in the corners of his eyes, slowly trickling down his flushed face, nor could he control the little gasps and moans that eventually turned into loud cries.



His mind was slipping, despite or because of the pain, feeling strangely liberated, relieved that after this, Kisame would no longer be angry at him, that things would go back to the way they were before he screw up. The slaps stopped but he remained where he was, not even realizing that he was crying openly, sprawled over the lap of the man who had just spanked him as if he was a kid, painfully aroused but too weak to feel guilty or ashamed about it.



The hand on the back of his neck moved up to his scalp and Kisame gently pet his sweaty hair, then pulled him up and gathered him in his arms, tucking his head under his chin and rubbing soothing circles over his back.



“Shhh. It’s over now. It’s okay.”



Slowly, his crying subsided and relaxed bonelessly in the warm, safe circle of the strong arms until the stinging in his bottom caused him to begin to shift uncomfortably and becoming far too aware of his arousal. Sasuke looked down through his puffy and reddened eyelids and noticed that his tip was actually peeking over the hem of his underwear, swollen and reddened and moist. Absolutely mortified with himself, he whimpered and covered his face with his hands, waiting for whatever mockery Kisame would say. What kind of a person became aroused after being treated the way he had just been treated?



A gentle hand touched his wrist and carefully pulled his hands down.



“Sasuke. It’s okay. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”



Kisame had a vast experience with people with masochistic tendencies, haunted by their past, by their guilt, and he had learned a long time ago to deal with their shame at their own needs. Itachi had been more difficult than Pein, the latter already too far gone to feel much guilt or shame, but as inexperienced as Itachi had been, he hadn’t even dared to ask for it at first and it had taken a long time before he could manage to convince him that there was nothing wrong about wanting the things he did, as long as he engaged in them in a safe way, a way that Kisame was only too happy to provide.



The boy hiccupped and buried his face in Kisame’s chest, hands fisting in his loose shirt. The Mist Nin sighed and reached to pet the sable hair again before his hand slid down and gently grasped the elastic of his underwear, pulling it down to reveal the young man’s swollen erection. He felt Sasuke shudder against his body and kept rubbing soothing circles against his back as he wrapped his nimble fingers around the hard, silken length and began to rub it up and down, aided by the boy’s own juices. Sasuke whimpered pitifully against his shirt and clung even tighter as his hips began to move in time with Kisame’s fulfilling touch.



“Yes, Sasuke, that’s right.” He encouraged him as the younger man spread his legs as much as he could to gain more leverage. “Good boy.”



The gentle praise did the trick because Sasuke cried out softly and finished, jets of semen shooting from his tip and staining Kisame’s hand and shirt.



The boy was boneless as he pulled out his handkerchief and gently cleaned him and his own hand – the shirt was ruined – then tucked him back in his underwear. He slid his arms under his back and his knees and lifted him easily, carrying him back to his room and removing his pants completely before tucking him in bed.



“Rest a little.” He said. “In the afternoon we have to go and knit the holes in the nets together.”



With that, he turned to leave.



“Kisame?” Sasuke called sleepily.



“Yes?” Kisame paused by the door.



“You didn’t get to come.” Sasuke said softly, half-closed eyes glued onto his very obvious erection.



“I wouldn’t take advantage of you like this, Sasuke. Not when you’re in such an emotional state. Rest now.” And he left.



Sasuke stared after the closed door.



When Sasuke was six years old, he doodled onto his fathers exploding tags, not comprehending what those were. When Fugaku discovered that, he had been beside himself with anger at his youngest, despite the fact that it had been his fault for not storing his weapons safely. No amount of pleading from his mother could change his mind when he dragged Sasuke by the ear in the kitchen and made him kneel, removing his belt and folding it in two.



Sasuke still remembered the horrible pain, and worse, his own raw fear at his father’s rage when Fugaku beat him. It had been Itachi who came home to this scene that put a stop to it.



“Stop, Father. Please.”



“Your brother” Fugaku said, voice trembling with barely contained rage “almost killed us all today!” he showed him the ruined exploding tags.



“He’s only six years old, father.” Itachi’s voice remained calm.



“Growing up in this family, he should’ve long known what those were!”



“I have been neglectful in teaching him father. Part of the responsibility is mine. Please, let me take the rest of his punishment. I deserve it no less than he does.”



There had been a short pause and then finally Fugaku conceded.



“Go to your room, you useless little fool. I don’t want to see you until tomorrow morning.”



Somehow Sasuke managed to drag himself off the floor and limp towards the door.



“As for you, son, I told your brother than he would get twenty. I reached eight. You are to suffer the rest.”



“Yes, father.”



Later than night, Itachi came to him and Sasuke could see that he was in pain, even if he tried to hide it.



“Brother…” he whimpered, tears threatening to spill all over again.



“Shh, Sasuke, it’s okay. I’m okay. Let me see your back. Turn around.”



Itachi lifted his shirt and hissed when he saw the bruising, then Sasuke felt something cold and slick being spread by gentle fingers, soothing away the pain.



“Is this better, Sasuke?” Itachi asked gently.



“Yes.” He sniffed. “What is that?”



“It’s a medicine that I use during missions to treat my injuries.” He explained.



Soon, the pain went away completely. Itachi hugged him and they lied on their sides, Sasuke finally relaxing.



“Are you okay now, Sasuke?”



He nodded.



“Thank you, brother.”



Itachi chuckled.



“Don’t mention it. I am your brother. I will always take care of you.”



A feeling of safety washed over Sasuke as he snuggled closer in Itachi’s tender embrace. Back then, at their age, that embrace had been completely innocent, entirely devoid of anything carnal, they had just been two children comforting each other after suffering at the hands of a cruel father.



And yet now, so many years later, he felt the same way when Kisame embraced him, he felt wrapped in the same warm, safe cocoon, despite the very different nature of what had happened before that.



Sasuke had searched for that safe, warm feeling all his life, had chased blindly after Itachi in a desperate, subconscious attempt to return to that place of peace and security. And here he was now, having found it in the arms of the unlikeliest of people.



All those years ago he hadn’t thought to use the medicine on his brother, hadn’t thought to even offer, and there had been no one to soothe Itachi’s pain. Was that what he had found in Kisame? Was that why he looked like that in the picture Sasuke found?