
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/350679.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Naruto
  Relationship:
      Uchiha_Shisui/Uchiha_Itachi, Uchiha_Itachi/Kimimaro, Uchiha_Itachi/Uchiha
      Madara
  Additional Tags:
      Dark, Angst
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-03-03 Words: 2772
****** In Pieces ******
by sinemoras09
Summary
     The complete sexual history of Uchiha Itachi. Itachi/Shisui. Itachi/
     others. Angst. Warnings for character death and adult themes.
     Spoilers for chapter 402.
"I am not equal to my longing.
Somewhere there should be a place
the exact shape of my emptiness.
The river of course has no mercy.
It just lifts the dead fish
toward the sea." - Jane Mead
 
Anonymous, Kirigakure
 
He is six years old, and yet he knows what it means to go to war.
His lip is cracked; dried blood flakes off at the corners of his mouth.
Wordlessly, his father steps close, then drops a heavy hand on Itachi's
shoulder.
"Do not cry," his father says. "It is over. Do you understand?"
Itachi nods, small hands clutching a kunai to his chest. He had been captured
during a midnight raid; he along with a handful of civilians had been taken,
children and women meant as spoils of war. Just moments earlier, he had seen
his father skin the other man alive; large hands broke the enemy's neck with
one swift twist, the sickening sound of bones snapping ringing in Itachi's
ears. "What did he do to you?" his father had asked, and at that time Itachi
couldn't speak, couldn't form the words that seemed stuck in his throat.
Fugaku's jaw tightened then, and he stared out at the horizen, eyes narrowing
against the orange glare.
The man is strong and Itachi squirms, he squirms and cries and pushes against
his arms, but the man is older and stronger and Itachi doesn't like it, doesn't
like it when the man's large hands take hold of him and shows him what it means
to be weak.
Sharingan eyes spin; there is nothing. Itachi looks up, tear-streaked face
searching his father's eyes.
 
*****
 
He trains. He pushes himself to be better. Stronger. He pushes himself because
he doesn't want to be weak.
His father watches, stone-faced and silent, because even if he doesn't say it,
Itachi knows that's what he's thinking, too.
 
*****
 
Uchiha Shisui, Konoha
Uchiha Shisui has a game: whoever skips the most stones on the water wins.
"Wins what?" Itachi asks, and Shisui grins and shakes his head.
"Who cares, dummy, the point is that you win."
His hair is a tousled mop, and even Itachi knows he is blossoming into
something beautiful.
 
*****
 
Shisui has one thing the others do not: at nine years old, he is the only one
who doesn't make fun of him, weird little prodigy who wets the bed and wakes up
crying in the middle of the night. Even now, years after the incident, Itachi
wakes in a cold sweat, the feel of rough hands shoving his face against the
mattress. His mother used to cry after that night, and his father stalked in a
silent rage, but Itachi learned to swallow everything back. Showing his
emotions only hurt everyone else. Some days, he'll stare and suddenly feel the
suffocating breath of his captors upon him, and Shisui will glance back and
touch him on the arm. "Hey, you okay?" he'll say, and Itachi will nod and smile
and Shisui will squeeze his hand. "Well good," Shisui will say, and Itachi will
feel safe, he'll feel safe, he'll be with Shisui and he'll feel safe and
sheltered from the rest of the world.
They kiss. A blush spreads on Itachi's face and Shisui grins, pressing a
knuckle to Itachi's hair.
"Stupid, I like you," he says, and Itachi grins and grins and hides his face
against Shisui's chin.
He is his best friend. His only friend. He is his most important person in the
entire world.
 
******
 
Uchiha Madara, Konoha
"Is it done?" Danzou asks, and Itachi nods, doesn't say a word when the council
of elders stand. It is just days after drowning his friend in that shallow pool
of water, mere hours since the slaughter of his family and the betrayal of his
kin, but Itachi's face betrays no hint of emotion, not the sorrow or fatigue
that seem to weigh heavily on his body, which is bowed like a tree after a
heavy rain. Wordlessly he sheathes his katana and lets himself disappear
outside, and as he turns he keeps his face a perfect stone.
"You did this," Madara says, and his voice prickles Itachi's skin. "You eased
the cancer that was rotting the village core. You did this," Madara says, and
Itachi closes his eyes.
Silently, Madara's thumb ghosts across that thin trickle of blood that falls
like tears, and smears it across his cheek, bloodless, colorless. Around him
the night is dark, and the deep blue waters of the Nakano swirl like blood.
Loathing and self-hatred do nothing to quench that desire, the longing, which
sits heavily at the seat of his heart. He feels Madara's fingers trace
arabesques on his skin; they're cold and gooseflesh rises where he's touched. A
delayed reaction. Madara grins, breath fanning over the delicate skin of his
neck.
Itachi squeezes his eyes. The dam of Itachi's self-control finally begins to
topple, and soon everything inside him comes raging to the surface. This is
what he deserves. This violation, the final shred of his innocence cracking
inside.
He doesn't cry. Doesn't move when he feels the slow drag of fabric moving down
his skin. His hips are exposed and he feels himself harden under his mentor's
touch. Shame and confusion and terrible waves of pleasure hit him all at once,
and Itachi pushes up against Madara's hand. He lets himself be gathered up,
lets Madara take him and rearrange him like so much firewood, loose limbs and
head falling against his chest like a broken doll's.
"Know this," Madara says, and his voice sends a frisson of disquiet down his
spine. "I am what made you. And I am what will make you undone."
 
******
Kimimaro, Takumi Village
He tracks Orochimaru through a maze of nameless towns; six days spent hunting
the outskirts of a Yugakure spring, another twelve nights searching the
footprints outside. The place of his capture lies just beyond his field of
sight, a two days' walk just west of the rice paddies growing along the
mountain rock. He steps forward, squinting his eyes and returning to the spot.
Ostensibly, Itachi is on a mission: after Orochimaru's defection from the
Akatsuki, the Leader had ordered Itachi and Kisame to find him. "Retribution,"
the Leader said. "He has stolen our secrets and betrayed our organization; as
such, we cannot turn a blind eye."
There were precious few times when the Akatsuki's plans and Itachi's private
agenda so perfectly align, and Itachi would not let the opportunity slip.
Quietly, he turned, and took Kisame aside.
"He and I have unfinished business," Itachi said. "I would be in your debt if
you let me do this alone."
Kisame snorted, then scratched his head.
"He tried to take your fucking body," Kisame said. "I'd want to kill him too."
Now Itachi pushes himself upright, Sharingan spinning. He can see the size and
shape of Orochimaru's hideout, hidden among the grass. He starts to rise when a
hand yanks him by the arm.
The man swings, but not before Itachi ducks and spins into a kick. Even now, in
the midst of combat, Itachi is surprised; no one has been able to sneak up on
him before. "Who are you?" Itachi says, but the man whirls, flash of bone
tearing through his skin. His fist cracks against Itachi's skull, but not
before Itachi manages a thin genjutsu net over his opponent's body.
The man staggers forward, then pitches onto the ground.
 
******
 
Itachi sits at the mouth of the cave and watches his opponent quietly. He could
have left him for dead, but this chafes against Itachi's sense of honor.
Quietly he tosses a few dry branches into the fire, and waits for his opponent
to wake up.
The man stirs, and Itachi tenses. Slowly, the man rises, then winces, clutching
the bruise on his ribs.
"Do not strain yourself," Itachi says, and the man glares. "You are injured;
were it not for me you would have died."
"What will you do with me?" the man asks. Itachi doesn't look at him.
"Tell me where Orochimaru is; if you do, I will let you go," Itachi says.
The man's mouth presses into a thin line. "I am a dead man," he says, and his
eyes flick upward. "I should have died long ago."
Itachi says nothing; he tosses another branch into the fire.
 
******
 
Kimimaro, Itachi learns, is little different from him.
There is a hint of violence in every movement, in how Kimimaro fists his hair
and claws at the clasp of his cloak. Their bodies twine together in the dark,
and Itachi is struck by the dichotomy there; pale skin and dark hair, paler
skin and hair the color of starched moonlight, the desperate, almost hungry way
the other man kisses Itachi's skin. They both know what it is to be alone, but
while Kimimaro yearns for tenderness, Itachi knows what it is to give it and
brutally tear it away.
They kiss. They suck the air with greedy breaths, grappling and clasping with
calloused hands. Itachi lets out a sharp gasp when Kimimaro pushes him flush
against the wall of the cave, his knee jammed roughly between them. But there
isn't enough. Itachi is as love-starved as Kimimaro is, and he stifles a half-
strangled moan as Kimimaro kisses his neck, fisting his cock and dragging his
teeth over the tender skin of Itachi's jugular. His hair sticks to his skin and
over his eyes, and Itachi pushes a shaking hand toward his forehead protector,
which has fallen cockeyed and is threatening to slip over his eye. "Wait,"
Itachi says. His eyes fall closed at the feel of Kimimaro's tongue, which is
tracing a wet line over Itachi's collarbone. "Wait..."
But he doesn't. Kimimaro grips him harder.
No one touches him like this. He thinks of Shisui and that night and the
sickening betrayal of it all, and he doesn't want to do this. Doesn't want to
feel the other man's hands, which are clasped over his hips and urging him
forward, doesn't want to feel the man's hot wet mouth closing around him.
Vulnerability smothers him like a thick blanket, and irrationally Itachi's
thoughts lurch toward that night in that Kirigakure camp, when he was helpless
and oh so small.
Forgive me, Itachi thinks. Shisui. Tears slip. His hands tangle in Kimimaro's
hair.
 
******
 
It is a mistake that continues to haunt him. Months later, after Itachi
develops the mysterious cough that leaves him shaking and wracked with pain, he
thinks of the Kaguya and the blood sickness that had taken over his body, and
grimly he thinks this is fitting punishment, to stay upright and drown in his
own blood.
 
*****
 
Himself, multiple locations
Uchiha Itachi is not a sexual creature. In fact, it becomes a dirty running
joke among the other members of the Akatsuki; pointed sneers among the other,
more crude members worm their way to the surface, and occasionally Itachi will
catch Deidara grinning at some off-color remark, or Hidan rolling his eyes at
some underhanded insult. Itachi, for the most part, does not care; while the
others may say he has much the same sexuality as that of a potted plant, it
does not bother him. For the most part, they are right.
But what they don't know, and what Itachi does not even admit to himself, is
that some nights he'll give into that base part of himself. Some nights, he'll
think of Shisui, and how he'd smile and look deep into his eyes, and those
times Itachi would spend the night with his hand fisted painfully around his
cock, pumping so hard it hurts. It's quick and gritty and when he comes, he
comes in thick stripes, semen landing on his bare stomach and chest. His
heartbeat will quiet to a dull roar, and the hard sting of his betrayal will
push its way upward and makes him feel ashamed.
Invariably, Kisame will be snoring in the room next door, and Itachi will hear
nothing but the soft wheeze of his partner's breath, and the sounds of insects
outside.
Those nights are few and far between, and for that Itachi is thankful.
 
*****
 
Konan, Akatsuki Lair
He tells himself there is no such thing as love, just the shadows from the moon
outside, and the naked revelation of two souls converging in the dark.
She is crying. Itachi is no fool; he has seen the way she looks at the leader,
that haunted, hollow look in her eyes. Even without the Sharingan, Itachi is
astute enough to realize he reminds her of another lover, perhaps someone lost
in the war. He does not bring this up, however; there are certain matters of
delicacy that Itachi knows enough not to broach; this would be no exception.
To the others, Itachi is cold, but even he cannot keep up the pretense; he
knows what it is to lose the one you love.
He sits; the mattress sinks heavily with his weight, but Itachi gives Konan a
respectful berth. "Are you okay?" he asks, and Konan shakes her head.
"Perhaps I will be, with some time," Konan says, and she lowers her eyes.
 
******
 
She is lonely, but then so is he, letting her take him and guide him to her
bed. There is no joy in this, no feeling other than the half-numb reality of
skin against skin. Even with his Sharingan closed, he knows she is thinking of
someone else. The clock ticks quietly as he pushes himself to an empty and
almost agonizing completion, and almost reflexively his mind conjures up
another image: that of tousled hair and darkened eyes, flash-stepping white
with a lopsided smile.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she says. She doesn't look at him. Itachi
says nothing as Konan silently pulls on her robe, wraps it around her shoulders
like a shroud. "Itachi--"
"No," Itachi says. "Think nothing of it."
Konan says nothing. The wind stirs, and to Itachi it sounds almost like the
fluttering of paper.
 
******
 
Uchiha Shisui, Konoha
The road is dappled in sunlight, and Itachi watches awestruck as Shisui flash-
steps across the canopy of trees; it has been months since they've last talked,
the tensions between the secret police and ANBU flaring in taut bursts.
There is the sound of branches breaking, and a multitude of crows burst into
the air. Itachi turns; one cold hand falls limply on his shoulder.
He has not changed, and yet he seems older now, and more weary around the eyes.
"Hey," Shisui says, and Itachi can hear the hitch in his voice, can feel the
subtle increase in pressure of his fingertips on his shoulder. "Do you want to
talk?"
 
******
 
Nothing prepared him for this. Guilt and confusion sit heavily at the back of
Itachi's throat, and he feels a burning behind his eyes. "I'm sorry," Itachi
says, and he realizes it's the first thing he's said to him in months. His
voice cracks and there's an unfamiliar ache in his chest, like a hand squeezing
around his heart.
He reminds himself what is at stake, sees in his mind the scorched ruins of the
village leveled under the asphalt sky.
"I'm sorry," Itachi says again, and he turns. "I cannot do this."
"Why?" Shisui says.
Because tomorrow you will be dead, Itachi thinks, but Shisui presses a hand to
his arm.
"Don't," Shisui says, and dark eyes flick upward, meeting his.
 
******
 
There is this: hot mouth on pale skin, lamplight like milk spilling onto the
shadowed floor.
Duty and love storm and clash inside him, and Itachi squeezes his eyes. He
wants nothing more than to curl up into the spaces of Shisui's body, wants to
gather him close and keep him safe from harm. He clings to him like a swimmer
drowning, and kissing him and holding him tight. He tells himself there is no
tomorrow; there is only this, the feel of his breath pushing up against his
skin and the thousand sordid images that he would keep in his mind's eye, years
later, when longing and loneliness overwhelm his self-control.
Shisui is asleep. Silently, Itachi watches the rise and fall of Shisui's
breathing, the feel of his body and how perfectly he fits pressed against him.
Nothingness looms, and Itachi knows that soon all that he's ever loved will be
obliterated in one blinding light.
But for now, there is only this: Shisui's fingers curled in Itachi's hand, and
the dim half-light filtering through the blinds at the window. Tomorrow, the
moon will rise, and their shadows will fall like ghosts, darkening the banks of
the Nakano.
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