Chapter Text
Officially, the Uchiha have married within their clan for as long as any of their members can recall for one specific purpose: to keep the bloodline pure. Considering the Sharingan was consistently their greatest strength in protecting themselves from the rest of the world, the idea of their power faltering was a terrifying prospect. Given that their clan has been churning out prodigy after prodigy with an alarming regularity, it’s shockingly hard to argue with the logic of their ancestors.
That said, Shisui has a few unofficial theories for why the practice became so widespread. The first is that, due to their less than stellar status in Konoha for the last few generations, the idea of bringing any outsiders into the fold and risking the safety and sanctity of their traditions in the process was ludicrous at best. Even now, when their standing is relatively stable and they’re allowed to achieve basic milestones like owning their own property and not getting murdered by the government, the Uchiha remain a secretive people. Honestly, the elders are so freakishly tight-lipped that even Shisui feels like an outsider in this family sometimes.
(This alienation has absolutely nothing to do with the time he came dangerously close to weaponizing his clan's most revered technique against them. No way, definitely not.)
Shisui’s second theory honestly ties a little bit into the first. Because with all the hardships the Uchiha have gone through, all the violence and persecution and suffering, he has a hard time imagining finding any sort of real connection within anyone outside of their family. Only another Uchiha, born and raised under the weight of the same brutal dynasty, could truly understand what it was like to move through the world as they did. Deep down, he suspects it was the first reason he found himself drawn to Itachi, pulled into the younger boy’s orbit the moment he saw a glimpse of his own soul hidden within Itachi’s wide, red eyes.
But, despite the plethora of squishy feelings he now carries in his heart courtesy of Itachi and his not-so-secret desire to spend the rest of his life with the man, Shisui’s not exactly keen on his people’s idea of marriage. Ever since he was a boy he’s dreaded weddings, hated the lengthy, tedious vow process and all but slept through the fire-burning and hand-bindings and literal bloodletting (yet another reason not to let outsiders into their business–it was freakishly difficult to spin ritual bloodletting into something not creepy). The sensation of wishing he was having his fingernails pulled out in Ibiki’s torture basement rather than subject himself to hours of making smalltalk with a swarm of aunts trying to convince him to marry their daughters has only worsened as he’s gotten older. Now more than ever, the reality that he’ll one day have to marry to maintain the Uchiha’s grand legacy itches beneath his skin, burning like his clan’s trademark chakra pattern.
Rather than admit any of that, when pressed to explain why he hates weddings, Shisui decides to settle for whining instead. “You’re very sure we can’t find a way to get out of this?” he asks, not for the first time, as on an otherwise unremarkable summer night he and Itachi cross through the village’s heart to reach the compound for the third Uchiha union of the year thus far. “You couldn’t say I’m on a mission or that–I don’t know, I died?”
From beside him, Itachi snorts and replies, “A lie that would quickly unravel the second you stepped foot into town, suddenly and miraculously alive again.”
Twisting to avoid a group of off-duty and very drunk chunin stumbling out of a bar he’s had more than a few rough visits to himself, Shisui counters, “See, that’s where you’re wrong. If I play my cards right, I could take this charade so far I convince people I’m the savior of humankind, which means I’d be so cool and important I’d never have to attend another wedding ever again.” Winking, he leans closer to Itachi and adds, “Play your cards right and I might take you along with me.”
Standing just a little too deep in Itachi’s personal space, Shisui catches the scent of soap lingering on his skin from his bath earlier in the evening, along with the sight of a few strands of hair escaping from the tight braid he’d meticulously tied together. Back at home, it’d given him a curious sense of heartbreak to watch Itachi pull on the layers of the kimono he saved for clan ceremonies and wonder what kind of groom he might make. Now though, Shisui’s just charmed by the cut of Itachi’s smirk, his features amused in the golden light from the lanterns hanging all around them, and set asides the stirring traces of weepiness when Itachi retorts, “I think I’ll take my chances.”
For all of Shisui’s complaining, the truth is that he could get out of this shindig all on his own if he wanted to. Sure, it’d earn him a stern talking to from Mikoto and somehow even more glowering disapproval from her already glowering and disapproving husband, but Shisui could find a way to swing it. It’s a testament to how pathetically whipped for Itachi he is after two years of whatever the hell their relationship is that he’ll subject himself to the agony of an Uchiha wedding just to spend a little more time with him–an opportunity that, in the last few months, has become so rare it’s now something of a luxury. But that’s just another secret Shisui intends to take to his grave.
Even though they now have the freedom to come and go as they please, a majority of the Uchiha have decided to remain within the walls of their former prison. Like any other creature nearly hunted to the brink of extinction, his family very much follows the theory of safety in numbers. That in mind, Shisui’s not surprised to see that the streets of the compound are already filled with guests and the air is heavy with a combination of incense, wedding bouquets, and fried food, the latter being pretty much the only thing Shisui likes about these gatherings. By the time they finally reach the center of the compound and set foot on the main family estate, Shisui’s ingested enough takoyaki he’s almost accepting of the night’s main event–at least, right up until Fugaku in all his previously noted glowering, disapproving glory strolls up to drag Itachi away, no doubt to force him into various clan-heir duties and also just to get him away from Shisui.
Unfortunately, that will prove to be something of a theme tonight.
*
In the end, despite Shisui’s pissing and moaning, the ceremony ends up being pretty tolerable–blood, bindings, and burning shit aside, at least. It’s easy to kneel in place and keep from yawning as two distant relatives he barely knows (who also probably barely know each other) pledge to spend their lives together because their parents have decided the union is profitable enough to their respective bloodlines. Truthfully, the whole experience is almost worth it to see Sasuke actually yawning as he stands between his mother and brother and the petulant face he pulls when Mikoto gives him The Look that clearly communicates he’s in for a scolding the second they’re not in public.
Of course, looking at Sasuke means looking at Itachi–proud, noble, practically the portrait of a responsible and dutiful son as he stands by the altar and watches his father pass the happy couple’s sentence–and just like that, Shisui’s back to feeling like shit about the whole affair.
Blessedly, once all the pomp and circumstance has passed, all that’s left to do is party, a part of the wedding process Shisui has traditionally been very skilled at. That’s yet another reason why Fugaku’s never been too keen on him, because back in the day, when Shisui wasn’t flirting his way through the Uchiha gene pool, he was usually spending most receptions sneaking out the back with only Itachi and multiple bottles of liquor for company. At twenty-eight, he’s old enough to actually drink in the company of his clan and mature enough to not pass the time trying to hook up with whoever’s willing to give him the time of day, so Fugaku can stop giving him that fucking stink eye from across the room, actually. (If anything, the old man owes him a favor considering he’s plucked booze from Sasuke’s stupid little hands multiple times already and has gotten nothing but the kid’s wet cat yowling in return for his heroics.)
Since he’s resolved to be on his best behavior, all that’s really left to do is stuff his face and dodge the army of women who are very eager to secure his hand in marriage. Honestly, if Shisui knew that being the most skilled Uchiha shinobi of his generation was going to lead to fucking dowry discussions of all things, he might have quit while he was ahead. But if there’s anything that manages to make the situation worse, it’s the knowledge that he’s hardly the most eligible bachelor currently present.
For his part, Itachi looks perfectly composed and polite despite the crowd of potential fiancées surrounding him, each other vying for his attention and giggling at jokes that–knowing Itachi’s brand of humor–they probably don’t find funny. Yet Shisui can’t bring himself to be mad at the situation; at the end of the day they’re all just playing the same familiar game of family expectations while trying to come out on top in the process. Having spent a good chunk of his life giving up various pieces of his flesh and his soul for this clan, he can’t begrudge them for doing exactly as they’ve been told, not when he's still walking the path of sacrifice and loyalty that was carved into his bones by his parents when he was a boy.
More than anything, he just feels jealous. Jealous that a bunch of people who don’t know a single thing about Itachi except his excellent pedigree and his pretty face can pursue him so openly. Jealous that there’s not a single bit of fear or shame in the way they touch his arm and grin at him. Jealous that, if Fugaku plays his cards right, one of them might stand a chance at winning the biggest prize their clan has to offer.
Though they haven’t had a chance to actually speak since the ceremony concluded, occasionally Itachi looks across the room, features pained, and catches Shisui’s eye. Shisui just hopes he looks less queasy than he feels when he smiles back.
Perhaps the only decent part of the reception is that, as the old adage says, misery loves company. Halfway through the third dinner course, his senses alert him to a presence appearing over his shoulder. “The vultures descend,” Izumi announces, and this time Shisui’s smile is nothing but natural.
Ever since he and Itachi got serious–or, rather, ever since they admitted to each other they were both very dumb and very serious the entire time they were sleeping together–Shisui’s been pleasantly surprised by how much Izumi has stopped hating him. That and he also finds it deeply funny that, for the majority of their adulthood, she was convinced that Shisui was screwing Itachi and screwing him over in the process; considering how long it took Shisui to make a move on Itachi, it’s safe to say she was vastly overestimating his intelligence. These days, they’re something between acquaintances and friends, meaning her company is more than welcome in this trying time.
Still, some of his warm and fuzzy feelings dim as one of Itachi’s many admirers moves to link her arm around his, a move Izumi audibly scoffs at. “Can’t say I blame them,” Shisui finally replies, taking a sip of his drink and relishing the burn of it. “Meal’s too good to pass up.”
His tone sounds just bitter enough that Izumi clearly catches on to what he’d prefer not to say. Leaning a little closer to him, she says, speaking softly so one of their gossiping relatives won’t catch on, “Well, last time I checked, he was taken, so none of it matters, anyway.”
“Sure,” Shisui agrees, taking note of Itachi’s even expression as he listens to yet another anecdote, “for now.”
Izumi pulls back to level him with the full weight of her frown as she asks, “What does that mean?”
Shisui doesn’t know what to tell her. He doesn’t know how to explain this feeling to Izumi, because unlike him she isn’t in love with Itachi anymore and even if she was at least she’d get to be in the running to become the next Mrs. Uchiha. He doesn't know how to say that, even after Itachi promised to stay with him, to find a way to secure the Hokage's hat without compromising his personal attachments, there's still a part of Shisui waiting for Itachi to wise up and realize this whole gamble was nothing more than a very sweet pipe dream.
Instead of revealing any of that emotionally vulnerable nastiness, he simply says, “It means that all good things must come to an end, and also that Fugaku would gut and skin me like a rabbit if he heard this conversation.”
Regrettably, that only serves to make the concern scrawled across Izumi’s lovely face worse. “Shisui–” She begins, which is about when he decides to pull the plug on this conversation entirely.
“Hey, is that your mother over there?” Shisui asks, pointing to a woman with a set of thick curls whose small height is tempered by how intently she’s scanning the crowd for her wayward daughter. Pushing his luck even further, he adds, “Why, it looks like she has a very handsome cousin standing next to her I bet she’s just dying to introduce you to!”
Her cheeks immediately flushing a horrified and unflattering pink, Izumi snaps back, “Ugh, fine! Consider me gone.” Before she makes her great escape, however, she reaches out and takes Shisui’s hand, squeezing it just once. When a puzzled Shisui looks at her, the mortification is mostly gone and that same unbearable worry is back in its place. “Just take care of him, okay?” she murmurs, and Shisui’s so punched in the gut by the request that all he can do is nod mutely in return as Izumi dips out of sight entirely.
Even after she’s gone, Izumi’s words continue to echo through his mind, the sound ringing loud and clear despite the music and laughter all around him. This time, when he takes a sip of his drink, it doesn’t manage to wash the sour taste from his mouth.
*
Three hours into The Wedding Reception That Will Not Fucking End, it becomes clear that the only way to free both himself and Itachi from the Uchiha’s clutches is lying.
Though he hasn’t actually gotten plastered at a family function since he was seventeen and finally realized the hot, churning pit in his gut was the sensation of being in (seemingly) unrequited love with his closest friend, this fact has not stopped him from faking drunkenness at various events over the years to get out of them faster. Tonight, his technique works as well as ever; within minutes of Shisui pulling his personal trump card, Itachi is gently excusing himself from his (somehow impossibly larger) army of admirers to escort Shisui out of the compound before he can cause more problems to himself and others.
Sure, the display earns him a glare from Fugaku along with a glance heavy with motherly fretting from Mikoto, but it’s worth it to feel cool air on his skin again and have Itachi standing at his side once more.
They make it about a block and a half before Itachi takes Shisui’s arm–which he’d thrown over his shoulders the moment he resigned himself to being Shisui’s accomplice–and pulls it off him with a shove. Though most of the lanterns lit earlier have burnt away and the night sky is significantly blacker than they left it, the light of the full moon puts Itachi’s annoyance on full blast as he asks, “Exactly how often do you plan to keep pulling the same childish stunt?”
Shrugging, Shisui straightens out of his feigned stumbling gait and replies, “It’s like training a dog: feed it enough treats and it’ll keep performing the same tricks for you.”
“You made that comparison, not me.” Despite the sharp retort, it’s not long before Itachi melts in the face of Shisui’s characteristic absurdity. It’s been like this ever since they were kids, back when Shisui would say and do pretty much anything in the hopes of getting even the smallest of smiles from Itachi in return. Even when he was a boy Itachi was far too serious, his mouth curved in a near permanent grimace as the weight of the world hung from his neck like a noose. So Shisui, a person just as aware of his problems but much more committed to finding ways to hide from them, had practically made his life’s mission to remind Itachi there were things like fun and joy in the world worth living for.
Just as he did back then, Itachi looks painfully young as he shakes his head in an attempt to hide the grin creeping across his face, and Shisui feels his heart physically clench in his chest. It’s amazing how, with just that one expression, some of his earlier moodiness manages to clear.
Right now, as they walk along the village’s main street, there’s hardly another soul around. With the streetlights already dimmed and most of the businesses already shuttered, the only company they have are the stars above them and the bugs in the grass, and–look. Shisui’s spent plenty of time cutting people down for Konoha, so he knows how to appropriately check his surroundings. That’s why, the second he’s sure the coast is clear, he reaches out and grabs Itachi’s hand.
Almost immediately, Itachi tenses in his grasp, gaze cutting back to him with a single eyebrow raised, which–fair. Even though he might pretend to be flighty and foolish to get out of clan meetings and other unnecessary bullshit he doesn’t deem worthy of his time and energy, Shisui’s not actually stupid. He’s just as aware of the precarious nature of their relationship as Itachi is, which is why he’s spent the last two years walking the tightest of ropes trying to keep their shit under wraps. (For the record, the time he blew Itachi in a public restroom is an outlier and does not count towards the sum of his efforts.)
So he knows exactly the lecture he’s in for when Itachi says, carefully, “Shisui–”
For just this once, though, he wants to be a little bit reckless. “In case you’ve forgotten, you swore an oath to get me home safely,” Shisui reminds him, practically batting his eyelashes as he continues, “Anything could happen if you let go, Itachi. I could get lost in the woods or assassinated by rival shinobi or–”
“Enough already,” Itachi cuts in as he laces their fingers together. “I’ll hold your hand as long as you’re quiet about it.”
To that, Shisui merely reaches up with his free hand and mimes zipping his mouth shut. True to his word, Itachi doesn’t let go the entire walk home.
*
Since the beginning of their friendship, there’s always been something selfish about the way Shisui cares for Itachi.
When they were younger, Shisui took a very specific pleasure in being Itachi’s only real friend. It meant something that, out of all the people they knew, only Shisui was trusted with Itachi's fears and doubts, his laughter and his teasing. As they grew older, a completely irrational worry took root in Shisui that one day, another person would come along and supplant his place in Itachi’s life. (Notably, Shisui does not direct any of this anxiety towards Sasuke, the person who really matters the most to Itachi, mostly because he’s known that shit was a losing game ever since the moment he met Itachi.) It was a little terrifying, the possessiveness that would rise up from his gut whenever he noticed a wandering eye or a flirtatious smirk directed Itachi’s way, and the roots of his darker impulse only seemed to spread further when Itachi admitted that Shisui was the only person he’d ever truly wanted to touch him. Really, Shisui’s not proud of just how much he did not hate it when Itachi admitted Shisui was the only person he ever slept with.
That in mind, it’s not surprising that, after a night of barely even speaking to Itachi even while spending hours standing in the same damn room, the lingering warmth of Itachi’s palm against his own has Shisui ready to run right back for more.
The thing is, it’s not like he moves through life actively looking for ways to be a sexual deviant. It’s just that spending even a second of his time in Itachi’s company conveniently provides him with ample opportunity to be on his worst behavior.
It’s worth noting again that, as of late, Shisui’s spent much of his time very much not in Itachi’s company. Between Shisui getting drafted into mission after mission and Itachi getting tugged in twenty different diplomatic directions in his mad dash to the Hokage’s chair, Shisui can count the times they’ve actually sat down to have dinner together recently on one sad, lonely hand. Truthfully, it’s the most they’ve been separated since he first kissed Itachi in this very spot nearly two years ago, and Shisui’s not so tough that he won’t admit that he’s missed Itachi. Missed the wry curl of his smile when he’s feigning annoyance at a remark Shisui’s made specifically to get under his skin, missed his weight on the other side of a bed that feels too large when Itachi’s not there to share it. Missed how somehow the world around seems to shine a little brighter, how the regrets and the worries in his own mind seem to dim, with Itachi at the center of his vision like his own personal sun.
So, yeah. With all that in mind, Shisui doesn’t think he can be blamed for wanting to keep Itachi close, even if his technique might seem a bit… unconventional to the outside observer. Actually, he thinks he deserves a little credit for how long he refrained from pinning Itachi against various surfaces tonight in the hopes of seducing him.
With how finely years his spent in the ANBU meat grinder have tuned Itachi’s instincts, Shisui’s sure his companion senses the moment he enters the kitchen even if he doesn’t react. At this point they’ve spent so much time in each other’s lives that the flow of their respective chakras is completely unremarkable, just another sign of how deeply they’ve become entwined. It isn’t until Shisui’s standing directly behind him and running a hand up Itachi’s back that he actually pauses in his task of washing the dishes Shisui has said he’d take care of for the last three days straight.
“Can I help you with something?” Itachi asks, tone wry as Shisui presses closer to him. Shisui simply hums in response, preferring to reach up and untangle the braid Itachi is inexplicably still wearing even though he’d swapped his fancy robes for ratty pajamas the second they’d walked through the door. After a minute of fighting with the unexpectedly complicated knotwork Itachi’s managed to fashion, Shisui finally manages to get each bit undone. Itachi’s hair is thicker and curlier than usual as it falls around his shoulders, and it feels even softer as Shisui twists his fingers in the strands and pulls, knowing exactly the kind of effect it’s going to have.
Shuddering against him, Itachi manages to kill the faucet before Shisui catches him by the hips and pins him against the counter. This close Shisui can feel the faint tremble through his frame and the quickness of his breath, to say nothing of the hammer of his heartbeat as it beats against Shisui’s own chest.
Still, it wouldn’t be sex with Itachi there wasn't some light bullying involved. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re completely insufferable?” Itachi mutters, his irritation somewhat dimmed by his breathlessness, though he makes absolutely zero effort to get out of Shisui’s grasp. Frankly, he seems perfectly content to remain wedged between Shisui’s body and the edge of the kitchen sink–which, given how ready Shisui is to get both of their clothes off, works just fine for him.
“Only everyone I’ve ever met,” Shisui replies, with unfailing cheerfulness. The words ghost across the hard knob of Itachi’s spine–exposed along with an indecent amount of shoulder and collarbone by the old worn sweater that Itachi stole from him five months after they began sleeping together–and Shisui grins at the way Itachi reflexively shivers against him yet again.
As expected, for all his complaining Itachi does pretty much the opposite of trying to escape and responds by covering Shisui’s hands with his own and grinding himself against Shisui’s already hard dick. He definitely doesn’t protest as Shisui momentarily pulls free to tug Itachi’s sweatpants off his hips before kicking off his own boxers. And he’s very amenable to banishing the chill brought on by exposure to the late evening air by spreading his legs to slip Shisui’s cock between his bare thighs, an act that sends an electric current scorching through Shisui’s bloodstream like he’s been hit by fucking lightning.
In hindsight, it made perfect sense that someone as prim and proper as Itachi would be so responsive in this particular environment, but Shisui prizes his reactions all the same. Having spent a mortifying amount of his life trying his best not to imagine his best friend in such a scenario, it’s all the more rewarding to be reminded of how much Itachi wants him.
Shisui’s hands settle on the curve of Itachi’s waist, fingertips idly stroking the sharp points of his hipbones as he starts to fuck between his legs. As always, it’s the smallest of details that start to pull Shisui apart: the whites of Itachi’s knuckles as he reaches out to clutch the counter’s tile, the sweat-slick strands of his hair that frame his gorgeous face, the absolute silence in Shisui’s home– their home–save for the loud, filthy sound of their bodies meeting one another. (Of course, the situation is made even better that, unlike the majority of the planet’s population, he has a way to capture these little pieces of their life together and preserve them for later inspection.) It’s been so long since he actually got to keep Itachi in one place, to keep him close, that Shisui knows he’s going to finish embarrassingly fast, but fuck it. At least he’ll drag Itachi down with him.
In mere minutes the glass of the window in front of them starts to fog, a fact that doesn’t escape Itachi’s keen eye even in his current state, and Shisui can practically feel his friend’s scowl. “If you’re so determined to do this here, can you at least pull the curtains closed?” he asks, though his ire is significantly softened by the fact that he’s practically moaning around the question; it was probably a dirty trick to start jerking Itachi off halfway through his sentence, but Shisui never claimed to play fair when it came to Itachi.
“Nah,” he counters, thumbing the slit of Itachi’s cock and grinning as Itachi’s thighs tighten around him. “I like them the way they are.”
“And why is that?”
Glancing up, Shisui catches sight of their reflections and watches how his own smile goes sharp around the edges. Even through the smudged glass he can still see the yellow tint of his neighbor's porchlight and the soft teal silk pulled across their own windows. Though he lives in one of the village’s less-populated districts, it’s not as if the area is completely unoccupied. There’s still a handful of people in close proximity who could catch them like this, who could see Itachi like this, and that’s exactly the point.
“Because I want everyone to know that you belong to me,” he murmurs, delighted that he can see how the comment manages to worsen Itachi’s blush, turning his normally fair skin into a delicious shade of red.
From the very moment he realized his not-so-friendly feelings for Itachi, an urge sparked within Shisui to keep Itachi for himself. The truth was that Shisui often wondered when it would become too much for Itachi, when the strength of his all-consuming desire would finally force Itachi to walk away from him. He wonders exactly that now, as he lowers his head and presses his lips against the frantic pulse of Itachi’s throat and waits for Itachi to pull away.
Instead, Itachi leans back to expose the long line of his neck–the gesture pliant, almost submissive–and Shisui nearly comes right then and there. “Like I said,” he mutters, reaching up to wind his fingers through Shisui’s hair, urging him forward as Shisui’s teeth sink into his skin, “insufferable.”
“Mm, you don’t mind it,” Shisui argues, watching Itachi’s reflection as his eyes fall close and he starts to truly unravel. “Because you want people to see it too.”
To that, Itachi has no clever retort, merely digs his nails into Shisui’s scalp as Shisui picks up the pace and starts jerking him off in earnest. Itachi always likes it best like this, when Shisui’s grip around his cock is brutally tight and the movement of his wrist is almost painfully fast. So it’s no surprise when, hardly a minute later, every muscle in Itachi’s carefullly trained form seizes up and he comes all over Shisui’s fingers and the cabinets in front of him. “That’s it,” Shisui encourages, speaking gently against the shell of his ear as he works Itachi through it, “take everything you need.”
“Shisui,” Itachi all but whines, and the sound is all it takes to send Shisui over the edge, too, spilling between Itachi’s thighs as he wraps an arm around Itachi’s waist to hold him in place. In the blink of an eye, all of his hang-ups about marriage and Uchiha politics and the all-consuming fear of losing Itachi forever disappear in a blip, completely overwhelmed by the unmatched pleasure being with Itachi like this always brings him. By the time he’s finished, he’s shaking nearly as hard as Itachi and breathing like he’s fought his way through a bloody battlefield and managed to walk out without a scratch.
With his need to engage in a deranged semi-public mating ritual sated (for now, at least), Shisui sighs and lets his forehead rest against Itachi’s still trembling shoulder. Something far more tender settles over him at the fact that Itachi, a person infamous for his legendary fussiness, lets Shisui hold him despite the disgusting amount of bodily fluids covering them both. That peace is very quickly broken, however, the moment Itachi glances up and sees something that previously escaped his attention.
“Seriously?” Shrugging Shisui off of him, Itachi spins to face him for the first time since their mad dash to orgasm began. With Itachi’s expression so close, Shisui doesn’t miss how his anger is punctured by obvious concern. “If you keep using your Sharingan so recklessly you’re going to go blind.”
“With the kind of life we lead I’m gonna go blind no matter what,” Shisui reasons, which only serves to deepen his Itachi's frown, but Shisui at least has the decency to turn his Sharingan off as he adds, “‘Least this guarantees it’ll happen while I’m doing something I actually enjoy.”
“How sweet,” Itachi replies flatly.
“What can I say?” Shisui retorts with a wink. “I’m a romantic.”
The pronouncement is just ridiculous enough to tame Itachi’s temper, and in seconds he’s favoring Shisui with an expression that’s equal parts disappointed and fond. That’s about all the warning Shisui gets before Itachi cups his face in both hands and leans up to bring their lips together. Even after all the kisses they’ve shared before, somehow each one manages to feel like the very first one. He still manages to feel the same nervous energy humming inside of his head and the same stuttery beat to his heart, and yet again Shisui wonders how every managed to kiss so many fucking people that weren’t Itachi before he finally got his hands on the one person he actually wanted.
It’s the lightest of touches, just a gentle press of Itachi’s mouth against his, before Itachi draws back and allows Shisui to get a good look at his face. His features are soft and relaxed, adoration plain in his gaze, and though Shisui’s never felt particularly worthy of Itachi’s affection he’s far too hungry to ever turn away from it.
“All the more reason for you to prove your devotion to me by cleaning up the mess you’ve made,” Itachi finally tells him, and Shisui beams before reaching to take one of Itachi’s hands into his own grasp.
“Your wish is my command, Hokage-sama,” Shisui vows, tone as grave as he can make it, before he bends to kiss the scarred, callused skin of Itachi’s knuckles. In seconds Itachi’s cheeks are flushed fever-bright all over again, as if out of everything they’ve done in the last ten minutes it’s Shisui’s chivalry that proves to be the most scandalous. Without even dignifying Shisui’s antics with a response, Itachi yanks himself out of Shisui’s clutches and stomps to the bathroom with as much pissy grace as a guy in his current state can muster.
Some of Shisui’s good humor fades the moment the bathroom door closes, separating them once more. For all the ways they’re similar, Shisui’s never been ignorant of all the bits and pieces that make them different. At his core, Itachi’s kind even when he doesn’t need to be and tender-hearted even when he knows he absolutely shouldn’t be. It’s a trait Shisui’s always admired in his friend, the unshakeable goodness that forms the backbone of Itachi’s very character and the faith he has in his ideals. Because even with all the natural-born charisma Shisui managed to harness to shape public opinion of him for the better, deep down he’s always known he wasn’t a terribly decent person.
That distinct lack of decency was the reason he had let jealousy swallow his loyalty and caused his first best friend’s death in the process. It was the reason he had resented his parents for their failing health and the unbearable burden his family name had placed upon his young shoulders. And it was the reason he hadn’t rejected Itachi like he knew he should have, why he continued to place himself into Itachi’s path though such a decision risked preventing Itachi from being the person–the Hokage–the world needed to be.
Eventually, Itachi’s going to wake up to the type of guy Shisui actually is, and on that day he’s probably going to be much happier for it.
That said, Shisui hopes he’s got just a bit more time before that happens.
*
to be continued.