Uchiha Itachi has a crush. A crush that is bordering on obsession. No, that isn't entirely accurate; it traversed the boundaries of obsession into stalkerish a while ago. Much to Itachi's consternation, he can never do anything normally, and has found himself in a desperately sticky situation.
Itachi has a crush on his teacher. His very male PE teacher, who sees Itachi as only his prized track star, despite Itachi's great desire to become something much more illicit, and much more illegal.
To make matters worse, Itachi is certain that his teacher knows. He hasn't been terribly discreet about his affections, hoping that his teacher will give him some indication of whether anything- lust, affection- is reciprocated. He knows he can always deny it if confronted.
But what would be the point in denying it? He is being as subtle as his angsty brother's orange best friend, whom Itachi is worried occassionally indulges in the use of illegal substances. Itachi's eyes are almost permanantly fixated on his teacher's crotch, or his chest, or his dark eyes, and his teacher would have to be a fool not to notice. Denying it would be pointless, when so many already suspected his orientation, and used only the slightest rumour as proof that he was as bent as a triangle.
Yes, Mr Hoshigaki. No, Mr Hoshigaki. While you're there, would you like me to get onto my knees and suck your cock, Mr Hoshigaki?
Itachi would indeed like nothing more than to indulge in some of his baser desires with his teacher, but knows that there is more to his teacher than most acknowledge. He is good-humoured, and polite, and his level of intelligence is far greater than many suspected. For instance, Itachi knows that he speaks at least three languages, as he often converses with Itachi in fluent Japanese, speaks to the other students in fluent English, and once caught out a boy who thought he was being smart by speaking in French to hide the nature of his conversation from unwelcome ears.
That being said, Itachi is far from ignorant about his teacher's considerable physical charms. His teacher is as muscular, with broad arms (that look as though somebody has inserted small footballs into open wounds and then sewn them up again), and abdominal muscles that send Itachi into a daze that results in him becoming the recipient of many a suspicious stare. The muscles are all well-earned, as he is not the proud owner of a steriod-shrunken penis, as is clear from the substantial bulge that fills out the front of his tracksuit pants nicely. Itachi knows he doesn't use balled up socks, because he has seen some idiots attempt to pull off that trick, and the lumpy, rigid dome is always a dead giveaway.
Itachi knows that his teacher likes him. He doesn't know whether his teacher desires him in that way, but Itachi is probably his favourite pupil, so he has the advantage of being fairly close to his teacher. Nevertheless, he cannot see anything happening between them. His teacher is 27, while he is 16. It would be selfish for Itachi to become involved with his teacher at the risk of the man's important job.
But still he fantasises. He wonders whether this thing he has is less of a crush and more of full-blown love, because he has never been so intimidated by one person's presence before in his life. When his teacher slaps them on the ass as they job past during warm ups (in a purely masculine, male-bonding way, of course), Itachi can never quite supress a shiver of delight, and, when his teacher is so close that Itachi can smell his grass-sweat smell and the mint on his breath, and can see the perfect, even ebony shade of his skin, Itachi always fails to focus sufficiently and can never remember what he agreed to or said during those conversations. While he keeps his cool well, his teacher can clearly see that he's not entirely present during those conversations, even if Itachi has managed to pull the wool over everyone else's eyes.
"Itachi, is there something you would like to tell me?" he asks often, with a flare of amusement written plainly on his face. Itachi shakes his head numbly, remaining stoic. He is particularly proud that these moments never lead to bright red cheeks and humiliating memories.
At home, he is able to indulge in his fantasies. He imagines that brawny body is in front of him, glistening with sweat. He imagines sinking to his knees in front of that body, looking at the bulge. He wonders how it would feel in his hand, and takes it out, stretching the elastic waist band underneath his teacher's balls. He salivates over the thought of sliding that probably large penis into his mouth, feeling his lips stretch and saliva drip down his chin.
In these moments, Itachi cannot help himself, and allows himself the dirty pleasure of slithering his hand into his boxers to stroke his dripping cock. Sometimes, he finds his hand trailing down over his scrotum and between his cheeks to caress his hole with tentative fingers. He never does more than this, though. He is too worried that he will injure himself during his teenage fumbling, and instead imagines how pleased Mr Hoshigaki will be to find that Itachi has been saving himself entirely- just for him.
He is not stupid. Mr Hoshigaki is unlikely to sleep with him anytime soon. Itachi doesn't even know whether Mr Hoshigaki is that way inclined, so a relationship may not have been possible even if they were closer in age and were not student and teacher. His fantasies are just that, and Itachi would be a fool to try to convince himself otherwise.
Then, does it make it unhealthy for him to continue with this obsession? Surely it would be better to move on. And Itachi has tried. He's tried to look at other men in that way, but they're never quite right. He judges them, not on overall attractiveness and the quality of their personalities, but on how similar they are to his teacher. He finds it a little pathetic, but he knows that he cannot change his feelings. And so he allows himself his private fantasies whenever Mr Hoshigaki brushes past, or smacks his backside, or even looks at him with that amused expression.
As he stands in the shower in the locker room, he knows he is alone. He always waits until everybody else is gone before he showers, chiefly because he is shy, but also because there is a homosexual boy in his gym class who seems to think that, as Itachi is clearly gay (even if he has not admitted it yet), and happens to be the only other homosexual in their year, they should date. At the beginning of the year, Itachi merely slid the shower curtain across, but the boy tried to get into the shower with him on far too many occasions for Itachi to honestly believe his excuse that he didn't realise there was anybody in there.
Thus, Itachi showers alone. He likes the way the sound of the water pattering onto the off-white tiled floor echoes around the room, because it helps him to remain unheard when he lets out little muffled noises as he pleasures himself. He presses one hand against the wall, the other between his legs. His thighs are parted, knees shaking, as his fingers skitter over his red, swollen cock. His teeth sink into his lip, gnawing it until it is red and sore. But he scarcely notices, so focussed is he on his own pleasure.
He pauses in his ministrations to his dripping penis and glances around cautiously. He could have sworn that he had heard somebody come in. But the only noise is the water beating on the tile, and his own laboured breathing. The latter is barely discernable beneath the noise of the shower. He peers through his sopping hair, which, he now notices, is dripping into his eyes. He pushes it out of the way, but there is definitely no visible human in the locker room with him.
He makes a decision to return to his previous activies. Abandoning his penis, he rolls and tugs and pinches his nipples between his fingertips, arching into the sting as the water soothes the ache with liquid warmth. He strokes across his abdomen slowly with a sigh, feeling the hard ridges of his hips, his sculpted stomach, a large rough hand...
He gasps, stumbling backwards. His back slams into something hard and hot and wrapped in soaked cloth. The hand remains on his stomach, holding him close to the body. It is ebony, with a puckered bullet scar on the back that matches the one Mr Hoshigaki has. But Itachi doesn't dare to hope, because he's sick of his of-mice-and-men plans.
"Really Itachi?" a familiar voice queries with a repressed chuckle, "In the showers? Weren't you the least bit worried that the little fairy boy whose name escapes me would come in here and see this as an invitation?"
"I was hoping you would see this as an invitation," Itachi admits quietly, and he's keen to get everything out in the open, because he's sick of wondering and hoping.
"You're sixteen," Mr Hoshigaki says with a sigh, "You don't know what you're asking,"
"I know that your favourite colour is blue," Itachi whispers, licking lips that are dry despite the shower raining down on him, "I know that you have a tattoo of a shark on your right shoulder blade. I know you speak four languages, and served in the army for a time. I know that you do care about your students, even if you pretend you don't. I know that you are 27, your birthday is on March 18th, and you are a Pisces,"
"Geez, kid, that's a little stalkerish," is Mr Hoshigaki's only response. Itachi feels something break inside him. He refuses to call it his heart, because the heart pumps blood around the body and is in no way connected with this cracking, shattering feeling. He pulls away abruptly, feeling the torturous sting of tears in his eyes. When he brushes past his teacher, he sees only a brown and blue blob in front of the white blur of the shower curtain. Thrusting the curtain aside, he locates his gym bag and begins to dry himself roughly in his anger. He is unable to stop one tear from escaping his eye, and, once that tear has fallen, it takes enormous strength of will to keep the flood back.
"Itachi," Mr Hoshigaki says, and Itachi feels a surge of anger at the man for that pitying tone he implements.
"Leave me alone," Itachi says in a choked voice as he hurriedly throws on his clothes. He wants to get away from here, to get home so that he can lock himself in his room and berate himself in the lonely darkness for bringing around this humiliation.
"Itachi, you're sixteen," Mr Hoshigaki reminds him again. Itachi has had enough of these reminders. Does Mr Hoshigaki honestly think that Itachi can forget so easily?
"Thank you for remembering my age," he snipes, "But please don't bother yourself in future. You'll just be leading me on by pretending you care,"
He is, by now, stuffing his dirty clothes into his gym bag. And, crap, there is another tear. It splashes onto the blue, waterproof material and clings on, refusing to slide off. Itachi wishes he was like that tear; that he could cling on. But he can't. Mr Hoshigaki won't allow it.
The rough pad of a thumb on his cheek bone hurts and soothes at the same time. He gulps in air and closing his eyes. He doesn't want to see pity in those eyes he has often stared into.
"By the time you're 19, I'll be 30," Mr Hoshigaki tells him, "You need someone your own age. Unless you want to be the one to wheel me around when I'm old and senile?"
"My Great Uncle Madara is married to a 22 year old," Itachi retorts without bite, "He's 84,"
"Does he happen to be rich?" Mr Hoshigaki asks. Itachi's stony silence is answer enough.
"Itachi, a relationship like that doesn't normally work," he says.
"They can and they have," Itachi says, but he is already turning away, and his protestations sound weak to his own ears.
"You're my student," Mr Hoshigaki reminds him. Itachi wishes that he'd stop telling him things he already knows.
"I'd lose my job,"
"Do you feel the slightest hint of desire for me?" Itachi asks, without the obsessive zeal that would normally accompany such a desperate question. Mr Hoshigaki's hesitation give him hope, and he both hates and loves it.
"Then I'll wait," Itachi whispers, looking Mr Hoshigaki directly in the eye for the first time, to show that he is serious. Mr Hoshigaki looks torn between exasperation and wistfulness.
"Until when?" Mr Hoshigaki asks, "Until you find somebody your own age? You need to stop this,"
"I tried," Itachi smiles bitterly, "But the best laid plans of mice and men often go askew,"
"Robert Burns," Mr Hoshigaki says with a sigh, "Are you sure this is what you want?"
Itachi turns and wraps his arms around his teacher's wide body, pressing his face into the soaked chest and feeling the gentle thrum of his heart and the rise and fall of his solid chest. He feels the heart beat speed up, and the movements of the great pectorals becoming uneven.
"I've wanted you since I first saw you," Itachi admits without shame, "And I've never looked at another. When I'm graduated, I'll come back for you,"
"Who says that I want you to come back for me?" Mr Hoshigaki asks. But his voice is resigned and hopeful and unsteady. Itachi smiles.
"I'll come back for you whether say you want me to or not," he warns, "Only when it becomes clear that you do not want me will I leave you be,"
"You're too smart for your own good," Mr Hoshigaki says. Hesitantly, he hugs Itachi back, who might have been struck by lightning without realising it at that moment.
And so Itachi journeys through school. His peers and little brother watch in awe as he tops all current academic records at his school. But the only person whose opinion he cares about is his teacher. His affection for Mr Hoshigaki has only increased, despite a lack of physical intimacy between them.
Then, he is 18, and it's his graduation ceremony. As valedictorian, he is invited to make a speech. He is sure that it must have been good, because the mothers in the audience are crying, and his father appears so proud that his lips are pressed tight with the effort it is taking to stop himself from succumbing to unmanly tears like his blubbering wife. But Itachi notices these things only distantly, as his eyes are fixed upon his teacher the whole time. He sees Sasuke glancing between them and wrinkling his nose with disgust, but only smirks at his little brother when their eyes meet.
He leaves high school in a blaze of glory. According to his choked up headmaster, he is nothing less than the most brilliant student his school has ever seen. Itachi isn't sure about that, but he graciously accepts the man's compliment and tosses his hat into the air along with his peers, ignoring his father's scoldings. Amidst the chaos of burning school ties and shrieking, he sees Mr Hoshigaki slip away. With a goodbye to his parents, he claims that he is going to use the bathroom, and follows. Sasuke looks faintly nauseated.
"You have a job in England," Itachi tells Mr Hoshigaki quietly as he steps into the man's office and shuts the door. It is pitch black. The warm solidness is at his back again, and he relaxes against it.
"You have an international scholarship at Oxford University," Mr Hoshigaki says into Itachi's ear, "I should have known you'd follow me,"
"Or perhaps you knew I would get in, and you applied for that job as a result," Itachi says with a smug little smirk; he knows that is exactly what happened.
"I can't believe that you waited," Mr Hoshigaki says with some hesitance, as though he's worried that Itachi didn't wait.
"And why would that be?" Itachi whispers back, turning face Mr Hoshigaki. He is not as tall as Mr Hoshigaki, and he doubts he will ever be, but he's at least taller than he was. He pushes his head underneath the man's chin and inhales the scent of the generic cologne. He thinks it's probably the best scent he has ever smelled.
"You've had so many chances," Mr Hoshigaki tells him, "So many people want you,"
"I don't want them," Itachi declares bluntly, "I want you. And I always get what I want,"
"Spoiled brat," Mr Hoshigaki chuckles, bringing his arms up to wrap them around Itachi's narrow waist. Itachi smiles, almost giddy with happiness.
"Indeed," he confirms, tilting his head up until he can feel Mr Hoshigaki's hot breath against his lips, "Perhaps you would like to give me a taste of what I have been waiting for these past two years...Kisame,"
It feels incredible to say that name; to drop the formality and act how he truly wants to around the man he has wanted for so long. Of course, it does not feel nearly half as incredible as this kiss, this bruising kiss that steals his breath like a punch to the gut. And, once they start to kiss, they cannot stop. Itachi brings his arms up and clutches Kisame's shoulders as though he is afraid that Kisame will leave, while Kisame presses on him, pushing him backwards towards that cluttered desk. But Itachi has other ideas. He breaks the kiss, heaving like an asthmatic, and drops to his knees, trembling fingers fumbling with the drawstring on Kisame's pants.
"What are you doing?" Kisame asks in a hesitant voice, as though he thinks that saying anything might make Itachi stop.
"What I've wanted to do since I was fifteen," Itachi told him, staring up at the dark shadow of Kisame in the blackness. He is disappointed that he cannot see Kisame's face, and he is even more disappointed that he won't see Kisame's cock when he eventually plucks up the courage to pull it free from those cumbersome track pants.
"Open the curtain," Itachi whispers. He can just pick out Kisame's shadowy arm pulling the cord on the blinds, allowing the pink-gold dusk light to seep in. And Itachi can see Kisame in lust for the first time, and he's honestly glad that he went after what he wants, because he could have missed out of this if he hadn't been so forward.
Kisame's eyes are half-lidded as they stare down at Itachi, who remains on his knees before his ex-teacher and stares back. Finally, the unofficial staring contest is broken by Kisame.
"Are you going to do what I hope you're going to do?" he asks, voice heavy with anticipation.
"If you're asking whether I'm about to suck your cock, yes, I am," Itachi says, not missing the way Kisame's breath hitches at those filthy words that have no place on the tongue of a model student. The line of Kisame's cock twitches, the top few inches peeking out of the waistband. Itachi's mouth nearly waters.
"Since you were fifteen?" Kisame asks, resting a hand on top of Itachi's head even as he braces himself against the desk with Itachi between his legs.
"Yes," Itachi says with a little smirk and no trace of shame.
"That's a little slutty," Kisame tells him with a grin.
"If I'm a slut, then I'm your slut," Itachi tells him, "Although I'm not sure I feel comfortable applying that word to myself- as I'm male,"
Kisame's chuckle becomes strangled when Itachi presses his palm against Kisame's crotch, eyes wide with awe. It's so hot and hard, even with the cloth barrier in place. Itachi hooks his fingers in the waistband and pulls it down underneath Kisame's balls, just as he's fantasised about for two and a half years.
And there it is: dark, thick and certainly more than a mouthful. How that man fitted it into his trousers, Itachi could not guess.
"I've seen smaller snakes," Itachi says flatly. Kisame laughs again, but does not reply. Itachi is hesitant, but he eventually wraps his hand around it, stroking the soft, hot flesh slowly. Sticky whiteness beads on the crown, and he watches as it drips down the shaft and lands in the v between thumb and index finger. He leans forwards and licks it off.
"Itachi, I'm dying here!" Kisame tells him impatiently. Itachi knows how he feels. His own cock is hurting as it presses against the crotch of his school pants, unable to break free of its confines. He closes his eyes and inhales sharply through his nose, then brings Kisame's cock to his mouth. He isn't happy about his failure to fit more than the first couple of inches into his mouth, because there is more out than there is in. He tries to compensate, stroking the remaining five or six inches as saliva dribbles down his chin. His jaw hurts, his lips are sore from being stretched beyond what they can take, and he's certain that his voice will be hoarse tomorrow, but he is in bliss. Kisame's gentle rocking towards his mouth, accompanied by harse curses, makes it worth it. And the little pain cannot diminish his arousal, which only increases when Itachi fully takes in his own position.
He's doing his utmost to give Kisame pleasure, despite his obvious lack of skill in this area. He can feel his own drool dripping onto the floor and trailing down Kisame's balls, much to his mortification. If Kisame didn't seem to be enjoying himself immensely, Itachi would stop.
Soon, Kisame is coming into Itachi's throat, the hot liquid splashing onto his tongue. The taste of saline fills Itachi's mouth, and he swallows as well as he can with his mouth so obstructed. Kisame has not been loud, but his breathing is haggard, and sweat gleams on his brow.
"Not bad," he says with a slight grin. Itachi takes that as a compliment, because he's never done anything like that before, but he evidently has some talent at it.
"What about you?" Kisame asks, his eyes flicking down towards Itachi's straining crotch as Itachi stands up again. Kisame does not wait for an answer. Before Itachi knows it, Kisame has swept his desk clear and Itachi is lying on his back with his trousers around his knees and Kisame's hand on his cock. The friction is almost too good, and Itachi finds his eyes rolling back into his head. He presses his hips towards those hands, unknowingly pulling one leg free of his trousers and opening his legs wide as he bucks upwards. Kisame notices, though. Itachi only realises when he feels the blunt sting of one long finger pushing into his hole. His head falls back with a dull thunk, mouth falling wide open as his eyes fall shut, cum spraying across his abdomen even as he arches, gasping, into the slight sting of penetration.
When he comes back to himself, he sprawled on his side on Kisame's desk, and Kisame is busy placing a lurid hickey on his right buttock. Itachi doesn't push him away.
"You're odd," he mutters.
"I just love your ass as much as you love my cock," Kisame says innocently.
"I hope you don't think I'll be the woman of this relationship," Itachi warns.
"Do you honestly think you could top me?" Kisame asks with a snigger. Itachi has to admit to himself that the idea sounds ludicrous.
"You can dominate the sex, and I'll dominate everything else," Itachi reasoned, ignoring the way Kisame rolled his eyes in the twilight.
This is pretty shitty by all accounts, and I don't think that it deserves to be posted. Still, I've written it, and I'm going to do something with it. The characters are probably OOC, but I doubt anybody can get characterisation perfect, so I'll just stick with my skewed interpretation and hope that the porn masks the glaring inadequecies of this fic.
Thanks for reading!