.

.

Slowly, her eyes adjust to the darkness as she holds up the candle, gently pushing open the door to where Nagato is resting. The rest of the Akatsuki have no idea of Nagato's existence, and Nagato as a consequence spends his days in lonely isolation, chakra rods rising from his body like stalks of asphodel.

"Have you rested?" Konan asks, and she sets the candle down. Slowly, Nagato's eyes crack open. The exertions of the battle earlier had taken a toll on Nagato's body, and even the slightest movement makes him physically exhausted. "Nagato?"

"I am fine." The eyes, which were a brilliant violet bloom, close again; Konan sets the candle down, then shrugs off her cloak, hanging the heavy fabric against the chair beside the bed.

She slips off her shoes and climbs into the bed beside him, settling against his body. The mattress creaks, then groans, caving in the center with their combined weight. In the darkness Konan can just make out the shapes of shadows of the objects in the room: a dresser, a desk. The long curve of chakra snaking up to the statue, looming over them.

She fits snugly into the hollows of his body, letting one arm drape across him side as she leans up against him. His body is frail and thin and made as if underrun with fragile glass, but she is used to the sharp contours and the jutting crests of bone beneath his skin. She lets her fingers idly stroke the ridged edge of his ribcage, a comforting, familiar movement, and Nagato relaxes against her, breathing as if about to fall asleep. He does, and Konan rubs her mouth against the line of his collarbone, nudging his chin with her cheek before closing her eyes.

xXx

.

How long had they been doing this? Konan had begun to lose count. She cannot remember the times before, the lonely, empty nights when she would stare straight up at the ceiling, thinking of Yahiko and trying to remember what it was they were fighting for.

The first night, Konan had come to a decision. Loneliness and isolation had brought her to Nagato's bed, where he was lying sick with the day's earlier efforts. "Konan," Nagato had said, and his eyes widened slightly when she stood in front of him, unzipping her cloak and letting her clothes fall like sheets of paper on the floor.

"What is this?" Nagato had said, and Konan climbed beside him, one hand tentatively touching his chest. "I do not understand."

"Nagato," Konan said, and she let her fingers splay forward, the pads of her fingers tracing the edge of his sternum. "I do not wish to be alone."

And she kissed him. She could sense it, his bewilderment and hesitation, before his eyes closed, letting the kiss deepen. His lips were chapped. He tasted sweet and warm.

xXx

.

Once, she had been in love with Yahiko. Their best friend, the one with the dream. His vision had galvanized a nation, had brought to life a hope that they had kept swallowed deep in their chests, a single streak of light in a land drowning with rain.

But Yahiko was dead, and there were times Konan would look at Pein's face and remember the quiet boy crying in the corner, lank strands of red hair falling over his eyes.

She never tells him she loves him. Her best friend, her only friend, the one who saw her laugh and grow and run in the grass. She doesn't tell him in so many words, and he never says the same, but each night they come together, easing into each other and taking comfort in each other's presence.

Sometimes, when she stands beside Pein, staring out into the throngs of people below her, she'll feel Pein start to inch beside her, and feel the tips of his fingers brush her hand.

xXx

.

He's breathing heavily, eyes closed and mouth slack, and Konan opens her eyes as she works on him, watching the rise and fall of his ribcage, the tensing muscles with each jagged breath. His cock is thick and hard and Konan drags her tongue up the length of his shaft, then takes him into her mouth, sucking him with sure, strong strokes. He makes a noise - a soft, muffled groan - and Konan smiles to herself, knowing she's the only one who's seen him like this, the ghost of the man the Akatsuki know as Pein. She drags her tongue against the ridges of his cock and traces the head of his erection, a salty bubble of wetness beading up at the tip, and she marvels silently at how normal it is, though the rest of him has all but wasted away.

Most nights, he is too weak to make love to her, but Konan doesn't mind. Most nights, she will fellate him and press worshipful kisses against his chest and ribs, touching herself and coming beside him. Some nights, she will climb on top, but it worries her and she is afraid she will hurt him, so she likes it better this way: she will come and he will press hard against her, letting her gasp and shudder against him. It isn't about sex. Though Nagato had originally protested - he cared about her too much, he would not use her needlessly - it becomes more an act of comfort, something as intrinsic and necessary as breathing.

"Konan," Nagato says, and Konan can feel his cock swell and twitch, close to the edge of orgasm, and she takes him deeper into her mouth, obligingly. "Konan. Wait."

His hands drag into her hair, and Konan looks up. He's staring down at her, breathing hard, a fine sheen of sweat covering his brow.

And she understands. Quietly, Konan moves up the length of his body, pressing against him. They're facing each other, lying on their sides, and silently Konan moves to press her core against the hard ridge of his pelvis. He kisses her, one hand cupping her cheek, and she lets out a soft gasp at the feel of his hardness sliding up against her clit. It feels good, and Konan looks up at him, meeting his eyes.

With difficulty, he moves his hand between them and positions himself at her entrance. She's wet and aroused and gasps again when he slides up inside her, one smooth stroke inside, filling her and sliding all the way in.

They're still lying on their sides, facing each other.

There are rumors among the Akatsuki, about Konan and Pein and the strange relationship they have. Sex seemed an unnecessary distraction, and the other members muttered to themselves what a complete fucking waste, that someone as beautiful as Konan would devote herself to someone as dour and passionless as a man such as Pein.

"Konan," Nagato says again, and his voice is harsh, ragged. He's looking at her with those eyes, bright and shining, and Konan flushes and smiles, shifting to palm the thin curve of his shoulders and the flat crest of his hips. His eyes close again, and Konan is happy, smilng broadly as Nagato slowly begins to thrust. The movements are slow and unsure, and Nagato breathes against her shoulder, clutching her with thin arms. Konan smiles and kisses him up and down the sides of his face, one hand weighted against his flank as the movements grew more sure, thrusts growing harder and more erratic. There is a mirror on the other side of the bed, and Konan can see their reflection, looking out past Nagato's back: two bodies, one pale and thin and skeletal, the fleshy underside of a woman's thigh resting squarely against the crest of his ribs, the furious pumping of his flanks, the sinews and tendons stretching and contracting with each movement. It feels good, and Konan moans, closing her eyes.

He comes, and Konan feels it, the gentle pulsations of his cock inside her.

She hasn't come, and Nagato seems to know this, because wordlessly he moves to gently mouth at her sex, nursing her clit until she clenches her eyes and finds her own release, coming against his mouth.

Her heartbeat slows. Konan's eyes open, looking out into the ceiling, as Nagato moves with difficulty, shifting beside her.

He is hesitant when he says, "It will be better...next time," and he doesn't look at her. Konan smiles and nuzzles against him, cuddling against his neck. The room is dark but Konan can see how he looks at her, happy and unsure and so much the same quiet boy from her youth. They live with purpose and conviction and the weight of the world resting between them, and Konan kisses him, smiling against his mouth, before reaching up to brush back a lank of thinning hair.

A/N: It's firmly my head canon that Konan and Nagato sought comfort from each other, both emotionally and physically, even if it wasn't necessarily romantic in the traditional sense. It was them against the world, so yeah :( Woo.