Kisame knows it isn't love. He knows it isn't even affection, or lust, it's…something else entirely. A need, for comfort, for warmth, for humanity. And he knows Itachi is deeply in need because he, Kisame, can't offer much of any of those things. He tries, though. He opens his arms to Itachi in the dark, shares his blanket with him, strokes his hair. If he doesn't the Uchiha is cranky in the morning, snappish and cold, distant and cruel. Kisame doesn't care when that anger is turned on an opponent, but he can do without those terrible eyes being turned on him as they travel.

He will never say it out loud but in his own head he is prepared to admit that they scare him shitless, those spinning little discs of pure, destructive power. He has seen Itachi fighting at the highest level with them, seen him disillusion and distract his opponents, rendering even the most powerful useless as he coolly slits their throats or torches the flesh from their bones.

It isn't the sadism that bothers him. Hell, he's sadistic himself. He likes to hear screams as he lays about with Samehada, he enjoys the muffled noises of people drowning in his techniques, but with Itachi it's different. It's somehow…more disturbing.

Even as they rest, Itachi's eyes are still spinning, still scanning, always aware. And they are on him. "Itachi-san?" He asks, affecting unconcern. The Uchiha blinks, then moves. He is all grace as he gets to his feet, a long smooth stream of movement that brings him to Kisame's side. Looking up, the Mist-nin wonders how someone so slim, so delicate and pale and pretty can be so dangerous. So insane. His eyes, set neatly in his face, are cold. How did he get that way?

He knows he'll never ask. Perhaps he doesn't really want to know what made Itachi kill his whole family. Perhaps he would find him more disturbing to be around if he knew.

At any rate, when Itachi sits down, he spreads an arm out, inviting him to use his chest as a pillow. The Uchiha takes him up on the unspoken offer, his ponytail slipping over his shoulder as he bends his body to make it meet with Kisame's. The long hair is another thing that Kisame wonders about. Wouldn't it be more practical to keep it short? He would say it was vanity, but he knows Itachi doesn't concern himself with such trivialities, and even if he did, his ability to discharge his duty would come first. Why, then? Another thing he'll never ask.

He can feel Itachi's cheek through the mesh of his shirt, warm and soft. Flesh, human, somehow words that don't fit with Itachi. And isn't it strange that he should choose someone with such hard, cold skin for comfort? Then again, he doesn't choose. He has no choice. There is no-one else with them to seek comfort from, if comfort really is what Itachi wants. He tries to imagine who Itachi would seek out if he had the choice and finds himself blank. Who, indeed? An old friend? His brother? Certainly not his mother, not any more. Perhaps he was never close to his mother in the first place. Could that be why? But no. It was the whole clan that died.

Apart from Sasuke. Sentimentality, or was Itachi being truthful when he said he wasn't worth killing? He left him alive and invited him to come after him when he was older. A timer? The knowledge that he would be killed, given time? Perhaps in his madness, Itachi had said whatever came into his head. But he never discusses it, and Kisame will not bring the subject up.

Itachi moves, and a cold chain link hitting his skin makes Kisame tense instinctively. It seems to break a spell. Itachi is suddenly sitting up, his back ramrod straight, his eyes fixed on Kisame's, their whirling speeding up, Kisame's heart stopping dead in his chest as he wonders if Itachi is finally going to use the Sharingan against him.

"We need to leave here soon, to get to the Sand in time."

The refined accent and the measured tone both contrive to put Kisame further on his guard. He can't look away, and Itachi doesn't seem to want to. He feels as if he might be sinking into those eyes, feels the world spinning.

The kiss comes as a surprise. Those smooth lips pushed up against his own chapped ones, how did that happen? Why are those slender fingers splayed out on his shoulders, why is Itachi over him, leaning down, looming in close? His hair falls over his shoulder, brushing Kisame's cheek.

Kisame wonders for a second, then grabs Itachi, arms locking around his narrow waist. When Itachi doesn't stop kissing him he rolls, pinning his partner to the floor and assaulting his mouth, aggressive and pushy.

Intoxicated. He kisses Itachi without really knowing why he's doing it, a roiling feeling in his stomach giving way to desire as the body beneath his own moves, squirms, clutches at him. His partner gasps as he wedges a knee between his legs and spreads them further. On purpose, or instinctively? Whatever it is Itachi is reciprocating; hands grasp his backside, pushing it down to create delicious friction that sets Kisame groaning low in the Uchiha's ear.

The first cry is beautiful. Kisame watches Itachi close his eyes and open his mouth as the irresistible noise creeps out, satisfied when brown eyes meet his own a second later. Itachi isn't looking at him any more. He's looking at something beyond Kisame, through Kisame, as his mouth hangs open, noises spilling out as he is undressed, caressed and eventually penetrated.

Is it lust? Does Itachi have it in him to be lustful? No, too carnal, too base, too-

Kisame pulls out gently. He lets go of Itachi, but Itachi's hand is still on his back, the sweat from it stinging the cuts made by desperate nails a few minutes before. The fingers tighten. A question. Kisame answers in the affirmative, laying down beside Itachi on the springy grass and letting him…letting him what? Feel close? Feel safe? Feel protected?

Kisame catches one last glimpse of deep, dark eyes before the familiar red whirl is back. Perhaps Itachi wanted to suspend his Sharingan for a while. Perhaps he wanted some kind of intimacy, whatever it was. Kisame knows that he has no real idea what goes on in Itachi's head, and that he probably never will. But he speculates, as the young Uchiha leans against him, that it's probably best that way.