Itachi once said that any man, no matter how strong, has a weakness. He believed it when he spoke about the Sannin Jiraiya. But, some prideful little part of him, for teenagers are prideful things and Itachi cannot change what he is, believed himself to be different.
A few years later, he found out he wasn't. And, on some degree, he hated it. He hated knowing there was something that could stop him in his tracks. He hated he had a weakness that could be exploited. It was such a tiny thing, too. Itachi thought, maybe, he could get rid of that weakness? It was such a tiny thing...
He shifted under the covers, gripping the kunai under his pillow harder.
A hand slid over his side slowly, stroking his stomach lightly and making him seize up in mild surprise. He was tugged back gently, body still rigid, hand clutching the knife in a vice grip. Lips brushed over his neck in not-quite a kiss, another hand wrapping around his waist and pulling him against a warm chest.
The Uchiha prodigy forced himself to relax under the touch, something that he found far too easy and hated it again. His grip loosened on the kunai, letting go of it and pulling his hand out from under the pillow.
"It's nothing Kisame."
His partner just grunted lightly and nuzzled against him, sighing into his hair and slipping back into sleep.
It was a tiny thing... All of it was so minimal in the scheme of things. Itachi should have been able to slit Kisame's throat so easily. Be able to go back to sleep without warm skin against his. Be able to go through the day without a calloused hand sliding over his shoulder or back at least once.
He slipped a hand over Kisame's, tangling their fingers together.
Tomorrow. He'd kill the other man tomorrow.
He was comforted by that thought and slipped off into a light sleep. He didn't realize that it was the same thought he had fallen asleep to for the past four months and probably wouldn't realize it tomorrow or the day after, either.