Mind Gardens: Chapter 2. Part Two. [ShiIta; NC-17]
Author: the_lady_lamb
Genre: Naruto
Sub-genre: Romance/Drama
Summary: Shisui is a problem solver. Itachi is a problem. And according to Shisui, any problem that starts with sex can be solved with sex. AU. ShiIta. Brain Damage spinoff.
Rated: NC-17 for sex, incest, etc.
Author's Notes: Part Two of Chapter 2. If you'd like to see it formatted correctly, go ahead and read it on FF.Net.
Previous Chapters: Prologue | Chapter 1 ( 1, 2) | Chapter 2 ( 1, 2)
Mind Gardens
Chapter 2
Part Two
The weekend passed quietly, but on the following Monday, Shisui came across him eating lunch at the cafeteria and gave him an all too kind smile, shifting his portfolio into the other arm (it contained all of the artworks from the previous exhibition) and sitting down with him. Smiling confused people. It was disarming in ways that a deep frown or eyes brimming with tears and content could never hope to be; it hid things. Because it lit up the face naturally, with joy that may or may not have been there. Shisui pretended nothing happened, and for all intents and purposes, nothing had as he sat down and took Itachi's water bottle from his tray, uncapping it and swallowing a mouthful.
"Good afternoon, cousin."
Itachi stared at him. He had the telltale haggard look of someone who had not slept well in several weeks.
"...what do you want. Shisui."
"To eat. Since you're not." He glanced at the untouched plate of food in front of him.
"Forgive me my appetite."
"I'll do my best."
Itachi's eyes narrowed.
Shisui's only rolled in agitation. "If you're going to be like that, I can ignore you until next semester."
Itachi's hands snapped into sharp fists and then tried to make as if they hadn't. He didn't seem to know how to say what he wanted without giving away too much. "...I wonder if you understand how irritating you are," he said, at last, voice grating. Shisui's smile widened another half inch up his face as he took a pair of chopsticks from the table and swiped a mouthful of noodles from Itachi's tray, chewing it slowly and shrugging his backpack off his shoulders. The gesture was an anchor-dropping of sorts, and he crossed his legs loosely. "I likely do not. You see, I find myself quite adorable, and I'm afraid I'm not the only one~"
"If you would like to break out into a song and dance routine, there are more appropriate audiences." Itachi eyed his backpack before looking back at him, seeming not to care at all about the quickly disappearing food that Shisui spirited off his plate.
"... I was extremely tempted the moment you said that and you should be aware that despite all of the temptations, I resisted it."
"I will make a note in the official record."
Shisui laughed, scooping up another bunch of noodles and holding it front of Itachi's lips. "Eat it. You're skeletal."
Itachi studied him before turning his head. "I'm not hungry."
"Eat it."
"Do not order me."
"You're so humorless."
Itachi stared at him blankly until he withdrew the noodles from his face, which Shisui opted to eat because not bothering would obviously be a waste of already wasted effort. "I declared my major on Saturday. Painting." He didn't really have a reason to tell him, other than that he couldn't think of anything else to say, but the strangeness of it really couldn't be overstated. That an Uchiha would not only dare to use a college education studying something besides business, but in not studying business (acceptable alternatives could be political science, pre-law, pre-med, and various forms of applied sciences) - he was studying something that wouldn't contribute to the corporation. The only form of art that could possibly be useful would be design work for advertisements and marketing, but no. Shisui hated design. It was too simply, too clean, too pointless in all of the ways the strict family he'd been born into believe that painting was pointless.
Fugaku, oh, he didn't need to imagine, he knew what Fugaku would say. Nothing, as it were. Nothing and with that same god damned condescending face, as if he were the presiding judge of all things significant and useful. He would make that same face he made whenever he caught sight of him; as if he were something hideously dead and rotting.
Not that he particularly cared. No, Fugaku's face did not particularly weigh on his conscience but for the fact that he knew that face could be broadcast in Itachi's features. That, he cared about. Somewhat. Perhaps more than somewhat. So much that it rent his insides and made him angry enough to cry.
But Itachi did not make That Face and he did not recoil and he did not look about to betray or judge him.
"I think I might take classes over the breaks as well. I have nowhere to go either way; spending the summer in a rental apartment again would be a waste of time and money, and I doubt I could give a decent excuse for another trip abroad."
"...we have a guest room, you know."
Shisui blinked. He assumed - and quite rightfully so - that Itachi was still mad at him for whatever it was he was always doing wrong, which he was sure was nothing because after all, there was no sin in knowing what you want and going after it. A person like Shisui, who pursued Itachi blindly regardless of whatever rejection or obstacle existed, was the kind of guy that typically existed only in romance novels. Because in real life, there was a little thing that started with an r and rhymed with estraining order. He stared into Itachi's eyes for a moment before smiling strangely.
"Don't offer something you don't want me to take you up on, cara mia."
Itachi's facial muscles didn't move. "It is an invitation to nothing but a roof over your head. Shisui."
"Accepted: no take-backs."
Itachi nodded, vaguely, eyes drifting elsewhere as he milled through the whirlwind of thought moving through his brain.
Shisui came across him a few days later on the way back from a large superstore, struggling to carry several bulky bags (groceries, light bulbs, razors, trash bags, disposable dishware, and a bag of chopsticks) all the way from said superstore to his dormitory without getting something of value stolen. The sun had been nearly down by that point - it was quite late, later than it should be and Shisui had a tendency to spend extremely long amounts of time in a store looking for the cheapest thing that passed his muster because he was so stingy - and so with the appropriate quiet that went along with a sunset, Shisui's discomfort was loud enough to attract plenty of unnecessary attention. To be technical, Itachi had spotted the ridiculous fool on the way into his dorm without being spotted himself, and had opted not to move from his bench, only - to his surprise - for his cousin to come back out of the building only twenty minutes later and nearly immediately see him.
"Darling brat cousin!"
"Was that prefix entirely necessary." Itachi shut his book (a paperback edition of The Sound and the Fury) and looked up at him.
".... but you are darling."
"...is that so." Itachi didn't sound at all convinced.
"Of course. You remind me of cats. Did you know that the house cat is the only animals that self domesticated? A house cat can literally become feral at will."
"That seems unlikely."
"No, apparently self-domestication is a phenomena that has been going on for some time. It started in the Near-East, which I suppose means Mesopotamia. Anyway, according to what I read, the proof that backs it up is because there's no real difference between a domestic house cat and a feral cat, and there never has. There's no evolutionary paper trail, not like with most other domesticated animals. It's interesting." Shisui took in Itachi's blank expression and laughed. "To me, anyway."
When it came to their genius, Itachi really got the better end. Itachi remembered things that were important, sometimes interesting, and would probably grow up to cure cancer. Shisui remembered things he considered interesting. Granted, if he were in the same classes Itachi took, he would always be second, and occasionally surpass him when problems involved the creative and abstract thinking Itachi found difficult. But Shisui hated the kinds of classes Itachi took, and wished classes existed that were full of completely pointless information because pointless information tended to be interesting, while advanced physics tended to not.
"...you think that this information relates to me metaphorically," Itachi said, staring at him.
Shisui blinked. "...perhaps?"
Itachi sighed. "What do you want."
"I'm glad you asked. You see, there's a strong chance my roommate is going to lose his virginity tonight to some ignorant slut, and when I moved in with him, I told him if I was banging somebody, he had to go. And he responded with, well, if that applies to me, than if I have a lady over, you have to go. And I, pretty much under the assumption that that would never happen, agreed. And now he's got a date and I need a bed tonight."
Itachi stared at him as if he had just colorfully described a nightmare the two had shared, but seemed to shake it off with admirable precision and opened the fastening on his leather book bag to slide his novel inside. "Fine," he said, and he got up without looking at him or reaching for his phone, which was strange, because Shisui was well aware that regardless of where she was, hierarchy decreed that overnight guests permissions were to be approved by his Aunt Mikoto. But he didn't bother to argue or make voice of it. Itachi was too logical a creature for him to do anything without purpose.
It was late when Shisui crawled out of bed. To be exact, it was 1:09 AM, and in his defense, it had not been his fault: he'd been having a dream and it stirred him out of his comfortable unconscious, a dream which set him on such a thought train that he couldn't pull himself out of it long enough to fall asleep again. In the dream, he'd been walking barefoot over something that had the feel of a desert, but after a few steps, he'd realized it simply couldn't be a desert. It was desolate, devoid of life and all lush greens, but the ground was dark, and the sky was red. As his vision came into focus, a voice in the back of his head told him he was at a nuclear test site. The conclusion was backed up by the sudden change of scenery: he was no longer walking on destroyed desert rock, but a destroyed, fake suburb. Complete with burning mannequins and houses reduced to skeletons.
He'd felt the urge to walk down the street because apparently, he had to deliver a letter to someone, when all of the sudden he came across an infant. The infant was unharmed, but the logical part of Shisui's unconscious mind had told him to take the child to safety, because it was in grave danger of all kinds of radiation burns and long term poisonings. So he, the baby, and the letter were all going to the town hall when the child turned into a bed of three-headed snakes in his arms. It was about 12:38AM at this point as his eyes snapped open in horror, the little ghost dream sensations of several hundred snakes wriggling in his arms disturbing him so much he had to rip the bedclothes off to make sure they weren't there.
And thirty minutes later, he begrudgingly got out of bed, stretched, and headed down the hall to Itachi's room.
There was no light under Itachi's door -- a rare occurrence, especially given the hour and circumstances. There was no sound to be heard from within but he could hardly believe he was asleep, and he wasn't, not really; Itachi rarely really slept. If he did, it was never deep enough that he failed to wake at the sound of pin drop, and he had always been that way. It was his mind, really, it failed ever to stop working long enough for Itachi to lose consciousness, and besides that, he was predisposed to night terrors and sleepwalking, something which he had told no one about and claimed certainly not to fear, but Shisui knew about it, and he thought that if he was not afraid, he was certainly wary, and, thinking back to his own dream, he didn't entirely blame him.
He was most likely dozing, Shisui garnered from the sound, and a quick peek proved him right; Itachi lay still but noticeably restless on his side on his bed, facing away from the door. His room was immaculately clean and dark.
And although it occurred to him that bothering him at this hour would make the child unbearably grumpy, Shisui did not like the after effects of nightmares and did not have anyone but Itachi to complain to them about. It made a lot of sense, truly, that Itachi would be a good person to talk to because of simply saying that it wasn't real, Itachi would say something like 'dreams are the results of electrical firings in the brain when it's not being used. There's no point in dissecting them,' likely followed by a small thesis paper as to why, and by the time he would be done talking, Shisui would not only thoroughly believe him, but be so tired from listening to things he only cared about for the first five minutes in a melodically dull tone that he would walk straight back to his room and go to sleep.
Or so was the plan if he didn't merely jump him.
He opened the door and pushed Itachi's computer chair next to his bed, sitting in it and watching him blandly. They'd been friends too long. And Shisui was the one who always acted like a child, but acting was always the key word. Itachi was more of a child than Shisui could ever dream to be. "Itachi." In a hiss. "Itachi, wake up."
Itachi's body twitched - he saw it in his shoulders - and there were a few moments of musty, pertinent silence before he replied as if he had been awake the whole time:
"...what is it, Shisui."
"I had a bad dream."
Itachi sighed and rolled over, sitting up. His head ached, hanging heavy on his neck, and looked over in the direction of Shisui's voice, practiced at finding the unfocused blur of him in the darkness. "Just now."
"Yes."
"It frightened you."
"That's what I said."
Itachi sighed again. "Hand me my glasses."
Shisui picked them up off the bedside table, sitting atop the same book he'd been reading earlier, and pushed them blindly into his hands, a deep frown implemented on his features. Itachi slid them over his ears and pushed them habitually up his nose, although they had already settled in the same place on the bridge, and looked up at him cryptically. His brow was slightly creased.
"Shisui. It was only a dream. There's no need for distress."
If it bothered him to feel stupid, if he had the kind of pride the other Uchihas had, he would never be caught dead talking to his much younger cousin about nightmares. But Shisui wasn't bothered with the prospect of feeling stupid, he knew he wasn't and tested ridiculously high on his last IQ exam, and he wasn't nearly as prideful about the same sorts of things his family were. The same things Fugaku was, who was downstairs in his office, typing away in neat, manufactured clicks that rung with whatever he was writing. There was always something to be done.
"There were snakes."
Itachi shuddered noticeably at the word before schooling his expression and looking back at him. He was far too level-headed for this time of morning. "Your subconscious mind was preying upon your instinctual and well-justified fear thereof."
"Mutated snakes with lots of heads. All wriggling together, hundreds of them. In a baby blanket. Which I was holding."
"...Shisui. It wasn't real. It was a generation of your own imagination."
"At a nuclear test site. With all of these fake people with their fake houses and fake lives being burned and melted into nothing."
"Shisui."
"What."
"It was. A figment."
Shisui exhaled a somewhat dramatic sigh, pulling his legs up into the chair so his knees bumped his chin and he could lace his toes with his fingers. "I know that." And the more he was watching him, the less he was feeling like this had a point at all. Just seeing Itachi, looking that version of tired where it would be impossible to sleep, still half crumpled in his bedding and eyeglasses sliding bit by bit down the bridge of his nose, just looking at him seemed to suck the creativity and imagination straight out of him. He watched him for a few moments before letting out a smaller, more subdued sigh. Well it was too late now.
Itachi's face softened, somewhat, the edges folding in so that they didn't look quite as sharp. He reached out a hand and rested it on one of Shisui's kneecaps; initiating touch, however subtle, which he never did. He felt strongly reminded of his baby brother and it sucked the harshness out of him and left an unwilling fondness behind.
"...you're whole. As you can see. You are in no physical distress. You are exactly the same as when you fell asleep with the small exception that you have now had a thought you did not intend to, and it bothers you."
There was a short pause before Shisui looked up, leaned forward, and pecked his lips.
"That is true."
(And braced for whatever overzealously negative response was to come.)
But Itachi did not move. He remained as he had been, and except for the slightest blush, which Shisui could barely make out in the dark, he did nothing.
"What is real, Shisui."
"I'm unsure, Itachi-kun. Am I a man in Japan, dreaming he is in Nevada. Or am I a man in Nevada, dreaming he is in Japan."
Itachi studied him for a moment, seeming to take the question into deep consideration.
"Assuming that you have affected my reality," he said after a second, "and that which I percieve to be real, and assuming you are real in and of yourself, rather than a figment of my own imagination, evidence would seem to be indicative of the former scenario."
"And if I was a figment?"
"I doubt my own creative faculties have such ability to create something so far-fetched as you, Shisui."
"If I was a figment, it wouldn't matter if I kissed you. You would agree."
"Do we assess the possibility of figmentation based upon that supposed figmentation's degree of agreeability? Because in that case...well, supposing that you find me to be, the majority of the time, disagreeable, and that you find the landscape of what we are assuming to be your dreams disagreeable, wouldn't that suggest that nothing is real at all, for you?"
Shisui scooted forward and kissed him again, holding him still with a hand at the back of his neck, digging into his mussed hair. "If nothing is real for me, that makes my plane of existence a blank slot, a figment in and of itself, which gardens the thought of what makes you and I so different so that one of us may not exist but one of does." He tilted Itachi's head back and sucked chastely at his bottom lip, eyes open and seeming abnormally large and frighteningly bright for an Uchiha. "And the answer to that inquiry is what, my sweetest love?"
Itachi's chest flooded with a warmth that tangled badly with his instinctive avoidance thereof, pulling his face back abruptly so that the unfamiliar tug at his mouth intensified before it stopped. It tingled with hot electricity long after, and he reached up to rub at it, self-conscious in a way that seemed sudden. He eyed him, suspiciousness sinking back into him, seeming to assess how dangerously close he had allowed him to get.
"...cogito ergo sum," he said, after a moment. "Je pense donc je suis."
Shisui nodded and kissed his swelling lip.
"Correct. I think, therefore I am."
"Don't kiss me."
"I can't promise that."
"Shisui."
"No, I can't promise that." He spoke with a more serious, almost earnest tone, slipping off of the chair completely and onto his bed with him. "And don't make me, it's a cruelty and injustice both to you and to me."
"There is nothing cruel or unjust about it."
He let out a frustrated sigh, reaching out to rub at Itachi's browline and temple with his thumbs. "It is. It's to me because I very much want to kiss you and you're deliberately and without remorse keeping me from the thing that I want most, and it's such a little thing. And it's an injustice to you because you want it very much, almost as much as I do, but you've brainwashed yourself into believing that you, in fact, don't want it. And that this is all, in fact, completely nonconsensual. When you want to touch me and like it when I touch you. You tell yourself that you hate it because you know your father would." He rubbed slowly into the crease between each of his eyebrows. "But you like it. And so I wish you would let me. Because it would simplify everything."
Itachi's brow creased softly beneath the pad of his thumb.
"That's preposterous. Simplify, this sort of behavior begets the exact opposite. How do you suppose this for even a moment simplifies our relationship?" He was calmer, though; not irate so much as beleaguered. His voice remained quiet and even, although Shisui could tell by his eyes he was attempting to mentally dissect him, his actions and his motives. "There is nothing about this that inspires simplicity -- and for that matter, I don't see what--" He paused, then, his brow creasing further.
"...do you truly believe that my preferences are in any way linked to my father."
"I know they are."
"You're wrong." Itachi was giving him the strangest look. "And I have no idea what elicited such a thought-- Would you please examine my life. Shisui. My father hates any number of things, primarily because he is an emotional infant obsessed with maintaining the illusion of dominance and control over his presumed domain and everything therein. You. For instance, are someone whom my father hates. You, with whom I have been friends for the vast majority of my life. Psychology. For instance, is something my father hates. My social inabilities are an example. My lack of interest in women is a growing irritation of his.
"And what do I care about any of that. It should be quite obvious that I indulge him only on the pretense of remaining where I can do the most good. Shisui. I am not a product of indoctrination."
"Yet you refuse to let me kiss you because he's in the house."
"I refuse to let you kiss me because I dislike it."
"Is that so."
"It is," Itachi said, slowly, examining him.
"Really."
"How many times must I say it."
"At least once more."
"I suppose this is where you kiss me dramatically and change my mind."
"How did you know?"
But it wasn't that dramatic; Shisui leaned forward, calm as if he'd invented kissing, the hands that had been massaging his skull moving into his hair and brushing over his lips slowly, not quite testingly but to get him used to the idea. Itachi shuddered, mouth parting without his meaning it, pulses of electricity moving down his scalp. It was adorably stereotypical, but Shisui purred in delight, sucking his lower lip but trying not to press him too much or rush him into anything he actually might not want. He was hating this, having to convince him of everything; A, it made him feel like a sexual predator when he knew he wasn't, B, it made him doubt everything he did which was not a feeling he was familiar with, and C, he hated rejection. Everyone did.
Even Itachi.
Shisui kissed him slowly back into the wall, so that his back sloped, shoulderblades pressing into the cool surface, hands hanging uselessly at his sides. His hair, which had still been tied back, since Itachi disliked having it in his face, came loose under Shisui's fingers, and settled along his neck and shoulders in inky, salacious tendrils. He shuddered with delight, the room painfully silent except with the soft 'pop's of clinging skin being pulled apart, and for a moment, Shisui nearly understood Itachi's fear. Fear of what was wrong, because Itachi was buying into that, despite genuinely believing he wasn't. That incest was wrong, and likely homosexuality, and fear of the unknown is asking for a knife in the chest. Shisui understood him for a moment, just one, before he shook off the empathy syndrome and rubbed him thumbs over his cheekbones, in the tension underneath his eyes, seated loosely between his legs and running his tongue so-so slowly into his mouth.
He felt Itachi twitch, hand flying out to settle against his collarbone, as if to press him back, but it was obvious he was too late to think enough to stop him and there was no strength in his hands. His mouth pulsed slightly, teeth skimming the edge of his tongue.
Shisui shivered delightedly, sucking his lips and moving his hands slowly down his back, trying not to disturb him to the point of immediate rejection, but with Itachi, anything was a catalyst as long as he was given enough time to think. He ran his tongue under the points of his teeth, the muscle never cutting but the sensation - in and of itself - wholly unusual. He let his hand rest at his (extremely) narrow, nonexistent waist, the other still holding him still at the back of his skull, watching him silently and grinding into his hips. Itachi jolted softly beneath him, the tendonsof his fingers tightening at Shisui's neck, a small, sharp noise running between their mouths.
It was too strange -- Itachi felt, distinctly, that he was about to lose himself, that his consciousness was hovering at the end of a great abyss and being tugged by an uncouth summer's breeze, dragged hither and to by something he could not see or control. Their tongues brushed and his stomach twisted to the point of pain.
Shisui rolled his thumb over the point of tension between his eyebrows, rolling into his hips again but still, so slow and never too pushy or too much. Most of this was about conditioning. If he proved to him that they could make out without Fugaku bursting it, make out and have Itachi like it, then Itachi would do it again later. Their tongues twined slowly, the gap enough so Shisui could breathe evenly (though Itachi was rushing it and close to asphyxiating), and he let out a low purr as his cousin returned it. Awkward and uneven, but he did.
It was only a few moments before he began to come into it naturally; always the prodigy, Shisui thought, just as Itachi somehow bent his tongue to guide him into a pocket in his mouth he had not known existed, nestled right along his teeth and the heated inside of his cheek. He moved slowly, lips shivering like a babe's, body silvery and still, seeming like unfamiliar territory beneath Shisui's touch. He thought, perhaps that his best line of defense might be a good offense - an approach in order to best initiate escape, but he could hardly think, hardly breathe, and there was no way for him to process how he might manage to do so.
He knew that to avoid startling him, he should talk him through it. But Shisui didn't, he didn't have the patience for it, an let the hand at his waist fall between his legs, gripping him thickly through the thin material of his pajama pants. (Mou, Itachi-kun. You're darling.)
He started badly, his whole body flinching, his eyes cranking wide open as his fingers tightened to the makings of bruises on his collarbone.
"Mm--"
Shisui rolled his hips and pumped the fist around him, trying to wind him down, kissing him a bit more earnestly, if not distractingly. He mewled into his mouth, so attracted to him that it was starting to get painful, reveling in the quiet of it all, how naive it was. Kissing blindly in the dark, never talking, only breaking for breath, and every breath taken a deep inhale of air before it was lips again. Never overwhelming, never strangling, never too much. Shisui ran his tongue through his mouth, and every time Itachi reacted, every time he kissed him back, let alone initiated contact, Shisui's hand moved faster.
Itachi's breathing hitched, the center of his chest seeming to give inward, bending in at the ribs. His kisses went weak, mouth filling with soft, involuntary noise. His hips jumped, as if to dislodge him, but there was no doing it. Shisui let go of his hair and worked the material down off his hips just enough so that he wasn't getting him off through the fabric (exactly the kind of thing that would irritate Itachi to no end), but he slowed down, kissing him pressingly, waiting for him to respond but his stomach panging with want against the little noise he emitted.
Itachi jumped, the cold on the bare skin of his legs hitting him like water in the face. He spooked, badly, mouth breaking from Shisui's.
The eldest watched him.
"If you tell me to stop, I will not."
Itachi shot him a look, body splayed and lewd, shivering in the dark.
"So please do not tell me to stop."
Shisui leaned forward and kissed him again, slow and closed mouthed, resuming to stroke him slowly and hike his body temperature up again. Back to his comfort level.
Itachi roiled beneath him, body rolling to the side in a vain, half-hearted attempt at escape, hands pressing against Shisui's chest. He relented to his persistent tongue, mouth opening softly to him. His cock twitched in his hand, legs shaking. And for a moment, Shisui stopped - not out of guilt, but to just look at him, to focus his (bad) eyesight in the dark and just watch him. And the only thought that crossed his mind was how unbearably cute he was, and how excruciatingly painful it was going to be to not have sex with him now. But he wasn't. He wasn't going to rush him and psychologically traumatize him, nor was he going to rush him and make him sexually frigid. He shuddered, so wanton, hand moving faster as Itachi's mouth opened and twining his tongue slowly, grinding into him and letting his thumb trace deep circles over the head.
His throat tickled and hummed as Itachi exhaled a moan into his mouth, unwilling, and promptly blushed a deep, swarthy red that drifted as low as his chest, pajama top hanging open, and Shisui squirmed, arousal shaking him to the core, hand pumping him faster just to hear him groan like that again and precum soaking his fist, between his fingers. Itachi writhed, seeming unable to control the movements of his limbs as they spasmed. His breath scattered and he couldn't recollect it for all his efforts, hands pressing at his shoulders and his collarbone, breaking from him with a gasp.
"Shi-- mm..."
Shisui's teeth closed around a path of skin just below his right ear, grinding into him thicker, hand moving faster, well aware that Itachi was getting there because his thighs were shaking so hard they seemed completely independent from the rest of him and he was losing his ability to control. Itachi hated loss of control. Itachi, along with every other human on the planet, liked orgasm. This was conditioning at its absolute finest.
Pavlovian. Almost.
Itachi clenched his legs shut in a vain attempt to deter him and Shisui knocked them open again, soliciting a whine from between his lips and making him pulse with red. He kissed him sweepingly, inadvertently thick but never too much, never more dominating than Itachi wanted, never more than he could handle, tightening his fist and pumping him so thick and so fast he knew Itachi couldn't take much more of it.
He quaked, body shaking and eyes aflutter. His whole self felt alight with something akin to a surreal force, like something lifting him up, heating his face and his skin. Something lit upon his mind and he tore his mouth away, fighting him for a bare moment before he came, terribly soft and quiet between them, eyes rolling back into his head. Shisui pumped him through it, until he was absolutely finished before pulling his hand away, sticky wet with semen that he wiped away onto the sheets, watching him with ox eyes. Itachi's entire figure was shaking slowly in a forced silence, lips pressed together and eyes dazedly closed, and Shisui snorted softly, kissing his forehead.
Itachi's skin jumped, but he lay motionless, brain buzzing with shock and white noise.
Shisui pecked his lips, letting go of him entirely and sitting back to exhale. There was a little halo of sweat at his forehead and his arm was sore, which was a bit of a pain because he would have to go back to his room and jerk off if he was ever going to sleep again. He couldn't even imagine sleeping, regardless, and couldn't stop rolling the fluid over between his fingers. Itachi's. He let out a soft sigh and stood up, kissing him again, closed-mouthed and so chaste.
"...goodnight. Cara mia."
Genre: Naruto
Sub-genre: Romance/Drama
Summary: Shisui is a problem solver. Itachi is a problem. And according to Shisui, any problem that starts with sex can be solved with sex. AU. ShiIta. Brain Damage spinoff.
Rated: NC-17 for sex, incest, etc.
Author's Notes: Part Two of Chapter 2. If you'd like to see it formatted correctly, go ahead and read it on FF.Net.
Previous Chapters: Prologue | Chapter 1 ( 1, 2) | Chapter 2 ( 1, 2)
Mind Gardens
Chapter 2
Part Two
The weekend passed quietly, but on the following Monday, Shisui came across him eating lunch at the cafeteria and gave him an all too kind smile, shifting his portfolio into the other arm (it contained all of the artworks from the previous exhibition) and sitting down with him. Smiling confused people. It was disarming in ways that a deep frown or eyes brimming with tears and content could never hope to be; it hid things. Because it lit up the face naturally, with joy that may or may not have been there. Shisui pretended nothing happened, and for all intents and purposes, nothing had as he sat down and took Itachi's water bottle from his tray, uncapping it and swallowing a mouthful.
"Good afternoon, cousin."
Itachi stared at him. He had the telltale haggard look of someone who had not slept well in several weeks.
"...what do you want. Shisui."
"To eat. Since you're not." He glanced at the untouched plate of food in front of him.
"Forgive me my appetite."
"I'll do my best."
Itachi's eyes narrowed.
Shisui's only rolled in agitation. "If you're going to be like that, I can ignore you until next semester."
Itachi's hands snapped into sharp fists and then tried to make as if they hadn't. He didn't seem to know how to say what he wanted without giving away too much. "...I wonder if you understand how irritating you are," he said, at last, voice grating. Shisui's smile widened another half inch up his face as he took a pair of chopsticks from the table and swiped a mouthful of noodles from Itachi's tray, chewing it slowly and shrugging his backpack off his shoulders. The gesture was an anchor-dropping of sorts, and he crossed his legs loosely. "I likely do not. You see, I find myself quite adorable, and I'm afraid I'm not the only one~"
"If you would like to break out into a song and dance routine, there are more appropriate audiences." Itachi eyed his backpack before looking back at him, seeming not to care at all about the quickly disappearing food that Shisui spirited off his plate.
"... I was extremely tempted the moment you said that and you should be aware that despite all of the temptations, I resisted it."
"I will make a note in the official record."
Shisui laughed, scooping up another bunch of noodles and holding it front of Itachi's lips. "Eat it. You're skeletal."
Itachi studied him before turning his head. "I'm not hungry."
"Eat it."
"Do not order me."
"You're so humorless."
Itachi stared at him blankly until he withdrew the noodles from his face, which Shisui opted to eat because not bothering would obviously be a waste of already wasted effort. "I declared my major on Saturday. Painting." He didn't really have a reason to tell him, other than that he couldn't think of anything else to say, but the strangeness of it really couldn't be overstated. That an Uchiha would not only dare to use a college education studying something besides business, but in not studying business (acceptable alternatives could be political science, pre-law, pre-med, and various forms of applied sciences) - he was studying something that wouldn't contribute to the corporation. The only form of art that could possibly be useful would be design work for advertisements and marketing, but no. Shisui hated design. It was too simply, too clean, too pointless in all of the ways the strict family he'd been born into believe that painting was pointless.
Fugaku, oh, he didn't need to imagine, he knew what Fugaku would say. Nothing, as it were. Nothing and with that same god damned condescending face, as if he were the presiding judge of all things significant and useful. He would make that same face he made whenever he caught sight of him; as if he were something hideously dead and rotting.
Not that he particularly cared. No, Fugaku's face did not particularly weigh on his conscience but for the fact that he knew that face could be broadcast in Itachi's features. That, he cared about. Somewhat. Perhaps more than somewhat. So much that it rent his insides and made him angry enough to cry.
But Itachi did not make That Face and he did not recoil and he did not look about to betray or judge him.
"I think I might take classes over the breaks as well. I have nowhere to go either way; spending the summer in a rental apartment again would be a waste of time and money, and I doubt I could give a decent excuse for another trip abroad."
"...we have a guest room, you know."
Shisui blinked. He assumed - and quite rightfully so - that Itachi was still mad at him for whatever it was he was always doing wrong, which he was sure was nothing because after all, there was no sin in knowing what you want and going after it. A person like Shisui, who pursued Itachi blindly regardless of whatever rejection or obstacle existed, was the kind of guy that typically existed only in romance novels. Because in real life, there was a little thing that started with an r and rhymed with estraining order. He stared into Itachi's eyes for a moment before smiling strangely.
"Don't offer something you don't want me to take you up on, cara mia."
Itachi's facial muscles didn't move. "It is an invitation to nothing but a roof over your head. Shisui."
"Accepted: no take-backs."
Itachi nodded, vaguely, eyes drifting elsewhere as he milled through the whirlwind of thought moving through his brain.
Shisui came across him a few days later on the way back from a large superstore, struggling to carry several bulky bags (groceries, light bulbs, razors, trash bags, disposable dishware, and a bag of chopsticks) all the way from said superstore to his dormitory without getting something of value stolen. The sun had been nearly down by that point - it was quite late, later than it should be and Shisui had a tendency to spend extremely long amounts of time in a store looking for the cheapest thing that passed his muster because he was so stingy - and so with the appropriate quiet that went along with a sunset, Shisui's discomfort was loud enough to attract plenty of unnecessary attention. To be technical, Itachi had spotted the ridiculous fool on the way into his dorm without being spotted himself, and had opted not to move from his bench, only - to his surprise - for his cousin to come back out of the building only twenty minutes later and nearly immediately see him.
"Darling brat cousin!"
"Was that prefix entirely necessary." Itachi shut his book (a paperback edition of The Sound and the Fury) and looked up at him.
".... but you are darling."
"...is that so." Itachi didn't sound at all convinced.
"Of course. You remind me of cats. Did you know that the house cat is the only animals that self domesticated? A house cat can literally become feral at will."
"That seems unlikely."
"No, apparently self-domestication is a phenomena that has been going on for some time. It started in the Near-East, which I suppose means Mesopotamia. Anyway, according to what I read, the proof that backs it up is because there's no real difference between a domestic house cat and a feral cat, and there never has. There's no evolutionary paper trail, not like with most other domesticated animals. It's interesting." Shisui took in Itachi's blank expression and laughed. "To me, anyway."
When it came to their genius, Itachi really got the better end. Itachi remembered things that were important, sometimes interesting, and would probably grow up to cure cancer. Shisui remembered things he considered interesting. Granted, if he were in the same classes Itachi took, he would always be second, and occasionally surpass him when problems involved the creative and abstract thinking Itachi found difficult. But Shisui hated the kinds of classes Itachi took, and wished classes existed that were full of completely pointless information because pointless information tended to be interesting, while advanced physics tended to not.
"...you think that this information relates to me metaphorically," Itachi said, staring at him.
Shisui blinked. "...perhaps?"
Itachi sighed. "What do you want."
"I'm glad you asked. You see, there's a strong chance my roommate is going to lose his virginity tonight to some ignorant slut, and when I moved in with him, I told him if I was banging somebody, he had to go. And he responded with, well, if that applies to me, than if I have a lady over, you have to go. And I, pretty much under the assumption that that would never happen, agreed. And now he's got a date and I need a bed tonight."
Itachi stared at him as if he had just colorfully described a nightmare the two had shared, but seemed to shake it off with admirable precision and opened the fastening on his leather book bag to slide his novel inside. "Fine," he said, and he got up without looking at him or reaching for his phone, which was strange, because Shisui was well aware that regardless of where she was, hierarchy decreed that overnight guests permissions were to be approved by his Aunt Mikoto. But he didn't bother to argue or make voice of it. Itachi was too logical a creature for him to do anything without purpose.
It was late when Shisui crawled out of bed. To be exact, it was 1:09 AM, and in his defense, it had not been his fault: he'd been having a dream and it stirred him out of his comfortable unconscious, a dream which set him on such a thought train that he couldn't pull himself out of it long enough to fall asleep again. In the dream, he'd been walking barefoot over something that had the feel of a desert, but after a few steps, he'd realized it simply couldn't be a desert. It was desolate, devoid of life and all lush greens, but the ground was dark, and the sky was red. As his vision came into focus, a voice in the back of his head told him he was at a nuclear test site. The conclusion was backed up by the sudden change of scenery: he was no longer walking on destroyed desert rock, but a destroyed, fake suburb. Complete with burning mannequins and houses reduced to skeletons.
He'd felt the urge to walk down the street because apparently, he had to deliver a letter to someone, when all of the sudden he came across an infant. The infant was unharmed, but the logical part of Shisui's unconscious mind had told him to take the child to safety, because it was in grave danger of all kinds of radiation burns and long term poisonings. So he, the baby, and the letter were all going to the town hall when the child turned into a bed of three-headed snakes in his arms. It was about 12:38AM at this point as his eyes snapped open in horror, the little ghost dream sensations of several hundred snakes wriggling in his arms disturbing him so much he had to rip the bedclothes off to make sure they weren't there.
And thirty minutes later, he begrudgingly got out of bed, stretched, and headed down the hall to Itachi's room.
There was no light under Itachi's door -- a rare occurrence, especially given the hour and circumstances. There was no sound to be heard from within but he could hardly believe he was asleep, and he wasn't, not really; Itachi rarely really slept. If he did, it was never deep enough that he failed to wake at the sound of pin drop, and he had always been that way. It was his mind, really, it failed ever to stop working long enough for Itachi to lose consciousness, and besides that, he was predisposed to night terrors and sleepwalking, something which he had told no one about and claimed certainly not to fear, but Shisui knew about it, and he thought that if he was not afraid, he was certainly wary, and, thinking back to his own dream, he didn't entirely blame him.
He was most likely dozing, Shisui garnered from the sound, and a quick peek proved him right; Itachi lay still but noticeably restless on his side on his bed, facing away from the door. His room was immaculately clean and dark.
And although it occurred to him that bothering him at this hour would make the child unbearably grumpy, Shisui did not like the after effects of nightmares and did not have anyone but Itachi to complain to them about. It made a lot of sense, truly, that Itachi would be a good person to talk to because of simply saying that it wasn't real, Itachi would say something like 'dreams are the results of electrical firings in the brain when it's not being used. There's no point in dissecting them,' likely followed by a small thesis paper as to why, and by the time he would be done talking, Shisui would not only thoroughly believe him, but be so tired from listening to things he only cared about for the first five minutes in a melodically dull tone that he would walk straight back to his room and go to sleep.
Or so was the plan if he didn't merely jump him.
He opened the door and pushed Itachi's computer chair next to his bed, sitting in it and watching him blandly. They'd been friends too long. And Shisui was the one who always acted like a child, but acting was always the key word. Itachi was more of a child than Shisui could ever dream to be. "Itachi." In a hiss. "Itachi, wake up."
Itachi's body twitched - he saw it in his shoulders - and there were a few moments of musty, pertinent silence before he replied as if he had been awake the whole time:
"...what is it, Shisui."
"I had a bad dream."
Itachi sighed and rolled over, sitting up. His head ached, hanging heavy on his neck, and looked over in the direction of Shisui's voice, practiced at finding the unfocused blur of him in the darkness. "Just now."
"Yes."
"It frightened you."
"That's what I said."
Itachi sighed again. "Hand me my glasses."
Shisui picked them up off the bedside table, sitting atop the same book he'd been reading earlier, and pushed them blindly into his hands, a deep frown implemented on his features. Itachi slid them over his ears and pushed them habitually up his nose, although they had already settled in the same place on the bridge, and looked up at him cryptically. His brow was slightly creased.
"Shisui. It was only a dream. There's no need for distress."
If it bothered him to feel stupid, if he had the kind of pride the other Uchihas had, he would never be caught dead talking to his much younger cousin about nightmares. But Shisui wasn't bothered with the prospect of feeling stupid, he knew he wasn't and tested ridiculously high on his last IQ exam, and he wasn't nearly as prideful about the same sorts of things his family were. The same things Fugaku was, who was downstairs in his office, typing away in neat, manufactured clicks that rung with whatever he was writing. There was always something to be done.
"There were snakes."
Itachi shuddered noticeably at the word before schooling his expression and looking back at him. He was far too level-headed for this time of morning. "Your subconscious mind was preying upon your instinctual and well-justified fear thereof."
"Mutated snakes with lots of heads. All wriggling together, hundreds of them. In a baby blanket. Which I was holding."
"...Shisui. It wasn't real. It was a generation of your own imagination."
"At a nuclear test site. With all of these fake people with their fake houses and fake lives being burned and melted into nothing."
"Shisui."
"What."
"It was. A figment."
Shisui exhaled a somewhat dramatic sigh, pulling his legs up into the chair so his knees bumped his chin and he could lace his toes with his fingers. "I know that." And the more he was watching him, the less he was feeling like this had a point at all. Just seeing Itachi, looking that version of tired where it would be impossible to sleep, still half crumpled in his bedding and eyeglasses sliding bit by bit down the bridge of his nose, just looking at him seemed to suck the creativity and imagination straight out of him. He watched him for a few moments before letting out a smaller, more subdued sigh. Well it was too late now.
Itachi's face softened, somewhat, the edges folding in so that they didn't look quite as sharp. He reached out a hand and rested it on one of Shisui's kneecaps; initiating touch, however subtle, which he never did. He felt strongly reminded of his baby brother and it sucked the harshness out of him and left an unwilling fondness behind.
"...you're whole. As you can see. You are in no physical distress. You are exactly the same as when you fell asleep with the small exception that you have now had a thought you did not intend to, and it bothers you."
There was a short pause before Shisui looked up, leaned forward, and pecked his lips.
"That is true."
(And braced for whatever overzealously negative response was to come.)
But Itachi did not move. He remained as he had been, and except for the slightest blush, which Shisui could barely make out in the dark, he did nothing.
"What is real, Shisui."
"I'm unsure, Itachi-kun. Am I a man in Japan, dreaming he is in Nevada. Or am I a man in Nevada, dreaming he is in Japan."
Itachi studied him for a moment, seeming to take the question into deep consideration.
"Assuming that you have affected my reality," he said after a second, "and that which I percieve to be real, and assuming you are real in and of yourself, rather than a figment of my own imagination, evidence would seem to be indicative of the former scenario."
"And if I was a figment?"
"I doubt my own creative faculties have such ability to create something so far-fetched as you, Shisui."
"If I was a figment, it wouldn't matter if I kissed you. You would agree."
"Do we assess the possibility of figmentation based upon that supposed figmentation's degree of agreeability? Because in that case...well, supposing that you find me to be, the majority of the time, disagreeable, and that you find the landscape of what we are assuming to be your dreams disagreeable, wouldn't that suggest that nothing is real at all, for you?"
Shisui scooted forward and kissed him again, holding him still with a hand at the back of his neck, digging into his mussed hair. "If nothing is real for me, that makes my plane of existence a blank slot, a figment in and of itself, which gardens the thought of what makes you and I so different so that one of us may not exist but one of does." He tilted Itachi's head back and sucked chastely at his bottom lip, eyes open and seeming abnormally large and frighteningly bright for an Uchiha. "And the answer to that inquiry is what, my sweetest love?"
Itachi's chest flooded with a warmth that tangled badly with his instinctive avoidance thereof, pulling his face back abruptly so that the unfamiliar tug at his mouth intensified before it stopped. It tingled with hot electricity long after, and he reached up to rub at it, self-conscious in a way that seemed sudden. He eyed him, suspiciousness sinking back into him, seeming to assess how dangerously close he had allowed him to get.
"...cogito ergo sum," he said, after a moment. "Je pense donc je suis."
Shisui nodded and kissed his swelling lip.
"Correct. I think, therefore I am."
"Don't kiss me."
"I can't promise that."
"Shisui."
"No, I can't promise that." He spoke with a more serious, almost earnest tone, slipping off of the chair completely and onto his bed with him. "And don't make me, it's a cruelty and injustice both to you and to me."
"There is nothing cruel or unjust about it."
He let out a frustrated sigh, reaching out to rub at Itachi's browline and temple with his thumbs. "It is. It's to me because I very much want to kiss you and you're deliberately and without remorse keeping me from the thing that I want most, and it's such a little thing. And it's an injustice to you because you want it very much, almost as much as I do, but you've brainwashed yourself into believing that you, in fact, don't want it. And that this is all, in fact, completely nonconsensual. When you want to touch me and like it when I touch you. You tell yourself that you hate it because you know your father would." He rubbed slowly into the crease between each of his eyebrows. "But you like it. And so I wish you would let me. Because it would simplify everything."
Itachi's brow creased softly beneath the pad of his thumb.
"That's preposterous. Simplify, this sort of behavior begets the exact opposite. How do you suppose this for even a moment simplifies our relationship?" He was calmer, though; not irate so much as beleaguered. His voice remained quiet and even, although Shisui could tell by his eyes he was attempting to mentally dissect him, his actions and his motives. "There is nothing about this that inspires simplicity -- and for that matter, I don't see what--" He paused, then, his brow creasing further.
"...do you truly believe that my preferences are in any way linked to my father."
"I know they are."
"You're wrong." Itachi was giving him the strangest look. "And I have no idea what elicited such a thought-- Would you please examine my life. Shisui. My father hates any number of things, primarily because he is an emotional infant obsessed with maintaining the illusion of dominance and control over his presumed domain and everything therein. You. For instance, are someone whom my father hates. You, with whom I have been friends for the vast majority of my life. Psychology. For instance, is something my father hates. My social inabilities are an example. My lack of interest in women is a growing irritation of his.
"And what do I care about any of that. It should be quite obvious that I indulge him only on the pretense of remaining where I can do the most good. Shisui. I am not a product of indoctrination."
"Yet you refuse to let me kiss you because he's in the house."
"I refuse to let you kiss me because I dislike it."
"Is that so."
"It is," Itachi said, slowly, examining him.
"Really."
"How many times must I say it."
"At least once more."
"I suppose this is where you kiss me dramatically and change my mind."
"How did you know?"
But it wasn't that dramatic; Shisui leaned forward, calm as if he'd invented kissing, the hands that had been massaging his skull moving into his hair and brushing over his lips slowly, not quite testingly but to get him used to the idea. Itachi shuddered, mouth parting without his meaning it, pulses of electricity moving down his scalp. It was adorably stereotypical, but Shisui purred in delight, sucking his lower lip but trying not to press him too much or rush him into anything he actually might not want. He was hating this, having to convince him of everything; A, it made him feel like a sexual predator when he knew he wasn't, B, it made him doubt everything he did which was not a feeling he was familiar with, and C, he hated rejection. Everyone did.
Even Itachi.
Shisui kissed him slowly back into the wall, so that his back sloped, shoulderblades pressing into the cool surface, hands hanging uselessly at his sides. His hair, which had still been tied back, since Itachi disliked having it in his face, came loose under Shisui's fingers, and settled along his neck and shoulders in inky, salacious tendrils. He shuddered with delight, the room painfully silent except with the soft 'pop's of clinging skin being pulled apart, and for a moment, Shisui nearly understood Itachi's fear. Fear of what was wrong, because Itachi was buying into that, despite genuinely believing he wasn't. That incest was wrong, and likely homosexuality, and fear of the unknown is asking for a knife in the chest. Shisui understood him for a moment, just one, before he shook off the empathy syndrome and rubbed him thumbs over his cheekbones, in the tension underneath his eyes, seated loosely between his legs and running his tongue so-so slowly into his mouth.
He felt Itachi twitch, hand flying out to settle against his collarbone, as if to press him back, but it was obvious he was too late to think enough to stop him and there was no strength in his hands. His mouth pulsed slightly, teeth skimming the edge of his tongue.
Shisui shivered delightedly, sucking his lips and moving his hands slowly down his back, trying not to disturb him to the point of immediate rejection, but with Itachi, anything was a catalyst as long as he was given enough time to think. He ran his tongue under the points of his teeth, the muscle never cutting but the sensation - in and of itself - wholly unusual. He let his hand rest at his (extremely) narrow, nonexistent waist, the other still holding him still at the back of his skull, watching him silently and grinding into his hips. Itachi jolted softly beneath him, the tendonsof his fingers tightening at Shisui's neck, a small, sharp noise running between their mouths.
It was too strange -- Itachi felt, distinctly, that he was about to lose himself, that his consciousness was hovering at the end of a great abyss and being tugged by an uncouth summer's breeze, dragged hither and to by something he could not see or control. Their tongues brushed and his stomach twisted to the point of pain.
Shisui rolled his thumb over the point of tension between his eyebrows, rolling into his hips again but still, so slow and never too pushy or too much. Most of this was about conditioning. If he proved to him that they could make out without Fugaku bursting it, make out and have Itachi like it, then Itachi would do it again later. Their tongues twined slowly, the gap enough so Shisui could breathe evenly (though Itachi was rushing it and close to asphyxiating), and he let out a low purr as his cousin returned it. Awkward and uneven, but he did.
It was only a few moments before he began to come into it naturally; always the prodigy, Shisui thought, just as Itachi somehow bent his tongue to guide him into a pocket in his mouth he had not known existed, nestled right along his teeth and the heated inside of his cheek. He moved slowly, lips shivering like a babe's, body silvery and still, seeming like unfamiliar territory beneath Shisui's touch. He thought, perhaps that his best line of defense might be a good offense - an approach in order to best initiate escape, but he could hardly think, hardly breathe, and there was no way for him to process how he might manage to do so.
He knew that to avoid startling him, he should talk him through it. But Shisui didn't, he didn't have the patience for it, an let the hand at his waist fall between his legs, gripping him thickly through the thin material of his pajama pants. (Mou, Itachi-kun. You're darling.)
He started badly, his whole body flinching, his eyes cranking wide open as his fingers tightened to the makings of bruises on his collarbone.
"Mm--"
Shisui rolled his hips and pumped the fist around him, trying to wind him down, kissing him a bit more earnestly, if not distractingly. He mewled into his mouth, so attracted to him that it was starting to get painful, reveling in the quiet of it all, how naive it was. Kissing blindly in the dark, never talking, only breaking for breath, and every breath taken a deep inhale of air before it was lips again. Never overwhelming, never strangling, never too much. Shisui ran his tongue through his mouth, and every time Itachi reacted, every time he kissed him back, let alone initiated contact, Shisui's hand moved faster.
Itachi's breathing hitched, the center of his chest seeming to give inward, bending in at the ribs. His kisses went weak, mouth filling with soft, involuntary noise. His hips jumped, as if to dislodge him, but there was no doing it. Shisui let go of his hair and worked the material down off his hips just enough so that he wasn't getting him off through the fabric (exactly the kind of thing that would irritate Itachi to no end), but he slowed down, kissing him pressingly, waiting for him to respond but his stomach panging with want against the little noise he emitted.
Itachi jumped, the cold on the bare skin of his legs hitting him like water in the face. He spooked, badly, mouth breaking from Shisui's.
The eldest watched him.
"If you tell me to stop, I will not."
Itachi shot him a look, body splayed and lewd, shivering in the dark.
"So please do not tell me to stop."
Shisui leaned forward and kissed him again, slow and closed mouthed, resuming to stroke him slowly and hike his body temperature up again. Back to his comfort level.
Itachi roiled beneath him, body rolling to the side in a vain, half-hearted attempt at escape, hands pressing against Shisui's chest. He relented to his persistent tongue, mouth opening softly to him. His cock twitched in his hand, legs shaking. And for a moment, Shisui stopped - not out of guilt, but to just look at him, to focus his (bad) eyesight in the dark and just watch him. And the only thought that crossed his mind was how unbearably cute he was, and how excruciatingly painful it was going to be to not have sex with him now. But he wasn't. He wasn't going to rush him and psychologically traumatize him, nor was he going to rush him and make him sexually frigid. He shuddered, so wanton, hand moving faster as Itachi's mouth opened and twining his tongue slowly, grinding into him and letting his thumb trace deep circles over the head.
His throat tickled and hummed as Itachi exhaled a moan into his mouth, unwilling, and promptly blushed a deep, swarthy red that drifted as low as his chest, pajama top hanging open, and Shisui squirmed, arousal shaking him to the core, hand pumping him faster just to hear him groan like that again and precum soaking his fist, between his fingers. Itachi writhed, seeming unable to control the movements of his limbs as they spasmed. His breath scattered and he couldn't recollect it for all his efforts, hands pressing at his shoulders and his collarbone, breaking from him with a gasp.
"Shi-- mm..."
Shisui's teeth closed around a path of skin just below his right ear, grinding into him thicker, hand moving faster, well aware that Itachi was getting there because his thighs were shaking so hard they seemed completely independent from the rest of him and he was losing his ability to control. Itachi hated loss of control. Itachi, along with every other human on the planet, liked orgasm. This was conditioning at its absolute finest.
Pavlovian. Almost.
Itachi clenched his legs shut in a vain attempt to deter him and Shisui knocked them open again, soliciting a whine from between his lips and making him pulse with red. He kissed him sweepingly, inadvertently thick but never too much, never more dominating than Itachi wanted, never more than he could handle, tightening his fist and pumping him so thick and so fast he knew Itachi couldn't take much more of it.
He quaked, body shaking and eyes aflutter. His whole self felt alight with something akin to a surreal force, like something lifting him up, heating his face and his skin. Something lit upon his mind and he tore his mouth away, fighting him for a bare moment before he came, terribly soft and quiet between them, eyes rolling back into his head. Shisui pumped him through it, until he was absolutely finished before pulling his hand away, sticky wet with semen that he wiped away onto the sheets, watching him with ox eyes. Itachi's entire figure was shaking slowly in a forced silence, lips pressed together and eyes dazedly closed, and Shisui snorted softly, kissing his forehead.
Itachi's skin jumped, but he lay motionless, brain buzzing with shock and white noise.
Shisui pecked his lips, letting go of him entirely and sitting back to exhale. There was a little halo of sweat at his forehead and his arm was sore, which was a bit of a pain because he would have to go back to his room and jerk off if he was ever going to sleep again. He couldn't even imagine sleeping, regardless, and couldn't stop rolling the fluid over between his fingers. Itachi's. He let out a soft sigh and stood up, kissing him again, closed-mouthed and so chaste.
"...goodnight. Cara mia."