Dedicated to Rieka, as always, since she wrote a lovely little piece for me the other day. She's fueling my addiction, I swear.

I'll explain this one, after, if anyone is confused.

Disclaimer: Nothing.

-=Offered To Resist=-

Itachi was a stubborn creature but always disturbingly calm and focused during these resilient moments. Kisame watched, wordlessly and noted the personality disorders, emotional shifts, and the habitual pattern that had begun to develop ever since their first kill together.

Red eyes observed and calculated as well, without comment. But the swirl and the constant motion, recording, analyzing – Kisame smirked in response.

''Do you like what you see, Itachi-san?'' Kisame asked; the amusement was clearly splayed across his jagged mouth.

Itachi's grin, however, was far more unnerving than the smiles carved into the throats of their prey.

Another raid that night – they entered the village, stole the scroll, and vanished into the radiance of the morning sun. The golden sphere was bleeding an intense crimson though, upon the rocky horizon. Kisame stopped to watch as Itachi limped beside him.

Injuries were far more frequent than the nights they could afford a room. A sword through the ribcage; it sliced between two bones, severing nerves and muscle tissue – Itachi dismissed the wound with his hand.

It was a careful battle, flawless until the last second.

There were no mistakes – success was the result.

Except that the enemy had self-imploded in a shower of gore and weaponry.

That was rather…unexpected.

Kisame laughed about it, enthralled by the morn's warm glow on his flesh. Itachi grunted, cleaning the blood from his hands onto his robes. The night was complete and the morning announced their glory, as it always did. Now they could rent a room. The deceased no longer had use for their money, anyway.

Itachi followed Kisame, while the blood trail ensued his steps.

The morning ritual began; the mist-nin hid beneath the covers and the prodigy escaped into the confines of the bathroom. They both stripped their outer layers and stopped to close their eyes. Kisame's breathing evened out in a languid, comfortable rhythm; Itachi's hitched as he hissed and seethed.

His eyes faded to black; the only red present was draining itself down the sink as he scrubbed his fingers clean. He replaced the chipped polish from his nails and let them dry perfect. There was a tremble, a quake, and pain. He wrapped the bandages tight around his midsection, swallowed hard, and stood motionless under the spray of the shower.

Kisame was startled suddenly by the loud thud that erupted from the bathroom. He entered cautiously and waited for a moment. The scattered clothes, the medical supplies, the blood tail, he noted every detail and shook his head.

''Itachi.'' He warned, his voice cold within the warm mist.

His fingers curled around the plastic edge of the curtain and tugged.

The sight before him was expected. Resistance in its purest offering. The fresh but darkly stained bandages continued to cling, sliding down the lithe body in tangles. Bruises, contusions, blood pooling in the tub's basin, Itachi had collapsed. The injury, the naked exposure, and the staring pair of tawny eyes all hurt him. His wound leaked, bleeding down his hip and thigh, until it ran down the drain in orange streaks.

''At least I can admit it when I like what I see…'' Kisame whispered over the hiss of the water that pattered against his bareback, as he crouched down and leaned over the bath's ceramic edge.

Itachi looked at him with red eyes.

There was no vulnerability, only defiance, as he resisted the arms around him but held onto tightly them, nonetheless.

-=EndE=-

So, Kisame is subtly offering (himself, and the possibilities between them, of course. We know its physical) and Itachi is resisting. He keeps resisting, even help, when he's wounded. And Kisame continues to offer help, even when it is being resisted. All of this is to highlight the tension in their relationship. Voila. Explained.