senri
in
bedlam_mix
(Naruto - Untitled)
Genre: Gen
Warnings: M
Characters: Madara/Itachi; yes, in that way
Notes: Madara dresses Itachi up. For 31_days: "antebellum innocence".
It feels farcical to be dressed like this, and very different from what is usual on top of that, which is of course the way Madara likes putting him in this place - the man knows him too well, knows what unbalances him, what pleases and unsettles him, and he’s much too good at taking advantage of it. They’re always sort of getting at each other in this way, jabbing at each other, feeling each other out. Madara is better at it than Itachi is, but only because he’s older and much more experienced at it; if he’s not careful, Itachi will catch up with him far more quickly than the older man will be comfortable with.
Itachi knows this because he is a genius as well as a prodigy, and he knows himself very well.
In the meantime, he’ll play along.
He has so much hair. He doesn’t really realize it when it’s tied back in the usual sleek ponytail, but gathered and pinned up so his nape is exposed, he realizes it - he moves his head differently, he’s aware of himself differently, the set of his shoulders and neck. The pins are set firmly. It’s not as if his hair will fall out of its arrangement so easily. Still, he moves a little wary of it, precarious as it is. The obi around his waist is wide and slightly stiff, hindering his ability to bend at the waist; very formal, it is, tied in the back like a proper lady’s. His robes are tiered, one under another under another; his sleeves are long enough he can hide his hands, and his feet look very small in the embroidered slippers his uncle presented to him.
Rouge brushed onto his cheekbones and his lips, kohl smeared around his eyes, so very little but enough to render him aware of his expression and his features in an entirely different way.
Madara cups the back of his neck with a warm, rough palm, and even Itachi doesn’t have the control over himself to prevent the hairs on his nape from rising.
“You really do look just like a woman.” His uncle talks like a tiger, all purr and rasp; Itachi turns his eyes downwards, picture-perfect submission, and allows the man to draw him closer. Madara kisses him slowly, a hot touch of dry lips like a spreading brushfire. Itachi plays his part and allows it, curling his fingers only a little, hidden by the long sleeves patterned with camellia blossoms.
Warnings: M
Characters: Madara/Itachi; yes, in that way
Notes: Madara dresses Itachi up. For 31_days: "antebellum innocence".
It feels farcical to be dressed like this, and very different from what is usual on top of that, which is of course the way Madara likes putting him in this place - the man knows him too well, knows what unbalances him, what pleases and unsettles him, and he’s much too good at taking advantage of it. They’re always sort of getting at each other in this way, jabbing at each other, feeling each other out. Madara is better at it than Itachi is, but only because he’s older and much more experienced at it; if he’s not careful, Itachi will catch up with him far more quickly than the older man will be comfortable with.
Itachi knows this because he is a genius as well as a prodigy, and he knows himself very well.
In the meantime, he’ll play along.
He has so much hair. He doesn’t really realize it when it’s tied back in the usual sleek ponytail, but gathered and pinned up so his nape is exposed, he realizes it - he moves his head differently, he’s aware of himself differently, the set of his shoulders and neck. The pins are set firmly. It’s not as if his hair will fall out of its arrangement so easily. Still, he moves a little wary of it, precarious as it is. The obi around his waist is wide and slightly stiff, hindering his ability to bend at the waist; very formal, it is, tied in the back like a proper lady’s. His robes are tiered, one under another under another; his sleeves are long enough he can hide his hands, and his feet look very small in the embroidered slippers his uncle presented to him.
Rouge brushed onto his cheekbones and his lips, kohl smeared around his eyes, so very little but enough to render him aware of his expression and his features in an entirely different way.
Madara cups the back of his neck with a warm, rough palm, and even Itachi doesn’t have the control over himself to prevent the hairs on his nape from rising.
“You really do look just like a woman.” His uncle talks like a tiger, all purr and rasp; Itachi turns his eyes downwards, picture-perfect submission, and allows the man to draw him closer. Madara kisses him slowly, a hot touch of dry lips like a spreading brushfire. Itachi plays his part and allows it, curling his fingers only a little, hidden by the long sleeves patterned with camellia blossoms.