Pink was always a color he associated with Itachi.
Pink was the color of Itachi's neck when he bared it, leaning his head against the wall behind it as Pein stepped up to him there. It was such a graceful thing, that neck, long and delicate like a swan's as Itachi's head rested on it for firm, flexible support.
Pink was the color of Itachi's plush lips as Pein pressed his own against them. They parted for him happily, allowing his probing tongue entrance to lather love over the inside like water over a fire. Those lips engaged with him, making what they did together real. They rested against Pein's wholly as their owner moved closer, into Pein's strong, comforting arms.
Pink was the color of Itachi's nipples as his shirt dropped to the floor, exposing his torso to Pein's searching hands. They darkened under Pein's insistent touch, caressing and softer than such a strong man's should be. They were sensitive to every brush, collecting together and hardening, pointing as far forward into those hands as they would get. They caused twitching all through Itachi's leanly defined abs as Pein tweaked them.
Pink was the color of Itachi's ear as Pein swirled his tongue inside it sensually. As Pein let Itachi's shimmering hair loose, he fondled that ear like he fondled everything about his tiny lover. His pearly teeth took the cartilage in a loose grip, rolling it around between them, leaving room for his tongue to lick around.
Pein was the color of Itachi's knees as they bent to allow Pein to lay Itachi down. They swiveled and turned like such beautiful riverside reeds blown by the wind and swept by the water. As Pein eased Itachi's navy capris off, they became fully visible to him, and Itachi used them to straighten out until he was lying proper on the red bedsheets.
Pink was the color of Itachi's member, full and leaking on his stomach, as Pein ran a finger across it. It was erect and engorged with blood, straining into Pein's drumming fingertips and jumping when more friction was allotted it. Its head was a duskier shade, aroused and in need, and Pein happily satisfied it. A silvery drop of liquid appeared on it, and as Pein spread it around another came.
Pink was the color of Itachi's long fingers as they splayed across Pein's chiseled chest, sending shivers down the ginger's spine. They tapped out a subtle rhythm against Pein's skin, and it reverberated through his rib cage. Pein had to lean in to them, those beautiful, beautiful fingers that knew so well how to touch him as he touched them back.
Pink was the color of Itachi's puckered, private hole, hidden yet exploited by Pein's own pink fingers. Carefully Pein plundered it, never entering but merely teasing it lightly, and saw it was trembling like Itachi's knees. A slight pressing and it easily opened for Pein's digit as it wiggled in, first one knuckle, then the next. And that private place spluttered around it, accepting it into its searing, gorgeous heat.
Pink was the color of Itachi's shudder as Pein's tongue lowered to that pink place, slicking it with shining saliva. Sweeping motions of that muscle across that special orifice made it spasm sweetly, and Pein stuck his tongue inside. Feminine artist's fingers threaded into Pein's hair, pulling him closer, and Pein gratefully ceded to the urged motion. He nuzzled there, striving for another pink shudder.
Pink was the color of Itachi's clutching at Pein's strong body as Pein slowly pushed into that sweet, slick hole and the cavern it held. Deep inside, that so lovingly given place granted Pein entrance and pleasure, and Pein in return gave it the same. With every gentle, frantic, amorous thrust another notch was added onto the measuring stick of ecstatic feelings that so verily flooded the pair.
Pink was the color of the way Itachi wrapped his long, stick-like legs around Pein's hips, pulling his closer and deeper to himself. And then, as he moved those legs in such a way to move his own lithe body down into his partner's movement, a harmony such as none other filled them to the brim. Those pink legs moved them together, a driving force behind these ultimately glorious acts, like some incredible machine.
Pink was the color of Itachi's shoulder as Pein pressed a sweat-streaked kiss against the tender skin during their lovemaking. There was salt there, liquid somehow in the magic of this otiose act that involved only the two of them and bliss. Pein licked at the skin, running his tongue along it slowly, savoring Itachi's exotic taste as it lit upon his taste buds.
Pink was Itachi's sigh as his eyes closed in a moment of utter perfection, arching delicately into his lover and basking in release. And as he did, he so completely made Pein do so too inside his quivering body that clamped so beautifully around Pein's pierced length. They held each other close in those moments, their dear ones pressed against them and glad they were.
Pink was the color of Itachi's flushed cheeks that his tired eyelashes fluttered against while Pein gently pulled the warm blankets up to cover his tiny form. Pein smiled gently, brushing Itachi's hair away from those cheeks, careful not to disturb his love. He gently smoothed the back of his fingers over those high cheekbones, reveling in the perfection that lay in his bed at night.
Yes, pink was a color he always associated with Love.