Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto and I am making no profit from this story.

AN: Don't ask where the inspiration for this came from. Really. Just don't. Incase you missed the warnings in the summary, this contains swearing, prostitution, death, cannibalism and semi-graphic sex. Don't say I didn't give fair warning.

Cheap Imitation

by Evandar

She was androgynous. Small pert breasts and narrow hips, long legs and a flat stomach. She wasn't toned, but there wasn't enough fat on her body to make that too obvious. She was pale; everything about her was from her short, feathery white hair to her milky skin. Albino. She was almost perfect. Almost. Her bone structure was different; her pink eyes two shades too light; her muscles to undeveloped.

But she didn't mind him fucking her as long as he paid enough. She didn't complain when he called her Hidan.

She was too quiet. Too compliant. Hidan would fight back, he thought. Wouldn't take it lying down; would scream and scratch and bite and beg. Not her. The only noise she made was a soft scream when he entered her that could have been from pleasure or pain. He didn't care as long as he got to come, his eyes half closed, her features replaced with his partner's in his mind's eye.

The one bit of practical advice his father had managed to impart on him before his death at Kakuzu's hands, was that the good thing about whores was that they could be whoever you wanted them to be if you paid enough. He would have known. He'd pissed away the money that should have been spent on his home and family on drink and whores and gambling just so that he didn't have to go home and see his freakish little son and the bitch who'd borne him.

The whore's real name, as far as he knew, was Masako. That's what he had to ask for her by, at any rate, and she charged by the night. A bargain. She didn't mind the cheap hotel rooms he booked, and she was the only albino hooker he'd ever seen.

It bothered him that he was willing to pay through the nose so that he could get gratification from someone who, in the light of day, only held passing resemblance to his partner.

The useless, idiotic, zealot who'd somehow managed to capture Kakuzu's attention along with at least one of his hearts. Hidan.

It was hopeless, Kakuzu knew that. His precious – false – religion probably had a million different laws as to why they wouldn't end up in bed together any time soon. He didn't know. Despite tuning Hidan out every time he started blathering on about Jashin, Kakuzu knew that he hadn't mentioned anything about sex other than that sleeping in a room with someone who wasn't his lover broke some commandment from one of the – apparently – many chapters in the Book of Jashin.

Besides, Hidan was a priest. Priests were celibate in every other religion that Kakuzu had heard of, why not Jashinism?

He woke up wet. His arm was slung over Masako's thin hips, and he could feel her bare skin growing cold and stiff. The liquid he was lying in was congealing slowly, and he knew before he even opened his eyes that it was blood. The smell of salt and iron and shit – she'd been gutted; his fingers just brushed the edges of the open wound in her stomach – filled his nose.

He tore himself away from her. Her eyes were closed. She looked peaceful; she hadn't even woken up before she'd died. Dark blood was spattered over the sheets and the headboard, and her entrails hung over the side of the bed, leaking their fetid contents onto the floor.

There was a small noise from the corner of the room, and he looked up. There, standing by the door, his pike dripping blood onto the floor by his feet, stood Hidan. He was dressed in the loose, floating black and red robes of a Jashinist priest – he always wore them when not on Akatsuki business – only that morning they were heavy and stained with blood. His rosary glinted against his chest, and in the weak morning light that filtered through a gap in the curtains, he looked like a personification of death.

"Hidan," Kakuzu growled.

"Kakuzu," Hidan mocked. He grinned, and Kakuzu saw that his teeth were stained red. He glanced down at Masako again. Her rib cage had been torn open, ribs jutted upward, their broken, splintered ends as sharp as knives. Her heart was missing.

"You ate her heart?" he asked.

"She wasn't using it," Hidan replied. He sounded nonchalant, but Kakuzu knew better. He could hear the strain in Hidan's voice. He was trying to remain calm. "Want to tell me why you spent the night fucking some bitch that looks like me Kakuzu?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kakuzu said.

Hidan laughed; a low, sinister chuckle that exploded into a raucous, maniacal sound. He bent double at the waist, dropping his pike to the floor with a clatter. Kakuzu watched as tears of mirth began to run down Hidan's cheeks. He didn't move. He couldn't move. He'd never seen Hidan as all that much of a threat before, but his perceptions had been shattered. Hidan had murdered someone right next to him, eaten her heart, and he hadn't even noticed.

He'd been holding back.

Hidan's laughter stopped abruptly, and Kakuzu jerked back in surprise as Hidan climbed onto the bed. Sodden sheets and robes squelched under his weight as he crawled forward, placing himself nose to nose with Kakuzu. His breath fanned over Kakuzu's face, hot and damp and reeking of blood.

"Not much of a likeness, I'll admit, but albino whores must be pretty thin on the fucking ground," he murmured. His voice was low, husky, and Kakuzu shivered at the sound of it. "Was she any good?"

The question, so obscene under the circumstances, made Kakuzu react. He shoved Hidan away from him. "You're insane," he snarled.

"Fuck yeah," Hidan admitted, rounding on him again, shoving himself right into Kakuzu's personal space. "But I'm not the one screwing around with the female version of his team mate. And, by the way, she's nowhere near as hot as me."

Kakuzu, however reluctant, had to admit that it was true.

"And," Hidan continued, his voice dropping to a purr. "I'll bet she was nowhere near as good as me."

Kakuzu's eyes narrowed, but before he could react, Hidan had moved again. Full lips pressed against Kakuzu's mouth and he gasped in surprise. Hidan deepened the kiss, parting his lips and pushing his tongue into Kakuzu's mouth. He tasted of blood, as expected, but the taste sent a shiver running down Kakuzu's spine.

He found himself tugging at the bloody robes, yanking and tearing at them frantically, trying to figure out a way to get rid of the damn things and get to the pale, perfect skin that he knew lay beneath. Hidan laughed into the kiss and pulled away long enough to untie them, sash after sash – more knots and ties than Kakuzu cared to count – until they fell away to pool on the sheets. Without them, Hidan only wore a pair of loose pants and his rosary. Kakuzu traced the warm silver of the pendant with a finger, smearing it with half congealed blood.

"Is this allowed?" he asked; his voice, he noted, sounded even more gruff than usual. "I don't want to have to put up with you bitching and moaning more than usual afterwards."

Hidan rolled his eyes. "Do you think I'd be doing this if it wasn't? Shit, and you call me an idiot."

He shoved Kakuzu back down onto the bed and moved over him, throwing aside sheets and robes to reveal Kakuzu's naked form. Hidan smirked – an infuriating expression that usually drove Kakuzu insane – and leaned down to trace a row of black stitches with his tongue. Kakuzu shivered.

"Did she touch you like this?" Hidan asked in between licks. "Did she even look at you while you fucked her? Or did she look through you? Turn away?"

His teeth sank briefly into Kakuzu's left nipple, hard enough and sharp enough to draw blood, and Kakuzu hissed. Threads from his wrist snaked out to wind themselves around Hidan's neck and he yanked the brat up for another kiss.

"You're jealous," Kakuzu stated.

Hidan glared. "Yes I'm fucking jealous," he growled. "If you want to fuck someone who looks like me, then you should make it me. Not some cheap imitation who doesn't even fucking know you." He kissed Kakuzu again, then, lashing out violently as he did so. The broken, torn body of the whore fell to the floor with a sickening thud and a series of cracks as her protruding ribs snapped again under her dead weight.

Hidan was exactly as he'd imagined. He was vicious, violent, and tight as a vice around Kakuzu's cock. He bit and scratched when Kakuzu rolled him over onto the blood stained sheets, and he screamed obscenities and curses and pleas for more and harder and faster. He clung to Kakuzu as he came – fingernails catching on stitches; legs locking around Kakuzu's waist to hold him in place.

Kakuzu pressed a kiss to Hidan's sweaty collarbone when it was over, and sank down next to him. Hidan's hand lifted, and long fingers tangled lazily into his hair.

"So," Hidan murmured. "D'you prefer the original, or are you going to go looking for a replacement for the whore?"

Kakuzu remained silent. He could remember his mother screaming at his father whenever he rolled into the house smelling of smoke and sex and alcohol. She'd claimed that whores could pretend all they liked, but that nothing was better than the real thing. For the first time, Kakuzu found himself agreeing with her.

"You," he said eventually.

Hidan made a soft, pleased noise low in his throat. Then he groaned. "Fuck, it's going to take ages to get all this fucking blood out of my hair."

Kakuzu rolled his eyes. Typical Hidan to worry more about his hair than the corpse of a hooker or the fact that there was yet another town that – thanks to him – they'd have to avoid for another two years or so.

"And my fucking robes. Aw shit!"

Kakuzu snorted. It was worth it.