Archive of Our Own

The first time that Itachi ever kills someone, he doesn’t even understand what’s happened.

It’s instinct, instilled into him as soon as Fugaku saw his potential. He was given a kunai without being told what it did, trained to memorize self-defense without knowing what he needed to defend himself from.

On the battlefield, steeping in the rot of war, smelling wet wounds and dried blood, Itachi doesn’t see enemies. All he sees are shinobi dying alone on foreign soil, shinobi that aren’t any different from the men of his own village aside from the branding on their headbands. So when a man starts choking for water, desperate to stay alive, Itachi doesn’t think twice about it; his hand is on his water flask, his tiny feet taking him across the bloody ground.  

When the man brandishes his weapon and aims for Itachi’s humming bird heart, he doesn’t think twice about it, again.

There’s blood on his hands, a body by his lap, a proud smile on his father’s face.

The event stews within him like a bad stomach ache.

Ever since that day it feels like the world has been kicked out from underneath his feet. He’s born into a world he doesn’t understand, into a lifestyle that every inch of his tiny heart rejects. He has these pockets of revulsion growing in his heart toward the fighting, bloodshed, and war that comes with the ninja world. The third war does eventually end, thankfully, and life in Konoha starts to return to normal, but the suffocating darkness Itachi felt on that battlefield continues to creep into his little life.

His feelings don’t matter, either, not when he’s whispered to be the most talented Uchiha since Madara himself. He learns quickly to keep his thoughts to himself, to bottle and stew and bear it.

He rockets his way through the ninja academy. It fills his father with pride, leaves Fugaku and Mikoto absolutely glowing with his success, but somehow the gloating and praise feels empty. The hours spent on the training field, his father encouraging him as he learns the most effective techniques to slaughter—it feels like it’s chipping away at him from the inside. Like fruit left on the vine for too long, one of these days Itachi thinks he’s going to rot off and hit the ground for good.

The second time he kills someone, it’s a conscious decision.

He’s just passed the chunin exams, brimming with potential and now one of the most coveted shinobi in Konoha at the tender age of nine. He is dumped onto a team with shinobi three times his age who expect twice as much out of him just to prove his worth, critical eyes that watch his every move, muttered whispers even when he is within earshot.

Still, he works hard despite the thinly veiled animosity. The protection of his teammates on dangerous missions becomes his priority, and he falls into the worryingly easy pattern of mind over matter.

His squad is sent out to survey the remnants of a battle that happened between unknown ninja, anonymous bodies bloody and littering the forest floor. The sight twists Itachi’s gut; it’s painfully reminiscent of the first time he ever glimpsed the true horror of the ninja world when he was just a child.

(He’s still technically a child, but he doesn’t feel like it, especially not when he bumps his foot against a limp, dead hand).

“We will need to drag a body back,” the captain says, eyes critically eyeing the carnage, “so that we can successfully identify who these enemies were. Everyone, search their bodies for any information. And watch your back; we aren’t safe here.”

Itachi’s heart is hammering, but he follows orders, crouching on the ground next to a stiffening body.

The shinobi are wearing simple black clothes and flak jackets, bandages wound around their arms and legs for protection, but nothing more. They have no affiliate headband, no identifier of any kind, and they have to keep their scrolls sealed incase—

Itachi sees a shadowy figure leap down from a tree and behind his teammate from the corner of his eye. He drops what he is doing, a familiar, icy fear in his throat as he sees the shine of a kunai plunge toward his ally’s neck.

It’s instinct, again. He is a weapon fine-tuned to kill, after all.

All of his shining talent comes out in this single pivotal moment; his ingrained prowess as a shinobi as all his gears turn into action, his other worldly speed as he grabs a discarded kunai off the forest floor and appears at the shinobi’s side, his knowledge as he plunges it directly into a vital spot.

The enemy gargles, wet and hollow, as the life drains from his eyes and the blood drains from his mouth.

He is slumping to the forest floor before his teammate even has a chance to react.

Itachi stares down at the body, watches the still hot blood trickle out of the wound and soak the dirt beneath him; the realization of what he has done begins to sink in. The back of his eyes sting, his throat goes dry, his stomach rolls like he wants to wretch.

He hopes that if he ignores the way his hands are shaking, the rest of his team will ignore it, too.

The captain sends one dry look to him, brow furrowing at his trembling fingers.

“Don’t worry,” he tries to comfort, “you’ll get used to it, kid.”

The words are somehow more terrifying than the kill.

Used to it?

It twists his gut like the kunai in the enemy’s chest as he realizes—he is going to get used to it. The only way to survive, the only outcome for someone on the path of being a Shinobi, is to get used to it until the killing stops being significant. Itachi doesn’t want to get used to this, he doesn’t want to get used to feeling of blood as it dries on his hands or the smell in the fire country’s humid air, he doesn’t want to kill anyone. But he will, kill and kill and kill until he’s too numb to remember any differently.

The event gains his teammates respect as he continues to lose himself.

Itachi doesn’t try to keep track of his kills after that.

He keeps moving through life like he’s just treading water.

He trains hard, makes his father proud, hears the whispers behind closed doors that he’s freakily strong for his age, pretends he doesn’t hear the rumors that they are going to continue to catapult him up the shinobi hierarchy. He comes home and buries Sasuke in his arms, fills himself up with his childish, innocent glee, lets his happy squealing drown out the sounds of death that rattle against his skull all day long.

And it’s—enough. Sasuke was designed just to keep his heart beating, it feels, and for him, Itachi thinks he could do anything. But he’s still just treading water, and eventually Itachi knows he’s going to sink beneath the surface.

But then, one day, he learns to swim.

He meets a boy just a few years older than him training in the woods on the outskirts of the Uchiha compound. He has friendly eyes and an easygoing smile as he twirls a kunai around his fingers. He’s seen him before at a clan meeting, sitting farther in the back with his father who can’t walk after the war, but he’s never properly met him before. But here, now, as Shisui offers him a kunai and a smile, he talks with him.

He meets Shisui, and it’s like the sun breaks through the clouds.

Shisui gets it. Shisui understands his feelings of loyalty toward the village, he understands Itachi’s pain, he understands the tension toward the clan. Most importantly, Shisui is the first shinobi Itachi has met that also hates the violence like he does.

“If I do anything,” Shisui says thoughtfully, staring at the sharp edge of a kunai, “I think I’d like to stop the fighting.”

Itachi’s heart flies into his throat. “I do, too,” he says, his tiny voice breathy. “That’s all I want to do”

“Yeah?” Shisui’s eyes meet Itachi’s.

“Everyone talks about it like it’s an honor, but I don’t think it is. I want Konoha to have peace.”

Shisui smiles again. “I’m sure the most talented Uchiha in the clan will have no problem with that.”

Itachi’s heart sinks a little, because for just a moment it felt like he had found someone with the same feelings as him.

He’s bracing himself to suck it up and move on when a grin cracks across Shisui’s face. “But since I want the same thing, we might as well do it together, right?”

For the first time, Itachi doesn’t feel alone.

It starts with just training; Shisui is wicked smart, clever enough to bend the rules while staying disciplined. He’s more intuitive than Fugaku is, and he teaches Itachi brand new things. He shows Itachi the best ways to evade and counter, shows him how to maneuver the battle field like a puzzle. He teaches Itachi about the most effective way to incapacitate enemies without killing them, and Itachi soaks up his mentorship like a flower being shown sun for the first time.  

It starts with training, but it leads to—everything, really. They eat together, settled under the broad, shady trees in Konoha’s lush forests when the afternoon gets too hot to train any longer. After a particularly feisty spar, Shisui grabs Itachi by the hand and physically drags him into the river to cool off. Itachi ends up settled into the corner of Shisui’s little couch, somedays, and listens to Shisui’s dad tell him stories about all the mischief Shisui got up to when he was just a toddler. Sometimes it runs so late that he ends up snuggled close to Shisui’s side at night so he doesn’t fall off the tiny little bed, green sheets wrapped around them both, Shisui’s arms ending up wound around his scrawny little shoulders because Itachi gets so cold at night.

He never has nightmares the nights he spends at Shisui’s apartment. He never sees the ghosts of the people he’s seen die when Shisui smiles at him, never sees the blood stained on his hands when Shisui reaches out to grab them.

Shisui’s presence in his life is, in a word, warmth. He’s the sunlight on his face a lifetime of feeling cold. The way Shisui reaches out to bounce his hair makes his touch-starved body jump the first time he does it. Itachi, who was barely held by his own parents, grew a revulsion to anyone but Sasuke touching him. But Shisui determinedly edges his way in with little pats to his back, gentle strokes of his hair, rubbing his thumb across the back of Itachi’s hand when he is feeling anxious. Like scratching a mosquito bite, he becomes potently aware of the itch, of the gaps in his life that Shisui is so seamlessly smoothing over now.

He sits on a rock by the Nakano after training, settled into their own little routine, and watches as Shisui carefully digs his knife into the side of an apple, slicing down the side of it. “How do you still do it?” He asks quietly.

“Hm?” Shisui cuts out a slice and balances it on the end of the knife, holding it out to Itachi.

He takes it from him. “You hate the fighting, too. You want it to stop, but you’re so good at handling being a shinobi.” He keeps his eyes on the shiny red skin of the fruit. “You’re so strong all the time.”

He doesn’t say the most painful part out loud, the quiet little I don’t feel strong like you.

Shisui hums, cutting out his own slice and chomping on it. The crisp sound of him chewing fills the air for a moment. “Well, I figure that if I get strong enough and prove myself to the rest of Konoha, maybe I’ll be able to do something about it, someday.” He cuts another slice. “That’s how the Hokage does it, right? When someone works hard and gains the respect of their peers, people start to listen to them.”

Itachi feels something in his heart set resolutely. Just as he has clung to Shisui’s happy spirit and loving gaze, Itachi clings to this, too. “I’ll work hard to get strong with you, then,” he says, voice firm. “We can do it together.”

“Oh?” He’s grinning, cutting Itachi another slice of fruit. “Does that make us rivals, Itachi?”

Itachi frowns. He doesn’t want to be Shisui’s rival; he wants to be Shisui’s side. He wants to be Shisui’s partner in every way possible, even though his tiny, bruised heart is too young to fully understand what that means. “I don’t want to compete with you.”

Shisui just laughs. He takes another bite of an apple slice. Itachi watches the wind and sun dance in his hair; a few leaves flutter past him as the breeze blows around them. “I’m only teasing,” he reassures. “You know, if it’s you, I don’t think I would mind being second place.”

Itachi’s stomach flutters at Shisui’s words.

“You have everything it takes to be the best shinobi that Konoha has seen yet, I think.”

Itachi ducks his head, embarrassed by the praise. “I’m not sure about that,” he mutters.

“I am.” Shisui smiles so warmly his eyes crinkle in the corners. “I bet you would make an exceptional Hokage, Itachi.”

The words make Itachi’s cheeks burn hot. He glances away from Shisui’s gaze, listening to the sounds of the Nakano river trickling next to him. Shisui is the only person that Itachi ever craves praise from anymore; hearing him say that he thinks Itachi could be Hokage is enough to spark something to life inside of him.

He’s never said it out loud, the way he has dreamed of sitting behind the Hokage’s desk, robes wrapped around his shoulders, the future of Konoha at his fingertips. He’s never let himself dwell on how it would make his father burst his pride or the adoration it would bring him from Sasuke.

But he does think of it, sometimes, on the nights he can’t sleep in the hot summer air. And now, knowing that Shisui thinks that he can do it—it sets his heart of fire.

Shisui starts snickering next to him. “You don’t have to look so nervous, Itachi! You have a few years to prepare.” He reaches out, grabbing Itachi’s hand. His fingers curl tight around Itachi, squeezing once, and he smiles at him again. “And I’ll be here with you. Someone has to keep on your tail, right? We wouldn’t want you getting too comfortable and slacking off.”

It’s a lifeline. He has something to hold onto as the shinobi world continues to try and drag him down under the surface of its bloody water. He has Shisui’s hand, his smile, his encouraging words, the promise of the better future that they can build together. He has the vague goal of being hokage, the less vague assurance that he won’t feel alone anymore.

So he perseveres.

The day he gets his anbu tattoo he wanders back to Shisui’s apartment like a wounded animal. He knows that he needs to be strong, he needs to feel strong, and he knows Shisui can say just what he needs to hear to be able to grit his teeth and get through it. He knows that Shisui can snap him back into shape, so he waits for his firm words to set his heart back to stone.

Shisui doesn’t, though. Shisui just looks at him with those eyes Itachi has grown so impossibly fond of, warm and homey like a fresh pot of steamed rice, and he says, “I’m so sorry, Itachi.” His words are so sincere, so full of his own muted pain, that it unravels Itachi on the spot.

Itachi doesn’t even realize how terrified he truly is until Shisui grabs him and pulls him against his chest. He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until he hears Shisui mutter something soft and soothing into his hair. He curls his fingers into a fist against his knee, desperately trying to quell the frenzy of fear and hopelessness in his chest writhing like a nest of snakes.

You’ll get used to it, kid.

It feels as if everything he has held down since that first fatal mission is bubbling up in, tightening his throat around words he can’t figure out how to say.

“I don’t want to get used to it, Shisui,” he finally admits, tiny voice breaking. “I don’t want to just be a killer.” He winces at his own words, at the trembling in his own voice.

“You’re not,” Shisui murmurs against his cheek.

“I will be.” His face breaks, eyes squeezing shut, brows pinching together. “A good shinobi is.” The words scratch at this throat; his eyes burn, so he closes them, pushing his face into Shisui’s shoulder just in case. “If I was strong, I wouldn’t be so scared. Good shinobi aren’t scared.” The thoughts are mechanical, almost, the lessons that have been pounded in his head since he first learned to speak.

Shisui presses his cheek to the top of Itachi’s hair. “Being scared doesn’t make you weak.”

“Yes it does,” Itachi grits. “You’re not scared.”

“Of course I am.” He pulls back so he can see Itachi’s face. “I think everyone gets scared, Itachi. Running from your emotion is the easiest way to deal with them; facing them and figuring out how to deal with them—I think that’s what makes you strong.”

Itachi swallows, trying to anchor himself with the expression in Shisui’s eyes.

“You’re not just a killer, Itachi,” Shisui whispers, leaning forward, “and you never will be.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. You are exceptional in every way, Itachi. Nothing is going to change that.” His lips twitch. “Besides, once you’re hokage, you won’t have to do this kind of work anymore, right?”

Itachi doesn’t take the bait, staring adamantly at a spot on the wall over Shisui’s shoulder.

“Itachi.” Shisui waits until he makes eye contact with him. “I’m always going to be here, remember? I promised you that.” His lips twitch. “And I’m always going to think you’re the most incredible thing in the world.” He sweeps the back of his knuckles across Itachi’s cheek, far too tender for his trembling heart to handle. His voice drops even quieter. “You’re what keeps me going, you know?”

Itachi’s eyes widen. They snap back to Shisui.

Shisui swallows, face falling a little bit. “It’s—easier sometimes, you know? Even when days are really hard, I know I’m going to get to see you again, soon.” His eyes finally drop. “So it’s not so bad.”

For the first time Itachi thinks he has ever seen, Shisui looks bashful, the tips of his ears pink with his blush. He crawls forward again, pulling Shisui back into his arms.

“It feels like I’m losing myself.”

Shisui presses his hands soft to Itachi’s back. “So come back to me when it’s too much, and I’ll remind you who you are.”

And so Itachi always comes back to him.

He trains with him every chance he gets, even when it morphs into laying on the grass in the sunlight together and just listening to Shisui chatter on about his day. He follows him home on the days that Shisui’s father is having a particularly hard day, cooking for all three of them while Shisui cares for him. He lingers in Shisui room, finding excuses to not leave yet, until Shisui invites him to stay the night.

Nothing could replace his house with his parents, and nothing could topple the sheer adoration he holds for Sasuke, but more and more, home starts to feel like Shisui’s side, no matter where that is.

He loves his mother, but he isn’t sure how much his mother loves him. He doesn’t even know if he has a real reason to bury that fear as deep in his heart as he does; all he has is that his mother never held him all that much as a child, that he wasn’t a needy enough baby, that his birth didn’t bring her the flooding feelings of divine maternity that she was expecting, and he doesn’t think she has ever forgiven him for ending her shinobi career before she was ready. All he sees is the way she kisses Sasuke’s cheeks and smooths bandages over his scraped knees, all he remembers is how he used to fight back tears alone in the bathroom, spilling medicine over his own wounds from training because he didn’t know how to ask for help.

His father is endlessly proud of him, but something about it feels hollow. While he isn’t lacking praise, he thinks that his father loves him the way a chef loves a sharp knife—he’s an excellent, reliable tool, and maybe he will always just be a shinobi to be trained. He’s not sure that his father will ever stop feeling like a sensei first and family second. He knows that Fugaku loves him the only ways he knows how. He knows that his parents are doing their best. He still, somehow, feels alone.

(It’s ironic, really, that Sasuke yearns for the praise Itachi gets from their father while Itachi just wants their mother to kiss his face like she does to Sasuke.)

Sasuke is the most tender part of his heart. Sasuke’s birth was the first time that Itachi ever knew what true joy felt like as he looked at his tiny little nose and wrinkly little fingers, the first time that Itachi saw life in a world that was tainted by death so early on. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Sasuke, and the limitlessness of his devotion can be downright frightening. He loves Sasuke more than anything in the world, and he knows that Sasuke adores him with all the childish innocence in his heart, but there’s still the sour air of competition between them, and Itachi thinks he may only ever be an obstacle that Sasuke will compare himself to so he can grow stronger. And while Itachi doesn’t mind, it still hurts.

But Shisui—sees him. Really, actually sees him, even parts of him that Itachi himself didn’t know he had. Itachi feels like everyday he becomes a little more broken, but no matter how much of it he sees, Shisui doesn’t seem to love him any less.

Shisui becomes such a fundamental part of Itachi’s life, that when he goes suddenly silent, it feels as if he is walking around without a limb.

He sends Shisui notes on the feet of his crows, waiting eagerly for a response, but they return unwrapped and intact. He knocks on Shisui’s door only to be met with eerie silence. He lingers around the Hokage office, thinking that Shisui went on a mission and just forgot to tell him, everyday hoping that he will come back with his usual easy going smile to tousle Itachi’s hair.

Eventually, Kakashi asks why he’s loitering.

“I’m…” Itachi trails off, feeling suddenly silly. “I was waiting for Shisui to return from his mission.”

Kakashi’s one visible eye flicks over him. “Shisui hasn’t taken a mission in two weeks.”

It’s a punch to Itachi’s gut. “Oh.”

Oh.

He heads back home slowly, walking the entire way instead of taking short cuts hopping over the tiled Konoha rooftops.

It boils in his stomach the rest of the day. Not since he and Shisui became friends years ago has he gone so long without so much as seeing him across the Hokage’s office, not unless he was on a mission. It feels—wrong, like the balance of the universe is just slightly askew now. And he’s worried. Itachi might be a formidable enough ninja to join the ranks of anbu, but the thought of Shisui being upset with him or intentionally ignoring him is enough to make the back of his eyes sting.

It's childish, he tells himself, watching Sasuke haphazardly throw shuriken at targets on the trees outside their home. Shisui would never do something so—petty, especially not to him.

He lets his guts tie themselves into knots all afternoon, avoiding the thought that Shisui must be hurt to go off grid for so long.

“Nii-san,” Sasuke huffs, wrinkling his nose at Itachi. “You’re not even paying attention.”

“I am,” Itachi reassures, forcing a smile. He reaches out, gently jabbing two fingers against Sasuke’s forehead.

Sasuke squawks, hands flying up to his face. “Don’t do that!”

Itachi laughs lightly, moving his hand to ruffle Sasuke’s hair. “You need to tighten up your focus, little brother, if you want to hit all the targets. You’re too exuberant, so you aren’t precise. Calm down and focus next time.”

Sasuke pouts, bottom lip sticking out.

Itachi nods toward the trees. “Go on; try again.”

He trains with Sasuke for the rest of the day. When dusk starts to settle, Mikoto calls them inside to get washed for dinner. She’s just setting the food on the table when Fugaku arrives home.

Itachi leaves the kitchen to greet his father. “Welcome home,” he says, watching him take off his shoes.

Fugaku looks up at him, grunting. “Itachi.”

Itachi smiles just a little at his father’s familiar non-committal attitude.  “How was your day?”

“Fine.” He moves on quickly from himself. “Did you train today?”

“No, not today,” he says, frowning. “I usually spend the afternoon with Shisui, but I think he has been busy with something lately.”

Fugaku pauses. His fingers still.

Itachi’s eyebrows furrow at the response. “I’ll train with him as soon as he comes around again,” he tries to assure. “In the meantime, I’ll focus on book work and helping Sasuke with his practices.”

Fugaku stands straight, face serious. The wrinkles along the side of his mouth always look particularly deep when he frowns. “I’m sorry, Itachi, I thought you had already been made aware.”

Itachi pauses; his arms go limp at his side. “Aware of what?” Fugaku doesn’t respond immediately, and Itachi feels his heart drop to his feet. “Is Shisui hurt?” The words burn his throat.

Fugaku lets out a sigh, hand moving to the snaps of his police jacket. “His father passed away last week. He had a stroke in the middle of the night. There were a lot of health complications after being wounded in the war….” He trails off, shaking his head. “Shisui found him when he went to get him out of bed the next morning. I’m sure he’s just taking some time to mourn, Itachi.”

At first Itachi feels a rush of relief, because at least Shisui is okay, but then he’s swiftly consumed by a full-body horror. “I didn’t know,” he breathes. “No one told me—” He swallows, heart rate speeding up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Fugaku grunts, turning his head like he is physically dodging the question. “It wasn’t my place to tell. If Shisui hasn’t told you, it’s probably because he wants to be alone right now.” He shrugs off his police vest. “And I didn’t want you to be distracted and neglect your priorities.”

Shisui is my priority. The words are hot in his chest and throat, but Itachi presses his lips together and keeps them there. “Excuse me, Father,” he says quickly, darting passed him and out the door.

“Itachi,” Fugaku tries to say, “he probably wants space.”

Itachi ignores him. He takes off down the streets of the compound, moving so quickly it’s a wonder he doesn’t trip over his own feet.

He stops in front of the familiar door, heart hammering.

“Shisui,” he says, tapping his knuckles against the door. “Shisui, it’s me.”

Silence.

“I heard—” he pauses. His stomach rolls. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, Shisui, I didn’t know.”

More silence.

“Please let me in.” He presses his forehead against the door, eyes squeezing shut. “Shisui.”

He waits, frozen in front of the door, forehead against the wood, nails biting into his palms.

Eventually the door cracks open.

Shisui peaks at him with just one eye.

The visible sliver of his face is covered in blood, dark red streaking down his cheeks, smeared across his chin. Itachi feels horror rush through his arms and fingers, turning his skin cold, before he realizes—

The blood is coming from his eye.

It’s red, as Itachi has seen it many times, but the tomoe are swirled, four prongs wrapping around his pupil.

Mangekyo.

It’s like a new gravitational force appears to weight Itachi down to the ground.

Itachi thinks that Shisui looks almost—ashamed. He reaches one hand toward Shisui’s face, but he flinches back, door jerking forward.

“Wait,” Itachi says, catching the edge of the door before Shisui can close it. “Shisui, please.” Shisui’s fingers are stained with dried blood where they peak over the door. “Let me come in.” He presses the door back, nudging himself closer.

Shisui hesitates. “I don’t want—” he swallows, voice trembling, “you to see this.”

Itachi’s brow crumbles. He doesn’t know how to verbalize that there isn’t anything Shisui could do or say that would push him away, how to explain that there’s nothing inside his apartment that could make Itachi love him less. He isn’t good with words like Shisui is.

His fingers twitch at his sides. “I’m here, Shisui.” It’s the best he can do.

It’s enough, thankfully. Shisui shudders and takes a step back, into the darkness of his apartment. Itachi slips in after him before he can change his mind, letting the door click behind him. His eyes adjust to the light, and he scans Shisui’s body rapidly for injuries.

His cheeks are streaked with red; there’s blood matted in the curls of his hair, crusted on the dingy neckline of his shirt, staining his fingers.

“They won’t stop bleeding,” Shisui croaks. As if on cue, another thick drop of blood spills over his bottom lid. He looks like the picture of defeat.

The air inside of the apartment is stale and stuffy. There are unwashed dishes in the sink, the couch is mussed, things are knocked over; there’s blood trickled all over the floor.

Itachi’s heart sinks to his feet. Knowing that Shisui has been alone this whole time, bleeding and stumbling around his apartment—it makes his throat too tight to speak for a moment.  

“Come here,” he says, wrapping his fingers around Shisui’s wrist. “Come with me.”

“I can’t,” Shisui says, flinching as Itachi tugs on him. The fridge clicks, and Shisui jumps so hard it almost startles Itachi. His mangekyo whirls, more blood leaking out his bottom lids. Itachi feels his pulse pick up under his fingertips. “I can’t—I—”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Itachi says firmly. His grip tightens. “I’ll take care of you.”

Shisui’s wild eyes turn back to him. He’s breathing so hard it almost looks like he’s shaking.

Itachi manages to coax him into the bathroom, sitting him on the edge of the tub. He plugs the drain and turns the water on.

“Lift your arms,” he says, voice soft, gently tugging at the bottom of Shisui’s shirt. Another drop of blood hits the back of his hand. He frowns.

“They won’t stop bleeding,” Shisui chokes again, voice desperate. He looks at Itachi almost frantically. “I can’t make them stop bleeding. I don’t know what to do, I can’t—” There’s a sob behind his voice. “They won’t stop bleeding.”

Itachi swallows. “I’ll make them stop,” he promises without any idea if he can. He tugs on his shirt again, gentle but firm, until Shisui lifts his shaky arms high enough that Itachi can slip the sleeves over them and off his head. He removes his pants and underwear next, setting them to the side of the bathroom.

He turns back to see Shisui bent in half, face on his knees, arms wrapped around himself, shaking gently. “He was cold. I found him, and he was cold, and his hand was wrapped around the sheet, and I couldn’t—” There’s a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “I tried, but he was cold, he was cold, he—” He squeezes himself tighter, forehead pressed all the way against his knees. “I tried to breathe for him, but he was already stiff….” He lets out a sob, and his back starts shaking. Blood trickles down his leg.

Itachi doesn’t even know what to say.

He has never seen Shisui so small and fragile before. He looks at the way his spine pokes out through his skin, thinks that he must have lost weight. He watches him tremble, holding himself like a child trying to protect himself.

And Itachi realizes—he is.

Shisui has always been Itachi’s pillar of strength, and he never imagined seeing him crumble like this. But at the end of the day, Shisui just a kid trying his best. He’s just a kid, and now his dad is dead.

Itachi thinks about all the times he’s been weak in front of Shisui, the times he has pressed his fears against his chest, the times Shisui has held him above water when the shinobi world tried to drown him. And now, when Shisui needs Itachi, he can’t even think of what to say.

He kneels in front of him, pressing his knees against the bottom of the tub. His hands go to Shisui’s shoulders. He nudges him up until Shisui unfolds enough to look at him. The blood on his cheeks is watery, now, mixed with his tears. “I am so sorry.” It’s not enough, but it still makes Shisui’s eyes well up even more.

“I’m here,” he tries again. He slips his hand down so it can curl around Shisui’s fingers. “Let me take care of you,” he says, voice gentle, “please.”

Shisui lets Itachi guide him from the edge of the tub. Itachi gently nudges him over and into the water, keeping his hands on Shisui’s waist so he won’t lose his balance; he can feel Shisui’s ribs against his palms.

Shisui shudders as he sinks into the water, curling his legs, arms wrapping around his knees as he holds them to his chest.

Itachi grabs the cup and washrag on the side of the sink before kneeling next to the tub again. He dips the rag in the warm water and lifts it to Shisui’s face, gently wiping the blood off of his cheeks and rinsing it in the tub. Shisui flinches when Itachi gets too close to his eye, so he slips his fingers around the back of his neck to hold him in place. He presses the soaked rag to the corner of Shisui’s eyes, trying to wash away the crusted, dried blood without hurting him. Shisui’s eyes are wide, muscles going rigid in reflexive fear, but he lets Itachi do it.

He trusts him.

Itachi takes that trust and buries it in the very deepest part of his heart.

“I won’t hurt you,” Itachi breathes. “It’s okay.” He gently presses the warm rag to the corner of Shisui’s eye, brushing along the sweep of his eyelashes. He finishes cleaning the blood off of his face and moves to his hair, gently rubbing his fingertips into Shisui’s scalp. Shisui’s black curls, something Itachi is so fond of, are flat and weighed down with grease like his shoulders are weighed down with grief.

“Have you eaten anything?” Itachi asks quietly, gently pouring water over the back of his head, because he has the analytical, problem-solving mind of a soldier; bathe, feed, hydrate. Survive.

“Can’t,” Shisui rasps.

Itachi brushes the wet curls off of Shisui’s forehead. “Okay,” he says. He uses his thumb to wipe away another tear-diluted drop of blood.

“Can’t do anything.” His voice trembles.

Itachi runs the wash cloth down his back.

“I can’t even think.” He shudders as Itachi pours another cupful of water over him. “He’s gone.” His voice is so small, and while his wet hair has fallen into his face, Itachi can see his lip quiver. “He’s really gone.” Another red drop falls from his face and into the tub; Itachi reaches his hand up and swipes the blood off of Shisui’s cheek before he can notice.

He finishes washing, dragging the wash cloth gently across his chest and neck. He works as quickly as he can, and when Shisui starts shivering, he pulls the drain plug and grabs a towel.

Shisui lets him towel dry his hair; it starts to look curly and fluffy again, but it somehow doesn’t fit when Shisui looks like he wants to slide down the drain with the dirty water.

Itachi pulls Shisui to his bed, towel still wrapped around him, and sits him on the edge. The bedsheets are spotted in blood, pillows stained from top to bottom. He doesn’t guess that Shisui has gotten much sleep.

With Shisui redressed in the cleanest clothes Itachi can find, dirty bed sheets stripped and replaced with spare blankets, Itachi says, “I’ll be right back, I’m going to—”

“No,” Shisui rasps, head snapping up.

Itachi presses the back of his knuckles to Shisui’s cheek. “I’m not going anywhere, I’m just going to get you some water.”

“No,” Shisui repeats, shaking his head. “Don’t leave.” He starts trembling again, eyes flashing in fear. Itachi sees blood well up on his lash line. “You can’t leave me.”

Itachi has just gotten Shisui to calm down enough to stop bleeding, and now he’s shaking again.

Without really thinking about it, Itachi throws himself into Shisui’s lap, tackling him to the bed and winding him up in his arms. “I’m here,” he assures. He uses the collar of his shirt to dab at the blood under Shisui’s eye before it can spill over. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Shisui’s fingers dig against Itachi’s skin until it hurts. “I need you,” Shisui blurts.

“I’m here,” Itachi repeats into Shisui’s damp hair. “I’ve got you, Shisui.”

Shisui clutches to him like he’s drowning. His fingers dig so hard into Itachi’s shoulder that it breaks his skin even through his shirt. “Please don’t go,” he sobs quietly, the hardness of his cheekbones pressing painfully against Itachi’s collarbone. “Itachi, please.”

“I won’t.” He squishes Shisui to his chest like he can physically meld them together. “I won’t.”

“Everything hurts,” Shisui whimpers, pressing his face into Itachi’s neck. “My head hurts, my chest—” he chokes. “My eyes hurt.”

“It will stop soon,” Itachi breathes.

Shisui trembles quietly in his arms for several minutes, breaths uneven and haggard as they puff against Itachi’s neck. “I don’t want these eyes,” he says eventually. “I want my dad back.”

Itachi doesn’t say anything, just keeps Shisui clutched to his chest. He thinks that he’s dozing off, finally too exhausted to stay awake any longer.

Just before he falls asleep, face still pressed against Itachi’s neck, Shisui whispers, “I’m so scared, Itachi.”

Itachi stays so focused on squeezing Shisui to his chest he forgets to sleep. He holds him until sunrise, muscles trembling from strain by the time the first glow of sunlight breaks through the window.

Shisui wakes up gently, nosing against Itachi’s collarbone with a groan. His fingers flex where they are tangled in the back of Itachi’s shirt.

“Good morning,” Itachi murmurs into Shisui’s hair.

Shisui jerks away suddenly, almost like he’s startled. “Itachi,” he says eventually, voice groggy. “You’re here.”

“Of course I am,” Itachi replies. “I told you I wasn’t going to leave.”

Shisui looks down, lips twitching into an embarrassed little smile. “I’m glad,” he says quietly. He reaches up, smearing the back of his hand across his cheek; he looks started when he realizes his cheeks are clean.

“You got them to stop bleeding.” Shisui cracks a lopsided smile. “You made me stop bleeding, Itachi.”

“I told you I would.” Itachi feels pride well up in his heart, and he tries to keep himself from smiling. “I promised I would take care of you.” His heart starts to—burn in that overwhelming way again, so he hops up off the bed to busy himself in the kitchen. He pours Shisui a tall glass of water, demands that he drink the entire thing by the time he’s done making him breakfast. Shisui isn’t hungry, but one hopeful look from Itachi and he’s forking down an entire fried egg in one bite.

Itachi sits him back in bed with another glass of water before setting his sights on the room, digging into messiness with diligent type of fury.

“So,” Shisui begins, hesitant. He watches Itachi gather up an armful of dirty clothes strewn around the bedroom floor. “Mangekyo.”

“Mangekyo,” Itachi repeats, voice just a murmur.

“Kinda crazy, huh.” A smile tries to come to life on his lips; it doesn’t quite make it. “Guess I’m officially stronger than you now.”

Itachi doesn’t bite. He just keeps watching Shisui’s face until it inevitably falls.

“Itachi,” Shisui whispers. “I’m scared.”

“Why?” Itachi frowns.

“Don’t they….” Shisui trails off, face falling. “They say it’s part of—the Uchiha curse, right? That this power makes us crazy, makes us turn….” Again he doesn’t finish his sentence, expression twisting anxiously. It takes him a second before he can look at Itachi’s face again. “Am I going to go crazy?”

“No.” It’s reflexive, almost, more forceful than Itachi means for it to be. He drops the clothes back on the floor, coming to sit by Shisui on the bed. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

Shisui doesn’t look convinced, worry still etched across his face.  

“Do you feel crazy?”

“I don’t think so,” Shisui answers slowly. “Not anymore, at least.”

“Anymore?”

“The past…however long it’s been.” He sighs, shoulders slumping. “I don’t even think I really remember half of it. It felt like the two halves of my brain were being pulled apart.” His face twists, the memories souring his expression. “Whatever it was,” he whispers, “you snapped me out of it.”

Itachi just nods once, throat thick. “Then you don’t need to worry about going crazy. It’s behind you now.” He looks down, fiddling with the hem of his shirt until his heartbeat slows. “Are you okay today?”

“I think so,” he says, voice cautious. “I can think straight at least,” he mutters. “I just feel—” He reaches up, presses a hand to his own cheek like he’s trying to find the right answer. He finally answers, sounding defeated, “Raw, I guess.”

“Raw?”

“Like fresh skin when a wound’s healing, ya know? Just kind of—tingly, everywhere, like the littlest scrape will tear me away again.” He keeps his gaze averted from Itachi.

“Fresh skin heals, and becomes strong,” Itachi says, scooting even closer. “So I’ll protect you until you’re strong again.” His little heart beats faster with his words; he nods, sure of himself. “And if you do start to feel like the sharingan is making you change—” his lips twitch a little “—come back to me, and I’ll remind you who you are.”

Shisui finally, finally smiles all the way, the warm, buttery smile that floods his eyes, the one that makes Itachi feel like everything is okay with the world, even if its just for that moment. “You’re stealing my lines, now?”

“I’m only learning from the best.”

Shisui feigns outrage, throwing a hand over his heart. “Are you cheating on me? Someone else is teaching you things?”

“Eventually I had to learn something,” Itachi replies.

Shisui just grins again; the sight warms Itachi from top to bottom.

He turns back to cleaning, trying to get Shisui’s apartment in order. He piles up mountains of laundry, cleans the kitchen until the smell of bleach is burned into his nose, scrubs the blood out of the floor on his hands and knees. Shisui tries to help, but Itachi orders him back to bed.

“I told you I’m taking care of you. Now sit and drink your water.”

Shisui’s face falls a little as he looks over Itachi, eyes growing serious. “Itachi,” he whispers. “Do you know how much you mean to me?”

Itachi blinks. “Um,” he says eloquently. “I think so.”

“Good.” Shisui’s lips twitch. “Because I don’t think I know the right words to describe it.”

Itachi’s heart—burns, the heat blooming all the way up to his cheeks.

There’s something about the way Shisui looks at him after that night. There’s something about the way Itachi feels as Shisui wraps his fingers around his wrist to tug him closer. Itachi thinks that something must have changed, especially as they grow older and the space between them seems to slowly light on fire, that intense look in Shisui’s eyes growing more and more common.

Whatever is changing between them is sharply, suddenly interrupted. Itachi’s world is turned on its head when the unthinkable happens, and the clan turns its back on the village. The tension has been rising for years, but neither him nor Shisui thought it would get so bad.

Shisui assures, him though, with his gentle smile. “It’s going to be okay, Itachi. Do you really think anything could be strong enough to stop the two of us?”

Itachi just nods, pretending he doesn’t see the way Shisui’s fingers tremble.

It gets worse and worse. Danzo is stubbornly rotten, determined to conjure up the worst possible outcome for everyone, and Hiruzen is proving himself too spineless to help. The clan decides that Itachi is untrustworthy, too loyal to Konoha, and they set their sights on Shisui, instead; Itachi knows how much the Uchiha mean to Shisui, and with a sickening roll of his stomach, he realizes that this is probably going to be the thing that pulls Shisui away from his side.

He sits at the Nakano, knees curled up to his chest, watching the water trickle over the river rocks, the sunlight reflecting golden light around him. He doesn’t acknowledge Shisui when he feels his chakra signature appear behind him.

“You didn’t come to my place today. I was waiting for you.”

Itachi doesn’t answer. He hears Shisui’s quiet footsteps as he walks to the edge of the cliff.

“The clan asked me to spy on you.” He sits down next to him, crossing his legs.

Itachi nods once, pretending his eyes are stinging from the glare of the sun.

Eventually, Shisui mutters, “I never thought I would call the clan stupid, but here we are.” He lets out a breath. “I always thought your father kind of liked me. I bet it was that dumbass Yashiro that convinced him to make the order. Well, either way, we’ll have to be sneakier.”

Itachi looks over at him. “What?”

“I mean,” he waves a hand, “I’ll just have to be more careful about talking to anyone in Konoha directly. I’ll be the pipeline to the clan only, now; you can keep working with the village elders. I’ll make sure the sound seals on my apartment are strong so no one can hear us. It will be a little more complicated, but I doubt it will be too troublesome.”

Itachi blinks at him, bewildered. “You’re not going to obey?”

Shisui’s face screws up, genuinely puzzled. “What do you mean? Of course I’m not.”

Itachi wonders if Shisui will ever stop bringing him to the verge of tears. He leans to the side instead, resting his head on Shisui’s shoulder. “That’s good.”

“I thought I told you I wouldn’t let anyone get between us.” Shisui twists Itachi’s ponytail around his fingers. “Besides, there’s no way we can stop the coup if we are on opposite sides. The only way we will solve this is together.”

Itachi nods, still staring at the water.

“But we will solve it.”

They almost don’t. It’s almost terribly too late, but Itachi’s very soul has become so tightly wound around Shisui’s that he knows something awful is brewing before it even happens.

Itachi’s out of Konoha for a mission. He’s almost a day’s journey from the village border, trailing behind Kakashi. There’s nothing particularly odd about the mission, nothing that he doesn’t expect they can handle, but every bone in his body feels as cold as ice. His blood moves like jelly in his veins, slow and thick, jamming up his heart. There’s a feral sort of anxiety clawing its way up his throat.

He stops in his tracks. He stares at Kakashi’s back. “I have to go.”

Kakashi pauses, turning to him. “Go where?”

“Back to Konoha.”

His one visible eyebrow furrows. “We can’t abandon a mission, Itachi.”

“I know.” He blinks at him. The words mean nothing. “Senpai, I have to go home.” He’s hasn’t used the honorific in years, not since Kakashi asked him to stop. “Something’s—wrong. I can feel it.”

It’s a staring contest for a moment, until Kakashi turns away from him. He nods once, understanding, then takes off.

Itachi runs all the way back to Konoha without stopping.

He ignores Izumo and Kotetsu’s questioning, flying through the gates of Konoha. He pinpoints Shisui’s chakra signature; its active, justly slightly frenzied, and his heart speeds up even more as he rushes toward it.

He reaches Shisui just in time to see Danzo plunge three fingers into his eye socket.

For the second time in his life, Itachi kills on instinct alone.

His vision goes black, white, red—green, maybe, the color of Shisui’s chakra as his fear reaches Itachi’s heart. He moves without thinking, faster than he ever has before, and appears behind Shisui almost instantaneously. He pulls Shisui’s tanto from the strap on his back. Danzo expects Itachi to be gone; he doesn’t even see him coming.

Itachi gets the satisfaction of his horrified expression before his head is rolling across the dirt.

He spins, turning back to Shisui as the rest of Danzo’s body hits the ground.

“You’re supposed to be on a mission,” Shisui breathes, remaining eye wide with horror. His hand clutches his empty socket, blood gushing down his face.

“I thought something was wrong.” His fingers numbly cling to Shisui’s tanto. “I thought you were in danger. So I came back.”

Itachi takes the eye back from Danzo’s dead hand, but when he turns around, Shisui is on his knees.

“There’s something wrong,” he gasps. His expression has never been laden with fear before. “Itachi, I think he did something to me.”

If Itachi was in a generous mood, he might be able to admit that Danzo was at least smart enough to cover all his bases. He was smart enough to try and kill while Itachi and he were separated, and it would have worked if Itachi hadn’t shown up. Shisui was too clever, too quick to be killed through normal combat, but there’s nothing he could do to fight off the poison in his blood. He lays in the hospital bed, clinging to Itachi’s hand as medics whirl around him, babbling about how he was going to use kotoamatsukami, how he waited for Itachi to leave because he didn’t want to burden him anymore. He begs Itachi to forgive him, fever high enough to make him delirious, because he can’t die with Itachi still mad at him.

“I’ll forgive you when you’re up and walking again,” he grits through his teeth, “so you better keep fighting.”

Shisui is out for a few days. The poison does a number on him, but he does survive it, and the medics manage to implant his eye back into him. His body is proof enough that Danzo attacked him, and somehow, mercilessly, Hiruzen completely pardons Itachi for killing him, promising to protect him from anyone else finding out.

While Itachi is sitting at Shisui’s hospital bed, chewing a hole through his cheek to the rhythm of the heart monitor, Hiruzen finally gives, making a deal with Fugaku.

Shisui wakes up five days later, groaning, twisting under the stark white sheets.

Itachi nearly jumps out of his chair. “Shisui!” He leans over the side of the bed. He swallows, waiting for him to open his eyes.

Shisui’s long eyelashes flutter.

“Can you see?” He asks anxiously, fingers hovering near Shisui’s right eye.

Shisui breaks into a smile. “Of course I can see.” His voice is hoarse, throaty from not using it. “You think there’s anything that could keep me from a view like this?”

Itachi decides that he’ll reprimand himself later, giving himself this one moment of weakness, letting tears finally slip out of the corner of his eyes. “If you ever scare me like that again,” he chokes, “I will make you wish the poison took you out.”

Shisui snickers. He reaches on hand up, IV and heart monitor and all, to touch Itachi’s hair. He pulls him down until their foreheads knock together. “Sorry about that.”

“You better be.”

Shisui nuzzles up against him. “Do I get to be forgiven, now?”

One of Itachi’s tears drops onto his cheek. “I said when you were up and walking.”

“Aw, come on! Being alive isn’t good enough for you?”

Itachi doesn’t respond.

“Fine. I guess I owe you for saving my ass.”

“Don’t make me do it again.” Itachi sniffles, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve.

“Yes, sir.” He pats Itachi’s cheek. “Did I miss anything important while I was out?”

Itachi clears his throat, settling back down into the chair by the bed. “Not much.” He fidgets. “Just Lord Third promising my father that I will be the fifth Hokage.”

Shisui’s jaw drops.

“My father was so pleased that he’s decided to see if Konoha follows through on their offer.” His throat is all choked up again, lip trembling. “So that clan is willing to back down completely, and Konoha will end its surveillance of the compound.”

He meets Shisui’s eyes, trembling just slightly. “Other than that, no, you didn’t miss that much.”

Shisui’s heart monitor goes so wild it alerts the medics.

Somehow, the two become even more inseparable. Mikoto frets that Shisui is eating alone every night, and so he becomes a frequent guest at their dinner table. With the tension fading, Uchiha entering higher ranks in within Konoha, trust is gradually restored; before long, Itachi starts to see the little blond jinchuriki nosing around Sasuke’s room, Mikoto whispering to Fugaku that she can finally honor Kushina.

Home starts to feel like home again, especially the nights that Shisui sleeps over, nose in his hair, arm thrown over his waist.

Like everything else Itachi has learned that is important to him, his loyalty to Konoha, his softening heart for his clan, his most vital skills as a shinobi—like everything else, Shisui teaches him how to fall in love.

He thinks, the first time that Shisui reaches out and tucks a lock of his bangs behind his ear, face painted with awe as the world narrows down to just the two of them, that falling in love with Shisui is maybe the only thing that has ever really made sense to him.

He realizes, the first time Shisui swallows nervously, eyes darting as he leans closer, fingers slipping around Itachi’s jaw as he presses their lips together, that existing only seems to feel natural when he gets to do it with Shisui.

He knows, the first time that he lays cradled against Shisui’s naked chest, heart unable to slow as he watches Shisui stare at the ceiling, wide-eyed like he can’t believe this all really happened, that Shisui is the only thing that truly makes him feel at peace.

Shisui’s love makes him feel—whole. He feels a little less broken when Shisui pulls him into his chest at night, feels a little more hopeful when Shisui kisses his forehead before leaving on a mission. The food Shisui cooks for him tastes better, the baths he draws for him make him feel cleaner. Before he knows it, Shisui calls him exceptional as he always does, and instead of brushing it off, Itachi’s lips curl and his stomach flutters and he realizes that he’s starting to believe him.

(He definitely believes him when Shisui says it, mouth open, jaw strained, a fist in his hair as his sharingan lazily spins, imprinting into his memory the sight of Itachi on his knees, face eagerly between his legs).

There’s no one moment that Itachi thinks he falls in love. He just—is; maybe he always has been. Shisui has grown in his heart like an orchid on a tree, twining his way around him through every step of his life.  

The words sit behind his lips. They almost spill out a number of times—when Shisui sits on the couch next to him, absently stroking his fingers though Itachi’s hair, lights from the TV flickering across his nose, or when Shisui spills jellybeans all over the floor after convincing Itachi he can fit an entire box of them in his mouth at once. He can barely keep the words at bay when Shisui grinds his hips down into Itachi, babbling in his ear about how beautiful he is, how good he feels, how he was made just to fit around him.

It happens one day after training.

Shisui lays next to him on the grass, chest rising and falling harshly as he catches his breath. Itachi’s sweaty, traditional shinobi clothes sticking to his overheated skin. The sun beating down on them doesn’t help.

It also doesn’t help when Shisui rolls over, pressing himself against Itachi’s side.

“No,” Itachi groans, wrinkling his nose. “You’re hot and sticky. Get off of me.”

“You haven’t complained about me being hot, sticky, and on top of you before.”

Itachi closes his eyes so he won’t roll them. He’s too tired to indulge the comment.

“You’re getting better, you know,” Shisui says conversationally. “Faster. You counter all my attacks almost before I can throw them. Your stamina could still use some work, though.”

Itachi grunts.

“We should do more laps as part of our routine, for your endurance.”

Itachi barely holds back his groan; god, how he hates running laps, no matter how productive it is.

“Of course,” Shisui continues, stretching his arms above his head, “there are plenty of ways to work on endurance than don’t involve running.”

“That so,” Itachi mutters. The sun burns warm and red against his eyelids.

“Yes, yes. Certain—horizontal activities, if you will, can be done standing up for an extra work out.”

Itachi snorts.

“Don’t scoff at me.” She reaches out, grabbing Itachi’s hand.

“Too hot,” Itachi huffs. “Don’t touch me.”

Shisui hums, propping himself up on one elbow. “Alright then, lets cool down.”

“Cool down?”

“Yes,” Shisui insists, “So I can hold your hand.” He sits up, grinning down at Itachi. “Let’s go.”

“No,” Itachi says, trying to pull his hand away. “I’m too tired to keep training.”

“Did I say anything about training?” He tugs on Itachi again, trying to get him onto his feet.

Itachi open one eye blearily.

“Oh come on! You’re no fun. Just come with me.” He yanks his arm.

“Alright,” Itachi relents. “Don’t rip my arm off.”

Shisui keeps his fingers twisted around Itachi’s, tugging him out of the clearing and through the thick of trees. Despite his protesting, Itachi is happy to hold Shisuis’s hand and let him lead hi through the forest. He can guess where he is taking him, because he knows Shisui’s patterns like the back of his hand; he’s proven correct when he hears the familiar trickle of the river carried on the wind.

Eventually Shisui lets go of his hand, kicking off his shoes as he approaches the riverbank.

“Take off your clothes,” he says, lifting his own shirt over his head.

“Shisui,” Itachi deadpans. “No.”

Shisui tisks dramatically, turning his nose up as he tosses his shirt onto a rock. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Itachi. I don’t know who could have given you such lewd ideas.”

“Yes,” he drawls, “who could have ever given me lewd ideas.”

Shisui’s white-toothed grin glistens in the sun. “Come on! Let’s go swimming.”

Itachi purses his lips; the river is crisp, sparkling under the sun. He can only imagine how cold it is, especially when another gentle gust of breeze blows past him. Shisui dives in like it’s no problem, head first, limbs flailing as he splashes in the water. Itachi would like to just sit on the bank and put his feet in the water; it’s only when Shisui threatens to pick him up and toss him in, clothes and weapons pouches and all, that Itachi undresses.

Shisui tugs him into the water, ignoring Itachi’s shiver as he pulls him into the middle of the river.

“Remember when I taught you to swim?”

“Of course I do,” Itachi murmurs, curling his hands around the tops of Itachi’s shoulders.

Shisui’s arms wind around Itachi’s waist, tugging him tight against him. Itachi’s fingers slide around his neck; he can feel Shisui’s powerful legs kicking, keeping them both afloat in the water. “You were so clingy,” he snickers. “Every time I let go of you, you looked terrified that you were going to drown.”

Shisui doesn’t realize how true the words are. “You’re just such an awful teacher,” he says softly. He twists his fingers through the curls at the nape of Shisui’s neck.

“I resent that,” he says, grinning.

“Mhm.” Itachi tilts his head,

Shisui’s eyes do that thing again, the lighthearted shine fading until he’s all serious, staring at Itachi like he’s the center of the universe. It’s unnerving, in a way, the rapt attention of it all.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You’re gorgeous, you know.”

“You’ve said that a few times,” Itachi murmurs, gaze dropping, staring at the playful curve of Shisui’s lips.

“And I’ll say it a few more.” Shisui leans forward, pressing their lips together.

All of the tension leaves Itachi’s shoulders, melting the way he always does when Shisui kisses him. He presses in, fingers sliding up the back of his neck until he feels Shisui’s wet curls around his fingertips. He lets Shisui work his mouth open, lets him lick at him until the water stops feeling cold. He lets Shisui’s fingers drop down his back, pressing them together.

“Hey,” Itachi says, pulling back just enough to watch a drop of water slip off of Shisui’s eyelashes. “We shouldn’t do this here. Someone could see.”

Shisui grins, eyes still on Itachi’s lips. “Not if I set genjutsu traps around the entire perimeter to knock out anyone who tries to come close.”

“Please don’t commit treason just to kiss me.”

“I would do a lot more for a lot less.”

Itachi just snorts. He doesn’t pull away as Shisui nudges against him, their noses bumping, Shisui’s breath sliding across his lips. He can taste the river water on Shisui’s lips as he presses in again and again, the little noises of their kisses mingling with the trickling of the Nakano.

“I’m serious,” Itachi eventually breathes, still leaning into Shisui’s affections. “Someone will see.”

“I can do something about that.”

Itachi pulls back a hair, just enough to make eye contact.

There’s that wild, spontaneous light in Shisui’s eyes again, and then his grip is tightening around Itachi’s waist. He barely gives Itachi a moment to take a breath before he’s yanking him down, under the surface of the chilly river. He pulls them down a few feet; Itachi’s hair plumes around him like ink dropped in water. Shisui’s face is blurry through the water, but Itachi can still see the warmth in his eyes, love etched onto all of his features.

He lets Shisui pull him in again, winding his arms around Shisui’s shoulders, fingers knotting in his curls, lips eagerly seeking his out. His eyes slip closed again as Shisui’s lips find his. Shisui’s bare chest feels soft and hot against his, especially in contrast with the cold water around him.

And that’s always how it’s been; no matter how much he feels like the world is trying to drag him under the water and drown him, Shisui has always been there, warm, holding him.

The water swirls Itachi’s hair around his face, slips in between the cracks of their lips when Shisui presses even closer. Shisui’s hand finds his jaw, cradling his face. It isn’t until his chest is burning that he remembers he needs to breathe, slipping out of Shisui’s arms and kicking to the surface.

He gasps in a breath as his head breaks the surface. Shisui pops up just a second later, shaking his curls. He’s grinning, eyes alight.

“I guess we know who can hold their breath longer.”

“Shut up,” Itachi huffs, heart hammering, as he tries to catch his breath.

“There’s other ways we can practice breath control, you know!”

Itachi turns away from him so Shisui can’t see the way he smiles. He swims back toward the shoreline, laying on his back. The water still runs over his feet, cool and soothing.

Itachi lays back on the mud, hair wet and messy around him.

The sun is warm on his face; it feels especially nice after the briskness of the river. Itachi’s fingers curl against the baby tufts of grass by his hands, the signs of fledgling spring soft against his fingers. Birds chirp in the trees above him.

Shisui falls against the ground next to him. “What are you thinking about, Itachi?” He asks, voice soft. He reaches one hand out, fingers gently curled, the backs of his knuckles only barely brushing against Itachi’s cheek.

Itachi’s head turns just enough to meet Shisui’s eyes. “I really love it here,” he murmurs.

Shisui’s lips twitch.

“I love this village.” He lets his head fall to the side, bangs brushing over his cheek, nosing against Shisui’s gentle touches. “I love the clan, I love Sasuke, and I love….” He trails off.

Shisui pushes himself up on his arms, scooting closer to Itachi until he’s hovering over him. “There’s a lot to love.”

Itachi’s eyes trace Shisui’s face, taking in the details of his curved eyelashes, the light freckles on his nose, the dent of his cupid’s bow. “Aren’t you ever scared that we could lose it all? We already came so close.”

“Sure I am,” Shisui whispers. He traces his fingers over the hite-ate on Itachi’s forehead. “But if we could stop all that, Itachi, I don’t think there’s anything we can’t overcome.” He leans down, kissing Itachi’s forehead. “Besides, thinking about all the ways that I could lose the things I love takes away time from actually being able to love them.”

Itachi opens his eyes again. Shisui’s face is just a few inches from his. His fingers slip into Shisui’s hair, twirling one of the curls around his fingers. “The things you love?” he fishes.

Shisui’s eyes, warm like melted butter, tighten suddenly. “Well, yeah.”

He hums. “What types of things are you concerned with loving?”

“You know, what you said—Konoha, the clan, Sasuke.” He averts his gaze.

“Mhm.” Itachi tries to keep his smile off his face, but he can’t help how fun it feels to be the one teasing Shisui for a change. “And I’m sure that’s all you love.”

Shisui strokes the back of his hand down Itachi’s face again, leaning even closer, until the tips of their noses brush. “Itachi….” He breathes.

Itachi reaches one hand up, the tip of his finger brushing against the bridge of Shisui’s nose. “Yes?”

Voice gentler than his hand on Itachi’s cheek, Shisui says, “I am so in love with you.”

It’s not like Itachi doesn’t know, it’s not like there’s any other option besides them being in love, not at this point, but hearing it still feels more comforting than the sun on his skin.

“I should hope so,” he eventually responds, “after you almost drowned me just to kiss me.”

Shisui grins, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, Itachi. All my romantic endeavors and all you do is laugh at me!” He pushes himself up. “I tell you I’m in love with you for the first time and you reject me.”

“I did not reject you, Shisui,” Itachi says dryly, fingers still twisted in his hair. He yanks a little along with his words. “Besides, that isn’t the first time you’ve said that you love me.”

Shisui blinks at that, shoulders going slack. He stares down at Itachi, still nestled against the river bank. “Huh?”

Itachi resists the urge to laugh at his expression. “You’ve been mumbling it in your sleep for months, now.”

Shisui’s jaw drops. “Huh?”

Itachi finally lets himself laugh, eyes squeezing shut.

“You weren’t going to tell me!?”

“And ruin your big moment? I could never do that to you.” He smiles at him. “I love you too much, after all.”

The words knock Shisui’s joking bravado away. He blinks at him. “You do?” He asks in a tiny, hopeful voice.

“Of course I do, Shisui.” Itachi “Don’t tell me you didn’t know that.”

He looks at Itachi, gaze flicking over every inch of his face, before breaking into a smile so big his eyes shut. “It’s still really nice to hear.”

“I’ll try and say it at least once more, then.”

“Only once?”

“Maybe twice, if you’re lucky.”

Shisui laughs again, grin still splitting his face. He shakes his head, rustling his curls with one hand. Water droplets go flying onto Itachi’s face.

Itachi lets himself watch the way the sunlight catches Shisui’s features, highlighting his pretty black hair, streaking down the bridge of his nose, glistening in his happy eyes. It glows warm and golden on his chest, illuminating his collarbones, the defined lines of his muscles.

He is completely beautiful, wonderful in every way; nothing is more comforting to Itachi than knowing that he gets to love him for the rest of his life.

“I think that was a nice break,” Itachi says eventually. “But we should probably get back to work.”

Shisui wrinkles his nose. “I confess my undying love for you and the first thing you think of is training?”

“Of course.” Itachi reaches out, curling his fingers around Shisui’s neck. “If I’m going to be hokage, after all, I can’t waste time slacking off.”

“Very well, Hokage-sama,” Shisui croons. “What do you want to work on? Genjutsu? Taijutsu?”

“Neither.” Itachi pulls Shisui forward until the tips of their noses brush. “I was thinking we should practice some endurance training.”

It surprised Itachi initially, the way he ended up loving sex with Shisui. He wasn’t expecting to go from being skittish at the slightest touch to craving Shisui’s physical affection. It’s just the way that Shisui touches him. It’s the way Shisui moves his hands up his body, cradling his thighs, splaying across his hips, savoring the soft skin of his stomach. It’s the way he kisses him, soft and sweet or hungry, sloppy, wet.

It’s the way Itachi’s mouth slips open to welcome Shisui’s tongue, it’s the way he can completely relax and surrender underneath Shisui’s body. It’s the way his pride doesn’t even care how he begs as Shisui takes his time with only two fingers inside him, it’s the way he’s comfortable enough for his eyes to roll into the back of his head when Shisui finally slides inside him, deep enough that Itachi’s back arches off the bed.

It's the way Shisui holds him afterwards, murmurs reassurances and praises about how good he did, how wonderful he is, how much he loves him.

Maybe it was just the feeling of being wanted so deeply, desired so intimately. Training with Shisui on a hot day, sweaty and loose limbed, falling together under a shady tree, pushing damp clothing out of the way; drunken pawing at each other after Itachi took one too many sips of sake in Shisui’s apartment, sloppy kisses against the door when Itachi got back to him after being apart for too long, fucking on the kitchen table when they can’t make it to the bed.

It’s natural, more than anything the way they come together in every way, how they mesh and merge like the tides meeting the sand. Itachi seeks him out the same way he seeks his bed when he’s tired or food when he’s hungry; he welcomes Shisui the same way he welcomes sunlight on his face in the morning or a warm bath after a long day.

Most of the time, Shisui is his own personal solace, the only thing that keeps him afloat.

Sometimes, Shisui is the human embodiment of everything Itachi is the most terrified of.

Sometimes he closes his eyes and sees Shisui’s face, pale. He sees Shisui’s throat slit like that first man he killed back when he was barely more than a toddler, he sees Shisui’s heart cut out, his eyes plucked from his skull, his tan skin pale and lifeless.

He tries to keep the images out of his mind. He tries to shake it off, this perpetual fear that he will lose the people he loves so much. He still remembers what Shisui looked like, eye socket gushing blood, poison draining the color from his face. He tries to ruminate on Shisui’s words, instead, that dwelling on the fears just takes away time from loving people in the present. Most of the time he can manage.

But sometimes, when he’s on a mission, he sees a ninja die, and his brain can’t help but project Shisui’s face onto them—he starts to fall apart again.

He stuffs it and stuffs it, telling not even Shisui about the way it twists him up inside.

Eventually, he can’t stuff it anymore.

The mission he’s on is messy. He’s not sent on many missions like this anymore, but he was handpicked for his genjutsu abilities. They’re supposed to stealthily make their way through enemy lands to retrieve compromised information. Everything is going as planned as they silently skirt through the forests on the edge of Kumo.

It all goes to shit when someone steps on a trap, alerting waves of enemy shinobi that they’re present.

They descend upon Itachi’s team like a swarm of locusts. Before they know it, shuriken are flying; Itachi dodges deftly to the side before using his sword to block another attack. He’s best on the defensive, dodging and parrying back attacks instead of being the aggressor. He feels his body shift into autopilot as his mind whirs through battle strategy. He keeps his eyes darting between his teammates and the enemies, trying to assert that everyone is safe.

His genjutsu flattens the next wave of enemies. A hoard of ninja drop to their knees, immobilized and unconscious.  

“We only have a few minutes,” Itachi says quietly to his team. “They’ll wake up soon.”

They think they have secured the battle field, everyone letting their guard down as the wave of kunai ceases. The remaining masked shinobi have either fled, or are bleeding out on the forest floor.

Itachi’s sharingan sweeps the battle field, taking a rapid count of which of his men were injured, if any. He counts them off mentally, shoulders relaxing when he realizes they’re all still standing.

His relief proves unwarranted as a bloody body on the floor twitches back to life.

It’s so goddamn familiar, as Itachi sees a shadowy figure in the corner of his eyes. His sharingan are whirling, hand on his weapon pouch and katon boiling behind his lips the moment he realizes the enemy isn’t dead yet, lunging toward Tenma.

His jutsu scorches the ground, shuriken flying, and they do hit the target, blood streaking from his throat, but it’s too late—he watches in horror as the enemy’s sword pierces his teammate’s chest.

They both fall to the floor.

“No,” Itachi gasps, nearly flying toward him. “Tenma!”

He falls to his knees by his side, grasping his face.

Tenma stares up at him with terrified eyes, horror closing in on him as he realizes that he’s going to die. He lets out a wet, bloody gargle, mouth opening helplessly.

“Stay with me,” Itachi commands, head snapping up. “Medic! Get over here, now!” His heart is beating so fast he can barely hear his own words. “Now!”

Tenma continues to gasp next to him, blood flowing out of his mouth. One hand desperately clings to Itachi’s wrist, holding onto him like he’s begging Itachi to save him.

“Just keep breathing,” Itachi says, cradling his head on his lap. “Just keep fighting, you’re going to be okay.”

The medic is there in a second, pressing against Tenma’s wound with her tingling green glow.

It’s too late.

Itachi watches the life fade from Tenma’s eyes, feels his fingers go limp around his wrist, hand dropping to the ground.

The last bit of blood trickles out of the corner of his mouth.

Not since he was just a child did Itachi have to fight off the urge to cry on the battle field.

He presses two fingers to Tenma’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” the medic says, voice trembling, “I tried—”

“Not your fault,” Itachi grits. “You did your best.”

He keeps one hand on Tenma’s face, trying to steady his breaths. “We need to get out of here, immediately.”

He tries to pretend that he’s coping okay. He keeps a brave face at Tenma’s funeral, keeps working like he’s not sick inside.

Shisui sees right through him, though. He knows that Itachi needs to grieve, and one day he pulls Itachi into his arms and doesn’t let him go until he cries quietly against his shoulder.

It helps, sure, but it all sticks with him like a bad aftertaste. The darkness clings to him like it has his whole life, winding around his throat, trying to bury him alive under the bodies of everyone he has seen die.

He can’t keep feeling the phantom sensation of a cold, dead neck under his palm. He can’t keep stewing on the voiding feeling of a still pulse, he can’t keep hearing the earsplitting silence as he calls for his teammate to respond.

He can’t keep closing his eyes only to see Shisui in his place.

He can’t take it anymore.

He needs Shisui.  

He needs to feel the way Shisui’s skin melts warm into his hands, he needs to feel his ribs gently swell as he breathes, needs to feel the rush of his heartbeat, his blood, his blush, anything that proves how he is alive, alive and here and with him and alive he has to be alive he always has to be alive he can’t go anywhere he can’t get hurt he can’t leave he can’t he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he—

He ends up on Shisui’s doorstep, as always, hands in his pocket so Shisui can’t see them tremble.

Shisui’s eyes go soft when he sees him. “Hey, you,” he says. “Come in.”

Itachi barely gives him enough time to let him inside before he pounces.

He digs his fingers into Shisui’s arms, pushing him back until Shisui collapses onto his couch, arms flailing as he unexpectedly tries to steady himself. Itachi can feel Shisui’s skin creasing under his sharp nails where they dig in; he ignores it.  

Shisui grunts; maybe he’s reacting to pain, maybe he’s reacting to the feeling of Itachi’s groin resting on top of his. His fingers settle over his hips, gentler than Itachi’s own grabbing. “Mm, Itachi—” his words are muffled by his lips.

Itachi kisses him so hard he feels their teeth click, and even as Shisui flinches at it, Itachi doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if it hurts, if it makes them both bleed, he desperately just needs Shisui in every way he can get him. He needs Shisui to remind him that he’s alive, that they’re both alive, he needs to feel hot skin and hot breath and—

“Hey—slow down, Itachi.”

Itachi ignores him, eagerly pushing his hands underneath Shisui’s shirt, pawing at his chest.

“Itachi,” Shisui reiterates, grabbing one of his wrists. “Hey, what’s gotten into you?”

“Need you,” Itachi breathes. He gets Shisui’s shirt up to his neck, but he’s not willing to break the kiss to take it off all the way, and it dangles against his back.

“You have me, Itachi. I’m right here.” He tries to pull back against so he can look Itachi in the eye. “Itachi, tell me what’s wrong.”

Itachi ignores him, shoving Shisui’s hands off of him so he can kiss him again. “Just fuck me.”

Shisui draws back, again, at his words. “Itachi,” he tries again. “I’m not doing anything until you listen to me.” He pushes Itachi back more firmly, this time, one hand hard against his chest.

“I don’t want to talk,” Itachi insists. The desperation in his chest is so potent its almost choking him. He tries to shove off Shisui’s hand again.

“Stop.” Shisui’s voice is still gentle, in his own way, but his eyes are wary. His brow is furrowed, lips pulled down into a frown.

Worse than anything, he’s holding Itachi at arm’s length, hands firm as they push him away.

Itachi swallows. “Shisui, please. I need this.”

“You don’t.” Shisui’s expression is serious, guarded as he glances across Itachi’s face. “You think you do, but you don’t. I promise.”

“You don’t know that,” he fires back. He pushes himself off Shisui’s lap, feeling his chest start to burn. “You have no idea what I need.”

“Of course I do.” Shisui presses his lips together. “I know what’s happening, Ita—”

“Don’t treat me like a child!” The words rip from his mouth before means to say them. “Don’t sit there and act like you know everything just because this is all so easy for you. You don’t always have to remind me that you’re so much stronger than I am.” He bites the words, all acid and heartbreak. Almost as soon as he says them, he wants to sink into the earth. He anticipates the hurt in Shisui’s eyes, he anticipates the recoil as Itachi’s words sting him.

Shisui doesn’t react, though, almost like he’s expecting it.

“Itachi,” Shisui says. His voice is quiet, soft, resolute. “I love you more than anything, but I won’t let you use me.”

The words knock all the wind out of Itachi’s sails. His eyes go wide, arms going limp by his side. “What?”

One corner of Shisui’s lips twitch humorlessly. “You feel desperate. Selfish. You want a distraction. You want a warm body to replace what if feels like to hold a cold, dead one. You want to feel a pulse. Everything inside of you is breaking, but you can’t show it because you’re a good shinobi, and good shinobi aren’t supposed to show emotions, right?” His shoulders sag, gaze dropping to the floor. “You just want something to make you feel more human than ninja, for once.”

Itachi continues to stare at him wide eyed.

“I promise, Itachi. It doesn’t help.” His eyes are wholly sympathetic when they meet Itachi’s again. “And I don’t ever want to just be a distraction for you.”

Itachi’s whole chest tightens, stomach dropping. The familiar trickle of self-hatred running down his spine. His throat tightens. “You’re right,” he says thickly. “I shouldn’t have—” He stays board-stiff on the couch for a few more moments; when Shisui doesn’t say anything he hops to his feet. “I should go—”

“No,” Shisui says, snagging his wrist before he can take a step. “You shouldn’t.” He tugs him down gently until Itachi sits gingerly next to him.

“If you don’t want me here,” Itachi says, wishing Shisui had taught him his flickering jutsu just so he could disappear, “then I should go.”

Shisui slips his fingers between Itachi’s, squeezing. “Now when did I say that? I always want you here, Itachi.”

Itachi looks away from him, rigid, hand curled into a fist on his knee.

“Is this about Tenma?”

His whole body flinches.

“Oh, honey,” Shisui says, his own heart break tinting his voice, “come here.”

He’s always been so handsy. The Uchiha were a generally cold people, cordial at best and arrogant at worst, and physical touch was at the bottom of the list of affections they traded with each other. But Shisui—he was cuddly to a fault. Years of snuggling Itachi for comfort left an indent on his heart the same shape as Shisui’s fingerprints, and as he feels Shisui’s hands massage over his scalp and rub his back, Itachi falls apart.

Hiw brow crumples, slouching back into Shisui’s shoulder, hiding himself in the familiar crook of his neck so Shisui can’t watch him. “I feel like I’m drowning.” The words scrape up his throat as he says them.

“I know, honey.”

“He was my first teammate,” he eventually says, quiet and grief-stricken.

Shisui squeezes him around the shoulders.

“He used to say he was never scared when we went on missions together, because he knew I would always protect him.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Itachi replies listlessly.

Shisui presses his cheek into Itachi’s hair. “I know.”

“And it could be you,” he continues, almost robotically. Like a balloon with a pinprick, he starts to deflate in Shisui’s arms, his grief and anger hissing out of him. “Any day, it could be you.”

“It won’t be me.” Shisui’s voice is soft yet fierce; as incapable as he is to make that promise, he sounds entirely confident.

“It almost was, once.” He winces as his mind conjures up the image, again, of Shisui’s terrified, blood-soaked face.  

Shisui’s voice lilts a little. “I’m not allowed to make one tiny little mistake?”

The joke falls flat, and Itachi doesn’t answer, staring dully at the arm of the couch behind Shisui’s head.

There isn’t a lot that can be said. Nothing can change the reality of the situation, nothing changes the way their lives are a constant tightrope walk; if they’re not strong enough, they’ll die, but if they get too good at killing, too ruthless, they might just be lost to the shinobi darkness. The tiniest mistake can send them over the edge, and now they know that not even Konoha can give them fool-proof safety.

It's the never ending, acidic pulling and lapping of the tides, washing Itachi away

But Itachi lets Shisui hold him on the couch, rubbing his back, humming aimlessly into his hair. He lets Shisui kiss his temple. He lets Shisui murmur against his skin that everything can be okay.

And, as always, the clouds part again, and the water stills. Itachi lets Shisui cover him in his quiet, assured love, and at least for this moment, everything is okay again.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Itachi mumbles into the top of Shisui’s shoulder. “I should have never said those things.”

“You know I forgive you,” Shisui murmurs sweetly. “And you know that I act strong for you, Itachi. I want to be reliable for you.” He gives him a squeeze.

Itachi nods. Guilt twists in his stomach. “I know.” He soaks up the feeling of Shisui’s kisses in his hair, his fingers stroking gently on the back of his neck. “But—” he pulls back so he can peer up into Shisui’s eyes. “Tell me, sometimes. I want to help you sometimes, too.”

“You already always do.” Shisui puts a finger under Itachi’s chin, tilting his head up so he can kiss his forehead. He strokes his thumb over Itachi’s cheek. “I am a little selfish, you know.”

“Selfish?”

Shisui snickers, that happy light sparking in the corners of his eyes. “Nothing feels quite as good as that dreamy little look you get when you think I’m being extra brave or extra smart. You’ve had the exact same look as the first day you met me.” He grins. “Like I hung the moon in the sky.”

“Not the moon,” Itachi murmurs, leaning forward. “The whole sun.”

Shisui’s whole face sparkles. He leans forward, knocking their foreheads together. “I’m such a good teacher. You would have never have grown up to say those types of things if it wasn’t around.”

“Truly the most valuable thing you have impressed upon me.”

Shisui gives him a chaste kiss. He pats his cheek twice. “You feeling any better?” He asks quietly.

Itachi leans into his palm. “Yes.”

“Good.” Another pat to his cheek. “Let me make you some tea.”

Shisui gets up off the couch, heading to the kitchen. “Have you eaten yet?” He opens his fridge, poking around at the mostly bare shelves.

“I’m not hungry,” Itachi answers honestly.

“Good,” Shisui says sheepishly. “I haven’t gotten groceries all week.” He quietly pads through the kitchen, getting his kettle and two yunomi out of the cupboards. He pauses just before setting them on the counter.

“Itachi—” Shisui cuts off. There’s a conflicted look on his face; he turns his back to Itachi, fiddling with the kettle aimlessly. He doesn’t finish his thought, turning on the stove instead. Itachi watches him carefully as he prepares the tea.

The water is almost boiled when he turns back around.

“I’m not much stronger than you,” he finally admits quietly. “The only reason I know how your feeling is because I’ve been where you are before.”

Itachi’s brows pinch together, a little wrinkle on his nose. “I’ve never seen you act like that.”

Shisui’s eyes slide closed, letting out a breath that deflates him. “That’s because it wasn’t with you.”

For the first time, Itachi feels the unfamiliar pang of jealousy.

It doesn’t exactly hurt, because even after their clumsy first kiss as teenagers, the two skirted around their inevitable feelings for each other for years.

“Others?” Itachi asks.  

Shisui shuffles in his tiny little kitchen, looking bashful. “They were all before we—ya know. Got like this.” He takes the kettle off of the stove. Itachi listens to the quiet clunk of the yunomi being set against the counter. The sound of the water swirling is soothing.

“I’m not upset,” Itachi replies mildly, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. “You had just never mentioned it before.”

Shisui scratches his head. He settles down on his little couch next to him, balancing the yunomi in one hand. “Talking about the other people I have had sex with never seems to fit the mood.”

Itachi snorts one little laugh, pressing the back of his knuckles lightly against his lips. Shisui is blushing and grinning when he turns back to him, taking the cup from his hands.

“Who?” Itachi asks. “Someone in Konoha?”

Shisui ducks his head, nose flushing red with his blush. “Mostly Anko.”

Itachi raises an eyebrow. “Oh.”

“Don’t ‘oh’ me, Itachi,” Shisui protests.

“I just wouldn’t have guessed.” He tilts his head, fingers tapping rhythmically against the yunomi. He pauses, cocking his head. “You said mostly.”

“Hm?”

“Mostly Anko.” Itachi sips his tea. “So who are the others?”

Shisui sinks into the couch, trying to hide behind his yunomi. “Are we really going to do this?”

Itachi shrugs one shoulder. “I’m only curious.”

Shisui lets out a gusty sigh. “Mostly random people, traveling through the tea country, that kind of thing. You know civilian girls have a thing for shinobi? They think the uniform is hot.”

Itachi raises an eyebrow.

“It’s easy to pick up almost anyone at a bar.”

“How pleasant.”

“You wanted to know!”

“I didn’t know my boyfriend was some sleeze bag hitting on civilian girls in bars.”

“I’ll have you know,” Shisui huffs, puffing his chest out, “that they all hit on me first. Your boyfriend is eye candy, in case you haven’t realized.”

“I’m honored that he will grace me with his presence,” he drawls. “So that’s it? Anko and tea country girls?

Shisui scratches the back of his neck. “Almost.” He clears his throat. “I might have—” He shifts on the couch, looking embarrassed. “I might have slept with Kakashi once or twice.”

Itachi snorts. “Noted.” He shakes his head fondly, admiring the blush on Shisui’s ears. “And that’s all?”

Shisui’s sharp eyes grin at him as he hides behind his tea cup. “Genma blew me in in the locker room one time.”

“Genma?” Itachi frowns. He says the word like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

Shisui just laughs. “Don’t look at me like that!”

“I’m not judging you,” he says, despite the fact that his nose is wrinkled. “I just—didn’t see him as your type.”

“I never said he was my type. I just said he blew me.”

“Uh huh.” Itachi purses his lips. “What is your type, then?”

Shisui looks up to the ceiling, tapping a finger against his pursed lips. “Hm, let’s see. Dark hair, the longer the better. Long legs, cute butt. I like a man that can stop me with just a look, you know? Preferably a clan heir, has a sweet tooth, really stubborn—”

“You aren’t as funny as you think you are.”

“Am I even funnier?” he asks with a grin.

Itachi pointedly sips his tea.

“I do mean it, though,” Shisui presses, voice dropping a little quieter. He leans forward. “You’re everything I want, wrapped up into the prettiest package I’ve ever seen.”

Itachi rolls his eyes, deflecting the compliments. “Right, that’s why you single handedly satisfied the tea country.”

“Are you saying I should have denied the general populace all this?” He asks, waving his hand toward his own body.

“Maybe just Genma.”

Shisui laughs. He leans back again, stretching out on the couch so his feet are in Itachi’s lap. “Since when did you have a problem with Genma?”

“I don’t,” Itachi miffs. In a mutter, he says, “I just think you’re way out of his league.”

“Maybe I was just curious about who half of Konoha wants to sleep with,” Shisui teases. “Is that a problem?”

“Depends,” Itachi teases. “Did he live up to the hype?”

Shisui pauses for a second, and then very honestly, “eh.”

Itachi snorts. “I guess Konoha doesn’t have good taste.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Shisui counters. “I think that half of Konoha wants to sleep with you, too.”

Itachi’s faces snaps with shock, smile disappearing, eyes widening. “What? No.”

Shisui laughs, shoulder shaking. He brings his tea back to his lips.

“You’re wrong, Shisui,” Itachi insists. He resists the urge to defensively cross his arms over his chest.

“I am most certainly not wrong.”

“No one has ever….” He trails off, frowning. “No one has ever approached me with such intentions.”

Shisui just shakes his head, still grinning. “That’s because you’re bad with people, Itachi. You don’t talk to people enough to give them a window to make a move.”

“Uh huh.” He turns his nose up. “So how were you able to ‘make a move?’”

“I dunno, I’m divinely blessed?”

Itachi gives him a dry look.

“I’m serious! I don’t know why I’m the only fucker lucky enough to get you but—I mean, I’m not gonna complain.” He scratches the back of his head. “Hell, even with me it took years for you to even give me an opening.”

Itachi blinks. “What does that mean?”

Shisui looks at him like he’s waiting for him to catch on. “It means that I spent years wanting to kiss you before I ever did. I think I started to have a crush on you the moment I knew how.” He absently tugs on his hair. “Even after I did kiss you, I thought it was gonna kill me waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me?” Itachi’s brows furrow.

“Yeah, you know, to see if you would feel the same way about me.”

Itachi feels completely stumped. He stares at Shisui very seriously for a moment, wondering if there’s a punchline. “I always felt the same way about you, Shisui.”

“You didn’t act that way!”

“Untrue,” Itachi argues, lower lip curling in to a pout.

“Do you even remember our first kiss?” Shisui asks, jaw dropping, a playfully appalled look on his face.

“Of course I do,” Itachi answers defensively, offended that Shisui would suggest otherwise. They were training in their favorite clearing near the outskirts of the Uchiha compound. It was summer, and the sun beat down so hard on them that, when Shisui finally got the best of Itachi and kicked his feet our from underneath him, both of them went tumbling to the ground. Shisui fell on top of him, head eclipsing the sun, shining through and around his curls like he was light itself. They were hot, sweaty, hearts beating out of their chests, and all of the sudden Shisui was cradling his jaw and pressing their lips together.

“I kissed you and you immediately said we needed to get back to training,” Shisui stresses. “I kissed you and you moved on like it was nothing!”

“I didn’t know what to do!”

Shisui rolls his eyes dramatically. “If you ever get another first kiss—do anything but that, Itachi.”

“Sorry,” he defends sheepishly, holding his hands up. “It was very overwhelming. You should have explained yourself first before you did it.”

“Because that would be romantic.” He shakes his head. “Even afterwards—man, Itachi, I don’t think you know how much you were breaking my heart.”

Itachi’s brows furrow. “I treated you the exact same after you kissed me.”

“That’s the problem,” Shisui says around a laugh. “You treated me the same!”

“Why would I treat you any differently if I always loved you?”

Shisui goes slack at that. He blinks at Itachi with wide eyes. “You could have kissed me again,” he rasps.

Itachi presses his lips together, fighting his smile. He leans forward again, tugging Shisui over to him by the shirt collar until their lips touch. “Like that?”

“That’s a start.” The words are murmured against his lips, and then Shisui is pressing closer, kissing him in earnest. His tongue slides against Itachi’s bottom lip; he kisses him just deeply enough to tease him. “Although, on second thought, getting to kiss you all the time may have made my life that much harder.”

“Rude.” Itachi’s hand flashes up, twisting Shisui’s ear.

“Not like that!” Shisui defends, grabbing Itachi’s wrist and whining. “You know I don’t mean it like that.”

Itachi raises one brow.

“I just meant that it would have worked me up too much.” He clears his throat and glances away. “It was already bad enough.”

Itachi tilts his head again, his bangs brushing over his cheek.

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

“Use that genius brain of yours and figure it out, my love,” Shisui says, cheeks coloring again. “Don’t make me say it.”

Itachi finds his blush so, so pretty, though, so of course he wants to make him say it. He stares Shisui down until he caves.

Shisui slouches on the couch, sinking down like he’s trying to disappear in it. “I’m just saying—I have a couple of years on you.”

“What does that mean?”

Shisui’s eyes close. “I mean,” his voice almost chokes off. “I grew up faster than you, Itachi. I turned into a horny teenager before you ever did.”

“Are you saying that you pleasured yourself to thoughts of me?”

“Could you not,” Shisui chokes, “say it like that.”

Itachi just blinks at him. “That’s a yes.”

Shisui’s face is the reddest he has ever seen it. “Only a few times,” he tries to defend.

Itachi finds himself laughing, shoulders shaking silently. “You’re so cute,” he says. “You only blush when you’re embarrassed. Did you know that?” He reaches out, pressing his palm against Shisui’s warm cheek.

“No,” Shisui breathes.

“Your nose blushes more than your cheeks,” Itachi says again, voice fond. He leans forward, scooting across the couch. He presses a kiss to the bridge of Shisui’s nose, fingers slipping into his curls. “You are so considerate,” Itachi breathes, breath fanning across Shisui’s face, “but you, of all people, should know not to underestimate me.”

“Is that so?” Shisui licks his lips, quick, eyes flicking down.

“Have I not proven myself?” He pushes himself forward even more, kneeling on the couch, shoulders turning in. His nose brushes the very tip of Shisui’s, the tiniest ghost of a kiss. “Have I not proven how good I am at taking all of your training?”

Shisui swallows, pupils blowing wide. “Um,” he stammers.

Itachi laughs, leaning back. “You’re so easy.” He grins at him. “I can see how the tea country girls got the best of you.”

“You’re not going to let that go, huh?” Shisui says in a hoarse voice, trying to recover.

“Not yet,” Itachi hums. He flicks his gaze over Shisui’s face. He watches the blush fade from his skin. “You could have just come to me.”

Shisui knows what he’s talking about. “No, Itachi, I couldn’t have.”

“You can come to me for anything, Shisui.”

“I know, I know.” He grabs Itachi by the waist, tugging him across the couch until his legs are thrown over his lap. “I should have told you.”

Itachi hesitates. “Yes, but I meant that I would have helped you, Shisui, if you needed—that.”

Shisui’s eyes are somber. “Not like that. I don’t want you like that.”

“Even if I was helping you?”

He fidgets like he’s nervous. “You have to promise me you won’t make fun of me for being cheesy.” He waits for Itachi to nod, and then lets out a little breath. “The way I love you is the only thing that hasn’t been ruined by—” he waves a hand in the air, “—all of this, the shitty parts of being a shinobi. I just want to keep it that way. I want to be able to look back and know I always did right by you. So many people have already used you, Itachi,” he eventually says, quiet, eyes on the floor. “I was scared I was going to do it, too.”

Itachi loops one arm around his shoulder. One of Shisui’s hands curls around his thigh. “I never would have guessed that you were so nervous about me.”

Shisui laughs breathlessly. “God, you have no idea. I basically grew up with my stomach inside out because every time you looked at me it got all twisted. I still get butterflies over you, Itachi. You’re—” his words cut off suddenly, mouth opened as he fishes for the right thing to say. He picks up Itachi’s hand, pressing kisses to the back of his knuckles.  

Itachi brushes his thumb against Shisui’s lips. “I’ve always been so sure of you, and how I feel about you; I always assumed you knew that.”

“It’s because you didn’t kiss me again.”

Itachi snorts. “You can’t blame everything on that.”

“I can try!” He presses another kiss to the back of Itachi’s hand. “Just to make sure it’s crystal clear—you are the only person I have ever loved, locker room activities aside.”

“I know that, Shisui,” he drawls. “I’m not jealous.”

“Just making sure you know you’re my first love,” he croons, defaulting to corny again to lighten the mood. He reaches a hand out, touching the side of Itachi’s face, tucking some of his hair behind his ear. “And my only love.”

Itachi can’t help but smile a little, leaning into his palm. “You don’t know that. Maybe you’ll meet someone someday with even longer hair.” A pause. “When is the last time you were in the Tea Country?”

“That’s it,” Shisui says, hopping off the couch, dumping Itachi’s legs bag onto the cushions. “I’m done.” He’s grinning. “I won’t sit here and be attacked all night.”

Itachi’s laugh fills the apartment.

He ends up making a grocery list for what the two of them will cook in the next week, starts a load of laundry, vacuums. Shisui sits at his desk and completes mission reports he’s been procrastinating, whining about it the entire time. Itachi drowns him out with the sound of the vacuum. He gets especially indignant when Itachi draws a bath and insists that he can’t join until he’s done.

Shisui finishes his work right around midnight, cracking all the joints in his neck and hands. He moans and groans a little more, but Itachi is already curled up in his bed. His peaceful face alone is enough to lure Shisui next to him.

Itachi immediately presses into his side, resting his head on him, hooking one of his legs between Shisui’s. “Good night.”

Shisui reaches his hand toward him again, gentle fingers caressing the side of his face before tucking his framing bangs behind his ear. “Night, honey.”

“I’m sorry for jumping you like that,” Itachi says quietly. He readjusts his head on Shisui’s shoulder; his other hands rests against Shisui’s chest, absorbing the feeling of his steady heartbeat.

“Any other context,” Shisui murmurs, fingertips gently petting over Itachi’s skull, “and I will be more than happy to let you jump my bones.”

Itachi lets his eyes closed, a content sigh leaving his lips. “I’ll remember that tomorrow.” Sleep tugs at the corners of his mind; he doesn’t hear whatever sweet reassurance Shisui murmurs into his hair before he falls asleep.

He wakes to the sound of Shisui quietly messing around in the kitchen and the smell of coffee. He shifts in bed, stretching.

“Morning, sleepy head,” Shisui says quietly.

“Mm.” Itachi blinks at him, pressing his nose into Shisui’s pillow.

“How did you sleep?”

Itachi can’t stop the yawn that overtakes his face. “I feel like a truck hit me.”

Shisui laughs quietly. He leans against the kitchen counter, coffee mug under his lips. “You slept for like 9 hours, honey. I think that’s about double what you’re used to.”

Itachi grunts, pressing his face back into the pillow. “You should have woken me.” His words are muffled.

“Too pretty,” Shisui lilts, eyes squinting in his smile. “Besides, you needed it. You were awfully frazzled last night.” He turns around, setting his coffee down. “Let me make you some tea.”

“It’s fine,” Itachi says, pushing himself up. “I can have coffee.”

“You prefer tea.”

Itachi rolls his eyes, stretching his arms above his head. “You spoil me too much, you know.”

Shisui ignores him anyways, setting the kettle on the stove. Itachi is still in bed when he comes over to him, pressing a mug of green tea into his hands. “I sent a note to your father and the hokage that you’re sick. You have the day off.”

Itachi blinks up at him, eyes wide as his fingers curl around the yunomi. “I do?”

“You do,” Shisui says, that warm, buttery look in his eyes again.

“I’m not sick,” Itachi murmurs, frowning down at the steam swirling off of his tea. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“Consider it preemptive,” Shisui says casually. “It’s better to rest when you need it than waiting till you’re sick in bed.” He leans down to kiss his forehead. “Think about what you want to do today while I take a shower.”

Itachi stays curled up in bed, wrapped up in the blankets on Shisui’s side of the bed so it smells like him. He sips his tea, feeling the warmth bloom through him, listening fondly to Shisui humming in the shower and the sound of water hitting the tiles.

He watches quietly from behind his tea as Shisui emerges from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, drops of water slipping off the dark curls of his hair.

He slips he towel off from around his hips, exposing himself bare to the cool room of his apartment. He drags it up his chest, catching the drops of water, before rubbing it over his curly hair. He bends over, shaking his curls into the towel, reaching back far enough to it gets even the nape of his neck.

Itachi just admires the way his back, so strong and muscular, curves into his ass and then down into his thighs. He admires the way Shisui’s arms flex gently, just the right amount of (something) for Itachi’s taste. He admires the dusty trail of black hair that feathers the skin between his hips above his—

Oh, how Itachi admires him.

“Shisui,” he says.

“Hm?” Shisui asks, shaking his head like a dog to get water out of one ear.

Itachi’s lips quirk. Shisui doesn’t have any idea the way his thoughts are becoming more and more salacious; he isn’t trying to seduce him, Itachi thinks, but the truth is that just being able to exist together in the quiet little home they have built together in Shisui’s apartment is enough for Itachi.

The nudity is, of course, a plus.

“I figured out what I want to do today.”

“Oh? What’s that.”

“Get on the bed,” Itachi pushes, voice still gentle as he watches an uncaught drop of water trail down Shisui’s spine.

Shisui looks up at him, blinks with wide eyes. “—now?” he asks. His eyes glance to the clock.

“Why not?” Itachi asks. “You’re already naked.”

Shisui doesn’t have a good answer to that (and why would he?) so he does, in fact, end up in bed.

He’s already bared for Itachi’s hungry eyes and hungrier hands; his body spreads easily as Itachi settles in between his legs, arms falling above his head. He’s so provocative, the way he does it, stretching his torso out, so the planes of his muscles buttery under the dim light filtered through the window curtains, so coy the way he cocks his head so his jaw looks extra sharp.

Even if he wasn’t stupidly in love, Itachi doesn’t think he would have a chance at resisting him.

Itachi presses Shisui gently into the bed, taking his time to admire the fullness of his thighs, how toned he is from head to toe. He brushes his thumb over Itachi’s nipple, traces his fingers under the swelling of his pec muscles. “You don’t train enough to merit looking this good,” he breathes, dragging his fingernails down Shisui’s stomach.

Shisui snickers. “I resent that,” he teases. “I work my ass off.”

“No,” Itachi murmurs back. “You haven’t worked anything off.” His hands match his words, slipping down Shisui’s legs to cradle him.

Shisui laughs again.

Itachi leans down, pressing his lips to Shisui’s skin. His hair falls in his face, but of course Shisui is gracious enough to gather it in one hand so he can watch. Itachi kisses the skin stretched around the just of his hip bones, kisses lines across his happy trail, kisses a pathway up to his naval. He takes his time mouthing around the skin there, hand slipping between Shisui’s cheeks, finger pressing against him.

Shisui’s skin tastes so clean, smells like the endlessly pleasant combination of his own scent and the woodsy soap he uses. He hears a shaky breath above him, feels the way Shisui’s stomach flutters as he licks another stripe over his belly button.

“Do you need something?” he asks, coy.

Unexpectedly, he hears Shisui let out a contented sigh. “No,” he says. “I just want to enjoy you.”

The words make his heart soft, the rest of him eager to get on with it. He slides off of Shisui, crawling across the bed to the nightstand so he can grab the tube from the drawer. Shisui takes the opportunity to run his hands up Itachi’s shirt, tug his sleep pants down eagerly. He gets Itachi into his hand, half hard, finger rubbing against his tip.

Itachi sits back on his heels, between Shisui’s legs, watching as Shisui slides his pretty fingers up and down his dick. He swallows, licking his lips; his blush rises up his chest and to his cheeks. His head tilts back, eyes falling closed, mouth slipping open, hair cascading behind him.

“Most beautiful thing in the world,” Shisui breathes, reverent, fingers tightening around him.

Itachi lets out a breathy little laugh. He pushes Shisui’s hand out of the way, bending over Shisui so he can kiss him. He pushes his hand into his hair, tugging gently. Shisui’s curls hug around his fingers as Shisui’s hands go to his ass.

Shisui pushes him down, grinding them together, rocking his hips up. One hand tangles in Itachi’s hair.

“You’re distracting me,” Itachi huffs, eyes closing again at the feeling of Shisui sliding against him.

“Distracting you from what?”

“Fucking you.”

Shisui rocks his hips up extra sharp after that. “Better get on with it,” he advises breathily.

Itachi eventually manages to untangle himself from Shisui’s warm, eager limbs and greedy hands. He snags a pillow from the other side of the bed, sliding it under his boyfriend’s hips. Shisui spreads his legs easily, lewd for Itachi’s viewing pleasure, holding his legs back as Itachi works him open finger by finger. His patience wears thin quickly; he slides his hands up the underneath of Shisui’s thighs, pushing his legs back as far as he can.

Shisui isn’t quite as flexible as him, though.

“It’s rude, you know.”

“Rude?” Shisui asks, voice rough as his head falls back. His fingers tense on his own thighs as he feels Itachi line up against him.  

“You can bend me every which way you please, but your own body is so rigid, sometimes.”

He tries to laugh, but the sound breaks off into a breathy moan. “You’ll have to—manipulate me more often, then.”

Itachi snorts. “Maybe I would if you didn’t pounce on me first.” He braces one hand on Shisui’s waist, pushing all the way in.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so goddamn beautiful, then,” Shisui mutters, head falling back. “God, that’s so good.”

Itachi rolls his hips, bending forward so their chests are together. He buries his face in Shisui’s neck. Shisui brings his legs up to wrap them around Itachi’s waist, one hand tugging in his hair, the other digging imprints of fingers into his shoulder.

Itachi feels—held, like this, melded against Shisui’s chest, his greedy arms and legs keeping them so close together its hard to move. Even when Shisui is on the receiving end, he manages to adore Itachi so wholly, pressing love itself into his skin with every kiss, every press of his fingertips. Shisui is warm around him; Itachi closes his eyes, breathing in Shisui’s scent, lets his body fuck forward, driven by desire and lust and how goddamn tight Shisui gets every time he moans. He keeps ups a devoted stream of praises in Itachi’s ear.

“That’s so good,” Shisui groans. The hand fisted in Itachi’s hair tugs, fingers twisting so hard it tugs at Itachi’s scalp.

He shudders, trying to fight off the urge to come so soon.

“You’re so good at this, Itachi.”

“Flatterer,” Itachi gasps, fingers digging into Shisui’s skin to ground himself. His hips snap forward again, and it all feels so good, Shisui tight and warm around him, his hand in his hair, heels digging into Itachi’s hips as his legs hold him close—it all feels so good, and he sinks his teeth into the skin above Shisui’s collarbone.

Shisui groans loud at that, jerking his hips up to meet Itachi’s thrusts.

“You’re always so loud,” Itachi huffs.

“You could—take some notes from me.”

“I’ll practice my moans, you can do some stretches.”

“Deal,” Shisui gasps, sliding a hand down from Itachi’s shoulder to his ass, grabbing a handful of one cheek and pushing him down.

Itachi doesn’t have a prayer to last much longer, especially not when Shisui starts stuttering his name, broken with curses and moans. He comes with a sharp little gasp, griding his hips against Shisui’s ass, biting Shisui’s shoulder.

He lays on top of him, out of breath and sweaty. Shisui’s hands stroke soothing down his back, and he murmurs sweet little reassurances of good, beautiful, wonderful, my Itachi.

Itachi catches his breath for a few moments before sliding down Shisui’s body, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. He slides him into his mouth, pushing forward until his nose brushes skin. Two fingers slip into him, pushing up until Shisui’s groaning, thighs rigid next to Itachi’s head, hands tangled in the bedsheets and his silky long hair.

Itachi presses himself firmly against Shisui’s side when they are finished, head on his warm chest. His eyes flutter shut as Shisui starts to methodically play with his hair, twisting the strands around his fingers, watching it flow over his knuckles. He nudges Itachi’s head up with his nose just to press a kiss to his forehead, and then lets Itachi bury his face right back in his neck.

Itachi feels the sun on his face where it glows into the room through the drawn curtain, feels the warmth of Shisui’s skin against his, listens to the quiet trickling of the fountain in the corner of the room.

“See, this is why we aren’t supposed to have sex so early in the day,” Shisui jokes. “It knocks you out.”

“Not knocked out,” Itachi resists, kissing against the tendon in Shisui’s neck.

“But sleepy,” Shisui says. He combs his fingers through Itachi’s hair. “Do you want to bathe, now, before you fall asleep again?”

Itachi presses another kiss to Shisui’s collar bone. “There’s no point, I don’t think.”

“No point?”

Itachi hums. He slides one leg across Shisui’s hips, straddling him so he’s fully on top of him again.

Shisui lets out a breath, licking his lips as Itachi runs his hands up Shisui’s chest.

“I have a feeling,” Itachi begins, “that I’ll just end up dirty again.”

Shisui chuckles, lifting his head up and stealing a kiss. “A feeling, huh?”

“Yes.” Itachi presses into the kiss, letting his tongue run along Shisui’s lower lip. “I think it’s my turn next.”

“We can’t stay in bed all day, Itachi,” Shisui chides teasingly. “There’s a clan meeting tonight.”

Itachi lets out a sigh, dropping his head to Shisui’s shoulder. He resists the urge to groan. “How much trouble will I be in if I don’t go?”

“A lot, I think,” Shisui murmurs.

“Mm.” Itachi pushes up off Shisui’s chest, looking over at the clock. “Okay, fine. We’ll go to the clan meeting. That still gives us…” he theatrically holds up his fingers like he’s counting, “…seven hours all to ourselves.”

Shisui’s fingers tap down Itachi’s spine. “Seven whole hours, huh?” He lets his palms rest on his hips. “That’s a whole lot of time to burn.”

“We’ll have to find a creative way to occupy ourselves all day.” Itachi hums, leaning down over Shisui’s face so their noses brush. “Of course, it would be a shame to waste an entire day without training.”

“Yeah?” Shisui’s hands slide over Itachi’s ass, fingers curling. “And how do you want to train?”

Itachi’s quiet laugh brushes over Shisui’s lips.

“I say we work on my endurance.”