A/N: Well, this is short. I just wanted a quick drabble—and this is what came out. . .
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, and I'm not making any money off this
Warnings: SOC, somewhat—very odd. . .
Main Characters: Itachi and Kisame
Additional Notes: I'm not quite sure. . . I just wanted to write something like this for some reason. (Shrug)
His eyes followed her movements and he did not speak, even when Kisame nudged him, his blade eager. Too eager, Itachi thought distantly, his eyes still transfixed on the woman. Her hands flicked, her body swaying to the slow tune plucked and coaxed from the shamisen hidden from Itachi's view. She moved like fire to his mind, a perfection and hidden grace to her movements that the Uchiha hadn't seen breathe before. Her hair swept in time with her slow, steady flow of her arms. Her eyes were closed, he noticed. The twin folding fans held lightly between her fingers fluttered in time to her movements, two synchronized butterflies on a breeze of music. The pure golds and reds of her kimono flickered, flashing dully in the dusty light of the lamps scattered about the small room, the blue fans burning in their glare.
And it seemed to the Uchiha that a pyre was the only fitting setting for her dance—Hell or Heaven. It was too pure for here. Her eyes opened then and found his above the burn. Itachi nodded slowly—her storm-gray eyes understood—and Kisame leapt forth with a cruel smirk, a grin of blood against water. Itachi followed, his eyes never leaving the woman who never even had time to scream before his kunai split her throat and crimson doused her fire. The massacre was quick and soon only he and Kisame were left standing. Bodies littered the room, in heaps and scattered pieces—but only she drew his attention. Even as she lay there, red pooling around her, she blazed with beauty that surpassed what it had been in moments before; he regarded her for a moment with eyes that reflected her life.
Kisame, his Samehada momentarily sated, waited quietly in the doorway, his eyes gleaming with passing curiosity as Itachi reached out a hand to touch the woman's now cooling cheek. He froze before they touched, drawing back and standing again. His hands found smooth metal instead and cracked the lamp against the wall. He covered her with the oil, some reverence about his actions. He stood back, hands forming the seals that gave her a funeral pyre; he smiled secretly. She was free to dance now—whether it be in Heaven or Hell. As they left, he was certain he caught a glimpse of blue butterfly wings.
A/N: Well, short. And probably not very coherent. (Sigh) Oh well. I simply wanted to write something involving Itachi and a geisha. Tell me what you thought. . . Review?