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beachlassNaruto & characters do not belong to me.
Story rated R, probably.
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nezumiko; Itachi and Izumo
Kisame was fishing. Willow rod, thin line and coloured fly flipping across the surface of the small river. But it was mid-morning now, and the fish weren’t biting, and he was getting bored. Damn, he hated having a teenager for a partner. Especially a murderous late bloomer. He cast again, practicing just the right hook with his wrist, and steadfastly ignored the sounds from the stand of sumach.
Itachi had been raised with single minded focus. A world narrowed to the pursuit of duty and perfection, and he’d followed the path to a conclusion that was inevitable to him and shocking to others. Soaked in blood and freed from duty, he’d left his family dead and his village behind years ago.
And yet the world and it’s politics were not so big that he could avoid the Leaf forever. Each time, he was bewildered by the pricking of attention that the oddest things drew.
Kicking his brother into a wall, and smelling the kind of ramen he couldn’t find outside the walls.
Calculating how much explosive Deidara would need to bring down the Hokage’s monument, and remembering the Third’s seal on his ANBU application.
Running into a chunnin patrol, and recognizing dark hair falling over one eye. Grim and amused smirk curling a lip. Itachi had been 13 when he left the village – old enough to crave the approval of a few of his instructors, approval that made him flush. Young enough to not recognize why he wanted it. What he wanted.
But now he was older, and years with a partner who had a preference for a certain type of brothel had given him enough knowledge to recognize the clench at the sight of his former administration instructor.
One flick of his fingers had been enough to keep the patrol alive, although he’d be putting up with comments as sharp as Kisame’s teeth for weeks. Izumo managed to put himself in front of the rest of the squad, and Itachi knew that Izumo should be scared, but saw nothing but amused disapproval.
“Out on patrol?” Itachi asked, unaware that he was betraying interest by talking to people that ought to be dead already.
Izumo ignored the question and asked instead “Is the paperwork easier in Akatsuki?” He flicked his eyes up and beyond Itachi’s shoulders to address the barely human looking blue figure behind. “Or do you do the admin work? He was bad enough in ANBU to be given a tutor.”
Not intimidated. Not even attention fixed on him. From someone who knew him. It was intolerable. He opened his mouth to retort, and flushed when Izumo’s gaze went to his lips. “We’re, uh, leaving.” he said, flushing harder at the amused edge to Kisame’s chakra.
Kisame flicked the fly over the water, dancing temptation, and waiting for a bite. The fish would surface, mouth open, unable to resist the flash and beauty, and death would follow. After three months of trailing their presence through this stretch of forest, they’d caught up with the same Leaf patrol squad a handful of times. And this morning, just before dawn, Itachi had managed to catch the squad leader on his own. Former instructor, Kisame’s ass. At least it wasn’t one of the more dangerous jounin Itachi had fixated on.
He flicked the cast over the water, grey cloud reflected in the ripples.
Sheltered in the autumn red leaves of the sumach, Itachi was on his knees. Izumo still wasn’t afraid of him, still was a detail oriented instructor. Itachi scraped his teeth lightly, and got the approval he was craving. “Fuck yes, like that, you little bastard.” Izumo hissed. Scraped again, and a hard hand was on the back of his head. Approval tasted bitter, and ran down his chin.
Story rated R, probably.
Request for
nezumiko; Itachi and IzumoKisame was fishing. Willow rod, thin line and coloured fly flipping across the surface of the small river. But it was mid-morning now, and the fish weren’t biting, and he was getting bored. Damn, he hated having a teenager for a partner. Especially a murderous late bloomer. He cast again, practicing just the right hook with his wrist, and steadfastly ignored the sounds from the stand of sumach.
Itachi had been raised with single minded focus. A world narrowed to the pursuit of duty and perfection, and he’d followed the path to a conclusion that was inevitable to him and shocking to others. Soaked in blood and freed from duty, he’d left his family dead and his village behind years ago.
And yet the world and it’s politics were not so big that he could avoid the Leaf forever. Each time, he was bewildered by the pricking of attention that the oddest things drew.
Kicking his brother into a wall, and smelling the kind of ramen he couldn’t find outside the walls.
Calculating how much explosive Deidara would need to bring down the Hokage’s monument, and remembering the Third’s seal on his ANBU application.
Running into a chunnin patrol, and recognizing dark hair falling over one eye. Grim and amused smirk curling a lip. Itachi had been 13 when he left the village – old enough to crave the approval of a few of his instructors, approval that made him flush. Young enough to not recognize why he wanted it. What he wanted.
But now he was older, and years with a partner who had a preference for a certain type of brothel had given him enough knowledge to recognize the clench at the sight of his former administration instructor.
One flick of his fingers had been enough to keep the patrol alive, although he’d be putting up with comments as sharp as Kisame’s teeth for weeks. Izumo managed to put himself in front of the rest of the squad, and Itachi knew that Izumo should be scared, but saw nothing but amused disapproval.
“Out on patrol?” Itachi asked, unaware that he was betraying interest by talking to people that ought to be dead already.
Izumo ignored the question and asked instead “Is the paperwork easier in Akatsuki?” He flicked his eyes up and beyond Itachi’s shoulders to address the barely human looking blue figure behind. “Or do you do the admin work? He was bad enough in ANBU to be given a tutor.”
Not intimidated. Not even attention fixed on him. From someone who knew him. It was intolerable. He opened his mouth to retort, and flushed when Izumo’s gaze went to his lips. “We’re, uh, leaving.” he said, flushing harder at the amused edge to Kisame’s chakra.
Kisame flicked the fly over the water, dancing temptation, and waiting for a bite. The fish would surface, mouth open, unable to resist the flash and beauty, and death would follow. After three months of trailing their presence through this stretch of forest, they’d caught up with the same Leaf patrol squad a handful of times. And this morning, just before dawn, Itachi had managed to catch the squad leader on his own. Former instructor, Kisame’s ass. At least it wasn’t one of the more dangerous jounin Itachi had fixated on.
He flicked the cast over the water, grey cloud reflected in the ripples.
Sheltered in the autumn red leaves of the sumach, Itachi was on his knees. Izumo still wasn’t afraid of him, still was a detail oriented instructor. Itachi scraped his teeth lightly, and got the approval he was craving. “Fuck yes, like that, you little bastard.” Izumo hissed. Scraped again, and a hard hand was on the back of his head. Approval tasted bitter, and ran down his chin.
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Date: 2007-10-27 12:38 pm (UTC)