FanFiction.Net - unleash your imagination|
Author of 31 Stories |
Title: Parle-moi (or, Speak to Me.)
Warnings: shota, violence
A/N: Guh. This was in progress for a mind boggling length of time. I truly and fully hate it, at this point, way too long spent staring at it, ha ha ha. But I think you guys will enjoy. :3 My first dip into Kakuzu/Hidan, I have several more ideas for brief fics pertaining to this fic's canon... So hopefully more to come! But I won't jinx myself. But yeah, I'm just glad I got to give Hidan a past. He deserves a back story, you know? Kishimoto really fucked him and Kakuzu over in that regards.
Kakuzu lifts his eyebrows. The boy is wearing a tight black long sleeved shirt, cuffs tugged into small palms and clenched there. His pants are equally tight, and black to match.
“Who are you?” Kakuzu asks warily, eyeing the child with an air of distaste in his strange blank eyes. Kakuzu is not fond of children.
“Dunno. Depends on who you are.” The kid’s expression is mocking, and Kakuzu feels himself twitching a little. He turns an angry gaze towards the boy, and is met with laughter.
“Right, then,” Kakuzu mutters, “Have you seen anyone around in a coat like mine?”
“Nope,” and the boy has hopped up onto a low, crumbling stone wall, walking along it with his arms held out straight.
“There’s no one left around here anymore, just me, just Hiii-dan.” The name is spoken with a drawn out drawl.
“Hidan,” Kakuzu mumbles flatly, “Alright then. Where did everyone go?” Hidan shrugs dubiously, almost mocking in how wide the motion is.
“Dunno. But a man came around recently and gave me a coat just like that. Said someone’d be along to pick me up. I don’t suppose,” and a mischievous glint in those eyes betrays that Hidan has known all along, “that you would be Kakuzu?”
Kakuzu’s jaw drops slightly. This—little brat? Didn’t look any older than ten. No way, no way was Kakuzu going to deal this. Regardless of how callously he had been killing partners and how irritated Pein was with him, there is no way he deserves this punishment. Kakuzu thinks that perhaps he should try a little harder not to piss off their leader in the future, if this is the sort of punishment he can expect.
The boy’s back arches, legs bending as Hidan launches off of the wall, landing on his hands in the dirt, one leg straight up, the other bent at the knee.
“Where’s your coat?” Kakuzu asks flatly, sighing. He hates kids, he really does. He is aware that in order for their leader to have taken interest in Hidan, the brat must be awfully talented. But he doesn’t even remotely care about that. This kid seems downright obnoxious.
“It wasn’t—oof!” Kakuzu stares as Hidan loses his balance and topples over.
“Comfortable,” he finishes, sitting up with a loose lock of silver, ash blond hair spilling over his brow. Kakuzu shakes his head slightly, unable to believe what he’s seeing. Annoying and graceless. Kakuzu might as well kill him now, but—well, he supposes that Hidan deserves just as much of a chance as his other partners received. Kakuzu steps closer to the boy, bending down and hauling him up harshly by the forearm. If it hurts, Hidan doesn’t let it show.
“Well, we’d better go get it. Then we have to set out, we’ve got places to be,” Kakuzu mutters lowly, grip sliding from Hidan’s arm. Hidan gives a gleeful if slightly manic grin.
“I’ve been waiting so long to get out of here,” he says, starting down a dusty road. Kakuzu trails after, observant eyes taking in the village that they are enveloped in. Looks old. Ancient. And so utterly abandoned. He wonders how long the boy has been alone, and how someone this young could have gotten through it without going insane.
“Here,” Hidan murmurs, voice not so exuberant now that they are surrounded by so complete a silence. He stops in front of a large house, sliding the door open for Kakuzu. Kakuzu’s nose wrinkles; it smells musty, and he can see a visible layer of dust settled over everything, including a row of shoes, aligned neatly where they’d been taken off. He wonders who the shoes belonged to, but doesn’t follow their example, not bothering to kick off his sandals.
“Don’t like cleaning much?” Kakuzu shoots over his shoulder, eyeing Hidan. The boy just shrugs.
“No point, never thought I’d have any visitors.” He pads into the kitchen, Kakuzu following. The familiar coat is slung on the back of a chair. It has clearly been tailored to Hidan's small frame, a detail which makes Kakuzu chuckle, amused. There’s a small bowl of blueberries abandoned on the table, half-eaten. The boy’s been scavenging for food then, Kakuzu muses.
“At least you’ll be able to eat better now,” Kakuzu offers, feeling for an absurd moment that he should comfort Hidan. Despite the blond’s earlier words, Kakuzu gets the feeling that Hidan doesn’t want to leave. Normally he wouldn’t have given a damn—he must be going soft. Hidan laughs lightly, the sound not completely genuine, eyes flitting around the kitchen.
“I suppose I will.”
“Do you need anything else?” Kakuzu asks uncomfortably, arms crossed over his chest. He feels like a fucking babysitter. Hidan pauses, finishing his sweep of the kitchen and looking up into Kakuzu’s eyes with those odd, purple tinted pupils. Something in his gaze is fearful. Kakuzu can’t blame him; it seems like Hidan’s never been out of this village.
“No—no, I don’t have anything to bring, but—oh.” Hidan blinks, turning around and scrambling out of the kitchen. When he returns, there’s a silver necklace hanging around his neck, a pendant suspended on it that is a triangle upside down within a circle. Hidan tugs on his coat, fastening it closed.
“Now I’m ready,” Hidan speaks up at Kakuzu, though Kakuzu doesn’t think he really is. But that doesn’t matter. No one ever is. They leave the deadened town, Kakuzu glad to be rid of it.
“Do you think animals are secretly watching us humans and laughing?” Kakuzu halts in the middle of a worn path, throwing a withering gaze back over his shoulder. That gaze could cause even the most stoic of shinobi to break down. (He has a thing for interrogations. He thinks they're—fun.) Hidan comes to a stop a few steps behind Kakuzu.
“Well, what’s wrong with you?” Hidan asks, his expression questioning. Kakuzu rests his hand over his eyes, letting out a long breath. Holy shit.
“Are you ever quiet?” Kakuzu asks in an oddly calm voice, lowering his hand and turning to face Hidan.
“Well, when I sleep,” Hidan grins.
“I figure I can be quiet once I’m dead,” he speaks coolly. Kakuzu’s hands shake subtly. It’s almost as if Hidan is daring him to do it. And with such an answer, Kakuzu figures Hidan couldn’t possibly last more than a few days anyway—after all, Kakuzu’s a very easily irritated man. So why bother trying to prolong the inevitable? Oh, fuck it, Kakuzu sighs. He’ll just tell his leader that he’s certainly learned his lesson about the value of life and so forth and he won’t kill a partner again. That will work.
Kakuzu slips a kunai out, deciding to make it simple and sweet this time. Hidan’s guard is now down, so he won’t even have to deal with any resistance. Just like he prefers it. Kakuzu jerks the sharp glinting metal across a delicate white throat, watching a flood of red spill out like crimson velvet descending upon the stage at the conclusion of a play. The body slumps to the ground, on its knees. Finally, quiet. Kakuzu lets out a relieved breath; the urge to kill in him a sort of constant pressing desperation, he always feels content afterwards.
And then, a wet gurgling choking noise; not quite dead yet, then. Kakuzu plants his sandal in the center of the small chest, shoving the body back.
He stands over Hidan, jamming the edge of his shoe hard against the gaping wound, pushing down with a moist noise, blood seeping up onto his sandals, getting between his toes. He can feel the wound splitting further, widening under his foot, can feel what makes up Hidan’s throat crushing under his weight, a sudden collapse as he crushes the esophagus. And it feels so good.
“Not talking now, mm?” Kakuzu murmurs, voice drugged with a hazy satisfaction. There is nothing better than snuffing out a life; all the blood, all the mess.
“Jashin-sama, that hurts,” a rasping, miserable-sounding moan, “What—what in the world was that for?”
“What the fuck?” Kakuzu snaps, eyes flicking down. This is not possible. Absolutely not possible that the boy would still be able to talk, much less breathe. But yet Hidan’s eyes are wide, pained, and he’s—definitely still breathing, blood splattering out with every exhale, covering his pale chin in almost artful flecks.
“How—?” Kakuzu asks softly; it’s rare that he actually shows some signs of surprise, having lived long enough that he’s seen almost everything. But, well, he hadn’t been expecting this. Hidan staggers to his feet, gasping, eyes glassy, more blood dribbling out from between reddened lips, a strange lipstick, dripping down and off his chin.
“H-hurts,” but yet there seems to be something drugged, pleasured, to Hidan’s expression.
“How?” Kakuzu repeats, truly curious. Hidan shrugs, swaying on his feet. Kakuzu lets his hand rest on the small of Hidan’s back, supporting the light frame.
“Dunno. Was born like this.” Hidan’s voice is closed off, seeming to not want to talk about it.
“Well,” Kakuzu breathes out slowly. Any attempt he’s going to make at killing the boy will be futile, then? This is fascinating, and any bloodlust that was still left in him drains.
“I’ll stitch you up, I suppose.”
“Stitch?” Hidan mumbles dully, watching as Kakuzu raises his free arm His eyes widen a bit as strands of black come snaking out of Kakuzu's loose sleeve. Kakuzu lets the thread do its work, suturing the wound shut rapidly—Hidan wincing every now and then as the mobile thread shoves through his skin.
“That’s cool,” Hidan says, voice dreamy, spaced out, once Kakuzu’s done. Again the word “drugged” comes to Kakuzu’s mind. He wonders if it really feels so good to die.
“I guess I can see now why he paired us up,” Kakuzu murmurs, “But you had better pull your weight anyway. Do you even have any weapons?” Hidan gives another shrug.
“I have some kunai. And—mm—well, never mind,” Hidan smiles slightly, running his finger along the stitched line on his throat.
“We’ll have to get you something, then.” And they continue on their way, Kakuzu much calmer and Hidan much quieter, both of them placated for the time being.
Late in the afternoon of the next day they reach it, a moderately sized village—not a sprawling city by any means but yet Hidan is in awe, eyes wide, bright, curious. He watches the people bustling in the streets, unconsciously stepping closer to Kakuzu. As they venture deeper into the town, to the busiest parts, Hidan reaches up, hand clutching at the back of Kakuzu’s coat fearfully. Kakuzu had never pictured the noisy boy as being shy in any situation, but it makes sense. Hidan has probably never seen so many people at once.
Kakuzu startles as the hand releases his coat and the warm, small appendage brushes against his hand instead.
“Oh, for the love of—” Kakuzu sighs sharply. For what seems to be the hundredth time, Kakuzu reflects upon how very much he hates kids. But Hidan is nearly pouting and though Kakuzu rolls his eyes, he grasps Hidan’s hand roughly, jerking Hidan along the road. A slight smile slips onto Hidan’s lips.
“Little bastard,” Kakuzu mutters, and Hidan snickers in jaunty response.
“I think you’re just pretending,” Hidan speaks, teasing.
“I most certainly am not. I hate you.” But Kakuzu’s voice isn’t entirely convincing and Hidan is smirking. Thankfully, they soon come to a stop outside of an inn that Kakuzu deems to be cheap enough. He pays for a room, and Hidan immediately flops down on one of two beds once they reach it. He rests his hands under his head, eyes half-lidded as he gazes across at Kakuzu.
“I’ve got business to take care of. You can stay here this time, I suppose, but—you sure as hell are coming next time,” Kakuzu says commandingly. Fuck fuck fuck, he really is going soft.
“’Kay,” Hidan grins cheerily, rolling over on his side, curling in loosely on himself. Kakuzu leaves, almost grateful just to be free of the boy briefly. His assignment is to kill—someone who owes him money. He takes all that he can find in the man’s house, satisfied by the entire thing. He ends up with practically as much money as he would have received if he had let the man live and had time to gather up all he owed, but this is so much more satisfying. Ripped the man to pieces.
Stashed in the closet of the man’s bedroom, Kakuzu finds something strange wrapped up in white cloth—a scythe with a glinting sharp blade and a long thin black lacquered handle. He figures he can pawn it off once they reach a bigger city, so he takes that as well before making his way back to the inn. The pale skinned boy is sleeping quietly when he enters their room. Kakuzu tosses the scythe to the ground between the two beds with a dull, loud thud.
Hidan moans tiredly, sitting up and glancing around for the source of the noise—his eyes land on the wrapped up scythe.
“What’s this?” Hidan murmurs, sitting up before reaching down and picking it up easily enough.
“Unwrap it and see,” Kakuzu speaks flatly, shrugging. Hidan’s fingers nimbly remove long white strips of fabric. He grins a bit when the weapon is revealed.
“This is cool,” Hidan says, eyes carefully examining every inch; it’s taller than him, long reach, but yet fairly light, so it’s suitable for someone like Hidan. Kakuzu sighs, frowning.
“You can have it,” he mutters, voice flippant.
“I don’t know how to use something like this, though,” Hidan glances up at Kakuzu, and his eyes have an excited glint to them that says he’d like to learn.
“You’ll have to practice, then,” and Kakuzu crosses his arms over his chest, still standing close to Hidan’s bed.
Hidan nods, smiling, “Thank you, Kakuzu.” His voice is so—so sincere. It makes Kakuzu swallow, throat feeling oddly tight. Hidan places the scythe down on the mattress, getting up on his knees and leaning towards Kakuzu. Kakuzu stares at Hidan, wondering what the hell the boy is doing. He’s taken completely off guard when lips (small, warm, soft, slightly moist, he can’t help but notice) connect with the top of his cheek, just above where his mask ends. Kakuzu reacts instantly, not even thinking, mind still stuck in the kill-kill-kill mode from the man earlier. His hands shove at Hidan’s chest, causing the small frame to topple over backwards onto the bed before he leans over Hidan, hands wrapping around a small throat, enveloping the pale skin entirely, and he squeezes tight, crushing, cutting off all oxygen.
Hidan’s eyes are clenched shut, lips slightly parted and trembling, skin quickly flushing with blood. He feels a strange tingle, starting at his toes and fingers and spreading, spreading. He can hear his heart beat, pounding and throbbing in his ears, but all other sounds are muffled, far away. He feels oddly light, legs and arms feeling cut off from the rest of him, as if they could float away at any moment—not that it matters because Kakuzu’s not just leaning over him anymore, but on top of him, weight pressing down on Hidan. But at the same time his body feels so light, his head feels heavy, compressing, dizzy, and it’s—good. Very good. When he tries to open his eyes and look into Kakuzu’s, dark spots are clouding his vision and he can feel it all falling, falling away, to nothing.
When he awakes, blinking dazedly up at the ceiling, Kakuzu is sitting on the edge of Hidan’s bed, staring at the ground.
Kakuzu tenses slightly, awkward once he’s realized that Hidan’s awake by the sounds of sudden gasps, Hidan sucking in breaths hungrily; though he’d been breathing when he passed out and doesn’t really need it so badly, it still tastes sweet, feels relieving.
“I’m not used to being touched, so—you shouldn’t.” Your lips are too warm.
Hidan groans, throat feeling too raspy to speak yet. Silence falls over them both for several moments, Kakuzu eventually glancing back over his shoulder, watching the movement of Hidan’s chest, the gentle up and down. Will those lungs ever stop drawing breath? He sighs, looking at the thick red stripe on Hidan’s throat. It will probably bruise. His joy in killing doesn’t actually come from an interest in causing pain; rather, he just loves to snuff out life itself, addicted. But yet, when it comes to Hidan—he’d liked that. The feeling, squeezing Hidan’s throat shut. What’s wrong with him?
“Oh, Jashin-sama,” Hidan breathes out, eyes widening. He quickly rolls over on his side, facing away from Kakuzu, who snickers, grinning.
“Natural reaction of the body, kid.”
Hidan rests his hand over his face, cheeks flushed. Hidan knows what that is. Has read lots of bad romance novels from a woman’s house in his village. His sexual education. He knows what that is and he knows about masturbation, having been actively doing it for a few months now.
“Can’t imagine why the body would react that way to—being choked,” Hidan speaks, rolling over onto his stomach and burying his face in his pillow.
“Got me,” Kakuzu raises his eyebrows, “I’m no doctor.”
“Well—well it did feel good,” Hidan’s voice is muffled by the pillow. Kakuzu stares at Hidan’s back, licking his lips slowly.
“Really?” he asks, throat going dry.
“Mm, yeah. Kinda hazy. Just—um—good,” Hidan mumbles awkwardly. He doesn’t pick up on the tone of Kakuzu’s voice.
“So um, are you going to—leave?” Hidan questions nervously.
“Mm, no, I don’t think I will. I’m comfortable,” Kakuzu smirks and Hidan rolls over, leaning up on his elbows and glaring at Kakuzu.
“Well so am I,” Hidan shoots back. And this room doesn’t have its own bathroom, the inn only having a public restroom, down the hall. And Hidan sure isn’t doing—it—in there. He pouts. Kakuzu stands, walking to his bed and pulling off his coat and mask and hood, black hair spilling free. Hidan eyes Kakuzu’s face, appraising it, entirely not put off by the stitches that hold Kakuzu’s mouth together. Eventually his gaze stops roaming and he just stares, nervously, into Kakuzu’s eyes.
“Well then—then what am I supposed to do?” Hidan asks, exasperated and utterly confused by Kakuzu. Why can’t he just leave? Oh, Jashin. Kakuzu breaks the eye contact, flopping down on his bed and rolling over on his side, watching Hidan intently.
“I don’t know, Hidan—what are you going to do?” he drawls, lazily.
Hidan bites down on his lower lip, sitting up so that his back is against the headboard. Kakuzu’s such a—a jerk. Hidan grinds his teeth together. He really needs some better insults.
“Well, fine,” Hidan says. He doesn’t even care if Kakuzu watches. He’s been alone for so long, never had anyone to explain it to him; he doesn’t even realize it’s something he’s supposed to do in private. Which, Kakuzu thinks, is—really, really attractive. Hidan lifts his hips, tugging off his pants and shirt, left completely nude. Kakuzu chokes slightly, attempting not to stare. Thin, pale, fit. Oh, fuck. This kid is hot. Kakuzu’s never even been into the young ones before, but yet Hidan and his lack of modesty is very, very tempting. Hidan laughs, softly.
“You’re staring,” he drawls, voice melodic.
“And you’re, um—” Kakuzu blinks, “small. How cute it is,” he smirks, trying to get back on his feet, so to speak. Hidan doesn’t exactly seem wounded, though, and he just grips himself, fingers stroking lightly. His hand starts sliding up and down, motions light, teasing. Kakuzu licks his lips slowly. Hidan’s grip tightens, pumping himself slightly faster.
“Ahh, Jashin,” Hidan moans, voice hazy and pleasured. Kakuzu licks his lips. Again. There’s a tight knot, a pressure, in his chest, and he can’t stop just fucking watching. The way Hidan’s hips press up, matching the rhythm of his fevered strokes. The way his lower lip is swollen, reddened, from his teeth digging into the soft skin. Ohh, fuck. Kakuzu wants to touch, not watch. But he knows better. Wishes he could just be impulsive for once, though.
“M-mm, you’re still staring,” Hidan half-gasps, half-moans.
“Well, what do you expect me to do?” Kakuzu mutters, his heart—his true heart—beating fast. Hidan doesn’t answer, busy letting out a small, breathy moan, and why the fuck does Hidan have to be so vocal? That makes it twenty times worse.
“Jashin-sama, that’s good,” Hidan sighs out. It’s strange, but the fact that Kakuzu’s watching, eyes so hungry, makes it so much better than it ever was before. Maybe just because he’s grateful to have someone there, someone alive and breathing, a companion. For years Hidan had been rotting, mind twisting, needing so badly the human contact that’s vital to any child’s development. And now he has it. And those eyes on him make him feel so nice, hot all over. He’s never thought about women or men, only ever even masturbating just for the physical distraction. But now Kakuzu’s here, watching, and—and it makes Hidan think, makes him want more. The feeling of Kakuzu, even just watching him like this makes his own hands feel infinitely better than they ever have before. And thinking back to Kakuzu’s own hands on his throat, choking him—oh, Jashin, that had been so good.
“K-kakuzu!” he stammers without thinking, writhing and arching up off the bed, coming onto his stomach. Kakuzu lets out a shaky breath, blinking. Never before had his name sounded so damn good. But yet why the fuck had Hidan even moaned his name? Shit.
“I—think we should go out to dinner now,” Kakuzu says quickly, decisively. And they need to buy Hidan some other clothes, the boy only having what’s on—well, the ground, right now. Hidan nods, standing (unsteady on his feet for a moment before gaining his balance) and padding across the room to the small desk pressed against the wall, pulling a tissue out of the box on its surface. He wipes his stomach and hands clean before balling up the tissue, tossing it into the wastebasket next to the desk.
“Alright,” Hidan murmurs, smiling slightly. He bends down, picking up his clothes and tugging them back on, acting perfectly happy and normal as though none of that had just happened. Kakuzu sighs, pulling on his coat and mask. He would normally be too lazy to put everything on, but, unfortunately, they're going into a normal, public place. The stitches tend to frighten civilians. He stands, stepping closer to Hidan. The boy smells of come, musky, and he lets out another shaky breath. He wants, needs, to touch, now.
“Oh,” he breathes, remembering.
“I forgot—” He fishes in his pocket, Hidan’s ring there. He hadn’t found a chance to give it to the boy; little details like that often slip his mind. He pulls the ring out, blinking as Hidan extends his hand, palm down, fingers splayed.
“Oh, put it on yourself,” Kakuzu mutters. He may want to touch Hidan, and any excuse would be good. But he’s still not gone so soft as to slip the ring on Hidan’s finger like the boy was his bride. Hidan pouts but turns his palm up, Kakuzu dropping the ring into the boy's hand. Taking a step back, Hidan slides the ring on his finger, examining the way it looks against his skin. He nods in approval, grinning a bit.
“Let’s go already. I’m starving.”
“What are you doing?” Kakuzu asks, rubbing at his eyes.
“Praying,” Hidan says right away, not bothering to look up from his scroll.
“Praying?” Kakuzu parrots flatly, lifting an eyebrow. He’s never seen much use for religion. He’d always found it rather—silly. Pointless.
“Yes,” Hidan murmurs dryly, “To Jashin-sama.” Kakuzu had been wondering why the boy had continued to say that name.
“Jashin? Who’s that?” His voice is actually halfway interested, surprisingly.
“He is—” Hidan pauses, frowning. “The god my village worships—worshipped.”
“Oh,” Kakuzu blinks, “Whatever.” A pause, Kakuzu simply watching Hidan, whose lips have gone back to mouthing a string of words that Kakuzu can’t decipher. The motions of Hidan’s lips are strange; another language, perhaps.
“We have to set out soon, so hurry it up,” he commands, though his voice is soft.
“I can’t. I have—at least twenty more minutes left,” Hidan says, the metal beads of a rosary held tightly in his hands. Kakuzu pulls himself up, letting out an annoyed huff.
“You don’t have to—what you have to do is do as I tell you.” Kakuzu doesn’t have any respect for religion, money and death are the only things important to him. Hidan doesn’t reply, his eyes slipped shut, an expression on his face of devout faith, love, for his deity, his Jashin. And it makes Kakuzu seriously pissed off. He’s out of bed before he can even realize it, and grabs Hidan by the hair on the back of his head, jerking him back from the worn scroll. Hidan glances back, eyes narrowing.
“You’ll just have to wait. I’m not leaving here until I’m done,” Hidan snaps, breathing a bit heavily. He needs to finish this; he’s done it for almost every morning of his life. He was brought up like this. Kakuzu growls viciously, hating nothing more than when things don’t go as planned. He releases Hidan, giving the boy a fierce shove forward, frustration brooding heavily in his mind.
“Thank you,” Hidan says, a satisfied smile on his lips that Kakuzu wants to rip off brutally. Hidan gets back to praying, holding the beads lovingly, tenderly. Kakuzu is starting to realize with a sinking ache in the pit of his stomach that he’s actually jealous, he’s goddamn jealous of Jashin and the dedication and attention Hidan is showing to him.
He grits his teeth angrily once more, spinning on his heels and tugging on his cloak before grabbing his briefcase and storming out of the room, slamming the door shut with a fervent hope that the loud bang will at least momentarily distract Hidan’s praying. The little shit deserves it. He’ll wait out front for Hidan, but he sure as hell won’t like it.
Kakuzu mainly just plays with the man, tiring him out, before sending him Hidan’s way. There’s not a moment of hesitation in Hidan, no fear, and Kakuzu can tell he’s familiar with killing already. Hidan lashes out with the scythe when the man is in range, catching his throat with the tip of the scythe’s blade, ripping the skin open. Blood splatters onto Hidan’s skin, the contrast beautiful as always.
Somehow the color, rich red, of Hidan’s own blood, suits him better. But Kakuzu pushes that thought down sharply.
The man’s not quite dead yet and Hidan swings again, finishing it, his expression blissful as the man falls. Kakuzu licks his lips, walking closer. Hidan is crouched at the man’s side, fingers dipped in warm blood.
“Go on,” Kakuzu half grunts, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Hidan licks the tip of one finger slowly, swallowing afterwards. He smirks up at Kakuzu, rising gracefully to his feet, cleaning his fingers fully. For once Kakuzu has to admit, he kind of likes his partner. He pats Hidan lightly on the head, though he wants to smack himself on the forehead afterwards. Why did he just do something so stupid and trite? He turns on his heels, shouting gruff instructions behind him for Hidan to retrieve the man's head so they can collect the bounty.
They travel a lot. Hidan never loses his naïve awe about the new places despite the deaths cropping up constantly. Eventually he finds that they’ve ended up around where they started, having been traveling in wide, lazy circles. On the way through a forest to another village, he realizes that they’re near where they first met and leads them on a detour.
“Do you want to go back in?” Kakuzu asks, placing his hand on that stone wall; it’s crumbled a bit more. Hidan hesitates, which is rare for him.
“I guess,” he mumbles, staring down at the ground. Kakuzu steps away from the wall, taking quiet paces in the dirt of the path leading inward. He doesn’t sense Hidan’s slighter footsteps following, and he stops, glancing over his shoulder at the boy, who’s only grown the slightest bit since the beginning.
“What’s wrong?” he snaps, impatient as always.
“Nothing,” Hidan mutters, irritated, which is also strange; he never lets Kakuzu’s constant foul mood get to him aside from occasionally when Kakuzu pesters him about his morning prayers. Hidan hurries to catch up and they continue on into the village. It looks much the same as always, no more or less dilapidated. But yet, he can’t help but notice that it’s lacking some sort of life essence that Hidan had left lingering, dissipated in his absence.
“You used to be afraid to leave here, now you’re scared to come back?” Kakuzu observes dryly. Hidan, lips pressed in a thin, flat line, doesn’t respond to the taunting. Rare. Out of character; he always has some sort of wiseass comeback to offer. This place is somber, perhaps even a bit eerie, (not that Kakuzu, at his age, succumbs to fear; it's a useless emotion, truly) but he’s never known Hidan to be the easily frightened type, either, except when there’s crowds involved. So he can’t understand this.
He’s had to deal with that a lot from Hidan; Hidan’s a kid, after all. Kakuzu hasn’t been a child in many, many years. He has trouble understanding the irrational fears and behaviors of childhood. But he tries, he tries harder to comprehend Hidan than any other person he’s known. Eventually, he realizes that they’re just wandering slowly and aimlessly around, and shoots an expectant glance at Hidan. A moment later they stop in what looks to be the center of the village.
“So why are we here?” Hidan asks immediately, eyes constantly moving about, looking around the place he grew up in, his perspective on it probably changed massively after all he’s seen.
“We were close by,” Kakuzu shrugs. Hidan hesitates, lower lip trembling slightly.
“Are—you sure you’re not going to leave me?” he mumbles, barely audible. Kakuzu raises his eyebrows. All that fear—fear of abandonment? He leans down a bit. Not since that night, not since that night had he allowed himself to succumb to emotion, but the fear in those eyes sways him.
“Is that what you think?” he asks, voice struggling to remain neutral, and his fingers settle under Hidan’s chin, tilting the small face up. Hidan says nothing in response, his eyes just flit down and to the side.
“Never. You’re the only partner that works for me.” He doesn’t mean to, but his thumb is stroking the soft, smooth skin of Hidan’s chin. His fingers eventually straying up farther, rubbing at thin, pretty pink lips. He sighs, remembering how they felt against the top of his cheek.
“Alright. Alright.” Hidan slides his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath. When the dark irises come back into view, the light, that mischievous childish light, is back. They share one of their “smiles”, Hidan smirking and Kakuzu’s eyes just barely showing a sign of a smile.
“Let’s go,” Hidan speaks haughtily, “I’ve got something to show you.”
“I haven’t been here in years,” he sighs, expression finally drooping. There are mats on the ground for prayer—splattered with dark spots that Kakuzu realizes is the old blood he had smelled. Hidan kneels down on one of them, his back to Kakuzu.
“I—prayed here every day with my family. Not just my parents, I mean, the whole village was my family, I guess.” He bends down over his knees, forehead to the ground, and Kakuzu can detect the slightest shake to his shoulders.
“So, what happened?” he asks plainly, a question that’s been plaguing him for a long while now. Hidan breathes in slowly, back rising. And he breathes out, his small frame deflating. Several moments of silence pass before Hidan starts to talk. He doesn’t stop for a long time.
He was chosen with good reason; Hidan was thin for his age, but only because his frame held not an ounce of baby fat. He was somewhat well toned, and grew even more muscle as his training continued. It was fairly standard training for a young shinobi but for the fact that everything they did was linked back to pleasing Jashin. His teachers treated him well, not being overly harsh or abusive, never having to be; Hidan did what they asked of him and more, so what would be the point of treating him cruelly? As long as they told him to do something for Jashin, he would do it, because—
Hidan, from a very young age, was extremely devout. He accepted all that he was told without question, possessing a remarkable amount of faith despite his age; or perhaps it was because of his age. Things were fine until he was five. He had turned daring as children that age often were. Hidan and his friends were playing in the village outskirts, Hidan walking along the thin stone wall that ran along the sides of the path entering the village. His teachers had been scolding him lately for his poor balance. He wanted to please them by training on his own, and so he stepped stone by stone, wobbling this way and that. His friends goaded him on.
All fun, until—until. A stone chipped loose beneath his foot, and he slipped. Fell sideways. It was not a terribly long fall, but long enough, for a young child, with such a frail, thin neck. The side of his skull smashed against a medium sized rock in the path, its sharp edge splitting his skin, deep red blossoming into light gray hair, into the dirt. And the angle, the angle with which he fell was just right (just wrong) that his head was snapped sideways while his body remained tragically straight, which left his neck in a precarious and crooked situation.
He thrashed around a bit at first, small body not used to pain but for the slightest bumps and bruises, scrapes and scratches. But then he stilled. His eyes went blank. His friends split and scattered. Some, afraid of consequence for getting the village’s most beloved child injured or possibly killed (though their small minds couldn’t comprehend that), ran home and hid in their rooms.
Others, the more responsible ones, went to find adults. The news was spread and a crowd came rushing to the village’s edge, including Hidan’s sobbing mother. But they found no bent and broken body. No deadened eyes. No still chest: just Hidan, back up on the wall, stepping clumsily, his arms spread. The adults assumed already that the children had been playing a terrible prank; one girl’s mother even going so far as to send her daughter a withering gaze, grabbing her tightly by the upper arm, prepared to take her away for punishment. And then—Hidan hopped down off the wall, turning to face his mother.
“Why are you crying?” A solid curtain of red draped the side of his face.
“What happened, Hidan?” He had recited the story to his parents. To his relatives. To family friends. And then, to the village’s high priests, a group of two wrinkled old men and one old woman who had always frightened Hidan. They were old, decrepit, and the sermons they gave were always full of big, scary words. He sat, nervously, in a worn wooden chair, the trio gathered around him.
“I-I’ve told everyone already, I was walking on the wall and I lost my balance. My head hit the ground and my neck snapped. I—felt, my heart, it stopped. My lungs weren’t moving but I was breathing somehow. I couldn’t move anything but my mouth, though.” Hidan took in a deep breath. He didn’t like this next part of the story.
“The side of my head hurt. Something hot and wet was running down the side of it. But nothing else hurt. I felt—I don’t know—good. Like before you go to sleep.” Tranquil, but his young vocabulary couldn’t supply such a word. The female elder, female, let out a low, entranced moan.
“It is a sign, my brothers. A sign from Jashin. This child—this child.” She was trembling all over, and Hidan shrank down in his seat, frightened.
“Don’t get too excited,” Osamu snapped, one of her brothers. The male two were twins. Their hair was golden blond, despite their ages. They were completely identical, not growing into difference with age as so many identical twins did. Mirrored.
“We don’t know for sure,” the other, Isamu, uttered.
“He is the one,” she spoke, sure of herself. Hidan shrank down even further. He didn’t like what they were saying about him, not one bit. He didn’t want to be special. He was special enough, with his pink eyes and his training in the village’s trade. He didn’t want to stand out any more.
“I—I’m not—I think you’ve got the wrong person here.”
Her lips spread in a wide smile. He had never seen her smile before; it was not a sight he’d ever been particularly interested in.
“Exactly, what if the child is lying, what if things have gotten over-exaggerated?” Hidan almost wanted to protest. He was not a liar. But he wisely kept his mouth shut, lips pressed into a thin line.
“No,” she shakes her head, “I can feel Jashin in him. I am sure of this, my brothers.” She reached a hand within her robes, emerging with a bright, glinting dagger. Hidan let out a startled cry as the dagger was plunged into his chest, through the chest plate. It hurt. Very badly. A worse pain than he’d ever had to endure before. A pain that no child should have to endure.
He could feel his heart feebly trying to beat around the metal impaled in it, but eventually it was simply impossible, the hole torn into the muscle too large to continue thumping. But yet he was still breathing, still entirely conscious. Very alert, in fact. His eyes were wide open, staring down with a mixture of intrigue and shock at the dagger protruding from his chest.
It had hurt initially, and the pain was still there, underlying, but over it, the restful, lullaby state once more. His pink eyes clouded over slightly.
“You see, my brothers? Jashin is with this child—no. Within him.” Bold words. But the twins did seem to be more convinced. Hidan was still seeping blood, his clothes ruined, though maybe it was a silly thing to be worried about at a time like this.
“I—I want to go home,” Hidan sniffled, eyes moistening, tears a rarity for him.
“You will, child,” female said tenderly, patting Hidan on the head, which merely served to make him more uneasy. They left him for what felt like forever. Hidan sat in petrified silence, broken only by the dripping of blood. It tickling on his skin, itching terribly as it dried. Tears began sliding down his cheeks, Hidan unable to even remember the last time he’d outright cried.
He was able to judge how long it had been when they finally reemerged because the blood on his chest had congealed entirely. His heart was beating again. He didn’t even notice it happening; it started with just a gradual stirring, finally pumping at its normal speed and strength. He didn’t really understand any of this, but he put on a brave face anyway since that was the kind of boy he was.
“Go home, Hidan,” Osamu said. Hidan cocked his head to the side, expression a bit distrustful.
“That’s it?” Hidan questioned skeptically, having somehow expected worse. Isamu chuckled, and nodded.
“Go home, and speak nothing else of this, not even to your parents,” he warned. Hidan slid out of the uncomfortable seat, the hole in his chest aching. Jashin-sama, what was happening with his life? He didn’t hesitate a moment longer, quickly scurrying out of the temple.
But with his newfound “ability” that fear was just—gone. Nothing could touch him. Otherwise, his life was as it always was. Until, that is, the typical Sunday ceremony several weeks later. He knew that something odd was going on when female insisted that he and his parents sit at the very front of the room. Which turned out to not be a completely unfounded fear, because his name, unfortunately, was brought up during the ceremony.
“Brothers and sisters, we have joyous news,” female spoke, spreading her arms out wide, expression slightly manic, “The one we have been waiting for has finally been born unto us. Some of you may have heard about this child, Hidan’s,” and here she gestured rather wildly at Hidan, “incident.
“Well, my brothers and I have considered the matter long and hard, questioned the blood extensively,” (this referring to their village’s divining process of slitting an enemy’s throat while suspending them in the air by ceremonial harnesses and examining the way the blood poured from their throat, splattered the ground), “and we have decided that he is, indeed, holding Jashin’s essence within his soul.”
A wave of gasps and murmurs flooded the crowded room, and Hidan slouched, almost wishing he could hide himself entirely, (he also 'shrank in his seat' during the questioning from the elders – I don't know if the repetition is intentional) trying to ignore the many gazes on him, the way his mother’s hand clamped down on his thigh, the choked way she breathed his name out. He didn’t want to be special. His eyes, large and terrified, locked gazes with female, and they didn’t break away for what felt like forever.
“But what does this mean?” someone shouted from the back, joined by various cries of agreement. female raised her hands, silencing the crowd.
“What this means,” she drawled slowly, “is that we can finally do as the writings have prophesied and join Jashin-sama.”
Complete silence.
“Are you sure?” she asked breathlessly, seeming to be on the verge of tears. He wasn’t able to tell if they were tears of joy or grief. female nodded solemnly.
“And—he’ll have to—” his mother cut herself short with a sob. Hidan became even more alarmed, eyes flitting around the adults surrounding him.
“Yes,” female placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder consolingly, but Hidan wanted to slap it away.
“But then he will be able to join us.” His mother clapped a hand over her mouth, unable to even look at her own son, while his father just stood there, impassively. Hidan was—confused.
“What? What do I have to do?” he asked, voice trembling.
“You’ll have to—to—” his mother stammered, unable to complete the thought.
“End the lives in the mortal plane of all your brothers and sisters, and yourself,” female spoke, smiling gently at him.
Hidan’s heart nearly stopped, without any violent provocation this time. He shifted, small frame tense.
The chair creaked noisily.
“It didn’t take much longer, after that. It happened next Sunday. They gave me a cleansing ceremony—the water was really cold. Then they took me to this room underneath here. It was filled with scrolls. There was a symbol drawn on the ground, not the normal symbol of Jashin but something different, much more complicated. They told me that within that symbol, I’d be able to kill myself despite, you know, how I was.
“I didn’t like the thought of it, it made me lose some of my confidence, I guess. And then they fed me—I still don’t know what it was. It was like a tea. Very herbal. I guess it was like a drug. Made me all hazy. They, the three, I mean, started chanting from one of the scrolls, it was huge, and I guess, it sort of put me in a trance.” Hidan’s voice is flat, emotionless.
“I don’t remember anything past that. Just female saying—‘In the name of Jashin, child, kill.’ I remember that very well. Then I woke up here and they were all dead.” He shrugs.
“I don’t even know if it was—harder for me to kill my parents than anyone else, or if they said anything.” Hidan rests his face in his palms, moving very slowly, cautiously, as if afraid there are cracks stemming throughout his skin like ice, liable to break at any moment. Kakuzu lets out a low, considering hum. Stories like this one aren't new to him. Plenty of children in their world have such pasts: forced to kill at a young age, family, friends, non-discriminatory. After all, emotional ties provide only a weight, in the most ruthless of villages. Hidan is not special, in their world. But yet—Hidan is special, to him, and that’s what’s really strange here, isn’t it?
“So I—I knew that I was supposed to do it to myself, too, but I just couldn’t do it. I did believe, I still do, in Jashin-sama, but I—I was covered in blood. I had to get it off. So I did that first, and then I had to get to work on burying them, and,” Hidan laughs softly, humorlessly, “I never got around to killing myself.” Kakuzu eyes Hidan impassively, wondering what in the world he should say now.
“So—you said you had something to show me, is this it?” he grunts roughly. Hidan glances up and over his shoulder at Kakuzu, smiling. Just the reaction he’d been hoping for. Perhaps it was odd of him to suddenly spill his story in such a way; Kakuzu and he never speak of any really personal matters. There’s no room for it. They are partners, and they act accordingly; friendly enough, relying on one another, but wary to get any closer than that.
And so Hidan had never had a chance to bring this up. But he has been wanting to; he trusts Kakuzu, for one thing, and he is desperate to get the past off his chest, for another. This detour into his past had provided him with the shove to finally speak of these things. It’s a relief, and Kakuzu’s nonchalant response is just right. He doesn’t mean to change Kakuzu’s perception of him with this, he wishes only for Kakuzu to be aware, for someone to be aware of what happened here.
“No. I wanted to go down and see if there are any useful scrolls, before they get too old to read,” and Hidan finally stands, stretching thoroughly, without any fear that he is going to break into shards.
“What’s your problem?” Hidan hesitates, seeming to be pulling together his thoughts.
“If this technique exists, it means that once, others in my village were like—me. Maybe they hadn’t existed anymore, but—they lied. I wasn’t special. I don’t have Jashin in me.” Hidan’s lower lip extends in what seems to be to Kakuzu an absurdly kissable pout. He attempts to shake the thought off.
“Not—necessarily,” Kakuzu mumbles, his best attempt at being consoling when he really doesn’t even believe in any of this religious shit, just knows that such a technique could seriously come in handy if Hidan could perfect it.
“Jashin, I don’t know what’s going on anymore,” Hidan moans, clapping a hand over his eyes and flopping back on the bed, careful to avoid the delicate scrolls. His shirt rides up, revealing a strip of pale skin, some bruises lingering from their last battle. Kakuzu stands slowly, stiffly, leaning a knee on the mattress at Hidan’s side, the worn springs creaking down.
“What?” Hidan questions lightly, brows furrowing down. He’s just a child, Kakuzu attempts to remind himself, a damaged, needy one, at that—this will definitely only lead to more problems. But something about the constant glint in those pink eyes is somehow alluring, makes this all seem worth it, and he leans down further, hands pressing Hidan’s wrists roughly to the mattress, lips shoving harshly against a small pair, the feel of the skin somehow akin to worn, wrinkled parchment.
It is all violent, harsh, not tender in the least, because that is Kakuzu’s nature. Hidan doesn’t particularly seem to mind. He’s not trying to get away, even returning the kiss, straining upwards. Kakuzu climbs fully onto the small bed, the small body, and tugs his lips off of Hidan, who is panting.
“Finally,” Hidan speaks, voice a bit small, perhaps a bit hesitant, but with an underlying layer of confidence. Kakuzu laughs gruffly.
“You were waiting for this, brat? Like you even know what this is,” he chides, and Hidan smirks, wrists tugging, wrenching at Kakuzu’s grasp. Kakuzu lets his grip loosen just a bit, Hidan’s hands sliding free, wrists ringed in pink, like his eyes, and reaching, settling on the back of Kakuzu’s neck. Hidan leans up, lips once more pressing a simple kiss to Kakuzu’s cheek.
“I know that, since I first kissed you on the cheek, I wanted you to kiss me back. I know that I wouldn’t mind you choking me again. I know that I liked you watching.” Hidan’s smirk fades into a smile, and Kakuzu shakes his head. In all his years, this might just be the most fucked up relationship he’s had, but that’s what makes it appealing, really.
“Ah, I see. So you know everything about what we adults,” Kakuzu drags the words out a bit teasingly, “do, now.” His hands, now freed, roam through Hidan’s hair, having always wanted to touch it, (It’s soft.) messing up the already messy ash gray locks.
“You should slick it back, it would suit you,” Kakuzu mumbles with his lips barely an inch away from Hidan’s before crushing them back together, Hidan arching and stretching beneath him, aching for more, desperate to be touched after far too long with no one’s touch, no one’s caress, but his own. He wants his mother back, his father, his friends, but Kakuzu will do nicely. The dusty scrolls get pushed to the ground.
“Stop that,” Kakuzu snaps, slapping Hidan’s hands away. Hidan’s just as childish as ever. But now he’s also brash and loud and obnoxious. Well, as a child he was a bit of those things as well, but at least he’d had his moments of sweetness, shyness. (But were those the parts that had drawn Kakuzu to Hidan, really? Not particularly. That was boring.) Either way. Hidan seriously gets on his nerves.
“You should stop letting your poor, innocent partner get hurt,” Hidan says, a poor impression of innocence on his face.
“Shut up, you know you like it.” Mobile threads snake out for what seems like the millionth time, shoving into Hidan’s skin, stitching him shut.
“My heart could have been broken, you know,” Hidan’s eyes flutter shut, the corner of his lips twitching up.
“Shut up, that thing could survive Deidara’s worst explosions,” Kakuzu snaps, annoyed by the oh-so-blissful expression on his partner’s face.
“Oh, don’t talk about that fag,” Hidan snaps, nose wrinkling.
“Still jealous?” Kakuzu smirks beneath his mask, pulling his hand away, the job done. Hidan opens his eyes, narrowing them right away. His fingers rub over the thick, protruding sutures on his chest.
“Yeah, these belong only to me, I don’t care what duty you have to Pein. No one else deserves to feel how good they are.” He smirks a bit, leaning closer to Kakuzu, cheeks flushed.
“Most people wouldn’t like it, you’re just a freak, and a brat as always,” Kakuzu mutters, but he gives in, shoving Hidan up against a thick tree trunk, ignoring the body lying on the ground near them for now; it can be tended to later, he supposes. Not like it’s going anywhere.
They’ve never gone back to Hidan’s village; it’s never even been brought up again. Hidan just dedicates himself fully (annoyingly so; but Kakuzu would never admit that sometimes he feels the slightest bits of jealousy tugging at him as well) to Jashin and tries to ignore the fact that he’s the only surviving believer.
They press against each other as close and hard as possible, their trysts always having a desperation behind them; Hidan and Kakuzu both know that their time is running out, somehow, knowing in their hearts that this world holds no place for them, the old, ruthless villages beginning to be replaced by more civilized societies. No more place for barbarians like them. But Hidan wouldn’t want to be any other way, personally, doesn’t see how else he could have survived those years alone, that he tries to just forget now. There is definitely something to be said for barbarism. Bark digs hard into his back, teeth splitting the skin beneath his lip, sutures straining to hold. His heart about to beat out of his chest, it seems.
Kakuzu does that to him.
Choking curses, prayers to Jashin, strangled moans, but most importantly, a small voice stammering out a certain name, that name, that he’d cried out upon finally having eyes upon him, that he cries out now, grateful to still have eyes on him. A frame, still somewhat slighter than Kakuzu’s pressed against him, arching up once more, a hand fiercely wrapped around himself.
“K-kakuzu!”
:
:
:
:
