greetings! sorry for being away so long, i've been distracted and busy and all that good stuff. in the meanwhile, here's a draft i just wrote, if anyone wants to check it out. please keep in mind this is the first thing i've written in literally months, my creys, so it's really rusty and resolutely only a first draft.
title: a modern day psyche for the byzantine eros [or maybe something less wordy and pretentious]
pairing: itachi/shisui [and out of the blue too, since i've been reading a lot of merlin/arthur recently O__o]
rating: R, just to be safe, i guess~
warnings: painfully and awkwardly written sex scene (which also makes it painfully obvious that i am both uncomfortable and inexperienced at writing these things), a bunch of nonsense, ooc-ness, and just bad writing all around
summary: i'm...not quite sure, but somewhere in here itachi and shisui get it on for the first time, so~ 8D
other notes: critique would be more than nice and extremely helpful. knowing the general writing prowess of this particular fandom, i kind of feel like a kid who's just shoplifted from a candy shop or something. asdlfkjg. well, without further ado~
it's a little strange to be painting his nails this deep indigo color by himself.
not that he's calling shisui a girl, not that he envisions the two of them whispering in hushed tones on shisui's bed like ridiculous teenage girls and unlike s-class killers (though he might), but shisui's hands -- they were the hands of a sculptor, so smooth, so nimble. itachi's fingers were slim, slender (lady-like, even, as they have been called before), but put anything but a well-sharpened kunai between his hands and he was likely to drop it, the klutz that he was. shisui's hands were bigger, rougher, the hands of a seaman lost for centuries, but he could (probably, hypothetically, not that he ever did) thread a needle in one go, tie intricate knots, french-braid itachi's long hair spilling past his shoulders (which shisui had once tried to do, jokingly, and itachi had sent such a withering glare his way that shisui couldn't help but double over in laughter). and itachi couldn't help but soften his gaze, despite his almost inborn frown, despite his disgust at his own effeminacy.
"let's face it," shisui said one day, lying back with his arms behind his head on the soft, spring banks of the nakano, "between the two of us, you are definitely the girlier lookin' one. but you're the manliest guy i know. whereas i," he gives a short laugh, "i look pretty manly, but i'm all rainbows and hearts and kittens inside."
itachi doesn't know how to respond to this. it isn't true, what shisui said -- itachi's seen him kill. he's seen the cold steel in his eyes and the hot iron in his blood and he knows, he knows with certainty more than any other truth in the world, that shisui is a beast in battle. just look at his predatory stance, the way he licks his teeth in such delight as he zooms and flickers between his prey. this was where shisui was born to be, a lion mid-roar, a python fangs bared and ready to strike.
and then shisui will do something completely incongruous, while still covered in the blood of his enemies, like take a sidelong glance at itachi, give him his notorious "lady-charmer" trademarked smile, reach over and squeeze itachi's hand gently. and for a moment the world will stop, because this makes itachi fucking scared. biologically his blood will rush to his head, his vision will be temporarily blurred, and his heart will quicken its pace, but psychologically itachi knows what this means -- to be disarmed with a single smile. at that moment, at that moment shisui takes the trouble to turn his head and grin at him, itachi is not at peace -- he is at war with the world. with himself. raging and will never stop.
it suddenly frightened him to be in situations alone with shisui. thoughts of, what will he do to me next? if he decides to grasp my hand with his, what should i do? more importantly, what are you? because shisui could not possibly be human. itachi has killed humans before, child's fare; he cannot kill shisui. shisui is immortal. shisui is a magical being. shisui is an enchantress.
yes, enchantress, that must be it. an enchantress with the guise as his cousin, smiling, holding his hand. ruffling his hair and then whispering in his ear, "you're cute." even more maddening is when shisui leans over, frowning, and asks, "you okay, itachi?" and itachi can do no more than clench his teeth and nod.
shisui would occasionally contribute to his "manly image" by posing as the village tart. "you are just jealous," he said jauntily, swinging a kunai incredibly casually around his fingers, "that i am more popular with the ladies than you are." as if to accentuate his point, he winked at a pair of girls across the street, who instantaneously fell into a bout of blushing, as if he's cast a most powerful dojutsu on them. but there was no swirling of the tomoe, no surge of chakra emanating from his eyes. absolutely infuriating. an enchantress.
"i am not jealous," itachi replied simply.
shisui raised his eyebrows, got this mischievous look his eyes, and then pulled him closer. "of me, or of them?"
itachi suddenly felt a bad itch in his throat.
that night they fucked for the first time on shisui's bed, itachi silent save for a raspy moan echoing in his belly, shisui -- feral, breath ragged and wet, caught against the side of itachi's neck. shisui is every bit of a natural with sex as he is on the battlefield, and with itachi's legs spread wide, bent at the knee, he can't help but feel incredibly dirty. an innocent doe being mauled from the inside out by a vagrant beast. shisui grumbles between thrusts -- "you're fucking beautiful. you're the only one i want to fuck for the rest of my life. you got that? you got that?"
when shisui fell asleep, once again the picture of serenity (as if he hadn't just fucked his cousin senseless, as if he hasn't got itachi's blood on his hands), for a long time itachi just sat by his side, watching him, watching the moonlight cast these long shadows that eerily made shisui look like a ghost. then, slowly, achingly, he made his way to the bathroom, filled the tub with cold water, and submerged himself entirely until he couldn't breathe anymore.
during the night psyche sees eros for what he truly is -- the god of love. enamored by his presence, she does not notice when three droplet of burning wax drip from her candle and land on his beautiful face. awakened from slumber, betrayed of her trust, the angry god vanishes and tells her he never wishes to gaze upon her face again. a heartbroken psyche searches day and night for her celestial lover, day and night, between the brambles and the boulders, between the sea and the sky.
(quit drowning me.)