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Out of place. That’s the first thing that comes to Kisame’s mind as they slip anonymously further into this beach town. A warm, coastal breeze dries the blood on their hands and Kisame lets himself forget that there are bodies hidden in the sand.
It was a simple assassination mission: a rival tycoon needing elimination in another greedy territorial dispute. It fell to Kisame and Itachi to make sure the man’s vacation would be his last — nothing too grand, but Kisame couldn’t help but derive a strange satisfaction as though some good had ultimately come of the man’s death.
One less fat cat toying with the puppet strings of less fortunate lives — theirs included.
They’ll take the vacation as their own, Kisame thinks with a smirk, bandaging up Samehada, but first they have to check in with their leader.
They’d slipped into the gut of an alleyway to convene in, and after casting the appropriate jutsu, Pain’s apparition flickers into view on the opposite side of the lantern.
“It’s done,” Itachi says.
“Zetsu will be on his way with your payment,” Pain replies just as dryly, those bizarre, hypnotic eyes swirling. He’s completely still, posture as stiff as a businessman, though Kisame has always joked that he carries the disposition of a corpse.
“The Tsuchikage has requested our services again,” he continues in that no-nonsense way of his. “Kumogakure’s dealings in the Land of Flowers need thwarting.”
Kisame smirks. “Seems rather obvious, doesn’t it?”
It’s no secret that Iwa has had its hands in the Land of Flowers for some time now. To have Akatsuki intercede on their behalf hardly fools anybody.
“The Tsuchikage pays well,” is all Pain says; it’s explanation enough.
Money is money, but time is just as valuable, Kisame has come to realize in his years with his partner. The dirty work is easy enough (most of the time) and the money plentiful, but a man’s conscience can only handle so much blood. Day in, day out. Night in, night out.
They’re only human, his partner never forgets to remind him, and especially Itachi, whose ailing body needs much more rest than Kisame’s own, anyhow. It only makes sense they can both stand to take a night off.
Kisame's swaying power lies in his loyalty, both to his organization and his word. He decides to go for it. “How soon can it wait? This is a very nice little town we’re in. It would do us good to rest up here for the evening before heading out on such an important mission.”
Both Pain and Itachi’s eyes are on him. Judging him, no doubt, and for a moment Kisame thinks he’d made a stupid mistake.
They judge him for a solid minute before Pain bites.
“An informant will be waiting in Iwagakure,” Pain says finally. If he’s at all inconvenienced, he doesn’t show it. Then again, he doesn't tend to show much of anything. “They’ll know to expect you within the upcoming days. Consider your time wisely.”
“We’ll leave first thing in the morning,” Itachi affirms. And with that, Pain flickers out and the briefing is over.
They’re now criminals on a 12-hour vacation. That 12 hours being a luxury within the years they spend on the run, always watching their backs, always on the move. Never settling, never indulging for too long because they can’t afford to. Not in money, but time and sense.
Of course, Kisame knows their fates have already been sealed in Akatsuki with no real way out. Not that he’d take it, anyway. Not with the end goal still distantly in sight like a moon on a hazy night.
He’ll take these short windows, though, when they can pretend to be just as human as Itachi claims they are. This time in another town they don’t belong in, putting in blood money for a stolen vacation.
Several minutes later, Zetsu pops up out of the dirt with said money.
“Here’s your cut.”
Even with most of it going back to Akatsuki, their cuts are respectable — a perk of all the S-rank missions they take on.
“Nice town.” Zetsu looks around pointedly, eyes landing on potted hydrangeas resting on a nearby windowsill. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”
Little does he know, Kisame intends to.
“Pain mentioned your little vacation.”
Oh.
“I’d advise getting out of your robes, in that case. The Akatsuki is starting to make a bit of a name for itself, you know,” Black Zetsu says, which is both true and nearly insulting; the two of them aren’t fools, and Itachi implies as such as he pockets his ryō.
“We don’t intend to call attention to ourselves.”
“Of course,” White Zetsu, the more diplomatic of the halves, interjects. “We don’t tend to worry about you two, but take it from me: at least try to blend in with the tourists. Wear their clothes. You can’t be too careful.”
“You mean those awful shirts?” Kisame laughs, because what better way to detract attention from oneself than wearing a shirt that may as well say ‘I’M A TOURIST’ written all over it. Zetsu merely shrugs.
“It gets the job done. Then again, you can always resort to Itachi’s genjutsu if the thought is too much.”
“The shirts will do,” Itachi says, his voice on the edge of impatience. Kisame can tell he’s ready to get some rest, — they both are. “No need to take any chances.”
Now that Kisame thinks about it, it’d be nice to get out these blood-soaked rags for a change anyway. Headbands off, of course, which’d leave only a small added touch of genjutsu for Samehada and getting around being a most wanted S-rank face in the Bingo Book.
“Well then, I guess we’re off to check up on the others. You both enjoy, and don’t have too much fun.” There’s an undeniable tease in White Zetsu’s voice that Kisame could have gone without.
Kisame doesn’t miss the suspicious smirk on half of his face — like he knows something he shouldn’t — before he disappears into the ground.
***
One of the first things they do after getting paid is find a sushi restaurant, where Itachi calls him out almost as soon as they sit down.
“That was bold of you.”
Kisame just shrugs, the corners of his lips twisting upwards. “Well, we’re one of the most efficient teams. That’s why Leader is more lenient with us.”
“Perhaps.” Itachi stirs honey into his cup of green tea. Gently taps the spoon against the rim and gently sets it down when he’s done. Kisame wonders if there’s anything he does with a lack of grace, then takes the first bite of the shrimp roll they ordered.
“Besides,” Kisame says between chews. “It’s nice to stop and catch one’s breath, don’t you think?”
Itachi doesn’t say anything. He tilts his head back and Kisame gets a pleasant view of the slope of his neck, throat bobbing as he sips his tea. Pale skin exposed by the corny, red, floral button-up tourist souvenir he wears as disguise.
He fits in, but Kisame knows that without genjutsu he himself would stick out like a sore thumb — all blue skin and sword-sharp teeth. In the past, he remembers the stolen glances in his peripheral, hushed comments and otherwise, targeted at the odd couple sitting in the corner. Itachi is no more oblivious, but he has never paid them any real mind.
He’s never viewed Kisame as different.
“This is… a peaceful town,” Itachi says carefully, as though anyone might overhear them. He stares out the window wistfully, sunlight filtering through to highlight his more delicate features, casting long eyelashes and soft hair in a dark brownish light. “But…”
They can’t let their guards down. Not entirely.
They aren’t civilians and will never be.
“I don’t know,” Kisame grins. “I think we blend right in.”
Itachi huffs a quiet laugh that Kisame revels in, hand resting on the table, ring glinting in the sunlight and Kisame resists the urge to reach out and take it into his own.
For a moment he wonders. Wonders if they’d blend in more easily that way: just a long-time couple on vacation in this small, out of the way coastal resort. Corpses under the sand be damned.
Itachi notices Kisame’s eyes on him. Returns the stare. Those dark eyes that notice everything — that read Kisame to the bone. Itachi ever so subtly turns his hand over, palm up in invitation. Kisame’s hand finds his immediately, their rings slotting against each other, and to Kisame’s surprise it dredges up something powerful in his chest. As if by compulsion he brings Itachi’s hand up to his mouth.
“How would you like — ” he says, placing kisses between his partner’s knuckles. “a long walk on the beach?”
He appreciates the creeping blush on Itachi’s cheeks. The softness that melts in deep brown eyes. He smiles when Itachi indulges him, in spite of himself.
“I’d like that very much.”
***
It’s already sundown when they get there: the sky a canvas of clouds and tropic golds intermingling with blues. Gentle waves licking at the shore. Several beachgoers are still out and about, lounging in white sand and twisting in clear waters — an oddly comforting sight to Kisame, but Itachi had expressed a desire for more privacy, and Kisame is always more than happy to oblige him.
They’re hand in hand as soon as they’re both out of sight, finding a more secluded area further down the coast. On the way, Itachi quietly points out seabirds and gulls — he can identify them by their calls — and the beach flowers he can name in the patchwork of grass running parallel to the sea.
It’s entirely serene. It’s purifying.
It’s… comfortable. In a way that gives Kisame some pause and pulls him into a low-grade melancholy he wasn’t expecting.
Twelve hours (now nine), and he fears it isn’t enough time (because it isn’t — not nearly). As nice as the little respite is, it isn’t enough to forget what awaits them on the other side of tonight, that reminder always lingering in the air like a bad omen. It isn’t enough to forget what they are, where they come from, Itachi’s delicate fingers interlaced with his own and Kisame still remembers that they’re only a killer’s hands locked in another’s.
In nine hours they’ll be shinobi again, on the road to their graves and not a place to return to. A bothersome thought that must’ve been showing on Kisame’s face because Itachi takes notice (because of course he does).
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Itachi-san.”
“You aren’t a good liar, Kisame.”
Kisame knows he isn’t, so he doesn’t know why he still tries to slip past his partner. It’s foolish to worry about the future though, when they’ve been blessed with this moment. This window of time where they don’t have to be anything at all.
Just human.
Kisame tries to take solace in that.
“Let’s go for a swim.” he suggests, with a genuine smile that he hopes Itachi, too, takes solace in.
“We… didn’t purchase any swimsuits.” Itachi points out.
“Then we’ll swim naked.”
And Kisame does just that, stripping off his tan shorts, blue shirt and sandals and wading until he’s waist-deep in the cool water. When he turns around, Itachi is still standing in the sand watching him, looking a bit unsure of himself.
“Itachi-san,” Kisame calls. “You have to get in the water at least once while we’re here.”
But Itachi doesn’t move, so Kisame decides to go and retrieve him. He appreciates the way Itachi gazes at his nude form appreciatively, and extends a hand at the edge of the shore.
Itachi doesn’t budge, clutching their beach towels.
“Come on,” Kisame pleads. He knows Itachi’s just playing hard to get. He’s no stranger to this game (in fact, he enjoys it — the tease and the chase), playing along more often than not. “This is the most romantic part.”
“How rude, Kisame,” Itachi huffs lightly. “You say that and yet you’ve left me here still completely dressed.”
That carves a grin into Kisame’s face. He finally leaves the water, cascading off of him, until he reaches his partner.
“How cruel, Itachi-san,” he says, hands going to undo one of the top buttons on Itachi’s shirt. “You tease me even while on vacation.”
“We have to keep it interesting,” Itachi retorts.
God, how Kisame loves him. He kisses him as he unbuttons the rest of him, tossing his clothes aside and pulling Itachi with him back into the water. Until they’re waist-deep, arms around each other like they’ll each be swept away by the waves.
There’s a melancholic memory to this, too, Kisame thinks, the waves pushing and pulling at him, sea breeze filling his lungs. The memory of a future life that he can never hope to see: Itachi by his side on the shore again under hopeful skies. They’re older, and this time, they have all the time in the world. Tomorrow is another day on the beach, or perhaps a trip to the hot springs, but the sentiment is all the same.
All the time in the world.
It’s the only thing Kisame could ask for, with Itachi, and though that secret wish can never be fulfilled, at least his hunger for it can be sated with these brief moments. These tiny windows of a slowed down, regular life as a regular couple.
Tiny windows into the future that lives deep in the recesses of Kisame’s heart.
“Itachi-san.”
He gets a muffled “Hm?” in reply, Itachi’s face in his chest as the sun sets behind them.
“I want to show you something.”
Itachi pulls back to look at him inquisitively, but doesn’t resist when Kisame pulls them further into the water. Deep enough until neither of them can stand, where the waves are heavier and the shore a good distance now and Itachi can’t help but cling to Kisame. There’s a somewhat concerned look on his face as he says: “This is unnecessarily deep. You're going to drown me.”
"Yes," Kisame confirms. "Please hold on to me for a second."
He’s joking of course, and Itachi knows this so he obliges, arms tightening around Kisame as Kisame momentarily lets go of him to weave signs for a jutsu, then kisses Itachi again.
Itachi raises an eyebrow as seemingly nothing happens. “What was that?”
“I shared my lungs with you,” Kisame says matter-of-factly.
"You shared your…” Itachi shakes his head in disbelief. “What do you mean?”
“Do you trust me, Itachi-san?” Kisame asks him, though he already knows the answer. Still, it never fails to raise his heart to hear Itachi confirm it out loud.
“Of course.”
“Then, let’s try it out, shall we?” Kisame then pulls him underwater. Into the vast blue together, arms in arms as they sink below the bouncing surface, waves toppling over them.
It feels like falling.
It feels like heaven.
Though it’s harder to see down here, especially with the sun setting, and Itachi’s Sharingan activates out of reflex. He looks at Kisame warily and wide-eyed, until:
“I… can breathe,” Itachi marvels.
Kisame grins. “Neat, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t know you had such a jutsu up your sleeve.”
“I’m just full of surprises aren’t I?” Kisame says, trying not to look too proud of himself, but really he’s just glad that a) it worked, and b) Itachi hasn’t killed him for submerging him in the ocean this far from the shore.
There’s only one surprise left now that he hopes his lover is still up for.
“Is that what you wanted to show me?” Itachi says in a way that’s not-quite-impressed, but not insulting either.
“Half of it, yeah,” Kisame admits. Of course, there’s more where that came from, coming from him. “Do you still trust me?”
The moment of truth.
“Always.”
A fond look settles on Kisame’s face as he brings up a hand to caress his lover’s cheek. Itachi still clings to him as they float below the surface, like two lovers stranded at sea with nowhere to go but down. But Kisame doesn’t intend to take him to the bottom, — it’s not physically possible, anyhow — just deep enough to test the strength in Itachi’s trust, and to give Kisame’s surprise enough room.
Fingers glide over Itachi’s lips, wet and soft, before Kisame brings his thumb to his own lips and bites it hard enough to draw blood. He releases Itachi again to weave the summoning jutsu, and instantaneously a multitude of small sharks spring up all around them.
Reflexively, Itachi tenses and readies himself as if for combat, which Kisame can’t blame him for.
“Afraid of sharks?” he teases. Itachi’s arms find their way around him again.
“No.”
The only answer he expected to hear.
“Good.”
“They remind me of you.”
The admission warms Kisame in a way he didn’t know was possible, but he ought to be used to these little surprises by now. Itachi is full of them, always keeping him on his toes and somehow always knocking him off balance.
Kisame wouldn’t have it any other way.
He can only hope he does the same in return, but Itachi has always read him like an open book. It’s harder to catch him off guard.
“This is the part where I’m eaten,” Itachi states calmly, as if he were expecting it all along.
Kisame laughs. “Close, but not quite. Fortunately for you, I still want you alive.”
And he does, truly. Kisame had meant a bit more by saying that, and he hopes Itachi read that, too. Not that it would change anything. Any day could be their last on Earth and Kisame has learned to treat life as such.
It’s why he clutches this moment, like a slippery fish seeking escape, tight in his fist.
With a flick of his wrist, the sharks begin to move.
They’re only infants, and thus still just finding their grace, but a shark knows it’s a shark and it knows its way. The baby sharks twist and circle around them as though they’ve found the meal of the week, locked in a blood-seeking dance under the blue waves.
Itachi watches in awe as they move, Kisame guiding his hand to reach out and touch the sharks that brush close. Itachi shivers against him, pulling him close as though seeking shelter.
“I thought you weren’t afraid,” Kisame teases him again, lips in his hair.
“I’m not,” Itachi defends, and Kisame believes him. “I…”
He doesn’t elaborate after that, but he doesn’t need to. Kisame thinks he understands, for once, hands tightening around Itachi’s hand and waist as he starts to move them in time with the sharks.
He wishes he could freeze this moment in time, like one would taking a photograph, capturing their excursions for an eternity, as they dance and spin in place between the vortex of sharks. Wishes they had a little more than nine hours (now eight and ticking) of solace together before the inevitable blood trail they’ll soon resume paving.
They may not have time. But at least they have each other, Kisame thinks, as Itachi’s lips meet his in a wet salt-kiss.
Both in violence and serenity.