Brothers in Arms

A/N: If anyone who happened to read By Any Means Necessary also reads this fic, I would like to apologise for the final chapter of BAMN. This fic has long been written before being posted here. I am posting some of my older works, because I am very busy at the moment with RL and I have no time or energy to be working on Dirty Little Secret (as much as I want to :( ) I had a lot less experience when I was writing By Any Means Necessary and not nearly as much patience as I do now, hence the last chapter was indeed pretty rushed. Once again, my apologies.

The news of Zabuza’s death came along with the news that Uchiha Sasuke had finally activated his Sharingan. The rest was an afterthought, but it was still present in Zetsu’s all too detailed report and the video-recording their spy had done for their viewing pleasure, as he had put it. Itachi and Kisame had been called to the Leader’s office and debriefed, then Zetsu had been allowed to display the fight. Both of them had watched with stony expressions as the drama unfolded, gory and violent in its glory. Kisame watched as a man from his past met his fate while Itachi watched his brother take the first steps towards his. They had both excused themselves afterwards and gone back to their quarters, with the Uchiha locking himself in his room almost immediately. For his part, the Mist nin decided he needed fresh air, and left the place as silently as he had come in.

He didn’t really pay any attention where he was going, his steps mechanical, until he found himself on the roof of one of the highest buildings overlooking the village, sitting on the railing, his large feet dangling in the air, almost like when he had been a little boy. It was raining again, the downpour almost obscuring the jagged urban towers and the insanely twisted pipes that reminded Kisame of noodles drawn by a seasick man. He was soaked to the bone and any other person in his place would have probably shivered, but being who and what he was, he reveled in the water. It was rare for him, to feel this melancholy, to have that urge, need, to be cleansed, but today was one of those days.

Watching a former teammate, subordinate, die before his eyes brought back memories he had buried long time ago. Zabuza was a shadow of a past that had long turned to dust for him, and yet… and yet it hurt. Kisame had never been someone who considered the act of denial and self-delusion to be of any use, so he admitted to himself that seeing the younger Mist nin pass away was painful. He hadn’t expected it to be. So much time had passed, so many things had happened to them – they were both different people now. Or were they?

Like most Mist citizens, Kisame had heard of Zabuza the day he slaughtered the entire batch of Academy graduates, remaining the only survivor of the brutal weeding process that their village practiced. Even in the ruthless atmosphere in his home village his heart hadn’t hardened enough for him to not to be surprised at that act, though he wasn’t nearly as shocked as some other people were. Really, what did they expect? Kirigakure had looked into the abyss for far too long, and the abyss had finally looked right back at them. If the Village hadn’t been so desperately understaffed afterwards, it would have been amusing.

As it was, Kisame continued to carefully follow the boy’s career afterwards, and when the time came, he told the Mizukage that Zabuza would be useful asset to the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist.

They met when the younger man was eighteen and Kisame himself was twenty-one, introduced by their Kage, sizing each other up like two strange cats in an empty room. Immediately, he could read the challenge in the dark eyes of his new subordinate but he did not offer one of his own – he saw no need to do so – he was older, better, stronger, more experienced. Simply put, Kisame had nothing to prove to Zabuza, but the man had a lot to prove to him, if he wanted to be a trusted part of their elite team.

They had walked out of the office in silence and almost immediately headed towards the training grounds, not a word passed between them. Kisame wanted to see for himself just how good the young man was and he supposed that Zabuza wanted to find out the same about his new boss.

Once they reached their destination, Zabuza had given him an insolent smile from under his facial bandages.

“I’ll make you eat that sword” he said and Kisame smirked mockingly back at him.

“Not if it ends up in your big mouth” he pointed out and attacked.

The fight went on for longer than he expected it would, the young man proving to be remarkably resilient and strong, holding his own quite well against Kisame’s powerful and ruthless attacks. He lacked the sheer chakra capacity that the older man possessed, but he was cunning and resourceful and in terms of brute strength they were almost the same. That made him more than a worthy opponent to a seasoned nin like the Hoshigaki and he was suitably impressed and more than a little pleased. He won, of course. He wasn’t the leader of the Swordsmen for nothing, after all. The young man still had a long road ahead of him before he became his match, but that didn’t stop him from silently admiring the new acquisition their team got.

He walked up to him, watching him trying to get up from where he was sprawled on the ground, soaked like a drowned cat.

“What was that about my sword, Zabuza?” he said, and with any other man it would have come out as a taunt, but Kisame managed to make it into a joke. He reached and offered the fallen man his hand. Zabuza watched him for a few tense, silent moments before reaching up and grasping it, allowing the older man to pull him up.

“I knew a made a right choice when I picked you up for the team. You did not disappoint.”

Zabuza glared.

“I lost.”

“Yeah, but everyone loses against me” Kisame informed him and grinned disarmingly at him, watching that frown deepening. The older man slapped him on his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go and have something to eat. Do you like dango?” he asked and snickered when Zabuza sputtered at the mental image of what being seen eating sweets would do to his reputation.

“Okay, okay, I’ll have dango and you’ll have a bloody steak. You can eat it without utensils too, if you want”

And so it began, their tumultus partnership. Zabuza wasn’t easily controlled – despite all his brains and skill and power, his ego often got in the way of following orders, a common problem in their little group it seemed, but the younger man was by far the worst. It pissed Kisame off to no end, and it led to many heated arguments between them, which in turn led to many spectacular fights that usually ended with Zabuza on his ass on the muddy ground. Sometimes Kisame thought that the younger man pissed him off just to have a rematch and try and win against him. If it weren’t for the occasional threat to the successful completion of their missions because of his unruly subordinate, he’d have enjoyed their little spats.

Kisame closed his eyes and lifted his face, letting the rainwater wash over his heated cheeks and into his blue hair, now flattened against his head. The downpour reminded him of that night, when it rained like it was trying to drown the world, when the yet another fight that they had ended up differently.

He had been angry, so angry that the world was tinged red, and by the looks of things, so was Zabuza. This time, the mission had actually failed because Momochi had simply decided to go off on his own, planning to take out their target on his own and then take all the credit for the kill. Instead, he had gotten the security alerted and now it was nigh impossible to get to the damn bastard. The rest had left them alone, letting their leader to punish their teammate for his insubordination. But Zabuza had been completely unapologetic:

“If I weren’t so busy responding to your screeching in the headset, I’d have succeeded!” the man had growled and Kisame… well, he had lost it. Momochi was perhaps one of the very few people in the world that could actually get a rise out of the older man and the knowledge of that pissed him off even more. So this time, instead of somewhat holding back like he had done before, in all their previous fights, he went all out on him and his teammate seemed to be doing the same, because they were blasting this part of the field into oblivion.

Finally, he cornered him against a tree that, surprisingly, had survived the carnage. Panting, swords crossed between them, trembling with the effort, the rain soaking them to the bone, gazes furiously locked together… Kisame reached for the bandages and tore them off Zabuza’s face, then smashed his mouth against his roughly, feeling the man go slack-jawed for a moment before responding in kind, their tongues battling for dominance, sharp teeth cutting and tearing at tender flesh. The swords dropped between them with a clank and were forgotten immediately as the taste and scent of blood filled his senses, maddening them even more. Zabuza was in no way submitting, he was as defiant as in everything else that he did, grabbing onto Kisame and tearing off his shirt, short blunt nails dragging and leaving bloody claw-marks on the flesh of his back, growling when the older man’s hips slammed into his roughly, pressing their arousals together, flattening him against the tree. His hand found its way into short dark hair and fisted around a handful of locks and pulled back to expose his throat. They both paused then, looking at each other. It was an incredibly vulnerable position for Momochi to be in – Kisame could easily rip his throat out if he wanted to, and they both knew it, just like they knew that the younger man could easily free himself if he wished to. He, though, made no attempt to do so and quietly watched Kisame waiting for his next move.

The older man leaned and placed a gentle kiss on the exposed vulnerable flesh, then licked the pulse point before closing his lips over the man’s Adam’s apple. There was nothing even remotely human in the sound that Zabuza made at that and it enflamed them all over again, though this time the brutality of their aggression had somewhat faded and given its place to an almost desperate sort of passion – tearing at each other’s clothes, rubbing and kissing any place that they could find. He had taken the younger man against the tree, long, muscled legs wrapped around his strong yet slender hips, the only lubrication that they allowed themselves being some spit. They rutted there like a pair of animals in heat, rough and fast and hard and utterly delicious.

Things settled down a bit afterwards, Zabuza challenging his authority a lot less frequently than he used to, though he still did so from time to time for his reputation’s sake, it seemed, and Kisame gained a sexual partner that could take everything that he could dish out and then demand more. That is not to say that that they didn’t have their arguments, quite often at that. Momochi was a very strong-headed young man, and when he decided something, he followed through with that decision, regardless of the consequences. The fact that he actually began to listen to Kisame from occasionally was a welcome relief and they settled into a state of fragile harmony, as much as such a thing could exist in their village.

Kirigakure no Sato.

Once upon a time, Kisame cared for that place, really cared. He supposed he still did, otherwise he wouldn’t have been where he was now, nor he would be doing what he was doing.

The rainwater slid over his face in rivulets and leaked down his legs into the abyss below, seemingly purifying everything in its path as he remembered the past. He didn’t want to, but he needed to.

Despite the changes that Zabuza’s stunt brought on in village policies, Kisame had grown increasingly disgruntled and displeased with the way things were done in his home, disillusionment settling in. He was a brutal man, ruthless and efficient, and he loved to fight. He had never felt any sort of shame or qualms about it, but that attitude had always been reserved for his enemies. His comrades, his people, that was something completely different. Their lives he cherished, he valued, he appreciated. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t view them as fodder to be fed to the machine of war. And yet, it was exactly what the Feudal Lords and the Mizukage were doing. He saw people sent to suicidal, useless missions every day, just to satisfy their superiors’ ego and greed. People had no value to them, they were tools to be used and when no longer efficient, they became garbage to be discarded. It sickened him to the core.

What was more surprising was that his teammates held similar sentiments, though it took them all quite a long time to dare to speak their dissent out loud, even to each other. Zabuza, with his defiant, uncontrollable nature had been the first to do so. Kisame had challenged that, of course, reminding the young man that he had been the one to kill off all his classmates years ago.

“Of course I did, Kisame!” had been the haughty answer. “I wanted to shine, to show everyone I was the very best! Who will care about that, though, when they run this village into the ground?”

It had taken the older the man a few moments to compose himself and form an answer that he knew was a huge, terrible risk:

“We could change that.”

And so it began - their little idealistic plot to depose the Mizukage and the Feudal Lords, to stop the unnecessary sacrifice of capable staff and ridiculous spending of resources.

They had planned and plotted, waiting and biding their time, until Kisame decided the moment had come. Their failure, brought on by the oldest cause in the world – treason – had been spectacular. He had had the opportunity to speak to Zabuza for only a few minutes after everything went down the drain, saying hasty goodbyes. They made no promises to each other, there had been no tearful hugs. There was, though, a shocking bow from the younger man and a quiet acknowledgement of Kisame’s superiority which had left him staring mutely in shock at Momochi’s rapidly retreating back as he raced away from Kirigakure.

That was the last time he saw the man alive.

He had not loved Zabuza, such a notion was ridiculous. Nin, Mist nin especially, did not fall in love, but he had grown fond of the young man, despite their tumultus relationship and he… had cared about him, he could admit that much. The news and sight of his passing left him strangely aching inside.

It was way past dark when he finally walked back in the small apartment he shared with Itachi. In moments like these, he was grateful he knew so many water-based jutsus, including one that dried all the water on his person. He knew how much the Uchiha hated puddles of water and muddy steps on the floor.

When he walked in the living room, Kisame was met with a sight that he had never seen before. Itachi was sitting on the couch behind the small tea-table, dressed in a wide dark shirt and simple black pants, bare feet tucked underneath him. Before him, there was a bottle of sake and two small cups.

Hoshigaki blinked confusedly at him – it was the first time he had seen Itachi consume alcohol.

“How much have you had?” he asked cautiously.

The Uchiha shook his head.

“None. I was waiting for you.”

He blinked again.

“Me?”

“Yes. Zabuza was your friend, wasn’t he?” said the smaller man and poured the alcohol in the two cups.

“Friend is… too strong a word” explained Kisame and winced inwardly. Was that a lie?

Regardless of his answer though, he sat down on the couch next to Itachi and took the offered cup. The young man looked strangely morose and even a little melancholy as he took his own cup and stared in its depths, then turned to Kisame.

“To the choices we’ve made” he said, and raised the cup.

The Mist nin smiled sadly.

“To the choices”

They drank well into the night, using the supplies that Itachi had poached from the kitchen. Kisame giggled at the mental image of Kakuzu’s expression when the scrooge found out that it was missing. The Uchiha gave him a quizzical look when he heard him laughing and Kisame only laughed harder, bringing on a hesitant smile on Itachi’s lips as well.

“Whaat?” the younger man finally asked.

Kisame could only point to the bottles and say “Kakuzu”

The younger man burst into giggles as well and then leaned against a broad shoulder.

“Hidan will comfort him” he said, tone uncharacteristically light and teasing. He pressed himself harder against Kisame and began to slide onto his lap. Their laughter died down.

“Itachi-san, what are you doing?”

Their noses were almost touching, breaths mingling as Itachi put his hands on Kisame’s shoulders.

“Hush” he said and kissed him. It was a drunken, clumsy, inexperienced kiss, teeth clicking together before the older man gently took hold of Itachi’s sweat-damp nape and took control, making him open his mouth and allow him to slide his tongue in. The Uchiha tasted of sake and of the dango he had eaten earlier. The young man whimpered and shuddered when a large hand flattened on his chest and rubbed his nipple through the thin cotton shirt.

Kisame pulled away. Had he been sober, he’d have stopped here, wary of the retribution Itachi might exact the next morning for being taken advantage of in his inebriated state. He was, however, just as drunk as the Uchiha, not having had anything to eat for the past twenty-four hours had turned him into a lightweight. The alcohol lowered his inhibitions and muted the voice of his common sense. So instead of apologizing and putting the Uchiha in his bed, he simply pressed him down to the couch and latched his mouth to his supple throat, delighting in drawing needy little mewls as he sucked and licked the pale flesh, pressing their groins together. Itachi growled and wrapped his legs around his hips, drawing him even closer, rocking against him hungrily.

Kisame reached and pulled the tie that held back the long, silken mane and buried his greedy fingers in the shiny locks as his mouth traveled down the soft throat. He wanted more, needed more, craved more, so he pulled back for a moment, eliciting a disappointed moan from the young man underneath him, which was quickly drowned out by the sound of tearing cloth as the Mist nin tore at their clothes until they were nothing but rags on the floor and they were naked. Itachi looked up at him between his own parted and trembling knees, his eyes zeroing on his arousal. Kisame watched with fascination as his moist pink tongue slid out and wetted his soft cupid lips and the pale thighs spread further in the cramped space of the couch. A delicate hand reached down and caressed Itachi’s own arousal, then cupped his balls and played with them before pulling them up and revealing his small entrance. The Uchiha looked up at him then, expression practically pleading.

Kisame’s cock throbbed and a clear drop of precome gathered at the tip at the sight. Thankfully, years of experience, both in sex and drinking, allowed him to have enough presence of mind in the current situation to not just ram in as he wanted to. He looked around desperately for something suitable to use. The Uchiha was far too delicate and fragile for basic spit. He needed something more substantial. His eyes fell on the jar of aloe cream that they kept on the small table by the door, used for soothing scrape marks and burns from their frequent sparring. He practically ran there to get it, ignoring the swimming of the room around him when he made such rapid and jolting motions. Itachi giggled again when he waved the container triumphantly at him, then canted up his hips upwards.

The preparation was hasty and probably not nearly enough for the Uchiha to take someone as substantial as him, but in their drunken states, neither was willing to draw this out. He lined in with the small dark pink entrance and rammed in with one fluid and sharp motion, making the smaller man cry out in pain and throw his head back, arms flailing before going to Kisame’s shoulders and nails dug into his flesh. He waited for a moment or two, then the heat and the tightness was far too much and he began rocking, deep, drawn out thrusts that made the abused furniture under them squeak in protest. Itachi wailed and clung to him, thighs trembling in pain and discomfort, erection flagging before Kisame remembered to reach down and begin rubbing it into hardness again. It continued on for a few minutes before the Uchiha gradually relaxed and his moans lost their pained note and began to sound needy. Kisame smirked – he appeared to have found his spot, so he concentrated into thrusting at that angle. Itachi wrapped long supple limbs against him and drew him down, pressing their bodies together, warm and rapid breath puffing against his ear.

“More. Harder.” He demanded and Kisame obliged, rocking into him with an almost bruising force.

It couldn’t last long, not under these circumstances. The Mist nin came first, come shooting in the quivering passage, heat and pleasure coursing through him for several moments before he slumped exhaustedly. He took several deep breaths. Itachi shifted under him, still hard and needy and let out a displeased whine before Kisame pulled away and slid down and took the leaking arousal in his mouth. A few harsh, wet sucks and the Uchiha came in his throat, hips arching off the couch, delicate hands grabbing and pulling fistfuls of blue hair.

He was drunk and exhausted, but he used the last of his focus and strength to lift the younger man over his shoulder and carry him to his bed. Afterwards, he collapsed next to him and fell asleep.

The next morning, to put it mildly, was awkward. Really, really awkward. As in, bang your head against the wall awkward. As it was, his head already felt like he had been banging it against the aforementioned wall anyway.

The first thing he felt when he began waking up was the terrible taste in his mouth. Like something had crawled in and died there. The second was the terrible crick in his neck. The third, which drowned out the first and the second, was the pounding, blistering headache. Kisame groaned. Had he gotten drunk last night? He thought back and stiffened. Itachi. He had fucked his partner. On their couch. Which was probably stained. He briefly wondered if the headache that the Tsukiyomi caused was worse than the one he was having right now and then decided he didn’t want to know.

There was a sharp, loud whimper next to him and frantic pulling of sheets. Itachi must have woken up, and being as inexperienced with alcohol as he was, must have opened his eyes and let the sunshine pierce them like white-hot needles. Kisame lay very still, waiting for the explosion. Itachi though did nothing of the sort. He turned around and buried his face in the crook of his neck, then sighed.

“We need a shower” he stated.

Huh? No Tsukiyoming?

“My head is pounding” Itachi informed him blearily.

“We drank a lot yesterday” the Mist nin offered warily and the Uchiha nodded minutely, then clung to him even tighter then slowly looked up at him with bloodshot eyes.

“Are you mad?” he asked softly, uncertainly.

Kisame blinked at him. Was HE mad?

“Why would I be the one to be angry, Itachi-san?” he asked gently. “I was the one who took advantage to you. You should…”

“I am the one who decides what I should or shouldn’t do!” said Itachi and then closed his eyes and groaned, because the sharp sound of his own voiced jarred him painfully. He lowered his tone and continued:

“I wasn’t drunk enough not to know what I wanted.” A blush spread along his cheeks and the young man looked away.

“And it could be far worse, for a first time” he mumbled down into his chest.

First time? He slept with a virgin? Itachi was a virgin? Guilt wasn’t an emotion Kisame enjoyed, but it was exactly what he was feeling right now. He reached and wrapped his large arms around delicate shoulders.

“Itachi-san, I’m sorry…” he began but the Uchiha waved him off.

“Don’t. I wanted to, okay? Among other things, I needed the drink to gather the courage to offer.” He admitted. This admission shouldn’t have made him feel so flattered and touched at same time, but it did.

“Thank you.” he said finally. “For offering me such a gift. Forgive me that I wasn’t sober enough to fully appreciate it”

Itachi looked up and smiled at him. It wasn’t a wide, teeth-showing smile, but it was warm and honest and it made dimples in his cheeks and crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Kisame fell in love with that smile, though it took him a very long time to admit that even to himself.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Warned the Uchiha then promptly vomited over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. Kisame silently vowed to never allow him to drink again. Ever.

Time passed and his fears that what happened that night would change their working relationship remained unrealized. In fact, they began engaging in sexual acts more and more often, all the while being thankfully sober. Itachi had been shy and stiff and jumpy at first, unrelaxed by alcohol, but it was better this way, this slow journey of discovery and exploration. Soon, he grew bold enough to touch him back, as naughty and wanton as a cat in heat. He proved to be as loud too, which was really unexpected, considering how quiet he was in his every day activities. Kisame liked to joke that he yowled in bed to make up for the silence of the rest of the day, which usually gained him a glare that melted into one of those rare, heart-warming smiles.

Their working relationship, if anything, improved – they seemed to be more in tune with each other than ever – working and fighting in a perfect synch which often reminded them of an elaborate dance the music of which only they could hear. That new development brought on an odd intimacy in their relationship, often much deeper than the sexual one. And they began to talk too – not just about their work, but shared memories, dreams, experiences. Kisame discovered that Itachi had a sense of humour, if a little morbid and odd, delivered in a serious, deadpan tone that never failed to make him laugh hard enough to hold onto his stomach. In turn, he shared his memories of Kirigakure, of his team, and then, finally, of his dreams about what Akatsuki would achieve. The Uchiha had gone strangely silent then, making his partner look up from his sprawled position on the bed and ask:

“Did I say something wrong?”

Itachi shook his head and smiled, but this time the warmth didn’t reach his eyes:

“Nothing.” And then he leaned to kiss him, distracting him from pressing the matter any further. Itachi’s touch had that effect on him, much to his annoyance sometimes.

Still, it took a long time for Itachi to share with him the truth about the Mangekyou, the impending darkness that already writhed at the edges of his vision. By that time, Kisame was already head over heels in love with him. Not that he would ever use that particular reputation-crunching phrase regarding his emotions, but in accordance with his denial-refusing policies, the Mist nin admitted that fact to himself and accepted it, even if it made him wince.

The admittance and the following conversation had been tense and had led to one of the very few arguments they had had in all the years they were partners and lovers. He had insisted that Itachi leave active duty to preserve what was left of his vision until Sasuke’s eyes developed sufficiently enough to be harvested and needless to say, the Uchiha had been less than pleased with the suggestion. In fact, it was the only time he had allowed himself to raise his voice, informing Kisame that it was not his decision to make and that he should mind his own business. The tone and the words had stunned the large man into a hurt silence and he didn’t argue any further as Itachi walked out of the room and slammed the door behind his back hard enough to rattle it in its hinges.

Hours later, he returned and found Kisame sitting on their bed and reading a medical scroll he had taken from the library. The Mist nin pointedly ignored him as he sat down on the edge of the mattress and reached to gently pluck the text from his hands.

“I’m sorry.” said Itachi. “I just… this is very important for me, Kisame. Developing the abilities of the eyes that I have now.” He said gently. “I know that you care, and that is the reason for your reaction, but it really is MY choice.”

Kisame took one of Itachi’s hands in his own and held it for a while, marveling on how different they were – his was large and sword callused and blue, Itachi’s was lily-white and small and delicate. He could snap it without a thought, he could snap the Uchiha like a twig if it came down to a physical struggle only. That fact, among other things, scared him spitless.

“Do you not understand that I don’t JUST care?” he asked, still looking at the tiny hand, watching the fingers stiffen, then curl around his at the not-said admission.

Itachi was quiet for a very long time afterwards, but he did not pull his hand back. Finally, he moved and slid onto Kisame’s lap and wrapped both his arms around his powerful shoulders.

“If that is so, you must allow me to do what I need to do.” The younger man said and pulled back enough to look the Mist nin in the eyes. “Do it for me. Please”

At that moment, Kisame really hated the whole being in love thing – it seemed to automatically turn off his ability to say “no”.

“Okay” he said and touched Itachi’s cheek. “But you will promise not to exert yourself too much”

“Kisame…”

The large hand curled at the nape of Itachi’s neck and squeezed.

“Promise!”

Dark eyes softened and the Uchiha nodded.

“I promise”

The first time Kisame allowed his lover to take him was when they were on a long, tedious mission to Snow Country, tracking a spy amongst the Akatsuki agents who had avoided capture for far too long. After a two-month trudging through ice and snow, they finally caught up with the bastard and the Mist nin gladly shred him to pieces, mainly out of annoyance for being forced to go on such a merry chase after him. Getting snowed in inside the mountain cottage they had stopped for the night afterwards had just been the icing on the cake and he had dumped the Samehada on the ground with a disappointed growl which only deepened when Itachi actually snickered at him and his frustration.

“What are you laughing at, runt? We’re stuck here because you’re the one who can’t make the trip through that, what with your little, easily-freezed feet.” Accused the Mist nin, but Itachi only shook his head.

“Relax, Kisame. We need a little rest as it is” and he pointed to bed with his chin. “And you need to relax, you’re far too tense.”

When Kisame scowled at him, the Uchiha only said:

“Come on. Look what I found.” And he waved a glass vial filled with some sort of clear oil triumphantly.

“What is that?”

“Massage oil.” Itachi uncapped the bottle and a clear, pine scent filled the room. “Get undressed and hop on the bed.” he smiled sweetly at him. “Let me take care of you, for once.”

He nodded and hesitantly followed Itachi’s instructions. When he was finally lying down face first onto the comforter, his naked back within easy each, the younger man climbed up and sat on his ass, then poured some of the scented oil on his hands, rubbing them together to warm it.

“Relax” he ordered again and began slowly kneading the knitted muscles at the base of his neck, then of his shoulders. The large man groaned and shifted under the touch, then sighed and slowly began to relax, taking deep, soothing breaths as Itachi’s small but deft fingers worked the tension out of his muscles, sliding lower and lower. When they finally reached the base of his spine, Kisame felt almost boneless, drowsy and painfully hard. The room was perfectly quiet, other than the crackling of the fire that they had started in the hearth earlier, flooding the cottage with gentle warmth that only added to the surreal mood.

“Kisame?” said Itachi very softly, almost breathlessly. His own arousal was digging in his muscled behind and he could feel the Uchiha rock very gently against it, creating delicious friction. The Mist nin paused, contemplating the step he was about to take, then finally nodded.

“It’s okay. Go ahead” and he raised his hips as Itachi slid off of him. The young man’s first touch was tentative, curious, gentle, circling around at his entrance slowly before sliding in and determinedly looking for its goal. When he found it, Kisame groaned and shuddered, his erection jumping and leaking against his sculpted stomach. Why hadn’t he done that before again? Ah, yes. He was too manly for it. The ridiculousness of the notion made him snicker and Itachi paused while adding more fingers.

“Something wrong?” he asked, worry barely detectable in his voice, but definitely there.

“No. Go ahead. Come on, I’m not made of glass” he prompted and yelped when Itachi slid in with one gentle thrust. Well, that was… new. But very nice, all the same, and then all coherent thought left him as his lover began to thrust gently, rocking into him, reaching to rub his hardness, pleasuring him inside and out. With that slow and gentle pace, it lasted long enough to have them both sweaty and whimpering, molded together like pieces of a perfect puzzle fitted together, Itachi’s cheek on his shoulder, breathing against his ear and the crook of his neck as he moaned.

Their shared orgasm was like the rest of his love-making, a gentle, heated wave of ecstasy that blanketed them both and was slow to ebb away, leaving them breathless and relaxed, slumped on the rumpled blankets.

It wasn’t an act that they repeated all that often afterwards, Kisame liking the feel of Itachi writhing in his arms far too much, but it was a rare treat that they afforded themselves when they were in a suitable mood for it. Towards the end, Itachi was in too much pain to engage in any sort of sexual activity and Kisame was far too worried to even think about it any more. His world narrowed down to looking after his partner, doing his best to make him comfortable whenever they were forced to camp outside, delivering good food, distracting Itachi with stories of his past and discussion of their current work, doing his best to protect his fragile health. When they traveled though, he was careful to run alongside his partner, despite his worries that he might slip or trip and fall, mindful of the fact that he needed to create at least an illusion of trust in the young man’s abilities as a form of reassurance.

When Itachi finally said it was time to get Sasuke’s eyes, he almost cheered out loud. His joy, however, was somewhat foiled by his lover’s expression.

“I do not enjoy the thought of what I have to do to him, Kisame” the Uchiha explained. “He is, after all, my family”

It was a strange thing to say, considering what Kisame knew he had done with the rest of his family, but he refrained from pointing that fact out. He had learnt very early in their partnership that discussing the Uchiha Clan and its fate was off limits.

That night, Itachi simply lay curled like a kitten in his arms, head on his shoulder, wrapped in the secure embrace of his lover. Kisame was filled with anticipation and anxiety over the events that were to follow, but he had enough faith in the Uchiha’s fighting abilities and that gave him hope. Itachi would win. Itachi would get a new pair of eyes and his failing health would improve. They would realize the Akatsuki goals and bring on a new world order, one that didn’t exploit one’s people for the sake of the greed of a few men. Most of all, he would have his lover for years to come, by his side, in his life and in his bed.

In the morning, Itachi watched him wash on the bank of the small stream they had camped at on their way of the temple.

“Kisame” he began and the large man paused and turned “I am sorry.”

“What for?” he asked confusedly.

“Everything. I hope you’d be able to understand.” He didn’t understand at all what Itachi meant, but he was too filled with anticipation of the things he hoped to come to pay much attention.

“And Kisame… I want you to know, I don’t just care too” the young man said and turned around, leaving him alone to finish washing before Kisame could utter a word in reply.

Epilogue:

He sat and watched Itachi’s body, taking note of every little detail, of every injury the younger Uchiha had inflicted. He looked like a broken doll, tarnished and bloodied, nothing but an empty husk, devoid of soul and thought and life. He stood up and took the unburned hand in his, dry blood flaking against his fingers. So small and delicate compared to his, so easy to snap without a thought, but unlike the last time that thought had flitted through his mind, now the hand was cold and brittle in his grasp, stiff and motionless in death.

He felt numb. He had felt some of that numbness when Zabuza had died, but nothing compared to the utter lack of emotion that he felt now.

He looked at the still mask of the bruised face.

“You lied to me”

He reached and touched the cold cheek gently, just as he had seen Zabuza touch that boy, so long ago that it seemed another life.

Anger began to bubble in the void where his emotions had been, anger at Itachi, at his own failure to protect him, but most of all, at that brat who had refused to roll over and give his lover what he desperately needed.

He turned and left the shell behind, silently moving towards the rooms he knew Sasuke was housed. His hands itched to rend the boy limb from limb.

As he reached the door, he paused, preparing to burst in and do away with the damn brat. Then he heard the voices – Sasuke’s and… Tobi’s? What?

Kisame, despite his size, had been an ANBU captain, and then leader of the Seven Swordsmen. He knew how to mask his presence and be quiet when it was necessary, and that was what he did now. He stood there and listened to the conversation and the more he heard, the more shock and grief settled. Tobi’s identity, his plans for the organization… Itachi’s implanting his abilities into the boy… He had heard enough.

The walk back to Itachi’s body felt like moving through thick, viscous, murky fluid. He looked down at the shell and smoothed the raven tresses away from its face.

“I understand now.” He told him gently. “For the first time, I do understand” he took a long, shuddering breath “Sasuke was more important, wasn’t he?” he wanted to accuse, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Wasn’t he?” it came out as a breathy whisper.

Had he been blessed or cursed that he was made able to understand love and the decisions it influenced? Kisame leaned and pressed his forehead to the cold cheek.

“I forgive you”

Pulling away, he reached and finally closed the empty eyes, then pulled the sheet and covered Itachi with it.

“I will see that your will is done” he said solemnly.

Akatsuki no longer mattered, the realization that it was nothing but a tool in Madara’s hands for reaching world domination appearing almost unimportant. His dreams and hopes for the future had been turned to dust, but one goal remained. Protect Itachi’s legacy. Get the boy out of here, and then find a way to destroy the person who held the real responsibility for the death of his lover. With a new sense of purpose, Kisame formed the seals and watched as the body burned to a small pile of ash that he gathered a leather bag that he carried in one of his many pockets.

The Mist nin turned on his heel and left the room, walking back to his now empty quarters. He needed a plan. Kisame didn’t delude himself that he could survive a battle against Madara, but neither did he really look forward to a life without his lover. Funny, only now did he understood Zabuza’s final prayer.

“I’d like to be at your side at the end. If possible, I want to go to the same place you’re going to…”

~FIN~