Ars Amatoria

Chapter Four: When the Birds Come Home to Roost... Hell Breaks Loose

A/N: Finally, an update. This one is a little -well, make that quite a bit- darker than previous chapters, but since Hidan and Kakuzu are naturally dark and violent characters, I might as well get the darkness out of the way. So... little non-con warning for this chapter, folks. Next chapter will definitely be a return to comedy and fluffy bits.

“You have much pleased me, my son. Thou art fully worthy of the blessings I wish to bestow upon thee.”

Hidan smiled beatifically, bowing his head. “I only wished to serve my God,” he said modestly, touching the sparkling gold halo drifting in mid-air above his head. “Seriously, sacrificing virgins and slaughtering heathens in your name is what I live for.”

“Thy dedication to thy duty and worship are truly noteworthy. Hidan, thou art truly the most deserving and loyal of mine disciples. It is only fitting that I reward thee.”

Hidan tried not to look too smug, but it was difficult to keep the smirk off his face. The inferior priests cowing at his feet only made it sweeter. “You are too kind, most holy Jashin.”

“From this day forward, let it be known that thou art not longer a mere servant. You will be known… as Saint Hidan.”

Saint Hidan. Saint Hidan. Saint Hidan.

He rolled the name on his tongue, testing it, tasting it, and he found it to be even sweeter than that first shower of the morning.

“Art thou content, my son?”

“I’m fucking ecstatic.”

The god looked pleased. “And now, Saint Hidan, art thou ready to take thy rightful place at my right hand in heaven?”

Hidan gaped, even though a part of him expected nothing less. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously, my son.”

The newly proclaimed saint beamed, the very motion bringing rays of sunlight splashing onto the ground. He ascended the golden dais that held the throne resting at Jashin’s right hand and sat down, barely constraining the need to jump and down screaming, “take that, you heathen fuckers!”.

Hidan stroked the arms of his throne reverently, marvelling at the feel. This was what he had spent his entire life waiting for. This was the end to which he had dedicated himself; this was the pinnacle of his existence. He had always know that he was Jashin’s favoured –how could he not have been for all his years of service?– and now he had proof of that in his hands.

“And what shall be thy first act as my disciple, my son?”

The saint raised his face to his god and smiled. As much as he would have liked to see Pein on his knees, grovelling for forgiveness, he had other priorities. “I think,” he said reverently, “that I would like to see heathens burning for their sins. For eternity, too.”

“An excellent choice, Saint Hidan.” The god said approvingly. “And which heathen wouldst thou see burn first?”

Hidan pretended to think it over for several moments. Judging from the smile on his god’s face, Jashin knew that it was akin to letting a child loose in a candy store and telling them they would have anything they wanted. Of course, the forefront name in Hidan’s mind was…

“I think… Kakuzu.”

“Art thou sure that thou wilt condemn this heathen Kakuzu to burn for his sins?” the god asked, taking amusement in his disciple’s predictability.

“No heathen deserves eternal punishment more than he does,” Hidan said fiercely, before adding hopefully, “and could I add some pitchforks? And maybe some boiling pitch?”

The god smiled indulgently. “Whatever thy wish, my son. It shall fall into thy hands to punish this heathen as much as thou desire.”

Hidan grinned, lips parting in a feral smile. He trembled with anticipation as priests dragged the familiar form of his blasphemous partner to the foot of the throne. He clenched his scythe in one hand, relishing the feel of the polished wood on calloused fingers. His breathing quickened as they forced Kakuzu onto his knees, jerking his masked head up to stare into the eyes of the saint.

Hidan took a step forward. He would deliver a justice soaked in red. He would deliver the revenge that had plagued his thoughts for weeks. He would–

—actually be sleeping like a baby on the couch.

Kakuzu, seated beside his sleeping partner on the sofa in the Akatsuki’s lounge, watched Hidan with an exasperated expression on his face. The Jashinist was curled into a ball, rubbing his rosary all over his face and emitting low noises of contentment.

“Mmm… Jashin-sama… ‘course I want an eternity to punish sin… just gimme that sword and a noose, seriously… friggin’’ heathens won’t know what hit ‘em… an’ just you wait, Kakuzu, you’re fuckin’ first in line… stingy bastard… zzzzz…”

Kakuzu’s eye twitched. Character predictability wasn’t even an excuse. He reached out and prodded Hidan hard on the shoulder. He wasn’t going to risk further humiliation by carrying him to their bedroom. The trip home had been embarrassing enough, so much so that Kakuzu wouldn’t be able to show his face in that village for at least ten years without murdering someone.

“…zzzzz… an’ I said, where the fuck ‘ve you been… ‘course Jashin is the most bitchin’ god ever…”

…of course, there was always the option of dragging Hidan up the stairs by his hair.

“Blasphemin’… bastard….zzzz….” Hidan rolled over onto his back and jammed his thumb into his mouth, sucking the digit like a newborn baby.

Kakuzu broke out of a fantasy of forcing Hidan to choke on his own fist and paused to consider his situation. It was so tempting to take the easy route and drag Hidan upstairs by his hair. He was itching to grab those pristine silver locks in his fist and give them a hard yank. Oh, the glow of satisfaction that would warm his hearts at seeing silver strands littering the floor…

But that wasn’t how a man was supposed to treat the object of his desire. He had to be subtle. Beguiling. He had to make Hidan squirm.

Yes. Kakuzu had to do this… the seductive way.

He sent out a probe of chakra, ensuring that there was no one else in the vicinity of the lounge to disturb them. His senses remained quiet. Most of the Akatsuki were asleep or on missions at this hour. There would be no unwanted spectators for this next display.

Looking down at the slumbering Jashinist, Kakuzu clenched his fists and told himself it was for the greater good.

Well, he told himself resignedly, all aboard.

Wrapped in fantasises of heavenly retribution and divine carnage, Hidan slept peacefully, subconsciously hoping that that the dream would last beyond waking. Jashin was close… close as he always was when Hidan dreamed.

He groped at the couch, muttering “Jashin… sama…”

Something brushed gently across his cheek and he smiled, imagining that it was the touch of his god.

“Jashin-sama…” he murmured again. “mmm… I live to serve… take my soul, my body, whatever you need…I’ll give to you…”

The touch grew more insistent on his skin. Beginning to emerge from his state of slumber, Hidan realised that the contact came from outside of what was unfortunately just a dream. He frowned as the light weight crept across his cheeks and nose, teasing his lips and tickling his chin.

“Stupid… fly…” he grumbled, swiping a hand across his face.

Whatever it was retreated only briefly before returning again, this time venturing to the open neck of his cloak. Hidan moaned sleepily in protest and rolled over, tucking himself tightly into a ball.

“Hidan,” a voice whispered next to his ear. Something soft tickled his earlobe. “Wake up.”

“No… gimme five minutes…”

The tickling grew more insistent, stroking forcefully across his cheeks. Hidan grumbled and stretched himself out, reluctantly opening his eyes.

Kakuzu stared down at him.

Kakuzu. With his hand next to Hidan’s face, threads extending from his fingertips.

There was no fly. Only threads… that were caressing his face.

Trapped halfway between sleep and waking, Hidan could only blink, wondering at the hands that moved so suddenly, twisting his body till he was lying on his back. Understanding of what was happening flooded his brain, and a chorus of protests screamed out in unison when a warm weight settled over his hips.

“What the– bastard, get the fuck off me!”

“Hidan.” A thumb brushed over his mouth, two fingers pinching the lips closed to prevent Hidan from biting it. “You need to learn when to keep your mouth shut.”

Violet eyes darkened with anger and the body beneath Kakuzu twisted. The Falls nin smiled, stooping closer. Hidan’s struggling made no difference when he had the advantage of weight and strength. Anger flashed through the other man–the bastard was taking advantage of his weakness– and he was disgusted at the fear that seeped over the rage –he’s touching me!

The word sin pounded through his mind and the hand keeping his wrists manacled together tightened its grip.

No. No. No. No.

Threads brushed faintly over his throat and his body jerked. Words gurgled in his throat, unable to rush past his lips. Kakuzu’s weight burned, the weight of sin forcing down unbearably on his chest.

Kakuzu paused, looking surprised. Anger, rage, hatred… he saw everything he expected to see, but then there was fear. He’d never seen that look on Hidan’s face. He’d seen Hidan bleeding torrents on the ground, pike sticking grotesquely through his torso, the pale face graced with an insane smile as he communed in violent ecstasy with his god. Fear was never a part of the ritual.

Fear… Hidan was afraid of him?

No, not afraid of him… afraid of what he might do. The knowledge sent an upsurge of triumph shooting through him. Where is your god now,was what he wanted to ask. Kakuzu thrilled in that if he wanted, he could strip away that smug grin, remove all the arrogance that had pissed him off for so long.

Kakuzu was not a sadistic man. The things he had done –torture, murder and the like– had been done to serve a purpose, not for pleasure or satisfaction. Yet… one hand touched Hidan’s face and felt the tautness of the muscles in the cheek. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find blood in Hidan’s mouth from biting the inside of his cheek in frustration.

It was so easy. Hidan had stopped struggling, he was paralysed underneath him. All Kakuzu had to was reach down and… he’s so damn sensitive, the older man marvelled. The hand covering Hidan’s mouth slid down to rest on his neck. His partner’s breathing quickened, heartbeat thrumming under Kakuzu’s fingertips.

Hidan’s lips parted. Kakuzu bent closer. He hated Hidan, yes, but it disturbed him suddenly at just how much he wanted to hurt him. No. That didn’t matter.

“Don’t.”

Kakuzu looked down at the pale face. It wasn’t a ‘don’t you dare’, it was more like ‘please don’t’. Upon hearing that weak whisper, he felt… unsettled. Wrong. His gaze dropped to the dishevelled figure sprawled on the couch and he was dismayed to feel a familiar sensation creeping up his gut. Guilt. His grip on Hidan slackened.

The moment he let go he regretted it as Hidan’s fist slammed into his stomach.

Kakuzu slumped over with a groan, pain blooming through his gut. Hidan jerked himself upright, blood returning to features sharpened with renewed fury. He pulled back his foot to shove Kakuzu off of him, but a hand shot out to grip his leg, holding it fast.

Their gazes locked. Slowly, Kakuzu lifted himself off the Jashinist, deliberately squeezing his leg hard. Hidan’s mouth pulled back in a wordless snarl.

A thousand taunts came to Kakuzu’s mind. Taunts to provoke, taunts to hurt, taunts to spark the violence quivering between them… taunts clamped behind his lips. A sense of dismay made his mouth taste bitter, and he mentally tried to shake it out of himself. What was he thinking? He hated Hidan. He didn’t care about the Jashinist’s feelings. Why would he care if he got hurt? He wanted to hurt Hidan. Damn it. Damn it all to hell.

He didn’t resist when Hidan shoved him to the floor. He barely heard Hidan hiss “you disgust me, heathen bastard” in a voice of contempt more vehement than Kakuzu had ever heard him utter and he barely noticed his partner storm out the door and vanish into the basement.

He only wondered why Hidan hadn’t tried to kill him.

Pein was accustomed to dealing with his subordinates’ eccentric tendencies in the house that the Akatsuki called home. He accepted that furniture had a tendency to explode at the most inappropriate moments (when he and Konan had been ‘busy’ on it or when he wad been taking a nap), and appliances were frequently mauled upon. It was commonplace for screams to be coming from the basement, and he even tolerated the fact that Zetsu’s bedroom resembled a slice of the Amazon jungle.

But this was pushing it. He had come downstairs in the early hours of the morning, anticipating a cup of tea to soothe his aching stomach –a side effect from the stress of running an evil organization– and passed through the lounge to get to the kitchen only to find this.

He stared at the couch – his favourite couch, mind you. The same couch that the rest of the Akatsuki, save Konan, avoided like the plague even though it was the most comfortable couch in the room and was best positioned to see the television. Now it had sprouted enough ninja armaments to start a small civil war. Explosive tags had been strung up in a circle to provide a wide perimeter that prevented anyone from coming within five metres. Razor-sharp kunai were rigged on the ceiling to rain down on the trespasser, and Pein recognised the small pots of explosive clay that Deidara made for the organisation to use as grenades.

Someone had been raiding the weapons room without his permission. And that someone was snoring on his couch. The boundary –the forbidden threshold that no Akatsuki had ever dared to cross– had been broken.

“Desecration,” he hissed, stalking forward. With a flick of his wrist, the explosive tags and grenades vanished, returning to the storage and the kunai clattered uselessly to the floor. He paused at the couch, staring down at the sleeping figure with half-lidded eyes. Hidan slept there, curled in on himself. His body made jerking motions periodically as if he was running from something and every so often a whimper escaped him. Pein smiled, a dangerous lilt to his mouth. A nightmare, eh? A nightmare was nothing compared to the punishment that Pein had in mind. The harshest nightmare would seem like sunshine and lollipops after Pein was done with him.

He flicked his fingers again and the body on the sofa contorted painfully. Hidan spluttered his way back to consciousness, snarling “God damn it, who the fuck?”

Pein noted his subordinate’s skittish eyes and trembling hands with some curiosity. Hmm. No matter. Far more important was finding out why Hidan had commandeered his favourite couch.

“Tell me, Hidan, what you think you are doing on my couch.” He toed the remaining kunai scattered at his feet, adding coldly, “I don’t recall giving you my permission to remove these from the storage room.”

Hidan blinked rapidly. “…You didn’t,” he agreed somewhat defiantly. “But, you know, I had my reasons. That bastard, Kakuzu, he–”

“Kakuzu is of no importance,” Pein interrupted shortly. “What matters is that you were sleeping on my couch and I want to know why. What made you think that you could flout the rules and sleep on my couch?”

“Listen, I’m trying to tell you that I was only sleeping here because of that molesting asshole. I can’t go back to my room. Else I wouldn’t sleep on your shitty couch in the first place.”

Pein’s eyes widened in faint outrage. Shitty couch? “For your information,” he said icily, “this couch was imported. From Italy. It is not, as you say, shitty.”

Hidan scowled. Was it his fault that Kakuzu had lost control of his hormones? Was it his fault that Kakuzu had decided that the object of his sexual desire was now him? No. He had never been so terrified and angry in his life. Kakuzu had pinned him down. He had been helpless as a child under Kakuzu, and he’d… caved in to his fear. He had been on the verge of begging Kakuzu to let him go. He’d shamed Jashin with his weakness. I should have killed him, Hidan told himself, should have bled the bastard dry. His earlier attempt at repentance shamed him as well; no amount of bloodletting and lashing could redeem him to Jashin’s divinity. His skin was swollen and tender from the punishment he had given himself, and his cloak felt like sandpaper on his back, but Hidan welcomed the pain as he always did. It was incomparable to the pain he would endure had he allowed Kakuzu to–

“–and that will be the final word, Hidan, is that clear?”

“Fine,” he muttered, having clearly not heard a word of Pein’s lecture. “I’ll stay off the fucking Italian couch. I’ll sleep somewhere else.”

“You will be sleeping on the room that I provided for you,” Pein retorted.

“I can’t… Kakuzu’s there.”

“I don’t believe that I’m giving you a choice.”

“Fuck that, I’m not going to damn my soul because of your precious couch. I’ll sleep on the fucking floor then.”

“Not when you have a perfectly decent room that I provided.”

“I told you, I won’t–”

“Then I believe that I do not have a choice,” Pein interjected smoothly, one hand whipping out to clasp a handful of silver hair. His fist yanked the clump tight and pulled. Hidan shrieked –more in fury than pain– before he was unceremoniously dragged up the stairs to the bedrooms. He couldn’t break Pein’s grip of course, but he still promised bloody and agonising vengeance nonetheless –and you could be damned sure Hidan was being vocal about it.

He should have tried to kill me for what I did. But he didn’t.

The frown had not left his face for five hours –precisely the number of hours Kakuzu had lain awake, tossing and turning in bed. With increasing desperation, he attempted lying in different positions but only succeeded in hearing his back make a nasty cracking noise, which put an immediate stop to that. He tried counting sheep: lovely fluffy sheep jumping over an electric fence and instantly being barbecued or devoured by the wolves waiting on the other side, an image that amused him greatly but provided no respite. He thought about going downstairs to the kitchen for something to soothe his restlessness, but going downstairs could mean… running into him.

His gaze flicked to the empty bed standing adjacent to his own. Hidan hadn’t come to bed tonight. Of course he hadn’t, Kakuzu berated himself. Hidan had no reason to come back here. For the first time in months, Kakuzu had the room to himself. There was no one bitching at him for snoring and chucking pillows at his head, no one running the shower at all hours of the morning just because they “fucking felt like a shower, damn it”. There was no one preaching at him and trying to save his soul by sticking a ceremonial spear through his chest. No one.

Absolutely no one.

This was ridiculous. He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. He should be grateful for the slightest bit of peace he got. This was the moment he had fantasised about for months. It should have been glorious. Kakuzu let out his breath with a whoosh and winced at how loud it sounded without the presence of one more body in the room.

He swore –loudly, just to fill up the silence with something– and reached underneath his bed for the canister of coins he kept there for comfort. The jangle and clink of metal falling against each other onto the bedspread and the familiarity of the sound forced a wave of warmth to flow through him. Soon, Kakuzu relaxed into the rhythm of counting, counting the coins methodically and ordering them into neat, exact piles. His voice filled the quiet, melding with the silence and the sound of his breathing.

Better. This was better. Money made sense. Money wasn’t emotional. Money wouldn’t bitch at him. Yes. Money would not ask anything of him. He rolled the coin between his fingers, feeling the metal warm under his touch. Just like how Hidan’s skin had flared into intense warmth underneath his fingertips… responding to… his–

Shit. The coin dropped from his fingers.

Images of Hidan pinned helpless underneath him, cheeks flushed and parted lips begging for more... the vivid red staining the pale skin of his body, spreading to more than just his face… he could see entangled hands venturing further than he would have dared or even wanted… fingers wrapping eagerly around his waist…

And he heard Hidan’s voice whisper, “Kakuzu.”

The canister crashed against the opposite wall, cracking in half and scattering coins across the carpet.

That had been… no. No, no, no, no. What the hell had that been? He would never –could never– think of Hidan in that way. So why… his teeth clenched hard on his bottom lip. This was a bad joke. A very bad joke.

His mother had always warned him about karma but this was ridiculous.

Unbidden, Hidan’s voice seemed to brush over his ear again, caressing the lobe with a whisper. “Kakuzu-chan,” faintly mocking. He felt a deep stirring and groaned aloud when he realised what it was. Arousal. A ripple of confusion mingled with disgust didn’t stifle it and Kakuzu stumbled to his feet. He yanked the bathroom door open and promised himself savagely that Hidan was going to pay for this – in blood.

Pein dragged the kicking and screaming Hidan down the hallway, keeping a firm grip on the silver locks. He came to a halt outside the bedroom that the Jashinist shared with Kakuzu and glared down at his dishevelled subordinate.

“Get inside.”

“No,” he said desperately. “I can’t. You don’t get it. He’s–”

“Inside. Now.”

“I can’t do it. Do I have to get on my fucking knees and beg you?!”

Pein gave him one of his infuriatingly impassive looks. “I can assure you that it wouldn’t make a difference.” Seeing Hidan’s mouth opening again, he held up a hand. “I don’t care what Kakuzu does to you as long as you don’t die. This ridiculous… feud going on between you, I care nothing for. As long as you can operate as Akatsuki, it makes no difference what you do to each other. Do you hear me? He can rip out your guts, Hidan, as long as he sews them back in afterwards and leaves you as good as new.”

“I don’t fucking believe this…” Hidan muttered, raking his hands agitatedly through his hair. “You don’t understand what he’s doing, it goes against my holy vows. Already I’m tainted, fouled by a heathen’s touch–” his voice broke on the last word.

“Hidan.”

The voice had softened but when the Jashinist looked up, the amber eyes had only grown harder (what had he expected to see, pity?). When Pein next spoke, the door to their room swung open silently at a small gesture from his hand.

“Get inside.”

Before Hidan could bolt, Pein had picked him up by the scruff of his cloak and tossed him through the door. It slammed shut a moment later.

Hidan lay in a heap on the floor, feeling slightly dazed. Grumbling, he shook his head, and picked himself up. One quick glance told him the room was empty. No Kakuzu, thank Jashin, he thought. Then, he caught sight of the spilled coins on the carpet and frowned before picking up the canister. The wooden tube was cracked across the middle, about to break in two, the bottom half hanging pathetically from fibrous threads. The wood was worn, he noted, smooth to the touch from the constant rubbing of fingers. Kakuzu’s fingers.

Creeping across the wooden surface, stroking, caressing, fingertips scalding with rising body heat…

The feeling of dread that assaulted his stomach felt like a mixture of acid and lava was churning away inside him. He clutched his belly, feeling like he was going to vomit.

I have to–

He ran to the bathroom, flinging open the door. Kakuzu stared back at him, face flushed, hand buried deep in his pants.

“Hidan.” Kakuzu’s voice was hoarse. “What the hell are you–”

“Holy fuck.” The Jashinist stumbled back from the door, numb fingers clutching the door for support. “What in Jashin’s name are you fucking doing? You-you goddamned heathen dog!”

Kakuzu straightened, hand slowly (deliberately) removing itself from between his cloak. “And who are you to judge me?” he sneered, hot anger flushing his face. “I’ve had enough of your self-righteous preaching, Hidan. Enough.”

“You’ll rot in hell’s divine flames for what you’ve done. Jashin’s punishment is eternal, and you will suffer his retribution.” Hidan kept backing away, clutching at the pendent around his neck; words kept spilling from his mouth. “Only the faithful will be left standing once Jashin purges this world of the unworthy, only the–”

Kakuzu lost it. He’d lost it plenty of times before with his previous partners, but Hidan pushed him past breaking point to an unforgivable place. He snatched a fistful of Hidan’s hair in his fist and yanked. Hidan’s head snapped back and Kakuzu found himself staring at parted, damp lips. A sense of recklessness rushed over him and before Kakuzu knew it, his mouth had met Hidan’s in an explosive rush. The taste of spice exploded on his tongue –Hidan must have eaten something strong and spicy recently, Kakuzu noted hazily– and the spice was tempered by a milky flavour. Kakuzu hated milk. He thought about telling Hidan that, but realised that Hidan must have noticed that by now… after all, they had been partners for so long that… surely by now…

Why am I thinking about that now? It doesn’t matter if Hidan drinks milk. He can drown himself in milk and I wouldn’t care. And it doesn’t matter if he knows I hate it or not. It only matters because I’m kissi– no.

He felt intense pain flaring. His hearts… all five hearts were thrumming in an intense, rhythm, thudding almost audibly against his ribs.

Am I… am I having a heart attack? Are all five of my hearts going into cardiac arrest at the same time? Because I kissed him?

He could feel Hidan trembling in his arms and the tightening of the Jashinist’s grip on his waist. He felt suffocated, dizzy. It occurred to him that Hidan probably felt the same need for air but Kakuzu didn’t care. Hidan had earned the punishment. He threaded his fingers through Hidan’s hair, not even pausing to marvel at the feeling of liquid silk on his fingertips, and pulled their faces closer in a demanding gesture. He was drowning in it –whatever they would later choose to call this moment, be it fate or a terrible mistake– he was drowning in it.

Suddenly hands were scrabbling at both sides of his face. Nails raked over his cheek and Kakuzu abruptly released the man from his embrace. Panting sharply, he noticed with dim satisfaction that Hidan was as shaken as he was. More so, even.

“Bastard–!”

“Shut up. Just shut up.”

And he grabbed Hidan again, forcing their lips together. Hidan’s mouth was hot and slick on his own, and he ignored the Jashinist’s struggles as he reached down with one hand and yanked Hidan’s cloak open. He knew the flesh wasn’t smooth, that it was pitted with welts and old scars from Hidan’s rituals, but when his fingertips met the wetness of blood, he drew back.

“You–” he started raggedly, “what did you do to yourself now? You shouldn’t have–” His hand splayed roughly over Hidan’s stomach and back, feeling the fresh welts still seeping blood. “You… punished yourself. You idiot.”

Hidan looked at him with eyes that were glazed, feverish. “What did you think I would do?” he hissed, nails digging viciously into Kakuzu’s skin. “I allowed you to–to defile me. That is unforgivable! I had to repent; Jashin forgives those who repent for their sins with blood. This body is nothing, nothing without the grace of Jashin, did you realise that? I am nothing without my god. I live to worship him. And you think I can just throw that away? For you?”

“I never asked you to give me a damn thing–”

“Liar! Seriously, what the hell did you think you’ve been asking me to do?”

Guilt crept in again. Kakuzu had never meant for any of this to be serious in the first place. It was just… he had been so fed up with everything. Everything was too much, the Akatsuki, money, Hidan... especially Hidan. It would be so much easier if Hidan were gone. All that he had done was akin to a game, a game that would yield a prize. If he had to screw with Hidan’s head to get his reward, so be it. Yet he couldn’t believe that he was feeling guilty when everything was Hidan’s fault in the first place.

“You shouldn’t take your vows so seriously,” he said finally.

“Don’t you dare criticise my vows, you have no damn right. You were the one who violated me.”

Kakuzu’s eyes darkened. “Then why did you let me do what I wanted to you? Did you…” he stepped closer. “Did you want me to do it?”

“W-What? You’ve got be fucking kidding, I would never want you to lay a finger on me.” Hidan flushed scarlet, taking a faltering step backwards. “You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think I would want your dirty hands all over me–”

He saw Kakuzu smile, a feral leer that exposed his teeth and felt a stab of apprehension in his gut. The other man moved forward, so quickly that Hidan didn’t react he just stood there dumbly.

“You mean these dirty hands?” a harsh voice breathed at his ear.

Suddenly Hidan found himself on the bed, flat on his back, cloak flung open, hands lined with irregular stitching roaming over whatever skin they could find. A forceful mouth blocked his protests, and for a moment time was suspended in amber.

“No!”

Kakuzu reeled back, clutching his bleeding lip. “You see?” he breathed, eyes gleaming as if he had just proved something.

“No,” Hidan repeated. “You won’t do this to me. I won’t let you.”

“You just did, Hidan.”

The Jashinist curled his fists at his side. Kakuzu stood, looking down at them and glancing back up at him.

“Going to hit me? Go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

When his face exploded in pain, Kakuzu didn’t do anything. It was his own little punishment and he didn’t stop what was deserved. He even let Hidan hit him again, marvelling at the fact that his delicate-looking partner could pack quite a punch when he wanted to.

When Hidan stormed out of their bedroom, Kakuzu sat there on the floor, cradling his bruised face, and let him go.