..Chapter Nineteen..

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Once he entered the door through her apartment, barely having a second to look around her found himself entangled in the mix of his second, heated kiss of the evening. He found her body was pressed fully against his own. Her hands were everywhere; touching and caressing. But he could feel she was also taking her time.

The moment didn't last long, however, as she walked backwards in the half-lit room towards her bed. His eyes, dark and filled with something he himself didn't fully comprehend, remained on her and transfixed only there. He felt her nudge him to sit down at the foot of the bed and his eyes drew upward, blatantly taking in her every revealed curve in the clothing she wore.

His throat caught as his eyes locked with hers.

He found himself feeling a million different things at once. He found himself analyzing every detail of her features in a way he never had before--with any other woman. How had he never noted the bare hint of pink that shadowed beneath her pale complexion? How had he never really noticed just how long her dark, ebony lashes were? Or how they delicately kissed her cheeks everytime she blinked? How had he never noticed just how bright those depths of electric violet were? And her hair, it fell about her form, her body, like a wave of long silk made by the finest artisans.

She was right, she wore not makeup. No blush, no eyeliner, no lipstick, no foundation or powder. It suited her. She didn't need any of it. She shone all on her own. Was it just him? Was this a feeling of wanting to be with one person forever? Was this what his brother had with Sakura? Was this what Naruto felt everytime he looked at Hinata? He could hardly recall a moment in his life when any other woman looked more of a goddess, utterly covered, than this one right now.

He was overcome with feeling, so much so his chest swelled. His heart hammered in his chest in fear; not of her or of the act he felt compelled to do with her, but for the feeling he felt overflowing within him.

He reached for her then, pulling her down to her knees before him and he barely stifled a cry of a pain he didn't understand. His eyes shut tightly as a free hand wound into her hair and another about her waist to secure her against him. His breathing accelerated and he gripped her like a man starved, as if he'd never be with her again.

And it was in this moment he recognized his fear.

Itachi was described as a great many things in his life. As a child he'd been called gifted, a genius, talented and people, his father on the top of the list, expected him to go beyond the norm of a shinobi. When he'd killed his clan and became a missing nin he was called a traitor, an emotionless monster, a machine, a cold blooded killer without guilt or conscious. People viewed him for a great many years after his return to the village after the war as something of a conundrum. They didn't know if he'd slit their throat or save their life. It had taken many years after that for him to earn the respect he'd never thought himself worthy of. And even then he knew what his fate would be--ultimately.

He assumed he'd die alone, blind and have his named etched into the monument where his peers would cry, his loved ones weep, long after his escape from the realm of the living. And he didn't kid himself in regards to where he would go. His crimes, despite being ordered, were still his own. And his crimes, the clans crimes would die with him. His brother would bring something to the next generation of his clan that they had never truly had: Honor, kinship, family and trust. But, most of all, loyalty to Konoha. The name of the Uchiha would no longer be tarnished by the stains of his father, Madara, or himself.

He considered himself tarnished, bloodied even by shinobi standards. And despite the welcome he got from the majority of Konoha these days, there were still some people who didn't see him in a new light. He believed himself worthy of that scorn, but not a martyr. He wasn't depressed or emotionally wrought externally. He just... accepted it as a person might simply expect they would be getting miso soup instead of steak for supper.

He'd never added in the possibility in any of this that a person, such as he saw himself, could ever find himself caring so deeply for someone that he feared for their very life. He would lose Leiko one day. He might even lose her before he himself died. He didn't want that. He didn't know if he wanted to call it love, but in this moment he knew what he felt for her was direly more than mere lust or simple friendship.

"Itachi," he heard her whisper and then pause, "You're trembling," she stated almost like a doctor.

He was, he realized. He was and he didn't care. He didn't mind feeling vulnerable and bare in her arms. He didn't find a shred of weakness in it despite being a man who held his own control in such high regard.

He slowly drew his hands downward as his faced shadowed in the mess of her hair towards her neck. He breathed her scent inward as he began to remove the ties of her obi. It fell between then as a hush of material and he pulled back, looking towards her chest as he slowly opened his depths of obsidian and began to draw the folds of her violet garb apart. Her hands stilled him and sent a jolt down his arms, from his wrists. His eyes slowly moved to catch her own as she spoke, softly.

"Let me turn the lights off first."

He looked at her questionably, but said nothing.

"I prefer not to explain," she spoke again, her face softening in a manner he would describe as completely out of character.

But all he did was nod as she released him and stood up. He followed her movements as he stood himself and began to remove his own clothing. The lights switched off rather quickly as his top fell to the floor, leaving him bare chested and in nothing buy his hakama. He sensed her presence as she came up towards him, once more, this time gently stilling his hands by taking his wrists in her own. He stopped on the ties about his waist as he stared into her, seeking her bright eyes in the comforting darkness.

"Let me," she asked quietly.

He'd never known an experience such as this and they'd hardly begun yet. Every other woman he'd been with the sex had been a hastened, fun, eager affair. But this.. this was different he realized as he watched her slowly, artfully, removed his hakama and leave him in nothing at all. He felt humbled as she knelt before him and removed his socks and wooden tongs.

Was it because they had both known the same pains?

He reached for her in the same, slow, careful manner, finally removing her kimono and allowing it to fall to the floor. Next, he pulled up on the spandex shirt. Her arms drew upward in compliance. His eyes could not find anything but her own bright depths in the dark, and most of that was out of pure chemistry, pure emotion. There were no windows in her small apartment. And without a shred of light leaking in, without activating his bloodline technique, he couldn't see a damned thing. He wouldn't activate it anyway; somehow knowing she wanted it this way. He wouldn't question it, he realized, as he reached for her pants and removed those along with her socks and tongs.

He said nothing as she pulled him towards the bed, as he crawled up her form and they both settled beneath the warmth of her comforter and sheets. He didn't reach for her quickly; rather, he cupped her cheek and pulled her lips towards his, lashes softly dropping over his eyes. When he did, all those things he felt intensified and it was then he knew sex would never just be sex with Leiko. And maybe that was the real difference about this act. Maybe when you felt something deeply for the other person the sex just intensified it, magnified it, spoke in a way physically that you could never imagine finding the words for verbally.

He felt her touching his chest, bare, calloused fingers moving across a plane of flesh in a way that send waves of intense pleasure down his spine and towards his groin.

He wanted her not because she was simply beautiful to look at. No, there was just so much more to this woman that drew him in, captured him and held him to her core.

His lips, slanted across her own as she drew atop him, her wet center barely brushing his rigid desire as he turned accommodate her movements. His tongue did not fight with hers, it did not clash in a battle, rather it danced in a manner that equaled her movements and passion.

Normally his actions in this were planned, deliberated in seconds so his partner had pleasure before his own. But he would give Leiko whatever she wanted. Not because he felt it a duty, but because he again felt humbled in her arms.

During these contemplations he reached for her finally, surprised by her jerk as his hands cupped her breasts. But his confusion lasted only so long as he felt the deep scars, slanting and irreparably covering her body. His hands moved as he kissed her tenderly, across her back and buttocks. He felt the slashes, the jagged slices in her flesh and felt not pity, but empathy for her as it finally dawned on him why she insisted on the long sleeved, gloved, garments. He finally understood why she hid her body and why she feared anyone seeing such things.

She didn't want to see that pity in anyone's eyes.

Especially his.

He felt grief for her. He was overwhelmed and shocked at the urge to weep for her and what she'd endured based on the records he'd read.

Neither of them had really had a choice, had they?

"Don't pity me," she ordered harshly, throat constricting as she spoke this into his ear and paused her actions above him. "Ever."

He wanted to say something. Anything. But he found he couldn't. He couldn't form words. He couldn't find the right ones. Were there any to that sort of ordering, shaking, request? What could he say in regards to that constricting, trying-not-to-break voice breathing in his ear as she refused to shake at all costs.

He admired her strength.

He didn't reply with words, instead he rolled her over and showed her the only way he could in that moment. He worshiped her body with his mouth, suckling on her breasts until her nipples hardened to peaks and she was half gasping in pleasure and want. He reveled in the feel of her hands tangling into his long strands while he continued to show her how much her body, her internally, though visual, scars did not bother him. He cherished each one with breathless kisses, planting each one along healed battle wounds. His hands massaged her hips, thighs and finally calves. By the time he reached her wet center she was gasping feverishly.

He took his time, lapping at her libia and just along the edges until she was practically shoving him into her. His lips encircled her clit. He flicked his tongue across the nub in a manner that made her shudder nigh uncontrollably. He thrust his tongue into her every so often before diverting his attention back towards the other. His fingers quickly replaced his tongue, thrusting into her, curving up as he tried to reach for that spot. He reveled in her jerked, shuddering movements, reaction and arches. She gave into him wholly and let go. He'd never seen a woman give so easily, so willingly, into her own passions. She had no reservations about it feeling everything and withheld nothing.

He felt her tighten, calling his name in a breathy manner as she shuddered, arced and came. He relished the feeling her nails digging into his scalp and wished he could see her face. He wanted to see her reaction, her blissful, as well as, willing rise and fall.

He felt her pull up and moaned into her mouth, eyes fluttering closed as she pulled him into another heated, searing kiss. He didn't fight her as she pushed him down and crawled atop his form. Her taste, her flavor, mixed with their saliva, it drove him near the brink even as she pulled away and positioned herself above his hardened length. He wanted to stop her, the wait and hold out longer. He wanted it all to last, this moment, this experience with her in a way he never had with anyone else before.

But, all that drifted away as she thrust downward.

The sound that escaped him as her heat encompassed him was something he wasn't entirely sure he could call human, much less compare it to anything animalistic. He saw stars, he saw colors he wasn't even aware existed. That was how mind rattling, eye opening it was. A kaleidoscope of euphoria wasn't even the best way to describe all the things he felt.

Leiko gasped, pausing as she settled into him, as her eyes sought his in the darkness before her. Her flesh was on fire, the sensations like nothing she'd ever known. It was so much more than sex and she wasn't sure she was ready for this.

Was this love?

Was this the thing poets wrote of on the backs of maids they slept with, pen and parchment in hand as she lazed about before them, inspiring words of the flesh? Was this the magnificent feeling her father wrote of? Was this feeling... this la petite mort ... was it more than just lust, was this really death? Was it rebirth?

As she gazed down at him, rippling eyes locking with his, she had to wonder, to ask herself, to hope, if this feeling in her breast was love.

"Move," she heard him whisper hoarsely, pleadingly. And she did.

She moved and cried out blissfully, once more withholding nothing. She felt every damned inch of him as he invaded her insides, caressed her core and deeply tapped into that place few had ever done so. Oh, but how she wanted more, she wanted so much more. And she was shocked to find she never really had before, honestly. Not with anyone. Not like this. Not this much, no.

Kami, she wanted his hands, his mouth everywhere right that moment and she couldn't decide where more. She was caught between wanting release again, release from him as well, and wanting to hold out for so much more. She wanted that feeling that came from being with him for the first time, that would surely wear off once this moment was over. And she was shocked to find that out. She didn't want it to end. She didn't want to stop wanting him. She didn't want this lust, this chemistry with Itachi to die out as it did with every other man.

She didn't want him to move on.

"Leiko," he breathed, reaching for her tenderly in a way that made her want to weep. For the second time in the presence of this man she found herself trying to hold back tears. But now, not because of what he wanted to give her, but of what she was afraid of what she might lose when they both tired of one another. And he would eventually, she just knew it. She just couldn't fathom him actually staying with her as he promised and she wouldn't make him. She'd sooner push him away than make him suffer because of what she was incapable of doing.

But instead of voicing these fears she verbalized it in the only way she knew how. She pressed down into him, her lips clashing against his own. She pressed all of her feelings, fears, worries and misgivings into that kiss as she rode him, as his hands gripped tightly onto her hips. His grip was breathtaking, but somehow gentle at the same time. She could feel that doubt in his hold, as if he didn't want to hurt her, but couldn't help his own passions.

She felt herself ride the wave, she felt him tremble within her, around her. When she quaked, he did as well. Sweat slicked her form and dripped off of his own. And when she fell from euphoria, down from her heights of unrivaled bliss he caught her. He touched her tenderly and secured them both beneath the sheets across from one another. She found herself once again staring at him in the dark, her eyes softening as he cupped her cheek and traced her features with his eyes and his fingers.

She found herself thinking...

He found himself thinking...

If this wasn't love... then what was it?

They lay staring at one another for a long time, both too afraid to speak; as if doing so would shatter a moment they didn't want to end even after the sex. But, despite this Itachi knew he had to.

"I don't," he whispered into the dark at her.

"You don't what?" she asked softly, snuggling into her pillow as she faced him.

He paused. "Pity you."

She paused. "Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded, not entirely sure if she could see it. He found himself wondering if she expected him to leave. Had the others left? Or had they stayed the night? Had she wanted them to stay? Had they wanted to stay? Itachi was not a man to beg or ask such things. And despite how humbled he was by her... he couldn't beg this of her. Not yet.

He moved to sit up, fully intent on leaving the bed, the apartment. A hand on his wrist once again stilled him and his eyes drew to her face in the dark.

"Stay," she whispered.

With an expanding heart, smiling features and newfound emotions...

He stayed.

AN: I'm sorry this update took so long. I know a lot of you were waiting -very- patiently for it even after I finished The Bet. But it took me a few days to reconsider just what direction I wanted to take this story in now. I had a flimsy idea before, involving the constellation Sunako pointed out. However, after much deliberation, I find that idea to be tad too whimsical. I may find another way to incorporate it, but for now it will not be.

I have a very clean, distinct plan for this fic and it won't really involve a lot fighting. This story was intended to be a tender, learning-to-love type thing where two characters, one who thinks themselves incapable of love while the other doesn't know how just yet but wants to, go through the passings of learning how to.

I can tell you there will be a hurtle to overcome eventually, but it may not involve so much fighting as it will a trial of the heart.

So, anyway, thanks for waiting. I hope you enjoyed this.

--Blade