"Sasuke," Itachi doesn't look up from his paperwork, "we've talked about this."

Sasuke stands in the doorway, yellow light filtering in behind him. His shadow dips into the room and spills into the middle of the floor, dissolving into the low lighting—Itachi works by candlelight and by the setting sun, even as it whittles itself into nothing behind the treeline above the Hokage Rock.

"About what?"

The room smells like wax and the slippery ink Itachi paints into his daily busywork, and Sasuke feels something stir inside him at the scent, a nostalgic hunger curling just a bit too far below his stomach.

"Itachi," he presses, not pleased by Itachi's inattention, "about what?"

Itachi sighs, doing his best to busy himself away from the half-smile in Sasuke's voice. "You know what."

"What, I can't come visit my own brother? My own Hokage?" Sasuke crosses his arms. "I just got back from a mission you sent me on, you know. It's not weird for me to come up here. No one thinks it's weird."

"You know what I'm talking about."

With that, Sasuke slides the heavy door closed with the edge of his heel, expert touch shutting it almost silently. "Actually," he saunters over to Itachi's desk, and Itachi finally lifts his gaze, hoping not to be surprised before Sasuke reaches him, "I really don't." Sasuke smiles, and Itachi looks away as quickly as he can so as not to be drawn in. "Want to remind me?"

"I'm doing very important work," he glances to the side out of habit, checking the room for unwelcome guests before lowering his voice, "and you are insatiable." Itachi dips his brush again, trying and failing to focus on writing his report, on proper stroke order, on anything but Sasuke. The end of such a long day, and he's still so energetic… "You're making it look like I need to send you on more missions."

Sasuke doesn't acknowledge the last part of what Itachi says, leaning over the edge of the desk and folding his hands. "You're nowhere close to being behind on work," he smirks, resting on his elbows, "and no one's around to say no." Except for you, he thinks to himself, and we both know you won't.

"Sasuke," Itachi keeps his voice low, "you can not keep doing this." He stuffs his brush into his ink pot and swirls it around—much too vigorously, Sasuke notices with a little more of a smile. "One of these days, someone is going to come in and—"

"And what?"

Itachi looks around again. "Why do you want to make me say it?"

Sasuke shakes his head. "You worry too much."

"I don't think I can ever worry enough about you," Itachi hisses back, "you and these… these urges of yours! You're going to get both of us in trouble!"

"Itachi," Sasuke shakes his head. "Hokage-sama," he condescends, saying again, "you worry too much."

Despite himself—despite all his denial and posturing—Itachi knows better. With a dim sigh, he reaches for a jar of water and rinses his brush of ink.

"Anyway, this time is different," Sasuke declares, hair shimmering blue-gold between the office candles and a quickly-dimming sky. He slinks behind the desk to stand behind Itachi's chair. After a moment of silence, he slips his hand up past the chair's headrest and over the side of Itachi's neck, hands still gloved and smelling of the day's weapons. Sasuke slides out in front of Itachi, fingers creeping up to tease Itachi's ear, his free hand waiting without patience on the edge of the desk. "Stand up."

"Different how, Sasuke?" Itachi wipes his brush down with a clean rag, setting it out of harm's way to dry undisturbed. "Are you not going to come on to me in my office this time?" He brushes his hair from his eyes. "Because that's certainly what it looks like you're doing from where I stand."

"Different," he rolls his eyes, making sure that Itachi can see, "because we're going to play a game tonight." His eyes rove down Itachi's body, glittering with something fiendish and utterly inappropriate. "Now stand up."

Itachi does as he's told. "Tell me, then," he smiles, "since you know everything." He slides his chair away, sidelining it to make room for Sasuke. "What kind of game are we playing?"


"Ah." But Sasuke, he thinks, that's nothing new. "So you want to go back in time?" Itachi smiles, despite his better judgment, at the image he has in his mind—Sasuke's knees hitting the floor in front of him. "I'm going to be your big brother again, then?"

"No," Sasuke shakes his head, sweeping a bit of hair out of his eyes and matching Itachi's smile. "You're going to be my ANBU."

The image splinters, and Itachi almost doesn't believe his ears. "I'm sorry?"

Sasuke flashes him a profane grin. "Give me your clothes, Hokage-sama," he presses closer. "Tonight it's my turn to be in charge of this office, and you're going to listen to what I say."

Itachi thinks about objecting further; if Sasuke is seen in the Hokage regalia, it will be more than scandalous; such a thing would call a great deal of attention toward their relationship, and that would be problematic indeed. But Itachi had resealed the office earlier in the morning to ensure privacy, and no one can see through the windows from the ground level.

And, Itachi knows, it would make his brother so very, very happy. But more than that, he knows that Sasuke, headstrong as ever, won't take no for an answer.

"Take off your robes," Sasuke doesn't bother trying to hide the look on his face. "I need the hat, too, Itachi. Give it here."

Itachi casts his eyes to the floor for a moment, and Sasuke doesn't like the hesitation—he reaches up himself and plucks it from Itachi's brow, swinging it down in a flourish and onto his own head. Itachi watches this display without protest, and he finally resigns, disrobing quietly until all his royal garb is but puddles at his feet.

"I'm not picking those up," Sasuke shakes his head. "You know what to do."

Itachi kneels down, gathering what he stripped off into his arms and standing once more to wait, silent and naked before his brother for only a moment before Sasuke brings their bodies together.

First, Itachi senses a faint tremor in Sasuke's hand as it splays over his ANBU tattoo; he swallows as the naked flesh of his brother's palm connects and smooths down, noticing a surge in Sasuke's chakra almost instantly, a quickening of his pulse—Itachi's mouth runs dry as Sasuke digs his fingers in, blunt nails kissing neat little divots into that ancient, red wound. They breathe in tandem exactly once, and Sasuke's chakra tingles past his fingertips and in past the bounds of Itachi's flesh before he slides closer, body tense with excitement as he lifts the empty robes from Itachi's waiting hands with a carefully prepared attitude, layering himself into his chosen role as though it were well-rehearsed.

Itachi slips into this dance like he slips into any battle, assessing his own chakra reserves before he realizes it; in the end, he decides against using the Sharingan to pick at his brother's mannerisms, favoring natural observation instead. Sasuke does a better job than usual of playing that he can smooth the hunger jittering beneath his skin—and with a Kage's poise, at that—pretending that he can calm it at all, but Itachi can't help but unmask him, and he himself can't help but fall through all pretenses into Sasuke's hungry arms.

Sasuke, no longer relegated to a bit part, is ecstatic, and he's quick to push Itachi up against the desk, not content only to look. "You made a big show of not wanting to be discovered, but you aren't putting up much of a fight," Sasuke smirks, "are you?"

Itachi struggles to come up with a retort. He comes back with nothing. How can I refuse you? he almost whispers, and then he bites his lip to stifle a moan as Sasuke shoves him chest-down, the sudden force yanking arousal straight through to his cock. A feverish pigment creeps into Itachi's face, and his breath catches in his chest as Sasuke's chakra swims against his own, dipping and waving between them, itching to swell out and push into Itachi's core.

"Yeah," Itachi winces at that, certain he can hear the grin spilling over Sasuke's face, "wow, you're ready for me, aren't you? I don't even need to touch you to know that much." He presses in closer, relishing the sight of his brother's pale back. "Not yet."

And yet touch him Sasuke does; Itachi makes a soft sound as Sasuke's hands come down over his shoulder blades and travel down, down, down over his waist, one hand stopping there as the other continues on to meet Itachi at his most vulnerable point.

"That's it," Sasuke's voice rushes out from him, keyed up and hardly contained. "Nice and easy."

Itachi relaxes and grants Sasuke entry, one finger sneaking its way in deep. Itachi opens for it quickly and with little pain, well-practiced at taking Sasuke inside, and Sasuke laughs.

"So this is what they really teach you in the ANBU," Sasuke murmurs—Itachi gasps, body clenching and twisting with heat as a squeezed wound might, a single breath from Sasuke sending his vision into white—and Sasuke ruts into the supple curve of Itachi's ass with a pleased hum, cock hard through Itachi's—no, his—white Hokage robes. Itachi tries to protest, but his body rejects him, and Sasuke's finger slips out against Itachi's inner thigh, hand sneaking farther still to reveal a second betrayal.

"Ah," Sasuke grins, mouth twisting into something smug and wet beneath lecherous eyes, "you liked that," he leans closer still, "didn't you?"

Itachi's breath shakes and rattles in his chest like dry leaves.

"Don't worry," Sasuke rocks his hips against Itachi's ass, reaching around under the desk to stroke the base of his brother's cock. "That's just what I'd expect from someone like you, trained to serve your Kage like you are…"

Itachi can't let go of the fact that they're not alone in the mansion; it's all he can think about as he squirms against Sasuke's unsympathetic hands, cock heavy with arousal even as he protests. "Sasuke," he agonizes, even knowing Sasuke won't humor his plea, "people will see."

"I want to hear you say it," Sasuke purrs, sending a cold, bristly shudder down through Itachi's spine, gooseflesh rising in knobbled groves under and past Sasuke's warm voice. "Say it," he urges again, pressing—somehow—closer yet to Itachi's unraveling body, not bothering to restrain himself, his complacent smile a weapon at the back of Itachi's neck. "Hokage's orders."

Itachi swallows a soft moan before it can reach his lips. "Yes," he murmurs, "I did. I liked it."

"Mm," Sasuke's hand creeps up over Itachi's scalp, fingers teasing their way into silky hair. "I don't think I heard you." He rubs little swirls into Itachi's head, edging his cock against Itachi one more time. "Try again."

"I loved it," Itachi repeats, voice sinking almost below a whisper. "Thank you—"

—and then, springing forth from both of them in unison, "Hokage-sama."

Sasuke's hand twists in Itachi's hair, and Itachi bites back a sound of pleasure, very nearly drawing blood. His breath shivers in his lungs, shaking out of him in a stifled, unsteady fog as Sasuke covers him much too suddenly, body descending hot and nearly angry from pleasure and anticipation.

"Yeah," Sasuke almost laughs, and Itachi shakes in pleasure at that familiar, special sound. "You're really in trouble now," he mutters, "because now I'm really not going to stop."

"You and I both know that you never intended to stop." Itachi can't hold himself back, despite his predicament, and it earns him another pull of the hair—this time much less forgiving and nearly impossible to hide his response to.

"Don't be smart with me," Sasuke's voice is louder than it should be, and Itachi knows that's not an accident. "I think you know better than that, given the position you're in," he raises his voice further still, and Itachi writhes under him, protesting and struggling with hushed petitions and fervent twists of his hips—Sasuke ignores him with all but his hands, steering them over all the wrong places with a self-satisfied smile. "So," he continues, quieter now, "do the right thing." His hands slide down past Itachi's hips and over his trembling thighs, thumbs digging into soft flesh and spreading it into a thin window. "Open your legs up for your Hokage."

Itachi obeys without a word, shifting his feet apart to part his thighs wide enough for Sasuke to slip into position. It doesn't take much; Sasuke's cock is warm with oil and easily welcomed inside, but Itachi still can't hold back a groan as Sasuke eases himself deeper. Sasuke's cock is thick and heavy as ever, and Itachi almost wishes he had painted a seal onto himself before cleaning his brush—as Sasuke picks up the speed of his thrusts, Itachi can't help but worry again about any of his jounin opening the door, a stranger peeking in through those high windows, other ANBU asking him questions about why Sasuke always comes to see him at night—

"You're distracted," Sasuke notices.

"I'm trying to be quiet," Itachi mumbles, biting back another moan. "You know that."

"Is that your way of saying I'm not fucking you hard enough?" Sasuke reaches under the desk, smiling as he feels Itachi twitch in his hand, hard as ever. "Because I can fix that for you."

Itachi buries his face in his arms, folding them over his brow against the desk. He makes some kind of sound into his arm, and Sasuke can't hear it at all, really, but he doesn't need greater permission than that; Itachi groans under the delicious stretch of Sasuke's cock inside of him, sending him deeper into that loopy, stupid state of mind, the way he always starts thinking when Sasuke acts like this. Without meaning to, without being asked, Itachi's thighs spread wider still, and Sasuke's rough hand squeezes Itachi's cock a little bit tighter, creeping up to the head and slipping a finger through the burgeoning pearl of Itachi's precum—Sasuke's treasure, his proof that he's doing things right.

"Mm," Sasuke draws his hand back and returns to his full height, squeezing Itachi by his hips. "Careful," he chastises. "You wouldn't want to dirty up your Hokage's desk, would you?" He slows his thrusts—reluctantly, but Itachi's frustrated growl makes it all worth it—and says, "don't make me remind you who you're answering to here."

Itachi mumbles something that Sasuke can't quite hear. "What was that?" Sasuke hisses, digging his nails into Itachi's soft flesh. "Say that again."

"I understand," Itachi gasps, louder than he means to be, "Hokage-sama."

Sasuke draws himself back, cock reluctantly slipping out, and Itachi can't help but moan for its absence, the pain of it burning and knotting up through him. Without thinking, he scrambles for Sasuke with a blind, trembling hand, desperate to guide him back inside; before he can get close enough, Sasuke snatches Itachi by his quavering wrist and pins it to the edge of the desk, gaze black and searing into Itachi's prostrate body.

"Turn over."

Sasuke's voice is hoarse, and Itachi knows it isn't a request. He fights to keep his breath steady in his throat, leveling his palms against the sturdy wood of his desk and pushing himself up and off. Sasuke's hands slink up to encircle Itachi's waist, impudent and self-satisfied as they creep up to nest beneath his ribs. Sasuke guides his brother to turn as ordered, cueing him to lie back with an almost-gentle thump to the chest, starving eyes ajoy at the desperate, red ache in Itachi's dick. "Yeah," he nods, smile fanged and hot beneath hooded eyes, "just like that."

Sasuke slides his thumb over Itachi's lips, and Itachi opens them, unable to even think about shying away. His face flushes hot, sweat trapping his bangs to his brow. "Look at you," Sasuke mutters, half to himself, as he dips his thumb against the flat of Itachi's tongue. "Are you really that desperate for me to get back inside you?"

With a shaky sigh, eyes spinning into a rheumy Sharingan, Itachi opens his mouth just a little bit wider, shows Sasuke the slightest bit more of his throat and tongue, and Sasuke—cock twitching and enthralled, beyond ecstatic that Itachi wants to memorize the smug look he knows is plastered on his face—plunges his thumb down Itachi's throat to the last knuckle. He groans as Itachi tightens his lips down to seal it in, giving it a single deep, languid suck. Sasuke swears under his breath and rocks his hips in closer, nearly whining as their cocks kiss together, one slipping against the other, both lacquered with heavy arousal.

"Shit," Sasuke curses again, and Itachi moans against all of Sasuke's many touches, hips twitching up as Sasuke's free hand squeezes his naked flank. "Answer me," Sasuke rasps, pressing the tip of his thumb down against the back of Itachi's tongue. "Use your words this time," he whispers as Itachi nearly chokes, tongue kicking and writhing against the intrusion, mouth struggling to form a yes or a please even as he moans, as he nods, aching to get the point across as his dick twitches against Sasuke's. "Tell me how you want it."

"Inside," Itachi moans, fighting to form the word, and this time Sasuke doesn't reject him as he stretches his fingers out to hunt for Sasuke's cock. "Hard," he groans around Sasuke's finger, "please."

"Mm," Sasuke pulls his remaining glove off with his teeth and slips a finger from his other hand into Itachi's mouth, relishing the noise Itachi makes at the extra pressure before withdrawing the first. He teases Itachi's ass, tracing a few slow circles around his entrance before slipping inside. "Nice and open for me now," he says, petting Itachi's walls just a little too gently. "Just how I want you."

Itachi moans, almost frustrated by Sasuke's attitude—How can he stay so calm in the middle of all this?—and clenches down around Sasuke, growling at the understimulation.

"What," Sasuke curls his finger sharply inside Itachi, face curving into a new smile in turn as Itachi throws his head back, "is that not enough for you?"

Itachi wants to bite back, or at least to speak plainly. You're only hurting yourself with this, he could say, or We both know you're just as hard as I am; but nothing comes, and Sasuke's smile grows as he adds another finger from each hand, one for Itachi's mouth and another for his ass.

"To think you might be our Hokage…" Sasuke's own Sharingan wheels into action at the sight of Itachi's lips and tongue besieged by the extra finger. "Let go of that idea now and save yourself the pain," he murmurs as he bends in close, veil spilling forward to lick at Itachi's cheeks and shoulders. His breath is heavy and shaky, belying his haughty attitude—finally, he draws his fingers back and stands with his back straight, a tall authority over his brother's needy body. Sasuke braces his hands against Itachi's beautiful legs, pressing them up against his chest until his knees are flush to his shoulders and tapping his cock against Itachi's ass.

"I like you better this way," he says, "soldier."

Itachi's mind whites out again; he hears something messy—his scrolls clattering off the desk and rolling away, no doubt—but he can't bring himself to wonder, too busy spreading his legs wider to invite Sasuke back inside him.

Transfixed, unable to resist the warmth awaiting him any longer, Sasuke presses his dick inside for the second time. He slides his hands down Itachi's smooth thighs and over his ass, thumbs spreading Itachi's hole for the Sharingan's infinite, leering wheel of memory.

Itachi's legs spread wider still, and Sasuke bites his lip.

"This is really what you're best at," Sasuke whispers, "isn't it?"

And no one gets to see it but me.

Itachi nods; it's a weak, barely-there nod, but it's enough. Sasuke spills a deadly growl over Itachi's chest as he fucks into him, digging his cock into Itachi's most inward parts. With one particularly special thrust, Itachi remembers that Sasuke, too, is a champion of many battles; the remembering comes with greater strength at each impact, each time Sasuke crushes himself into Itachi's prostate. Itachi braces himself on his elbows just high enough that he can wrap his legs around Sasuke a little bit tighter, ankles locking together at the small of Sasuke's back. Itachi moans as he feels his own haori scrape between his heels and Sasuke's strong body, and Sasuke growls, seizing Itachi by the shoulders and fighting his way deeper inside, determined to fuck a response out of him.

Itachi takes it, and he remembers Sasuke in the press of his back into the edge of the desk, in Sasuke's hands with their lingering smells of metal, of oil, of blood, and he nearly comes undone right there—but Sasuke dips his chakra into Itachi's as if to say not yet, a demand of the highest order—and from the highest possible authority—lipped by the barest hint of a plea.

Itachi struggles to tighten himself in, chakra drawing away from his cock and squeezing around Sasuke's, and Sasuke's pleasure ripples right back through him. He thinks Sasuke looks so sensitive and beautiful above him in the rising moonlight, almost dangerous, and Itachi remembers once more that Sasuke is more than capable of stealing life on the battlefield; he remembers that he has, that Itachi has seen him do it before in defense of the village, and he thinks he might cry from the pressure of it all.

Sasuke wields Itachi's body as he wields any weapon—with great poise and deadly skill. He fucks Itachi almost in time with Itachi's raging heartbeat, and Itachi can't bear how the feelings hit him as he stares up into Sasuke's merciless, adoring eyes, all red on red and full of his heart until Itachi's cock jerks and spills wet gossamer all up and across his wilted body.

"I didn't even have to touch you to make you do that," Sasuke gloats, spreading a finger through Itachi's seed, and Itachi twitches around him again—Sasuke takes him by the hips and yanks him closer, "but we're not done here yet."

Itachi's eyes roll back as the sound of Sasuke's balls against him fills the room again. Whether or not anyone can hear their trysts seems no longer worth asking, a foregone conclusion regardless of the seals meant to muffle them. Sasuke says, far above a whisper, "I'm going to do it inside," and Itachi is helpless; he can only nod, head weak and heavy from orgasm, and he gasps as he feels Sasuke release everything he has left into the deepest parts of his older brother—into the Hidden Leaf Village's Hokage.

At first, neither of them speak. Itachi is the first to let his Sharingan slip away, seeing nothing of value to memorize in the eaves of his office; Sasuke is reluctant to follow, perhaps only stopping out of courtesy toward Itachi's flushed, disheveled body—when it comes to this sort of special misdeed, he respects his brother's dignity only enough to afford him the smallest escape, but not before he lingers a moment too long on Itachi's cock, on the blush that graces his delicate cheeks.

"That was—" Sasuke pauses and sighs as he slips out of Itachi's ass, spent and not ready to speak.

Itachi, fucked out and tangled into himself, still breathing through the pleasure, rasps out a thin, weak "Incredible," before sighing in turn, already devastated by the emptiness Sasuke has left behind.

"Yeah," Sasuke nods, just as winded, "incredible." He brushes his hat's veil over his shoulder, a parodic imitation of Itachi's long curtain of hair. "I almost don't want to give this back."

"You know, Sasuke," Itachi takes a deep breath, centering his chakra back into its proper place, "being Hokage doesn't always mean you get to be on top."

Sasuke casts his gaze back to Itachi's entrance, fucked raw and blemished with early inklings of his brother's escaping seed. "Yeah," he says, breath ragged. "I can see that."

"That's not what I mean."

"Yeah?" Sasuke braces his palms against Itachi's hips, leaning down over his naked flesh one more time. "Then what?"

"I mean," Itachi's voice lowers, mouth sharpening into a small, insidious shape, something almost close to a smile. "...the next time you try putting on that outfit, things may not go as you intend."

Sasuke eases off him with a pleased breath, settling himself back onto his feet. "So what you're really saying," Sasuke tucks himself back into his pants, shucking Itachi's robe from his shoulders and draping it over the back of the chair, "is that there'll be a next time."

Itachi says nothing, slumping back onto the desk in resignation, and Sasuke doesn't break the silence either; he covers Itachi's indecency with the Hokage's hat and, with a blissful smile, shuffles off to the door.