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All Hidan wanted was to reach someplace dry, warm, and decently comfortable.
It was raining outside, because that’s what happened in Amegakure, and the grayish-purple buildings and skyscrapers were starting to make him feel more depressed than they should.
It was always like that after the mandatory, tedious meetings Pain demanded. Socializing wasn’t in Hidan’s nature; nor in Kakuzu’s, who in the past few months had selfishly been used as his emotional regulator — or simply a mirror. Sitting through hours of mission assignments delivered in a deathly bored tone, paired with the incessant dripping inside that cave reeking of metal and stagnant water, could very well be considered an excellent form of discreet torture.
Kakuzu and he stepped out to face the torrential rain with hatred in their hearts, but also relief; no storm could be worse than one more minute in that dump, especially when, for a solid ten minutes, they had both been subjected to what could only be called a sermon.
Naturally, this had brought Hidan a slight — though entirely justified — concern that Kakuzu might have a heart attack. The man was loyal, his man, but no loyalty could withstand the pale flash of pride being wounded. Fortunately, Hidan had been brave enough to take the blame for his transgressions (literally, though his sincere apologies were reserved solely for Jashin, not for Pain — hell, the man could go to damnation for all he cared).
The blunt admission that he was responsible for their constant delays between missions, as well as the sole culprit for the overall monetary losses of the organization, brought a certain sigh of relief to the room; and for Kakuzu, at least, it meant one less jab at his wounded ego. It had taken a crushing level of self-awareness on Hidan’s part to keep himself from hurling insults or sharp retorts at Pain. Lucky for them both, he was exhausted at the time, and Kakuzu’s quiet yet furious anxiety made him just as tense. They needed to get out of there, no matter the cost.
(The slight yet undeniable dependency between them was beginning to take root in their guts, to the point of accidental mimicry; the second the man distanced himself in moments of irritation, Hidan found himself copying the gesture, consequently following him and getting irritated as well. Truly an instinctive matter, a basic need and nothing more — although Deidara had pointed out the problem, completely ignoring Hidan’s reasoning that their relationship was a gift from Jashin, and therefore, small mutual obsessions were absolutely normal.)
It was nearly dawn when they found a place open to eat and warm up. A small, traditional-style restaurant with an abandoned air, but with insulated walls and low ceilings to trap the heat. Kakuzu was quiet, still in a foul mood from the earlier meeting — however, a bit of tension left his shoulders when Hidan dragged his own zaisu over and sat beside him.
“What are you going to have?”
“If you’re asking me instead of just giving me vegetable soup, it means you’re not that mad,” Hidan pointed out, wiping his wet face with the warm towel offered at the entrance. “Am I right?”
Had he not tacked on that question, Kakuzu might have agreed. But then, it wouldn’t have been fun.
“I told you your constant antics would get us into trouble,” he growled, low, strangely intimate and severe. “You’re lucky I haven’t gutted you.”
Hidan pressed his hand against the man’s forearm, digging his nails through the layers of fabric in his cloak. He smiled, delighted.
“I’m not sure it was my luck,” he whispered, using him for support as he leaned toward the tip of his ear. “If you want to rethink your decision and punish me violently tonight, know that I’m ready for your idea of justice.”
Kakuzu didn’t move away, but he scowled and turned his face. It still fascinated Hidan how genuinely frustrated he became when he couldn’t overpower him through violence. It was like disarming him and leaving him vulnerable, with nothing to strike at. It brought a wicked sense of power and control that Hidan savored with relish.
“Shut your mouth,” Kakuzu demanded, before adding, just as harshly, “And choose what you want already.”
Hidan stifled an amused sigh and rested his face on his arm, pulling the menu closer. It was made of paper and handwritten in delicate calligraphy.
“I can’t understand a damn thing.”
“Of course not. I forgot you’re illiterate.”
“I’m not illiterate.”
“In religious scriptures doesn’t count.”
“Not just in religious scriptures, idiot.”
“Right. In religious fallacies, then.”
“You bastard son of a bitch!”
This was generally how they were. Kakuzu hid the satisfied — and petty — air of having irritated him, while Hidan busied himself with the list of insults that reminded them both exactly why they still tried to kill each other so often.
Despite having spent dinner sulking and purposefully silent (and Hidan realized that was exactly what his partner wanted, the selfish little shit), the night didn’t turn out so bad. Kakuzu bought two bowls of tonjiru, let Hidan put all the vegetables on his plate, and didn’t complain when the post-meal drowsiness left him half-dozing over the table.
With the Akatsuki being not only known but respected in Amegakure, it wasn’t hard to find an inn with a reasonable price — reasonable for Kakuzu — and a decent level of comfort.
One block away, the restaurant owner had informed them, accompanying them cautiously to the door. Kakuzu didn’t thank him, but bought an umbrella from the counter and handed it to Hidan first, who stepped closer, seeking that burning warmth only Kakuzu’s body could provide.
“I’m tired,” he grumbled, stomping into a puddle and instantly regretting it when the mud splashed onto his socks.
Kakuzu didn’t answer, taking advantage of the melancholic stillness of the late night to put his thoughts in order, as he usually did in those rare moments of rest. They had a lot to do in the coming days, with Pain’s plans finally set in motion and a list of orders to follow.
They would be boring days. And weeks and months too. The only consolation Hidan had was the prospect of more killings — to the peace and glory of his Lord, may Jashin bless him. Of course, keeping up his routine of sacrifices, rituals, and frequent prayers would probably mess with his dynamic with Kakuzu, who had the infernal habit of answering his devotions with twice the sin; his greed and materialism expanded until they couldn’t be measured.
It was so infuriating, especially because Kakuzu did it on purpose. He was a cruel and hateful man, so full of himself and so disrespectfully skeptical. Hidan wanted to chew him up and spit him out from sheer hatred — and while thinking that, with his heart bubbling with rancor, his hand ended up reaching for Kakuzu’s, which rested at his side. Kakuzu laced their fingers together without noticing, oblivious to the murderous train of thought Hidan was entertaining and notably distracted, though now and then he murmured words of agreement in his direction.
Hidan, who liked to complain when irritated and got irritated easily, kept on chattering.
“My legs hurt, we’ve been standing all day and I’m tired!” he was saying, his earlier string of insults over Kakuzu’s transgressions already forgotten. “This is so fucking annoying! I want to sleep!”
Kakuzu still had no patience to listen to him — nothing would probably change his impatient, explosive temperament — but after so much time together, he had learned to give Hidan what he wanted: attention. Even if it was fake.
It was the same as always: Hidan was complaining just for the sake of talking, and Kakuzu was pretending to listen, his mind actually focused on accounts, plans, strategies, and everything else that truly mattered and that they would have to worry about from then on. The exhaustion of the long day had also added to the scene, reducing them to just two tired humans coexisting with each other’s mannerisms, and nothing more.
“That bald old man said the inn was one block away, so why does this block never end?”
“Because you walk slowly, dear,” Kakuzu replied, tired. “And because the old man lied. It’s three blocks.”
Hidan was about to open his mouth to, first, point out that Kakuzu was walking at the same pace as him and, second, to curse the wretched old man who had dared to mislead him with the prospect of quick rest.
But then his brain caught up with the full sentence, and everything around him turned to static. It was such a sudden blank that even the sound of his own footsteps seemed to fade — and Hidan realized that was exactly what happened, because he had stopped dead in place and was now being drenched by the rain again.
Kakuzu only noticed when he tugged him by the arm, their hands still linked. He stepped back two paces with visible annoyance and raised the umbrella over his head, more irritated than ever.
“What’s your problem?” he asked, and the grip between their hands tightened. “Besides whining in my ear all night, you also want to catch a cold? I’m not taking care of you.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me,” Hidan shot back, trying to keep his usual petulance, but the words lost their bite before leaving his mouth. They came out warm, almost soft, muffled by the heat rising under his skin — so out of place in the damp night it seemed to belong to another kind of touch.
And not the physical kind. Or chemical. Or — whatever. Hidan started walking again beside Kakuzu, who was now the only one grumbling about lodging prices and possible alternate routes for the next morning.
I don’t think he noticed, he thought, glancing down at where their hands were joined, suddenly hyperaware and feeling as if his own fingers were alien organs. There was a strange, warm, restless kind of excitement sweeping through his thoughts like a breeze.
Dear, he repeated mentally, surprised by the wave of frustration that followed — his mind couldn’t quite replicate the exact sound of Kakuzu’s voice when he’d said it. The natural casualness; the weary, irritated intonation that was also somehow affectionate.
(Maybe he shouldn’t be so affected. Their relationship had changed — Konan had pointed that out earlier today with a sharp glint in her eyes. Kakuzu hadn’t denied it, and neither had Hidan; on the contrary, he may or may not have mentioned that he had come to the religious conclusion that they were each other’s knife and whetstone. A rustic way of saying something far more poetic, too soft for the coarse language they wore like armor.)
Even so, they had never been the type to express affection through words. Hidan told him to go fuck himself and Kakuzu called him ignoble — they liked violence and mentioned hate more often than they remembered the existence of the word love.
And yet, it had sounded so right. Hidan waited for the discomfort of awkwardness and instead got the anxious ache of longing.
That night, when they finally crossed the three blocks and holed up in a warm room at the end of the inn’s last hallway, Hidan lay down beside Kakuzu and traced his back with the tips of his fingers. He knew that body with his eyes closed — the obvious bulges of the masks, the rough ridges of the stitching, the deep marks of scars that time had healed but never erased.
His heart was beating fast. His face was twisted in confusion. The unwanted vulnerability was in his eyes, but Kakuzu mistook it for fatigue and didn’t look deeper to find the true core. Hidan thanked Jashin for that.
Affection itself wasn’t strange between them; after all, even creatures who walk the edge of bloody human nightmares still carry some remnant of warmth — and know, in their own way, how to feel and love. Kakuzu and he were no different.
The awareness of the depth of their feelings, however, was something they both tacitly chose to ignore.
(Even if it was obvious. Even if Hidan had given in to his usual prayers solely to beg Jashin for mercy — to allow him into his life not as a Neighbor, but as a soul capable of understanding and sharing — eternally — all his suffering. Even if Kakuzu had done something similar, guided by his own principles.)
In the end, he closed his eyes and sighed. They were immortal and destined to live and suffer together. A pet name shouldn’t have affected him as much as it did — though that said more about how much Hidan longed for such affectionate language, and how strange that was, considering who he was. And who they were.
“Go to sleep, Hidan.”
Hidan stopped shifting on the futon, curling under the sheets and forcing his eyes shut. He tried not to sigh when Kakuzu gave in to habit and turned, trapping him between his arms and under his chin. It calmed nerves he hadn’t known he had, took the tension from his shoulders, and replaced the smell of rain with the scent of iron and frankincense.
(Ah, Hidan thought suddenly. Maybe that was what Kisame meant when he choked in shock upon seeing them “scarily, insanely, and disrespectfully close to each other.” It wasn’t just a physical matter, after all.)
Tomorrow would be another day. And something so silly — so superfluous and certainly insignificant — as a pet name would never be mentioned again. Not in any way.
That was just how they were, after all.
— ♡ —
“We don’t have much time.”
“I know.”
“I told you to be careful, but not only did you refuse to listen, you went out of your way to act recklessly.”
“Uh-huh…”
“We lost the rest of the afternoon to your idiotic prayers. And even then, you didn’t think to tell me any of this ahead of time…”
“Mmhmm, yeah, Kakuzu, I get it, I get it, just—” Hidan sighed, tipping his head back. “Just get it over with, alright? I can barely breathe, for fuck’s sake.”
Kakuzu pressed his lips into a thin line, holding back a snort. He adjusted his position, letting Hidan slide in more comfortably until his head rested against Kakuzu’s collarbone. With his dominant hand, he reached for the scythe. It was stained with blood halfway up the shaft, all three blades still dripping. For efficiency, he removed one of the pivoting points.
Between his legs, Hidan shuddered, struggling with shallow, ragged breaths. That girl, Yugito Nii, had put up a good fight. Luring them into a cramped, enclosed space had been a smart way to limit their battle options — especially Kakuzu’s, forcing him to be far more cautious with any explosive jutsu.
Hidan, however, had no patience for careful tactics. Charging in headfirst as always, it wasn’t surprising that he took the full brunt of the attack when her transformation began. The Two-Tails had landed a clean strike to his chest, and ever since, he’d been struggling to breathe.
Kakuzu was no stranger to injuries like this. Hidan was a magnet for bodily trauma — a pristine pale canvas, hypnotically inviting to be marred with wounds and bruises.
As he traced the tip of the blade from the sternum down toward the navel, his gaze narrowed at the collection of purplish-red bruises, some already fading yellow at the edges. An uneven cut had already been made near where he intended to slice, partially sealed in a crust of dried blood.
“You got your ass handed to you,” he murmured against the back of his neck, drawing a shiver. “Idiot.”
In retaliation, Hidan jabbed an elbow into his abdomen, mumbling something under his breath — a sound quickly swallowed by the loud, utterly shocked, and pained cry that broke from his split lips. Kakuzu hummed in appreciation at the noise before frowning at the indecent amount of blood spurting out, splattering his clothes and the floor.
The incision was clean and dry, wide enough for the skin to curl inward.
“Ah, fuck, that hurts!” Hidan jerked forward in shock, only to be shoved back again by two thick threads that kept his chin tilted up.
“Of course it does,” Kakuzu grumbled, glancing down to meet Hidan’s dazed stare. “I’m opening you up. What did you expect?”
“That I’d be used to it by now— argh!”
Without wasting time, Kakuzu forced the abdominal muscles apart. Then, gathering more threads, he pierced the shiny, translucent peritoneum. Hidan jolted violently, slamming his head into Kakuzu’s shoulder, lips parted in a silent scream. The pain must have been blinding, Kakuzu thought, giving in to the urge to press his nose into the curve of that pale neck.
“Almost there,” he murmured against skin now even paler from the ordeal.
“Almost there, my ass,” Hidan shot back, furious, fingers curling tightly into his palms. “Shit, shit, Kakuzu, it fucking hurts!”
The smell was something between acrid and metallic, strong even through the thick texture of his mask. Ignoring Hidan’s trembling frame, Kakuzu kept going, letting the scythe clatter to the ground and working only with his hands and threads. After a moment’s thought, he simply pushed aside the slick, fatty tissue bulging through the open cavity; a little more force was enough to reveal the smooth, curved surface of the liver to the right, and the glistening, pink coils of the small intestine to the left.
Hidan may or may not have blacked out when Kakuzu slid his hand and forearm directly inside, pushing the stomach and coils out of the way. The weight between his legs grew heavier, his limp, gasping partner pressing fully against his chest. It was a good thing he had already stripped both their cloaks and set them aside — blood and other fluids slid down his elbows in thick drops, spattering onto the floor, the density increasing as he tunneled toward the center of the diaphragm.
Hidan was cold and slick on the inside. He twitched and muttered deliriously with every small movement, soft spasms rippling through him, wet sounds of shifting organs mingling with his murmurs and cries. It didn’t take long before the agony tangled his senses; Kakuzu heard him begin to pray under his breath, sweet invocations to that stupid god of his. Jashin, Jashin, he panted, sweat and spit trailing to the tip of his chin, so devout and surrendered.
Kakuzu’s brows furrowed. In the diaphragm muscle, a small opening needed to be made into the thoracic cavity — delicate enough for only one of his threads to pass through, sparing a good measure of agony. But plans changed.
Clamping Hidan between his legs, Kakuzu used his fingers like pincers. It demanded more force — and yet the tissue soon yielded to brute strength, like rawhide. It tore open with the sound of a deep rip and the tortured cry that ripped out of Hidan.
“FUCK! Jashin—!! Shit, what the hell!”
Where a single thread should have entered the cut, several bunched together. Hidan screamed and writhed, clutching Kakuzu’s arm, still buried deep inside him, unsure of what to do. His nails dug into the skin, but Kakuzu hardened it before they could draw a drop of blood.
Though no longer transformed by his curse technique, they were still inside the crimson circle. Stained and partially ruined by the abundant, fresh spill of new blood, Kakuzu still wouldn’t risk granting Hidan’s wishes. That was a pain he would bear alone.
“You son… of… a bitch— urgh!”
Kakuzu huffed, pressing his mouth to Hidan’s ear.
“You know the deal, Hidan,” he rasped. “Don’t mention another man when I’m the only one touching you.”
“But… I need— ah! I need to, uh, offer… the pain!”
“I’m the only one inflicting it too. So don’t disrespect me.”
Hidan smothered a miserable moan, reduced to a small surgical doll as he continued to be violated from within. Still, he obediently silenced his prayers.
Kakuzu smiled. He particularly enjoyed these moments. It was when his partner became quieter, lost in the torture, too raw from being worked internally to muster the usual messy, irritating defiance. Almost sweet, in a way — lips punished by bites, sweat trailing down the base of his neck, body trembling, consciousness on the brink of darkness. Inside, his flesh pressed against Kakuzu’s arm — cold and slick; alive and yielding.
Tempting might have been the right word for it. The more they did this, the more Kakuzu wanted to push further. Not that there were limits — once surrendered, Hidan was a loyal, faithful thing, so detached from his own body and boundaries. His trust wasn’t easily earned, but once given, it was permanent.
(And though Kakuzu was far too bitter to believe Hidan’s flowery, spiritually-charged speeches — those about souls and bonds, of two minds and two hearts becoming one — he’d be lying if he claimed not to find the idea deeply enticing. For now, while the notion of something greater and divine still didn’t sit well in his core, he was content with the deliberate concept of possession.)
When his threads began exploring the dark space of the mediastinum, Kakuzu noticed the movement there was sporadic and uneven. The lungs were compromised — of course, he thought, unsurprised to feel the depth of the lacerations. Hidan hadn’t finished off Yugito Nii — she was pinned to the wall, merely unconscious — but he’d still injured himself badly while offering his due “lamentations” to Jashin. It was a miracle he’d obeyed the order not to strike the heart… though that very organ was the main issue now.
Tachycardia, extreme pallor, dizziness, and difficulty breathing. Hidan normally lived with pain and its aftermath with a careless shrug, maybe some complaints here and there. But he’d also grown spoiled over the course of their relationship — and when Kakuzu “fixed” him from the inside the first time, he had, without hesitation, taken it as the beginning of a habit.
And a habit it became, over days, weeks, and months.
Kakuzu didn’t mind. He hated the delays and Hidan’s irritating way of asking for help, yes — but all of that paled beside the pleasure of being inside him, exploring him, and literally holding control over his vitality.
“You’re d-done with, argh, this, f-fuck?”
Kakuzu glanced at him, and Hidan stared back — flushed and gasping against his shoulder. He was wrecked, in agony, and in pain. He looked like temptation itself, and the sight brought timely memories to mind. They wouldn’t have time for anything else, not with Pain already informed of the capture and Zetsu on his way to collect the jinchūriki’s body. But they could still have a bit of fun.
“Finishing,” Kakuzu assured him, watching him shut his eyes and press his lips together to keep from praying.
His threads were an extension of himself. They didn’t have the same tactile sensitivity as skin, but they weren’t numb either. With that in mind, Kakuzu commanded them to wrap around Hidan’s heart. They circled it, feeling each fatty protrusion with intimacy. Warm and alive, but the pulse was weak and uneven, as if every beat fought against some invisible barrier.
“Right there,” he murmured, feeling Hidan’s body tense against his chest. “Found the problem.”
The threads began to pump around the muscle, cautiously at first, mimicking the rhythm they sensed. It was uneven, muffled, as if the sound came from far away, filtered by the pressure of its own casing. With each contraction, the swollen membrane’s resistance was more apparent than the muscle’s strength.
“It hurts…” Hidan muttered, and Kakuzu couldn’t tell if it was a groan or a sigh of pleasure.
“Yeah?”
Hidan pushed himself back, neck stretched and brows drawn tight in agony.
“Yeah,” he breathed softly. “Like hell.”
Kakuzu rested his face against the silver hair, his breath heavy against the back of his neck. There was such a sharp difference between holding someone’s heart and holding his heart.
He felt the organ a while longer, with less morbid curiosity now and more clinical interest.
“Swollen…” he murmured, his low voice against Hidan’s nape making him shiver. “Of course that hit messed you up. Surprised it didn’t break your ribs.”
“It did,” Hidan admitted, slightly dazed. “But it’s healed— ah, fuck, Kakuzu, what the hell, do that again!”
Kakuzu obliged, squeezing the heart until he felt the wet, crushing sound. There was clearly fluid buildup there.
One of the threads suddenly extended, narrowing to a precise point. Carefully, slowly, Kakuzu brought it to the pericardium, testing the resistance. Hidan arched his back, expectant.
The puncture came slowly, millimeter by millimeter. The tip pierced the membrane, splitting it with a wet pop. The immediate heat of the trapped blood spilled outward, washing over the muscle’s surface.
The relief, for Hidan, was instant.
“Mhhm, fuck, that’s the spot…”
Kakuzu felt the flow bathing his skin, hot and pulsing, as if the heart were pouring out every drop just for him. He watched the way the blood spread, coating his hand and running down his wrists until it stained Hidan’s abdomen and pants.
Fascinated, he kept the pressure, letting another thread slide in alongside to widen the opening, the rush intensifying in sync with Hidan’s loud moan, mingling with the gurgle of liquid.
“That’s it… breathe for me, love,” he said, more attuned to the sensation than to the words themselves.
Hidan’s body stiffened, fingers digging into his sleeve.
“What?” his voice came out higher than usual, overloaded with the pain and the pleasure of release.
Kakuzu sighed, murmuring false, gentle encouragements; lukewarm words brushing over skin — a tone that sounded like care while probing for vulnerabilities. Hidan knew that tone well, and usually let himself be carried by it, relaxing with each pause and inflection that hinted at more than they said.
“There you go…” Kakuzu continued, squeezing the muscle again as if finishing a meticulous job. “Can you feel it?”
Air left Hidan’s lungs in a heavy rush, but unlike usual, he didn’t answer. He turned suddenly, almost colliding into him. The movement made Kakuzu’s hand tense inside him, threads shifting, heart racing.
“Hidan, what the hell—”
Hidan grabbed the back of his neck, shoved his mask down, and yanked him into a brutal kiss, sealing his mouth as if trying to steal his breath. The pressure was immediate, wet, and the metallic taste followed quickly — Kakuzu couldn’t tell if it was real blood on his tongue or just his mind pairing the flavor with the thick, fetid smell hanging between them.
The fascination fed by the earlier sensation shattered, replaced by a sudden rush of urgency. He adjusted his posture, trying to keep his torso upright while Hidan threw himself onto him without hesitation, kneeling between his legs and gripping both sides of his face.
“Hida…”
Hidan bit down on his lower lip, pressing hard until a thin line of blood slid free.
“Your blood tastes so damn good. I think I could recognize it even mixed with the blood of thousands…”
With a savoring moan, he licked at the liquid more eagerly before trailing his fingers along Kakuzu’s arm, tightening around his wrist and then pushing all the way in. It was filthy, grotesquely macabre; the sickening viscosity of his insides, the thick blood spilling from places it never should.
“Like that, do it like that, Ka-ku-zuuu…” he sing-songed.
Kakuzu, never fond of being led, growled. With his free arm, he circled the narrow, inviting waist, forcing Hidan’s hips down until his body wavered under the hold. Hidan grinned against his lips before sucking his tongue obscenely, diving into another open-mouthed kiss.
He knew exactly where this was going — especially when Hidan’s hands roamed his abdomen, sliding upward to squeeze the flesh of his chest, moaning shamelessly. He also knew it was late, the sun quickly giving way to night, and that the dangling body of the two-tails jinchūriki sometimes murmured incoherently in her unconsciousness, threatening to wake. Zetsu could appear any moment. They should have been moving toward the Land of Fire already. And yet—
And yet, Kakuzu let Hidan pull him back, his tongue sliding in, brushing the tip against his own in an impatient motion. Saliva spilled at the corner of his mouth, and Hidan tilted his head, changed the angle, deepened it, breathing through the gaps, but not pulling away — not until the wet, rhythmic sound echoed between them, stealing his breath, and he suddenly whispered, with a deep inhale:
“Let’s fuck.”
Kakuzu let him kiss his neck, his cheek, the corner of his lips, and then his lips again. For a moment, his own greed overtook his better judgment, hungry to tame that hot, inviting mouth — until sense returned and the hand that had been on Hidan’s waist slid up to grip his chin, their breaths mingling.
There was a strange haze to Hidan’s expression; half-lidded, bright eyes, that irritatingly smug lift to his brows. He even looked almost cheerful.
Kakuzu tightened his grip between his fingers.
“We need to go,” he said in a low voice. “Hidan. Move away and let me close the cut.”
But Hidan didn’t listen, catching the wrist of the hand still inside him. A sly smile curved his lips, malice reflected in his irises.
“Just a little,” he teased, spreading his legs and settling against Kakuzu’s hips. “Just a bit.”
Kakuzu’s brows drew together. Hidan ran his fingers over his head, tugging down the hood to reveal his long hair.
“Boy.”
“Come on, it was so good,” Hidan whispered, nipping his earlobe. “Weren’t you the one egging me on, whispering filth to me?”
“I was trying to make your pain better.”
“Congratulations, it worked,” he shot back, licking along the strip of exposed skin. “Now, c’mon.”
For a moment, Kakuzu almost gave in. It was becoming a habit, that — a terrible, terrible habit — of his. Hidan shouldn’t have been able to sway him with just a few throwaway words, much less with something as base as offering his own body.
(And hell, it wasn’t easy ignoring the hard press against his abdomen, or the way Hidan rubbed against his lap like a dog in heat. Kakuzu almost missed the days when hatred was the only thing festering in the wreckage of his heart; at least then, his dignity and principles had been intact, with no risk of dissolving in the shallowness of lust.)
His luck — or misfortune — was the sudden awareness of a foreign chakra drawing near. Kakuzu grabbed Hidan on instinct, threads retracting abruptly from inside him, and though he hissed in surprise and pain, his partner quickly caught on to his body language. Both went on alert for any movement, a frustrated sigh escaping them when Zetsu’s head slowly emerged from underground.
“Fuck,” Hidan muttered, relaxing. “Nice way to kill the mood.”
“Not fond of company?” Zetsu asked sarcastically. Or at least that’s what they both gathered; his face was as blank as ever.
“No, not unwanted company,” Hidan shot back, while Kakuzu silently reached for his cloak on the ground and put it on. He made no move to push Hidan off him, and Hidan didn’t move either.
“And the two-tails?”
Hidan snorted derisively, then hissed when Kakuzu’s threads discreetly stitched his abdomen, prepping the wound to close. Some of them were still… arranging him — literally — from the inside, and the sensation prickled in a strange way.
“The bitch has been out cold since the beating I gave her. Near death,” he said, snorting again when Zetsu’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Near. She’s alive, fucker, like Leader-Pain-in-the-Ass asked.”
Zetsu didn’t bother checking the vitals himself; he just looked at Kakuzu.
“True.”
Then Zetsu closed his eyes, muttered something about taking the body back, and gave some dreary reply to a petty complaint Hidan threw out, too offended at being doubted. As usual, he vanished into the ground, the jinchūriki’s body in tow.
“Freaky son of a bitch,” Hidan said, resting his head on Kakuzu’s shoulder. “Tsk. I’m all sore. Your stitches hurt like hell and I think your hand permanently moved something in my guts.”
“It’ll go back in place.”
“When?”
“Eventually.”
“Fuck! You desecrated my body! A temple! One that belongs to Jashin!”
One that belongs to me, Kakuzu almost said, but didn’t bother. Hidan was trying to rile him up, still stuck in his sexual frustration. As if that had been his fault.
“You’re no fun, man.”
Kakuzu rolled his eyes, then urged him to stand. He straightened his own clothes into something resembling decency — or at least tried. Their clothes were completely stained with blood — soaked, really, with just about every bodily fluid imaginable.
They both stank, and it would probably be wise to wash up somewhere nearby before spending the next few days traveling. Hidan had already started scratching, sensitive to the prolonged exposure to dust.
“What are we doing now?” he asked, absentmindedly tracing the stitches across his abdomen.
From his pockets, Kakuzu pulled out an old map, filled with red markings. Now, without all the earlier storm of emotions, he could think and go over their next steps more rationally.
“We’ll leave Kumogakure as soon as possible and meet Deidara and Sasori in the Land of Fire,” he answered, starting to walk once he decided they were both ready. “From there, we’ll draw up our new route.”
Hidan hurried to his side, linking their arms with casual familiarity. Always excessively physical, Kakuzu thought, pausing a moment to adjust his stride to match.
“I feel like you already know what we’re going to do.”
“Hm.”
“Ah, man, I bet you’re gonna make us hunt bounties again! Fuck!”
Kakuzu held back from answering, because it was true. Deidara and Sasori weren’t the type to choose bounty-hunting missions — naturally, that left it to them. Hidan knew this very well, accustomed to the exact same routine for two years, and most of the time he only liked to fool himself, just so he’d have an excuse to complain.
And complain he did, with great insistence, voice booming through the bushes and trees. He even startled some birds with all the racket, his repertoire of curses vast and excessively detailed. He could talk an entire night without ever tiring. Truly a talent — or, to Kakuzu, a curse. One he was ready to avoid, shutting down his own mind to slip into the headspace he liked to call his “anti-Hidan defense mechanism.”
To his surprise, however, the younger man didn’t take it that far this time. He fell quiet all of a sudden, letting only the sound of their footsteps echo in the woods.
And, gods above, if there was anything more dangerous than a silent Hidan…
Kakuzu looked at him immediately, only to find himself already being stared at.
“What?”
“Nothing…”
Seeing Hidan with a thoughtful expression caused him instant discomfort. In particular, there was a certain brightness to his features, soft and so different from his usual look, that piqued Kakuzu’s curiosity, even if against his will.
“Say it.”
“Nothing.”
“Hidan…”
Hidan lost his patience quickly, feeling cornered.
“Fuck, damn it, I said it’s nothing! Can’t I just look at your ugly face?! Jashin! How irritating! Am I not allowed to exist next to you without being interrogated? Huh? Am I?! Fuck this, I don’t even feel like it anymore, what the hell…”
There were… certain aspects of Hidan that Kakuzu suspected were impossible to ever fully understand. Or rather, certain aspects of their relationship — if that word, “relationship,” was even enough to contain something so discordant — that simply escaped his comprehension.
Perhaps, however, it wasn’t truly a matter of understanding, but of acceptance. Kakuzu was not known for an abundance of patience, much less for any notion of tolerance.
So, he didn’t argue. Let Hidan indulge himself in their little staring contest. Who, in their right mind, would dare try to decipher what went on in his head? Not him. Wise men know that some wars only consume those who fight them.
“Hidan,” he said at last, somewhere between habit and resignation. “Be quiet.”
Hidan tightened his grip on his forearm, outraged, spewing insults that no longer had anything to do with the previous subject, until his throat ran dry and speaking became painful enough that silence seemed the better option.
And Kakuzu, who should have been grateful for the respite, found himself betrayed by the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his lips.
Ah… one day, sooner or later, every ghost of that damned affection would gather to haunt him. They would prowl through every empty room in his chest, every dark corner where he stored scraps of humanity. There was no exorcism for ghosts born from stitches and nights spent in filthy inns.
All that was left was to bow his head before the inevitable.
— ♡ —
They were back in Amegakure, and Kakuzu seemed troubled. At first, Hidan attributed it to fatigue. He himself was exhausted, drained of the little chakra he had left, and every bone in his body ached. It was rare for him to feel so low, but with everything that had happened and Pain’s increasingly harsh orders, relaxing hadn’t been an option.
On the contrary…
Sometimes, Hidan seriously considered the possibility of fleeing Akatsuki. Leaving behind all the orders, all the complicated missions that demanded more than they were ever willing to give. Kakuzu could still get his bounties without Akatsuki’s influence, while Hidan didn’t need any organization to spread the word of Jashin.
The two of them could hide away in the mountains for a few years. Hidan would be patient, even if his partner didn’t believe in his ability to stay discreet. At first, he admitted, it would be hard, and he would certainly regret it — and make that regret Kakuzu’s problem. Still, like everything else between them, they would get through it. If not quickly, then eventually. They had eternity, after all.
They should try. Take the risk. Akatsuki was drowning in problems — everything seemed on the verge of collapsing at any moment — and Hidan had that strange hunch. A sinister feeling; a kind of premonition. Recently, even the dark had begun to scare him. It was all so suffocating…
Jashin answered him less, too. It didn’t feel like disfavor; Hidan didn’t sense that. But there was, more and more, a distance, a certain coldness between His Lord and him, which he tried desperately to close with sacrifices and fervent prayers.
What could he do…? What could they do?
“Hidan,” Kakuzu called harshly. “Come here.”
Hidan let go of the amulet he’d been toying with and dragged himself out of bed. Kakuzu sat on an old wooden chair by the window, staring out at Amegakure’s torrential rain, which seemed particularly worse that day. The night still felt as cold and inhospitable as always.
Sitting on Kakuzu’s lap, Hidan leaned his back against the window frame.
“What is it?”
Kakuzu wasn’t the type to give in easily to physical contact. Lately, though, his behavior had been slightly different. Not sweet or gentler, but somehow more affectionate. Hidan wasn’t about to complain. He liked being beaten and feeling pain just as much as he liked the shivers of a soft caress.
That was why he wasn’t surprised when one hand went to his waist, gripping firmly — but not to hurt — while the other went to his neck. There, Kakuzu carefully traced the scattered stitches.
“Admiring your handiwork?” Hidan asked with a crooked grin, catching Kakuzu’s wrist.
Slowly, teasingly, he guided the hand upward until the fingers naturally pressed against his jugular. He let out a soft sigh of contentment.
Kakuzu didn’t pull away. He hadn’t in a long time. His face remained impassive, but his brow furrowed as he pressed lightly against the artery, feeling the quickened pulse beat against the skin like a caged bird.
“Admiring your recent stupidity, you mean.” His voice was a dry rasp, and he pressed the jugular a little harder — just enough to make Hidan shiver. “Getting decapitated in less than ten minutes of battle. How have you still not learned? If you don’t start being careful, Hidan, you…”
“… will die,” Hidan finished in a bored tone. “Right, thanks for the warning, old man. Pinky promise I’ll be way more careful from now on, okay?”
Kakuzu didn’t find his feigned childishness amusing. His brows stayed cut into severe angles, and the raw seriousness stagnating in his eyes made the air in Hidan’s lungs turn thin — an icicle driven between his ribs, twisting his lungs into a silent spasm.
It was strange to feel so anxious over someone. Hidan wondered if it was because he’d never had anyone so physically close, or simply anyone who made him feel more than mild disdain. With Kakuzu, he felt hatred, passion, affection, and so many other things — like a sickly symbiosis, binding his moods to the other’s the way a vine clings to a crumbling wall.
There was a twisted tranquility in knowing that no matter how badly they hurt each other, no matter how angry they got, they would still end up together at the end of the day — they would still be them.
It was only natural, then, that he should feel this way. Wasn’t it?
(Deidara, not long after having his arm reattached by Kakuzu, once again warned him about his clinginess issues. Hidan paid no mind. So what if he acted excessively? So what if his clinginess wasn’t always faked — if it carried a few threads of truth? It made sense for him to be like that. The only thing he had ever possessed was Jashin and no one else. Now, he had Jashin and Kakuzu. His devotion was vast. So was his obsession. More importantly, Kakuzu didn’t seem bothered. And if he was, well, too bad for him. Eternity was at his disposal; there would be time enough to get used to it.)
“As ordered by Pain,” Kakuzu said again in a low voice. “Tomorrow we go after the Nine-Tails jinchūriki. We need to be careful.”
Hidan tilted his head with feigned understanding.
“We’re always careful.”
“Not you enough,” he continued, irritated. “I’m telling you. Don’t act rashly. Don’t turn your back on your enemy. You’re a one-trick pony, Hidan…”
“You trying to pick a fight, fucker?”
“I’m not trying to insult you this time,” Kakuzu replied, and looked at him with that same grim expression from before. “I’m just…”
He hesitated. Hidan caught on quickly. A grin sharp as a kunai danced on his lips, and Kakuzu tried to bury it under the weight of hastily forged disdain, but it was already too late.
Hidan was already familiar with the bright, intimate gleam of those green eyes.
“You’re worried,” he pointed out, his tone so mischievously gleeful it almost embarrassed him. “Ah, Kakuzu! Deep down, deep down, you’re actually pretty caring, aren’t you?!”
Kakuzu snorted, clearly not amused by his antics, but Hidan didn’t care. He clung to the man’s shoulders, shifting and settling more comfortably into the improvised seat, a euphoric, almost tender sensation crawling up his spine.
“You know, you should worry more about yourself,” he went on, never losing his smile. “You’re the fake immortal here. Five well-placed strikes and poof! You’d be done for.”
Kakuzu caught his hand — the same one that was teasingly poking his chest, marking each heart as though he could point them out from there. A trace of calm softened his features, perhaps born from the shrinking distance between them. Their closeness carried a subtle warmth, like a mild blanket against the cold, damp air outside.
“I’m not the one who charges headfirst into danger like a lunatic. Unlike you, Hidan, I value my survival.”
“Survival, survival, survival. That’s all you ever talk about!”
“I thought all I ever talked about was money.”
“That too,” Hidan sighed, dramatic. “Man, if all you think about is not dying, when are you actually going to live?!”
This time, Kakuzu looked at him with amusement. It was a kind Hidan knew well, because it came laced with mockery. Not enough to make him feel dismissed, but just enough to reduce him to one undeniable fact — his age. And how far it stood from Kakuzu’s.
Sometimes, his partner didn’t act his age. Sure, he was grumpy like a proper old bastard who had missed his chance at retirement, but even so, Hidan still struggled to see him for what he really was: a fucking ancient man, so arrogant in his supposedly boundless experience.
“What?” he muttered, already annoyed, at Kakuzu.
But Kakuzu wasn’t bothered by his irritation. He raised his free hand to his cheek, the rough palm of centuries of battle meeting the cold softness of skin that would never age. His eyelids were lowered, his gaze tracing the path of his finger as it brushed against Hidan’s cracked lips.
“You make things seem so easy,” he murmured, very low. “Stupidity is a blessing.”
“You’re stupid,” Hidan shot back, but his voice lost its bite as his face gave in, leaning deeper into that palm. “Not everything is that complicated.”
Kakuzu sighed, long and deep, the sound echoing in the room. He clearly didn’t take him seriously, and yet, Hidan thought he caught a different glimmer in his eyes.
“I really ought to find a way to get rid of you,” he said, calm and soft. “I’m always distracted when I’m with you. At this rate, you’ll be the death of us both.”
Hidan’s heart beat like it was a love confession.
Lately, it had been like this. Rare, but Kakuzu still managed to show he wasn’t the monster he claimed to be. In truth, Hidan even found him more human — cruel, yes, and selfish and consumed by all that greed. But far more human than he was.
Sometimes it crossed his mind that, once upon a time, his partner was just an ordinary man. A civilian, then a trained shinobi. He had probably had wives and children and been as loyal to his village and his comrades as any citizen devoted to his homeland. A common man, but noble, willing to spill his own blood for those he loved.
Hidan had never been that way. He couldn’t even imagine himself being that way. The world could split in two — and it would, when Jashin’s hand came down to crush it with all its might — and he wouldn’t care one bit.
But with Kakuzu, and when with Kakuzu (and only with him, just him), things were different.
They shared the same disdain for the universe and for people, even if not for the same reasons. They hated plenty of things in equal measure. And they understood each other, even if inside out — because eternity was and would be long, and they would be tethered to it, step by step, and a little understanding came when two souls accustomed to dying refused to close their eyes forever.
Hidan sighed. He was getting sentimental. But it was hard to avoid when Kakuzu looked at him with such lightness; what he lacked in words he made up for in the way his body touched his own. And Hidan felt so warm with so little; even the caress that slid from his hip to his thigh was enough to make him shiver, and the faint pressure at his pelvis was all it took to tie a knot in his stomach.
He didn’t notice he was moving obscenely until Kakuzu sketched the ghost of a smile. Bastard. So aware of the effects he could cause.
And at the same time, so unaware.
Hidan didn’t want to — he actively tried to avoid it — but when he remembered the way Kakuzu had treated him the last few times (the murmurs and whispers; the sweet dear and the strangely affectionate love), he felt himself ignite. He couldn’t understand what was so thrilling, so exciting about being treated that way.
Was it the fact that Kakuzu stepped out of his own comfort zone, unconsciously, just for him? Or the timely knowledge that his partner had been honest every time he called him that, so oddly sweet?
Such a small, trivial detail for anyone else. But because it came from Kakuzu — and because it was about them — Hidan couldn’t keep himself from feeling that unmeasured joy.
(Jashin would have to forgive him for wanting to hear those words repeated with the same devotion he longed to be the target of His blessings. He would apologize formally, eventually).
“Why do you look so happy?” Kakuzu asked, pulling him closer by the tip of his chin, his gaze inquisitive.
Hidan blinked away the haze in his mind and fixed the foolish smile that had grown uninvited into something more controlled, more suggestive. His hands slid down Kakuzu’s chest with every ounce of innuendo he could muster. His left palm brushed deliberately over a nipple, feeling it harden instantly under the barrier of fabric.
“Because we’re about to fuck,” he replied simply. A half-truth, but not a lie.
To drive the point home, he rolled his hips forward, grinding his body against Kakuzu’s. The rigid heat pressing against his thigh made a violent shiver run down his spine, the hairs on his arms standing on end. Kakuzu exhaled against his ear.
“Are we?” he asked softly, just to tease.
Hidan tangled his fingers in his hair, grinning.
“Hell yeah we are. It’s been weeks since you last fucked me.”
“Three, at most.”
“Too damn long,” Hidan shot back, kissing Kakuzu’s full lips with deliberate softness; a touch light enough to seem innocent — if not for the way his tongue dragged across the corner of his mouth right after, quick and filthy. “I know you’ve got blue balls too.”
His fingers slid down, gripping Kakuzu’s nape firmly, forcing him to stay close.
“Don’t you?”
Kakuzu answered with a low hum of affirmation, his voice so thick it barely came out, and Hidan felt triumph burn through his chest. His partner seemed just as restrained and just as impatient as he was.
The next thing he knew, he was being lifted out of the chair, legs wrapping around those broad hips, their lips swollen from increasingly rough kisses.
The inn’s mattress was narrow and worn, springs creaking under the weight of two large bodies crammed into too little space — perfect for what they needed. Kakuzu threw him onto it with brutal force, the impact drawing out a euphoric laugh, the coarse sheet scratching his back as he spread his legs shamelessly, inviting Kakuzu to slot himself there.
They only pulled apart to strip off their clothes. The second their garments hit the floor, Kakuzu was back, yanking Hidan by the waist and burying his face in his neck. Sharp teeth sank into pale skin, marking territory with a line of bruises that would bleed beneath the surface until morning. Hidan arched, a moan tearing out of him when he felt the tongue licking up the blood from a deeper bite.
“Ah, like that…” he choked, fingers digging into Kakuzu’s broad shoulders.
Ignoring the sounds, Kakuzu moved lower, wet trails mapping from his jaw down to his collarbone, from collarbone to a swollen nipple. He bit the nub, tugging it between his teeth while his tongue massaged the tip, and Hidan could only moan, surprised and delighted.
“Shit, shit, I knew you were pent up…” he muttered, tangling his fingers in dark strands and guiding him to the other nipple. “Hmmn, fuck, Kazu, that damn mouth of yours.”
Kakuzu wasn’t fond of praise; he lifted his head just to throw him a look, green eyes sparking with irritation beneath thick shadows. Hidan only laughed, dragging him lower — not to his chest this time, but straight to the throbbing center between his legs. Kakuzu scoffed, but didn’t stall, scraping his teeth along the tense abdomen. Then he stopped just above the line of pubic hair, his hand sliding down his thigh, finding the knee and folding it aside, opening those pale, strong thighs wide at his disposal.
Hidan’s cock stood hard, pointing up, heavy against his stomach, the head already glistening.
“You want my tongue or my fingers?” Kakuzu asked, pressing a lingering kiss to the sweaty skin of his inner thigh.
“Why the hell can’t I have booooth?!”
“Because you’ve gotten too spoiled,” Kakuzu replied, with rare amusement.
“Oh nooo, Ka-kuzu!”
The amused murmur in response to his needy tone was low, muffled by the rain growing heavier outside. Hidan couldn’t even come up with an indignant retort — not when the hot breath against his sensitive skin made him shiver, a rough sigh slipping out when that coarse tongue licked the underside of his cock, from base to swollen tip, in one slow, deliberate drag.
Kakuzu wrapped his lips around the head, sucking with steady pressure, while his fingers massaged the perineum in intimate circles. Then they slipped lower, toward his already eager, hungry entrance, teasing and pressing until a sharp spasm ripped through Hidan, making him choke and thrust his hips against the mouth devouring him.
“You said, uhmm, I only get one…!” he protested, with no real intention of complaining.
In response, Kakuzu sucked the tip of his cock before letting it go carelessly. His face was full of that cynical arrogance, exaggerated self-confidence intensifying as his fingers pushed carelessly into Hidan's willing hole.
“I lie when it’s convenient.”
At some point, Kakuzu had added not only a third finger but also an extra appendage — threads curling intimately around his ass before sinking deep into the hot cavity.
Hidan let out an open, gasping moan, almost surprised, feeling the pressure double. The contrast of the rough texture against the moist heat sent a shiver down his spine. He grabbed the sheet tightly, his leg trembling, but he didn't try to pull back — on the contrary, he pushed his hips against Kakuzu, as if he wanted to force it all in even further, frustrated at not achieving the intensity he wanted.
Distantly, he heard a low laugh. It wasn't mocking or cruel — instead, it carried a real amusement that made Hidan's chest tighten in a strange, almost tender way. He didn't know if he hated or loved the fact that, at that moment, Kakuzu sounded genuinely happy at his expense.
“You’re so damn irritating,” he accused, breathless, closing his legs instinctively when he was met with a hard thrust that shook his whole body.
Even though he was used to it, the relentless pace Kakuzu imposed, giving his body not a second to adjust, knocked the air from his lungs and pushed him to the edge of seeing stars. His eyes rolled back every time those rough hands drove into his flesh and found every sensitive spot, waves of thick, sweet pleasure flooding through every nerve from his feet to his neck.
He was happy, as he always was when Kakuzu possessed him. The man knew him like no one else, pushing him to the limit with so little — his firm touches and measured violence at just the right point could leave him floating for hours, vulnerable and captive.
It was shameful to admit, but Hidan could come undone entirely just from the deep, lazy timbre of that voice in his ear. Nothing in the world could set him on fire more than Kakuzu panting above him, restrained breaths breaking into hoarse moans, his name spilling in a trembling jaw of repressed pleasure.
“Hidan?” Kakuzu’s voice broke through his daze, deep and inquisitive.
Almost there. So close. Just one breath deeper between the words and it would be raw perfection.
Hidan blinked. His body throbbed with delicious pain, and along with it, a deeper — more urgent — need bubbled in his chest. He sighed. Then, placing his hands on the man’s broad shoulders, he traced his fingertips across the skin, a gesture far too slow to be innocent.
“Come here for me?” he asked, in a tone too soft for his usual standard.
Perhaps it was because of this unusual sweetness that Kakuzu did not hesitate. He moved, settling between his thighs, but with something deliberate in the way he leaned his weight on him. Hidan helped him fit, his legs closing around his wide waist, bringing him closer — close enough that there was no space for air between them.
It was so intimate. Kakuzu looked obscenely beautiful before him, with his solid, scarred body, threads moving like obedient serpents, enveloping him in the most secret places, provoking gentle spasms and shivers that he could only accept, receptive and hungry.
“What is it?” Kakuzu asked, brows furrowed, and maybe it was worry in those green eyes or just a softer kind of annoyance. Hidan never knew where one ended and the other began. Maybe Kakuzu didn’t either, but Hidan found it funny.
Smiling slowly, he ran his thumb along the severe line of Kakuzu’s jaw, admiring how that face seemed carved never to yield, yet now leaned toward him. His partner looked suspicious, though no less willing.
“Nothing,” murmured, his voice low and heavy. “I just wanted your attention.”
Kakuzu huffed, but it sounded almost affectionate. His large hand slid along Hidan’s arm, slow and rough, until it caught his fingers. He squeezed them and, without warning, guided them upward, pinning them against the mattress. Hidan purred and arched his body until their erections brushed together in heated friction — a delicious contact when paired with the stretching sensation of the threads, though still far from enough.
He needed more, and he needed it now.
“Come on, come on...” he begged, his voice choked with breathless impatience. The sensation of the threads working in and out, teasing, preparing, was delicious but nothing more than an irritating prelude. “Fuck me already! Your little tentacle friends are fucking great, but I need the real you.”
Kakuzu raised his brows.
“You need it?”
“Uhnm, yeah, fuck, yeah I need it,” Hidan breathed, eyes clouded before narrowing with an idea. “Actually, hmm, wait, I thought of something better.”
Before Kakuzu could react, Hidan used the tension in the grip around his wrists. He tightened his legs, pushed his hips upward in a sudden thrust, and twisted his body, using his own weight and the slick slide of their skin to break free. The move was so quick his partner barely had time to brace his hands on the mattress before finding himself flat on his back, Hidan already straddling him.
The sharp green eyes blinked in surprise, and that was enough for Hidan to grin. Not the open, almost foolish grin he sometimes let slip, but a malicious, heavy one, dripping with provocation. Propped on his knees, he felt the throbbing heat of Kakuzu’s erection pressed against him, pulsing, and and with a movement too slow to be innocent, he made his hips rub lazily, dragging himself in a wet friction that drew a low, rough, almost angry sound from his partner.
“You…” Kakuzu began, voice rasping with heavy breaths. His hands slid down until they clamped firmly around Hidan’s hips, squeezing with restrained force; an invitation disguised as command, trying to guide him downward.
Ah, how Hidan loved being the one to provoke. His chest burned warm at having Kakuzu beneath him, wild for him, eyes clouded with raw, shameless desire. It was like biting into something delicious while knowing there was still so much left to chew, so much to savor; intoxicating, the forbidden sweetness of having him subdued.
"My turn," he announced with a grin.
The threads, which had been wrapped around him and inside him, hesitated as if awaiting orders. Hidan ignored them, though he missed their touch. Placing his hands against the breadth of Kakuzu’s shoulders, he studied every taut line in his partner’s face, every sharp contraction of his jaw.
Slowly, he adjusted his hips, aligning himself, feeling the pressure fall into place. Heat rose along his thighs and spread in waves as he began to sink down onto him, each inch stretching him open, stealing a shiver that arched his spine. Kakuzu’s breath changed, heavier now, though he made a move of his own — his palm pressing hard into Hidan’s stomach, forcing him to take every inch driving into him deep.
"Yeah… just like that…" Hidan sighed, content, savoring the slow, searing stretch. Painful, yes; but a pain that kept him alive and burning.
His hands wandered over Kakuzu’s chest, feeling the warmth and the rigid muscle under his skin, before bracing himself so he could lean down, their mouths only a breath apart. From this close he could feel the heat of his partner’s breath, see the faint tremor in the set of his jaw, and the tension made him laugh.
"Finally," he murmured, more to himself than to Kakuzu, but the way the words came out — raspy and enthralled — made the man beneath him draw in a deeper breath.
Hidan began to move his hips, keeping the connection deep, lifting only enough so that when he sank down again the pressure and heat renewed themselves. It didn’t take long to find a rhythm that suited them both; wild and rough, Hidan bouncing in his lap, Kakuzu thrusting up to meet him with equal, if not greater, force.
Fuck, it was good, so good. God, having Kakuzu inside him might very well be the perfect idea of paradise. Heavy and hot, thick and so perfectly angled to hit the sweetest spot, bruising his waist as he drove him up and down, up and down, fingers marking his skin with painful purples.
"Hidan," Kakuzu rasped, voice uneven, and Hidan looked down at him feverishly, about to respond when suddenly he shuddered, feeling that thickness inside him swell all at once.
His eyes widened, then shut tight in delight.
"Ah, fuck yes! Yes!" Hidan arched his back as more threads joined in, filling him obscenely full.
His body trembled and the bed creaked with the force of their movements. Sweat slicked between them and he felt ruined, yet somehow Kakuzu looked even more undone — so lost in the way Hidan moved exactly how he liked, rocking in that good, lascivious rhythm.
He knew exactly what he was doing when he shifted his weight and leaned back, arching until the angle changed, forcing Kakuzu deeper, striking that spot that made stars explode behind his eyelids and tore a strangled moan from his partner’s lips. He slowed whenever he could, cruelly indulgent, rolling his hips in dirty circles, savoring the intense stretch, the way Kakuzu pulsed hotly inside him.
Gradually, he felt Kakuzu's control wearing thin, his composure breaking one by one like the threads of jiongu biting into his own flesh. And Hidan reveled in it, rising almost completely, leaving only the swollen head stretching him, feeling his partner's hips shake instinctively, seeking the lost heat.
He laughed, breathless.
"Patience, old man. I know it’s hard. Having all that power…" He sank down slowly, inch by inch, watching Kakuzu’s usually cold, calculating eyes glaze over with raw, unrestrained need. "… only to end up caught by something so obscenely foolish. Isn’t that right?"
Kakuzu’s response was a growl, harsh, but stripped of its usual venom.
"Insolent… idiot…" The words broke as Hidan repeated that torturous rise and slow fall. Kakuzu’s gaze was locked on where their bodies joined, on the obscene slide, on the gleam of sweat and pre-cum shining on Hidan’s inner thighs. "Stop… playing."
Hidan obeyed — in his own way. He set a faster, harsher rhythm, slamming down onto Kakuzu, the crack of skin against skin echoing the storm outside. He watched his partner’s face, saw the severe mask splinter and dissolve; his head thrown back, tendons stark along his throat, his breath breaking into ragged gasps that matched Hidan’s own. The threads climbed higher, curling possessively around his waist, dragging him insistently closer, forcing him impossibly deeper.
Hidan moaned, long and loud, purely for effect, knowing the sound scraped along Kakuzu’s nerves.
"That’s it…" Kakuzu’s voice was thick with a possessive, shadowed heat that made Hidan shiver more than any insult ever had. "Take… every damn inch."
Calloused fingers dug into the pale skin of his ass hard enough to bruise, adding their own forceful thrusts to meet his teasing descents. The strength knocked the air from his lungs in ragged gasps and — god, his god — it felt so good. Kakuzu’s movements struck that molten core inside him over and over, leaving his vision bleached white at the edges.
And his voice, fuck, that tone…
"Yeah… shit, yes… just like that…"
Hidan realized he was getting closer than he intended, just from the way Kakuzu spoke. He wanted to drag it out, to torment, but the tension was crushing him. Heat coiled low in his belly, spiraling tighter with each thrust, dirtier than the last.
"Good," Kakuzu murmured, softer than he probably meant to. The sound vibrated through Hidan completely, sinking into his lower belly, tightening the pull of his own restraint. "So good for me, sweetheart."
Hidan froze for an instant, brain melting under the shock and pleasure colliding at once. His hips stalled, air trapped in his chest as his mind rang. Sweetheart?! Fuck. Fuck, he’d said it again. He’d said it again and it sounded so impossibly good in that context — his cock reacted violently, slick and dripping from the mess that spilled freely from the tip.
It wasn’t until he exhaled, breathless and enchanted, that he noticed the way Kakuzu’s grip had frozen inside him as well. Hidan’s brows lifted as he tried to piece together what was wrong and — ah. Ah, holy shit, if it wasn’t the most precious sight to behold.
Kakuzu was staring at him in utter shock, the faint flush across his cheekbones betraying the deep shame of realizing his own slip. Hidan’s heart raced at the sight, pounding wildly. That was a rare, priceless weakness, something he wanted to tuck sweetly under his tongue. The fleeting panic of being exposed would haunt Kakuzu’s mind for days, and Hidan’s even more — and he couldn’t have been happier about it.
It was like gasoline poured onto the already uncontrollable fire burning in his gut.
"Say it again," he whispered, voice hoarse and almost childlike with desperation, but colored thick with lust. Kakuzu looked at him, unsettled and severe. "Come on, say it to me again."
Kakuzu opened his mouth but didn’t answer right away. His hand clutched Hidan’s flesh as if to control him, yet there wasn’t enough firmness to stop him. He refused to meet his gaze, his breath heavier than it should have been.
And Hidan — fuck, Hidan nearly laughed from sheer joy. He felt himself swell with it, like a stolen gift ripped from the hands of a man who didn’t know how to give it.
"Don’t worry, darling, fuck, I love it when you talk like that…" he admitted, a frightening, manic smile spreading beneath Kakuzu’s stunned stare. "So gentle, and you don’t even realize it, god, it’s so fucking hot."
"Hidan," Kakuzu muttered, uncertain, so out of character and so bewildered that Hidan could only look at him with adoration, raw ecstasy spilling from his pale eyes. "What the hell are you even—ugh?!"
On impulse, Hidan slammed his hips down hard enough to punch the air from Kakuzu’s lungs in a muffled "umpf." Hidan didn’t care, couldn’t care, not with the sight of that precious shame splashed across a face usually so impassive.
"You… you’ve said it a few… a f-few times," he explained to his partner’s bewildered expression. "Idiot you didn’t… even realize how corny you were being, did you?"
As he spoke, his hand slid down to his own cock, stroking fast and rough, his wrist working at a frantic rhythm that shook his entire body, moving against Kakuzu as if possessed, gasping, riding him down again and again until his thighs trembled.
"At first I thought I was going crazy…" he panted, laughing low when Kakuzu, almost unwillingly, bucked up into him. "But then you said it again and, ah, f-fuck, it was so good, baby, so good…"
Kakuzu avoided his eyes, as if he could shield himself in the shadows cast over his face, but that only made Hidan want more. He caught every flicker, every held breath like secret signals meant only for him. And fuck, with every passing second, he was more convinced this man had no idea the effect he had.
He leaned forward, pressing Kakuzu deeper into the mattress under his weight.
"You don’t even know…" he said, somewhere between reverence and mockery, hot breath skating across his skin. "You don’t even know how good it feels to hear you talk like that… so… tender. Say it to me again, c’mon."
Kakuzu shut his eyes, his breath roaring in his ears like a muffled storm. The word was right there, perched on his tongue, and Hidan ached to rip it out with his teeth, to taste it in his own mouth. The anxiety burned so hot his chest hurt with want.
"Swe…" it slipped out, low, almost inaudible.
Hidan held his breath, as if that single syllable were pure oxygen. He looked at him as though he’d just witnessed a filthy miracle, something so precious it was almost indecent. Then, he rolled his hips deeper, faster, as though urging Kakuzu on.
"Go on…" he begged, voice nearly breaking with pleasure. "Please, love."
Kakuzu shuddered beneath him and opened his eyes, meeting the feverish pale gaze that stared back as if there were no world beyond it. For an instant, he seemed morbidly entranced.
"Sweetheart…" he said fully this time, low. A little uncertain and definitely confused, but also caught by the obvious spell cast over him.
As expected, Hidan reacted as though struck in the very center of his body, a shameless moan tearing up his throat. His hand on his cock moved even faster, almost painful, while he rode hard, hips slamming with loud, wet cracks that mingled with Kakuzu’s muffled grunts.
The pleasure climbed far too quickly, like a fire consuming everything in its path, and he came first, arching fully, clenching around Kakuzu in a cascade of spasms that dragged a growl from him. The tightness pulled him under too, and Kakuzu thrust to the limit, breath stuttering in hot waves against Hidan’s skin.
He barely registered his partner finishing inside him before collapsing gracelessly, immediately caught by strong arms that steadied him and pulled him close until his face rested in the comforting crook of a neck. He could hear Kakuzu’s panting breath at his ear, the soft rustle of sheets as their bodies tried to recover from the euphoria of sex.
When he felt conscious enough to move, Hidan tried to lift himself, but the effort made his muscles quake, keeping him seated on Kakuzu for a moment longer. He had to steady his breathing, bracing a hand against his partner’s firm chest before, with a slow push, rising from his hips and slipping free. A shiver ran down his spine at the warm sensation of withdrawal, mingled with the sweet ache of oversensitivity.
With a hoarse groan, he slumped to the side, only to be caught at the waist when he nearly rolled straight off the bed.
"Ah, right," he sighed, letting Kakuzu tug him back up. "This bed is tiny."
"Hm." The sound rumbled from deep in Kakuzu’s chest, making Hidan shiver at the vibration.
Hesitant, he folded his arms across his partner’s chest muscles and peeked over them. Kakuzu was avoiding his gaze, staring at the ceiling as though the stained wood with mold creeping in the corners were something worth noting. His face was blank, but at the same time it was so obvious he was trying to hide something.
Hidan managed to suppress his smile for maybe three seconds before his cheeks hurt and he buried his face in his arms. Then, he tried to keep quiet, but laughter bubbled from the back of his throat to the tip of his tongue, and he couldn’t hold back the laugh when Kakuzu huffed loud enough to be heard outside the room.
"Hidan," he reprimanded, shoving him aside as he sat up, severe.
He raked his hands through his hair — or tried to smooth it down — pretending to stretch his bones, anything to disguise a face that refused to obey its usual coldness, betrayed by the micro-tremors at the corners of his lips. Hidan could see perfectly well how embarrassed and unsettled he was. Two foreign feelings for them both, but not impossible to feel. Even if his partner was more irritated by the imagined possibility of being mocked, or the equally imagined chance of being ridiculed.
A ridiculous suspicion, of course, because Hidan was just as aware of the scope of his own humiliation. Getting all lit up and seeing stars over some silly pet name should have pissed him off; and it did, to a degree, but honestly… Honestly, he couldn’t bring himself to care enough. Whether it was neediness, an overblown response to his partner’s forced display of affection — which was, sadistically, deliciously enjoyable — or just a kink, it didn’t matter anymore.
Although…
"Love?"
Kakuzu glanced sideways at him. It was automatic, more a reflex of perplexity than intention, but Hidan still grinned wickedly, eyes gleaming with malicious delight as he sprang up and quickly threw himself against his partner’s broad back, keeping him from walking away to probably lock himself in the bathroom.
"Let go," Kakuzu demanded, angry, but Hidan refused, burying his face against his back and grumbling when the edge of a mask jabbed his nose. "Tch."
Hidan only pulled away once Kakuzu stopped trying to. He crossed his legs, ignoring the mess he was likely making on the sheets, and propped his elbows on his bent knees. The mischief never left his gaze, not even when Kakuzu turned and glared at him, angry and uncomfortable.
"What the hell was that back there?" he asked, standing still as Hidan crawled across the bed and shamelessly sat down in his lap.
This time, there were no suggestive moves. The provocation, however, was his second language—and his fingers had the true fluency. Kakuzu scowled faintly as he watched Hidan trace his face, fingertips poking at his cheeks, scraping carelessly along the stitches.
"What?" Hidan said, mock-shocked, laughter spilling easily into the room again when Kakuzu twisted his lips in disapproval. "You mean that whole thing about loove~ and sweetheart~?"
Kakuzu tried to throw him to the floor, but Hidan clung to him like a koala, laughing and trying to bite him.
"You’re unbearable," he growled. "Absolutely unbearable!"
"Hey, you should be thanking me!" Hidan arched an eyebrow, his voice dripping with insolent petulance. "I just discovered you have a cute little way of calling me. Seems like at least one of those hearts of yours has a romantic streak."
"It was a slip," Kakuzu answered curtly. His large hand slid down to Hidan’s lower back, keeping him from toppling off his lap entirely with how much he wriggled. "Don’t push it."
Hidan smiled like a satisfied cat, sharpening his claws.
"A slip that’s happened three times already," he teased, lightly scratching Kakuzu’s face before softening the touch into a caress along his jawline, the gesture gentler, like a disguised plea. "You have no idea how much I love hearing it."
"Actually, I think I do now. You certainly made a spectacle of me."
Far from embarrassed, Hidan puffed out his chest in triumph, proud of every inch of his audacity.
"You liked it?"
Kakuzu rolled his eyes, his grip tightening in answer. Despite the scowl, he seemed less prickly than minutes before—as if his resistance was wearing thin under his partner’s persistence.
"… Hardly."
"No use lying, I’m still leaking your many fluids right here." He gestured broadly at his own legs, with zero shame. Kakuzu frowned, but the provocation had already landed. "Looks like I’m not the only one who gets excited by a little affection."
"You’re shameless. Don’t get used to it."
"Oh, I should! And I wonder what the next step will be now. Will we give up our lives as killers? Steal a horse, climb on together and ride into the sunset?"
Kakuzu stood abruptly, throwing Hidan back onto the bed. The mattress creaked under the impact, drawing a loud laugh from him as he rolled onto his stomach, legs kicking in the air like he was scribbling fantasies into an invisible diary.
"We’ll adopt a couple of dogs, kidnap an orphan, and settle down together in a cottage in the countryside of Yugakure."
Kakuzu’s brow arched.
"Yugakure?"
"Do you prefer Takigakure?" Hidan propped his chin in his palm, gazing up at him with a mocking sparkle in his eyes.
Irritation crept back across his partner’s face. Kakuzu snatched some clothes from the floor and flung them at Hidan’s face, who laughed loudly as they hit him.
"I’d prefer you stop talking nonsense." His voice was dry, but the haste with which he grabbed another piece of clothing from the floor and tossed it at Hidan betrayed more practical impatience than genuine anger.
"Tch, how romantic," Hidan sang, shaking off the shirt that had landed on his chest with disinterest.
Kakuzu then pulled a clean towel from atop a dresser and hurled it at him.
"At least try to clean yourself before ruining all the sheets we’re going to sleep on."
"You should’ve thought of that before we started fucking, you know."
Kakuzu’s disdain deepened and he snorted, probably scolding himself for letting his guard down, as always.
Hidan muffled a laugh and dragged the towel lazily over his body, not even bothering to stand while Kakuzu, in contrast, locked himself in the bathroom for a while, much more reserved and meticulous about his own hygiene.
With his absence, silence finally returned to the room. Hidan rolled across the bed, crushing pillows beneath elbows and knees until he formed a crude nest on Kakuzu’s side. He tucked himself into the corner he liked best — back pressed against the cold wall — and kept his eyes fixed on the warped wooden window, bent with moisture. Amegakure’s storm raged on as usual, its curtains of rain hammering against the tin roof, droplets bursting into puddles on the dark street, and the constant hum of water spilling down clogged gutters.
Little by little, the forced stillness and the melancholy weight of watching the rain pressed on his chest. Hidan crossed his arms over his bare chest, feeling the damp air cling to his skin. The chill seeped in slowly, bringing with it the memory of exhaustion—muscles sore from trudging muddy roads, the tedium of guarding insignificant targets, the nauseating forecast of the same mediocre missions repeating endlessly.
After a while, he got up, put on only his underwear, and wrapped himself in a sheet before leaning over the window. In the glass, he saw his own blurred reflection, his ghostly face layered over the vague shapes of passersby dragging themselves under umbrellas outside. It was a dull, depressing view, and because of it — or simply using it as an excuse — Hidan thought, not for the first time that night, about his desire to run away.
Behind him, Kakuzu’s shadow fell before the warmth of his body did. Hidan tilted his head back with a sigh but stayed silent, even when both of Kakuzu’s arms rested on the window ledge, unconsciously keeping him caged.
They stood in silence for a while, raindrops and wind sprinkling their cheeks.
"What is it?" Kakuzu asked by his ear after a moment, reflective in his own way.
"Thinking," Hidan muttered, nose wrinkling at the suspicious sound in his partner’s breath. "Careful not to choke on your laugh, asshole."
"I didn’t say anything," Kakuzu defended himself, cynicism dripping from his words. "But I can’t deny I’m surprised."
Hidan rolled his eyes, more out of habit than anger, and turned within the circle of arms until he faced Kakuzu. In the faint light of the flickering streetlamps outside, a melancholic shadow cut across his face; part of it softened when Kakuzu, almost hesitant, brushed back a strand of messy hair, coaxing him to follow the touch until the trembling glow of oil lamps could catch his features.
"Say it already. I can hear your brain frying."
A thin trickle of blood slid from Hidan’s thumb when he brought it to his mouth, biting the cuticle until it bled, the taste mingling with the damp on his lips.
Though in his mind the matter felt trivial and simple, deep down, he knew it wasn’t. He was never the type to circle around a subject or lay down groundwork. So, with a shrug that wasn’t casual at all, he said:
"We should run away."
"What?"
"I said we should run away," Hidan repeated, holding his gaze steady on Kakuzu’s incandescent green eyes. "Leave all this shit behind."
Kakuzu looked around as if every suspicion in the world was justified. He made Hidan feel like he’d just spilled some state secret, even though they were alone in a roadside motel, nothing but miserable civilians outside, hurrying home through the rain.
"Where did that come from?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at Hidan, who only shrugged.
To be fair, it seemed obvious. Hidan was in Akatsuki half out of interest and half out of coercion. Maybe more coercion than interest — Kakuzu had really killed all the curiosity at the start of their partnership.
"You’ve never thought about it?"
Kakuzu drummed his fingers on the windowsill as if pondering, though the clenched jaw already betrayed the answer.
"Why should I? The way I am now, I can hunt bounties as often as I want and still have the protective backing that comes with Akatsuki’s respectable reputation," he said, but it didn’t sound convincing. "So far, it’s been enough."
Hidan, however, didn’t care about logic, or whatever that was supposed to mean. For him, doing whatever he wanted was far more valuable than the guarantee of safety or any notion of stability—a simple thought, maybe. He could almost predict Kakuzu’s judgment of his reasoning.
"Besides," Kakuzu went on, stern, "leaving Akatsuki wouldn’t be an easy task. Pain is very strict about ensuring our loyalty."
"Yeah, and you’ve got something to do with that too, man," Hidan grumbled, ignoring the tension in his partner’s shoulders and the obvious disdain in his body language. "I’m just saying… leaving Akatsuki might be easier than you think. And wouldn’t it be cool if we were the first ones to get out of this mess?"
"We wouldn’t even be the first. Orochimaru was."
"Oh, right, that guy… Still, it’d be cool."
Kakuzu’s fingers twitched. He pulled back to the bed, sitting on the edge with a groan of rusted springs.
"I’m not risking my life just because you think it’s cool."
"That’s not what I mean, don’t talk shit. You’re being dramatic as hell!" Hidan snapped, stepping forward until he stood between Kakuzu’s parted legs, defiant. "I’m just saying it would be so much better if we did what we wanted! Like…"
Hidan gestured wildly at nothing. The motion made the sheet over his shoulders start to slide off. With a scowl, Kakuzu tugged it back before it could fall.
"Not having to drop a bounty worth millions just because the bastard leader is rushing us over some crap would be great, wouldn’t it?"
"I thought you didn’t care about the value of bounties."
"And I don’t!" Hidan growled, theatrically. "Fuck it! But you do! And besides, not having some symbolic entity breathing down my neck would be amazing—at least then you wouldn’t keep clucking in my ear about being late for missions, or meetings, or… or whatever shit that nail-faced bastard comes up with!"
Kakuzu raised a hand in warning, but Hidan grabbed his wrist, digging his nails into the skin. They held a tense, silent stare before Kakuzu sighed and pushed him away. If he thought about it…
"Running away… isn’t like changing shirts. Remember, Orochimaru only survived because he’s a slippery traitor."
Hidan clutched the sheet to his body, lips jutting into a pout Kakuzu found unbearable. He had to stop himself from looking.
"We could be slippery traitors too. We could work at our own pace. Sleep in. Fuck on the roadside if we felt like it. Kill whoever deserves it without bureaucracy." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "It would be ours, you know? All ours."
Kakuzu was unsettled. He didn’t show it explicitly, nor did he counter with another logical argument, but they had spent too much time together for Hidan not to notice, not to read every nuance that made Kakuzu who he was.
So, it was hope. A “maybe,” not spoken aloud—except in the way his partner held his waist and stroked the skin there; a thoughtful caress, logic and sentiment warring in his sharp eyes.
"The prospect isn’t bad. I could consider it," he began slowly, and Hidan brightened, clutching the hand that touched him with enthusiasm. Kakuzu restrained him with a warning squeeze. "But not now."
"Then when?!"
"When the dust settles," he whispered, eyes fixed where his fingers clutched a handful of Hidan’s pale skin, warm and dotted with red marks that would fade by morning. "Pain needs us more than ever. It’s a delicate time. With our mission being to hunt the Nine-Tails jinchūriki…"
"I know what we have to do, you’ve already said it," Hidan cut him off, his bare foot tapping rhythmically against the damp floorboards.
"And this is a big step in the leader’s plan," Kakuzu exhaled, pulling Hidan closer, until his knee pressed into the mattress between his legs. "At the same time, we have greater concerns."
Hidan tilted his head, confused. His breath slipped out in a soft sigh as Kakuzu’s cold, calloused hand found his face. Fingers scraped lightly against the edge of his cracked lips.
"What concerns?"
"According to the intel we have, our target is a resident of the Leaf Village, where our presence is more than unwelcome. The loss of Sarutobi Asuma was a heavy blow to them… and a possible risk to us."
Hidan bristled visibly, mouth opening to unleash a string of curses, but Kakuzu stopped him. His naturally stern gaze darkened deeply, sharpness and caution meeting in a simmering irritation.
"I’m not sure they’ll come after us, so we’ll need to avoid acting rashly. You, especially."
"I don’t act—"
Kakuzu yanked his chin sharply, cutting the words off with a harsh tone.
"Neither of us are idiots. I’ve told you before: control your impulsiveness and don’t make stupid decisions." The pressure of his fingers deepened, reddening the skin. "I can’t guarantee I’ll always be here to stitch your wounds. I need you to be careful."
When Kakuzu released him, Hidan staggered back. He rubbed at his sore chin, muttering curses under his breath, before letting his hand drop to his chest. His knuckles tightened around Jashin’s silver amulet, the warmed metal pressed to his skin as if it truly pulsed with its own life.
"You’re expected to always be there," he grumbled, squeezing the silver circle between his fingers.
Kakuzu looked at him, then at the trinket he guarded so fiercely. He didn’t roll his eyes, but the sigh he released hovered somewhere between resignation and exhaustion.
"You and your spiritual nonsense…"
"Jashin allowed me to be where I am. To have you. To have us." Hidan’s voice carried a fervor almost childlike, and he stepped back, as though needing to defend his own space.
"No god has any influence over the aspects of my life, Hidan. That’s the stupidity of believers desperate to find meaning in their miserable lives," Kakuzu snapped sharply. "Don’t confuse us with them."
The silence between them lingered, dense and heavy. Hidan avoided his gaze, but the hurt shimmered plainly across his expressions, and Kakuzu… Kakuzu must have been losing his mind. Years had rotted his brain, clearly; the harshness of his own words echoed back at him, and his face softened, just slightly. He so fucked up.
"What works for you," he began slowly, watching Hidan’s shifting expression, "doesn’t necessarily work for me."
"Is that your way of apologizing?" Hidan wrinkled his nose. "What a load of crap."
Kakuzu ground his teeth, fighting the urge to be crueler than usual. Hidan had a knack for pushing his buttons, even unintentionally. And he had every right to be upset. Probably. That their relationship mattered this much was…
"Listen. I’m trying to avoid having you whining in my ear," he spat, then thought better of it and added with less venom, "Keep your spiritual theories to yourself. And Jashin too. I don’t want any part of it. The fact that I keep you around should already be enough to satisfy you."
"We’re perfect together, and you can’t kill me, so what other choice do you have?" Hidan shot back, the remnants of anger scratching his tone. "Sometimes I don’t even know where I end and where you begin. That’s the truth, and you can’t deny it."
Kakuzu twisted his lips. He didn’t entirely disagree. In recent years, between mission after mission, when had he ever really let Hidan out of his sight? Just imagining the possibility made his chest tighten uncomfortably. Those were truths carved into his heart.
And besides, it was a miracle Hidan had held onto his patience this long. He usually wasn’t so tolerant when it came to anyone challenging his religious beliefs. Kakuzu, noticing that, couldn’t help but restrain his own thorns in return.
"Indeed," he admitted, very hesitantly, very quietly. "And I fear that fact is more of a problem than a benefit."
"So far, it’s been a benefit."
"I suppose you’re right," he said grudgingly, though his shoulders eased at the sight of Hidan’s slow, triumphant smile. "Don’t celebrate. You’re usually wrong."
"But—"
"No. Enough. Shut up and get over here. If we keep this up, we’ll see the sunrise."
"Wait, I need to pray before bed."
"Do it here," Kakuzu grumbled, stretching out an arm so Hidan could slip into bed with him. "I’m tired and don’t want to wait for you."
"You just had to say sleep," Hidan muttered, but he slid under the covers quickly.
Kakuzu snorted.
"That’s how we end up anyway. You’d only wake me."
Choosing not to argue and just enjoy the moment, Hidan pressed his face into Kakuzu’s chest and shut his eyes. His hand still clutched Jashin’s amulet, and his lips moved against bronzed skin, whispering prayers. Sometimes he grew carried away in them, and Kakuzu heard “blood” and “death” more times than he cared to count.
But he also heard his own name, spoken in a softer tone, and if he didn’t know better, he might have believed Hidan was bargaining something on his behalf. Foolish boy—and so devoted, always to the wrong things.
Kakuzu pulled him tighter into his arms, trying not to let his thoughts wander into directions he wasn’t ready to face. At least not now, not when spirals of possibilities and reflections would only do him harm.
Fortunately, the quiet cadence of the night soon took over, and Hidan’s whispers fell silent. His steady breathing became the only evidence of his presence, and in that way, Kakuzu finally allowed himself to drift into a tranquil night’s sleep.
— ♡ —
It was obvious the goal was purely to separate him from Kakuzu.
People liked to call him stupid, and fine, maybe — sometimes — he was. But Hidan was still a trained shinobi, and he hadn’t made it through twenty-two years completely unscathed for nothing. He could recognize a strategy when he saw one.
Though, admittedly, it was true: some might point out his overconfidence as a problematic factor in his decision-making. Kakuzu especially loved to berate him for it. But that was natural, wasn’t it? Especially after growing used to having a partner. Someone to watch his back, someone to patch him up.
(Except there was no one here now to warn him of danger. No one to tell him to dodge, to wait, or simply to give him the comfort of knowing there was a plan B.)
Back then, when they had been ambushed and tricked with an explosive tag, he’d remained calm. Partly because no blast could kill him, but mostly because even when things had looked bad, with the brat of shadows trapping him in that jutsu his trust in his partner had kept him at ease.
Sure, being controlled had sucked. And, fine, he hadn’t understood half of Kakuzu’s tedious rambling about plans, analysis, and battle tactics, and he was very obviously left out of any strategy thrown together at the last minute, but it hadn’t mattered. Kakuzu had a plan, Kakuzu knew what he was doing, Kakuzu fixed the problem. And because of that, Hidan had known everything would turn out fine.
But Kakuzu wasn’t here now, because Hidan had been forced to leave him behind.
He wasn’t worried. At least, not at first. Kakuzu was capable, strong, experienced. A few idiot kids wouldn’t be a problem for him, nor would that mangy, wet-dog-smelling bastard. Kakuzu would be fine— yet despite telling himself that, despite trying desperately to believe it, Hidan couldn’t shake the sharp, burning knot in his chest. Worry, worry, worry. A feeling he rarely allowed himself, not with the extent of his self-confidence (and Kakuzu had warned him about that, warned him so many times), but now it dug deep into his chest, twisting his fingers into fists.
Maybe he should have been more concerned for himself. Maybe he should have been focusing on the shadow brat, on the way his eyes now looked darker still, clouded with hatred.
(Hidan knew those feelings intimately, and he knew their dangers. Hatred led to madness, and hadn’t he lived exactly like that all these years? Furious at his village, at the pathetic shinobi who gave in to civilian life, at every useless weakling who had fallen beneath his blade. Naturally, more than anyone, he understood the breadth of resentment.)
And yet his gaze kept drifting toward the horizon. How long had it been since he fought without Kakuzu beside him? He wasn’t afraid — he would never allow himself to feel that, not because of some annoying brat — but the thought of being apart from his partner was unpleasant.
Kakuzu was right. He’d grown spoiled.
"This kagemane lasts about five minutes. Besides that, we’re alone."
Yes, alone. Hidan was alone. And the feeling was awful, suffocating, disorienting.
Funny, he used to crave independence. The Akatsuki was his prison, a fucking nightmare, and Kakuzu’s company had once been as welcome as a sharp stone in a shoe. Breaking free had once seemed like a blessing — and in some ways, it was.
But only in some ways. Because things had changed, and Hidan had known it for a long time, though only now was he feeling the consequences so deeply. Affection really was a drug that created addicts; paranoia — the instinct to glance over his shoulder to make sure Kakuzu was there, the yearning to hear that deep voice assuring him everything was fine and that they should do this or that, move here or there — was slowly gnawing him into agony.
Shit, he was miserable now. More than ever, he wanted to abandon all this bullshit, to run away (fuck the Nine-Tails! Fuck the Akatsuki!).
But Kakuzu had told him they had to keep going, that they could think of an alternative in the future, that for now the best option was to obey and follow blindly. And Hidan had agreed, not out of loyalty to Pain, of course, but to Kakuzu.
"Works just fine for me," Hidan said, manic anxiety edging his tone, in the way he lunged forward with the instinct to rip and tear.
Moving under the control of the shadow jutsu was painful. His bones felt as though they might splinter with each step, but he pressed on with a crazed gleam in his eyes, fueled by the boy’s growing hesitation.
Hidan loved carnage, the bloody mess of it, the thrill of a good ritual — but he had also spent too much time with Kakuzu, and that cruel instinct to savor an enemy’s fear had taken root in him. Probably because of that, his own movements dragged, his smirk widening as he watched the boy take one step back, then another.
Who’s in control now, huh, you little shit?
The scythe was firm in his hands when he attacked. Not with brute strength as always, but with speed — Hidan wanted him to feel his own death, to monopolize the true pain of the moment. A cut across his face was all he had managed, yet the very lightness of the touch surprised him.
And still, he ignored it. He was restless. His chest ached and he wanted to scream, to pray to Jashin, vaguely unsettled by how nervous he felt inside. Fear was not something he knew — Hidan didn’t scare easily. Yet the trees loomed thick with foliage, and the bushes seemed to hide presences within their branches and blossoms. He felt watched and surrounded, suffocated and strangled, the discomfort like an open wound he wasn’t allowed to scratch.
Blood dripped onto the ground, and the circle was drawn purely by muscle memory. Hidan bent over Shikamaru and allowed him to see the transformation up close. His gaze was frightened, while Hidan’s was terrifying. Impatient and furious, he wanted more than ever to end this.
Shikamaru covered half his face with his arm, as if that could shield him from Hidan. As if it could stop him, hold back the irritation buzzing violently in his chest.
What an idiot, what an utterly stupid kid.
“The ritual is complete,” he muttered, the tip of the blade dragging lazily across his tongue.
The metallic taste he already knew so well flooded his senses. It spread across his tongue, staining the inside of his cheeks red. Acidic, overwhelmingly acidic, Hidan swallowed it with delight, a manic laugh forming deep in his throat as his hands slowly pulled each tip of the blade back, preparing to pierce cleanly — just once, striking straight through his own heart, crushing it with brutality.
Hidan wanted Shikamaru to suffer.
And—
And yet, the instant the sharp tip pressed against his skin — the very second Shikamaru’s eyes widened in genuine panic and terror before him — Hidan stopped. He stopped, blinking slowly, swallowing hard.
It was only a hesitation of a second. A dramatic, sadistic pause — perfectly suited to him — that preceded his single step forward and his crazed, euphoric smile. Shikamaru watched him closely, wary, but Hidan stared back with even greater intensity — hypnotic, unmistakably insane. That very impression of raw madness and suspense was what allowed him to flick his wrist swiftly, swinging the scythe in a low arc.
The metallic snap of the chain cut through the silence before the blade did the same to Shikamaru’s face. This time, the blood that splattered across the ground was truly his.
“You son of a bitch,” he whispered, not daring to blink, his voice brimming with hatred. “You filthy mutt, you really thought I’d fall for crap like that?!”
Shikamaru screamed, his hand flying instinctively to the wound, hot blood streaming down the side of his eye. His vision blurred crimson, shattering his concentration—and with it, the shadow binding Hidan faltered.
Hidan didn’t waste the chance. He lunged like a beast, chain whipping, the scythe carving wide, violent arcs that ripped through the air. The first strike forced Shikamaru back, dragging him across the ground; the second was slower, giving him barely enough time to rise and attempt a counterattack—a pity, since Hidan was utterly euphoric with adrenaline and rage, while he himself was drained, chakra bleeding away from constant use since the battle began.
Even with kunai raised, trying to block every blow, the bleeding, throbbing eye left him unfocused and vulnerable to Hidan’s brute strength. A savage kick hurled him against a tree. The impact stole his breath, and the shadow dissipated completely.
The scythe split into the trunk just inches from his head, cracking the wood behind him. The sharp edge gleamed, hovering a hand’s span from his throat.
“Damn…” Shikamaru panted, trying to steady his voice despite his burning chest. “You’re just… a lucky fanatic.”
“Lucky?” Hidan murmured, the chain vibrating in his grip, eyes sparking with madness. “You think this is luck?”
Shikamaru clenched his teeth, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. He clung to pride and anger as if they were lifelines.
“If you were smart, you wouldn’t fall for such obvious tricks.” He lifted the kunai, trembling, trying to hold the barest defense. “Deep down… you’re nothing but predictable.”
“Predictable, huh?”
“That’s what you are,” Shikamaru shot back, forcing himself upright. “A one-trick pony. Without your ritual, you’re nothing but an idiot with a scythe.”
For a moment, silence pressed heavily between them. Then Hidan burst out laughing, a hoarse, unhinged sound that echoed through the forest. Shikamaru watched him, annoyed, but Hidan couldn’t have cared less.
“Man!” he exclaimed, sighing. “You know my partner said almost the same thing a few days ago? Ah, you really make me miss him…”
He leaned in, his hot breath mingling with the metallic scent of blood. Hidan took a deliberately drawn-out second to lick the scythe again, sighing as the liquid slid to the back of his throat. The metallic taste was thick, appetizing. So deliciously enticing, so good.
Exactly what one would expect from Kakuzu’s blood.
“You didn’t get it at all, did you, kid?” he asked, eyes sparking.
Shikamaru raised the kunai in one last attempt, even tried to seize back control of the jutsu — but his hand faltered, and his mind, exhausted, slipped as well.
Hidan seized the chance, gripping his wrist brutally and twisting until the crack sounded. The weapon fell, and in a fluid motion the scythe sliced through the air, cutting into his shoulder and pinning him against the tree again.
Shikamaru’s body sagged, breath short and uneven.
Hidan tilted his head, studying him as though he were a dead animal.
“This ritual doesn’t need Jashin to be beautiful,” he whispered, teeth bared in a hungry grin. “It just needs you and me.”
Shikamaru gasped against the wood, blood dripping from his face, his useless arm hanging limp at his side. He still tried to lift his gaze, as if searching for one more counterattack, one more escape. But there was nothing left. Revenge had blinded him.
Hidan spun the scythe in his hand, his laughter breaking into a growl. A clean strike tore across Shikamaru’s side. His body arched from the impact, the strangled scream ripping through the forest’s silence. Before he could collapse, Hidan caught him again with the chain and, in one swift movement, drove the blade through his chest, piercing flesh and bone until it crushed what life remained.
Hot blood burst out, splattering across his face. Hidan licked his lips, eyes fixed on the last glimmer fading from Shikamaru’s.
For a few seconds he stayed there, panting, heart pounding with violence and thrill. But then the adrenaline split apart, as if a crack opened in his chest. The laughter died in his throat, replaced by an unsettling emptiness.
Kakuzu, his mind whispered, dragging back the discomfort, the urgency. His hand clenched into a fist; his eyes blinked, dazed, as his body moved almost on its own, driven by the desperate need to escape that tangled forest.
Kakuzu had to be fine. He’d probably already finished his fight and was waiting impatiently, cursing at how long Hidan was taking. Maybe even searching for him, grumbling about wasted time. I mean, if Hidan had won, then Kakuzu definitely had too. The man was a machine. Just imagining him fighting, cold and confident, made Hidan excited. He liked strong men—his strong man.
Despite the mental consolation, he rushed forward as fast as he could. He half-remembered the way, but the thick undergrowth confused him. The thread of panic pulsing through his body was ironically the only thing that kept him focused enough to force his attention on his surroundings. Kakuzu was fine, but they were still apart — and Hidan hated that. Period.
Running, he tried to steady his breathing, but the air stabbed at his lungs in shards. He stopped again at a bend — third? fourth? — his senses distorted by the buzzing in his skull. He tried to reorient himself, searching for a clearer path, when suddenly his body stiffened.
The sound of his own ragged breathing merged with another rhythm: voices. Low, strange, far too close.
His stomach clenched tight, acid rising in his throat. His hurried, unfocused gaze swept frantically through the darkness between the trunks. His ears sharpened until they ached, picking up every crushed leaf, every snapped twig. Instinct and reflex merged — his body launched into motion before his mind could even register it, hurling him toward a distant tree. He clung to the rough bark, nails digging into it, trying to fuse with the shadow.
Two young figures cut across the forest ahead, led by a small but nimble dog. His heart skipped a long, agonizing beat, then kicked into a frantic rhythm, hammering against his ribs like a starved bird begging for food.
Reinforcements, weren’t they? Damn reinforcements. Which meant Kakuzu could be in danger. In danger, for fuck’s sake.
Hell!
The guilt, sharp and piercing, tangled with the panic. Hidan should never have been caught by that stupid shadow jutsu. He should never have strayed from his side. They were supposed to stay together, back to back, one indivisible entity of blood and steel — the perfect team, the immortal duo, the only safe harbor.
A stabbing pain ripped through his chest, so fierce it bent him over. His body felt like it might split in two, bones grinding under the strain, muscles twitching in spasms. For a blind instant, he wanted to leap from the tree, driven by a primal urge to run, to reach Kakuzu now, no matter the cost.
In panic, he almost forgot to stay hidden. Lucky for him, his chakra signature was negligible, and the three of them were too focused on their destination to really scan the area. They passed right by, and for one bitterly ironic second, Hidan realized the importance of paying attention to details.
But fuck the details. Fuck everything. He needed to close the distance between him and his partner desperately, and yet, for the first time, he froze. His jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth, but he held back. Think. He had to think. He couldn’t screw this up.
Shikamaru was dead, and those three would find out soon enough. If one of them circled back to the battlefield, where Kakuzu was likely still fighting, there’d be a problem. Kakuzu would have a problem. And Hidan, exhausted and wounded as he was, would never outrun their return.
He needed to circle around. If he got caught, how the hell would he help Kakuzu? And he had to help him. He had to, he had to now. But his mind spun in suffocating spirals. Invasive images exploded behind his eyelids: Kakuzu fallen, the green of his eyes extinguished, his threads limp in the muddy ground; Kakuzu surrounded, his arms severed, his immortality tested past its limit; Kakuzu screaming— a sound Hidan had never heard, now echoing inside his skull.
Alone. Surrounded. Dead.
No. No, no.
His nails dug into his palms, piercing skin, feeling the warmth of his own blood spill. The physical pain was a meager relief. One more helplessness inside the panic, but also a way to grasp at a shred of reason.
Kakuzu couldn’t fall. Kakuzu wouldn’t fall. Not that man, for fuck’s sake. Jashin wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t punish him that way, not after gifting him with another blessing, not after Hidan’s relentless devotion. It would be unjust—and Jashin didn’t deal in injustice.
Grinding his teeth, he decided to find another path. A shortcut, maybe, or just anything to take him off their trail. He only needed to find Kakuzu. If they were together, everything would be fine. It would be fine.
The forest felt like a curse built solely for him. Branches tore at his already wounded skin, roots tried to trip him with every step, and his heart beat in an erratic rhythm, frantic and sluggish all at once, as if it might explode or stop entirely. The pace echoed in his skull — too slow, damn it, far too slow.
A groan escaped him, hoarse and agonized. His bloodied nails dug again and again into the raw flesh of his palms. It was a thin thread anchoring him to reality; pain had always helped him stay sane — and it had to help him now.
Jashin, please. Please. Don’t let me fail. Keep him whole, keep him alive.
It was a crooked plea, a request bordering on sin: begging for another’s life. But Hidan rationalized it the next instant, forcing calm. He wasn’t begging for Kakuzu’s life — he was begging for the right to take it, if he ever chose to. For the right to break him and raise him, to hate him and love him, however the fuck he wanted— because if Kakuzu were to fall, it would be by Hidan’s. If he were to die, it would be by Hidan’s hands. Every ounce of him belonged to Hidan, and that included his very fate.
Lord, if You hear me, I swear… I swear I won’t waste a single offering. I swear that when the time comes, it’ll be blood, it’ll be whole, it’ll be all Yours. Just don’t let me be too late. Don’t steal this from me.
Suddenly, an open space emerged in his line of sight. Hidan stumbled, convinced he had returned to the original battlefield, but the heavy silence made him hesitate. Fear crawled over his body and he froze, unsure whether he wanted to take a step forward and discover that the quiet meant something — and that something was the immutable fact that Kakuzu was no longer there. That they had taken him for themselves.
A strange heat burned against his skin, and Hidan instinctively brought his hand to the spot, fingers meeting the scorching metal of his amulet. The triangle was smeared with dried blood, its once bright silver permanently stained.
He pressed the charm tightly in his hands, then lifted it to his lips, hurried sketches of vows and promises whispered into the air. Then he stepped forward. And another, and another and another, tearing through bushes with his bare hands, slicing his fingers on thorns and crushing damp soil beneath his boots.
The place was a wreck. It had looked destroyed before he left, but now the devastation was even greater. Hidan scanned the area frantically. Shattered ridges, the scars of explosions, holes torn into the ground — and nothing else. No fight happening, no movement, no Kakuzu.
Where the hell was Kakuzu?! He hadn’t lost, right? Fuck! There was no way he had lost. No way!
His breathing broke apart. It rushed in too fast and left in ragged sobs, his chest locking tighter with every attempt to drag in air, his throat burning so badly he almost spat blood. He turned in circles, eyes darting everywhere in search of any sign, any shadow that might be mistaken for the figure he needed — but there was nothing. Only silence, broken by his own ragged gasps, the brittle snap of twigs beneath his boots, the throb of blood hammering against his temples. His hands shook so violently he couldn’t hold the scythe he had been dragging along the ground. It fell with a sharp clang, and Hidan clutched at his head, tugging at his hair, agony twisting inside him — and he wanted to vomit, fuck.
That same heat surged in his chest again, fiercer this time. Abrasive, searing, as if his skin would be torn away with the metal itself. Hidan screamed before he realized it, his hand curling tight around the triangle as the instinct to drop it fought against the desperate need to keep it pressed to his body. Pain shot up his arm, spread through his shoulder, and he staggered. He tried to take another step, but his legs failed him. His body collapsed, dragged off balance by roots and loose stones, tumbling into a short drop his frantic mind hadn’t even noticed.
The impact was brutal. Air exploded from his lungs in a single blow, and for a few seconds he lay there, gasping, blinded by sudden vertigo. Slowly, his vision cleared. He had fallen into a deep hollow, almost hidden from the rest of the clearing by two massive stones leaning against each other, forming a narrow crack. The space was suffocating, nearly invisible to anyone looking down from above.
Hidan turned on the ground, a hand pressed to his stomach. Nausea still clawed at him. He tried to shake his head clear and spat out the saliva pooling in his mouth. Then he dug his nails into the dirt, forcing his body upright, his bones trembling with suffocating anxiety.
Only after dragging himself to his knees, the world spinning around him, did he finally raise his eyes. The amulet suddenly stopped burning — and there, right in front of him, was Kakuzu.
He was lying on his side, slumped against the earthen wall, and the sight made Hidan’s stomach lurch. His entire body was overtaken by black threads, tangled in useless, slack bundles. There was hardly any skin left, and what little remained looked scorched, marred by dark red bruises. It was impossible to tell if he was breathing.
Hidan nearly vomited again — but this time from sheer emotion. He stumbled to his feet, then stumbled again as he dropped in front of Kakuzu, his knees crashing heavily against the ground. His chest tightened until the pain was unbearable, air thinned to nothing, the edges of his vision darkened. His heart beat wildly, and his hands, driven by blind impulse, seized Kakuzu wherever they could — deformed shoulders, the rags of his blood-soaked clothes, the back of his neck caked in mud and blood — shaking him violently.
"Hey, old man!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Wake the fuck up!"
Nothing. No twitch beneath the closed lids, no groan of protest. He shook him again, harder, the muscles in his arms straining as if he could wring life out of Kakuzu’s stillness and impose his will on the unconscious body.
"Don’t you dare leave me here," he muttered, his voice breaking. "Don’t you fucking dare, don’t even think about it. Jashin can drag me into the abyss with you, but you’re not going alone."
Hidan tried to ignore the silence, tried to ignore the burn in his nose as he hauled Kakuzu against his chest and pressed his ear to the cold skin, forcing it there with frantic strength.
"Come on, fuck, come on…" he whispered, going utterly still, trying to block out the deafening thunder of his own heartbeat drowning out everything else. Listening, begging to hear.
Any beat. Any sign.
The silence stretched. Hidan squeezed his eyes shut until sparks of light burst against the darkness, teeth sinking into his lip until the metallic taste of his own blood filled his mouth. His mind spun, more and more disoriented, and he pressed his ear down again, desperate, suffocating under the thought that nothing was left — until a faint sound, muffled, almost nonexistent, finally reached him.
Air rushed out of his lungs, his body collapsing over Kakuzu’s as his hands clutched him tighter. He didn’t notice when the murmurs began, broken whispers spilling from his lips without his consent, nor when those whispers turned into the wet, shameful sound of stifled sobs, hiccups shaking his shoulders. He didn’t notice that the words were chaotic thanks to Jashin, curses against fate, blood-soaked promises of revenge — all tangled, raw, and jarring with violent emotion. He was blind to everything but the sudden flood of relief, clinging to Kakuzu’s chest, feeling the fragile — but there, fuck, there — rhythm of his heartbeat. And that was enough to make him hold on harder, refusing to ever let go.
Suddenly, a heavy, trembling hand touched his head, and he realized something had changed. The touch lacked strength and tickled against his scalp. Hidan jerked his head up, tears blurring his vision. He found Kakuzu’s eyes open and clouded, veiled by a haze of pain and profound exhaustion, pupils dilated and struggling in vain to focus on the chaos of light and shadow around him, wandering aimlessly until — like a ship adrift recognizing the glow of the harbor — they landed on Hidan’s face. And there they stayed. A faint glimmer, nearly imperceptible, flickered in the faded, shadowed green, a fragile spark of recognition.
Hidan sniffled, a harsh, ugly sound, and then hurled himself forward, his whole body pressed against Kakuzu’s. He didn’t care about the weakness, didn’t care about the shallow breath, didn’t care about anything but the certainty that he was alive.
Above him, Kakuzu’s cracked lips moved, a tremor barely shaping words that the stolen air refused to carry. A ragged, damp breath escaped him before any coherent sound could form. His eyes, still clouded with confusion, fixed with effort on Hidan’s face. The message should have been clear in the tension of his less-injured muscles and the faltering attempt to lift his body forward; dizzy from the fragile grip on survival, his mind still hunted danger in the shadows of the quiet around them.
His own panic, however, was swallowed whole by the torrent that was Hidan. The relief and the guilt, laced with fury, pushed him to the edge of flame and ember, burning his throat and souring his tongue, but stripping the weight from his shoulders and chest. Hidan spilled words without pause, recounting every step, every thought, every gesture that had led him here.
“...and that bastard!” he shouted, tightening his arms around Kakuzu. “He thought he was clever, the son of a bitch! Tried to trick me, Kakuzu! He brought blood, your blood, wanted me to... to...” His voice caught, his face twisting into a mask of hate and triumph. “Wanted me to drink it, to use your blood to... to destroy your heart! Thought I wouldn’t see through it! Thought I’d fall for that filthy trick! But I showed him I wouldn’t!”
Hidan kept talking, unstoppable; words flung into a river with no banks. He leapt from rage to joy, from euphoria back to pure, absolute hatred, unable to tell if he should thank or curse. He told Kakuzu he had won — that he had killed Shikamaru, that the blood was still warm in his memory, and that his only regret was not offering it to Jashin, because he had been afraid of himself; afraid that Kakuzu’s blood might still be coursing through his body when death finally reached him. And then, all at once, he broke into sobs and laughter, because Kakuzu was here, alive, and wasn’t that enough? It was enough, and he was grateful, even if furious.
“If you had just listened—” he went on, accusatory, almost in the same breath. “If you hadn’t been so stubborn, so... so Kakuzu! We could already be far from here! In a safe hideout, with a decent bottle of sake, cursing the incompetence of the Akatsuki and those bastards who sent us into this trap! Instead...” His gaze fell to the torn torso, to the deathly pale face cradled in his hands, and his voice lost some of its fire, breaking into a hoarse crack. “...instead, you almost... almost...”
Ah, Hidan, Kakuzu could have said, with that raw weight of affection no longer fitting behind his teeth. What left his mouth, however, was nothing but a fractured thread, more sigh than syllable. His heavy tongue kept him from carrying through the initial impulse of saying what he wanted: that they had to get out of there, that he was grateful Hidan was safe, that they were still in danger, that he was glad Hidan was there, that their plan would soon be uncovered, and that they needed to leave, together.
“I’m so fucking pissed at you,” Hidan growled, the sound coming from somewhere deep and wounded. “You scared the shit out of me. I feel like I’m gonna puke my guts out. My body hurts like I got trampled by a bijuu and it’s not even the good kind of pain. I owe Jashin now, and that’s bullshit, believe me, but even so… even so…”
Kakuzu watched as Hidan’s torrent of words dissolved into rare vulnerability. Inside him, something petty and vile found satisfaction in the raw, genuine despair laid bare; Hidan’s worship and reckless passion might almost have given him enough strength to rise without having to wound his own pride by asking for help.
Instead, only his hand managed to lift. A heavy, trembling movement, capturing Hidan’s face. Cold fingers, caked with mud and dried blood, shaped themselves to the line of his jaw, the curve of his temple. The touch was feeble, nearly weightless, yet it imposed silence. His thumb shifted just a fraction, brushing against skin damp with sweat and tears, and for a moment there was no sound but their uneven breathing.
Kakuzu kept his gaze fixed on him, the shadow of pain dissolving into something softer, more human; the sight of Hidan was the only thing holding him from sinking. The agony was unbearable—physical and emotional, the weight of misery and failure tearing more from him than any internal laceration that last blow could have caused.
Survival, however, was worth more than an honorable death. Kakuzu had not lived ninety-one years just to surrender to the dignity of dying, much less to such an ignoble defeat. Pain or not, crushing his own pride or not, he was alive—and being alive was victory.
“Are you listening to me, Kakuzu? Or has old age finally caught up with you after that beating, and now I’m gonna have to learn sign language just to talk to you?”
Kakuzu narrowed his eyes, and despite the shadows of exhaustion and the sickly pallor of someone who had faced death up close, expressiveness would forever be his greatest trait. At least when expressiveness meant pretending to be stern; still sniffling, Hidan nonetheless smiled with false innocence when he caught the annoyance in the creases at the corners of his eyes.
And Kakuzu—well. He was more monster than man now, disfigured and terrifying, more stitches and blood than flesh and skin. But he was still human in the end, and that single organ chained within his ribcage still beat to that same foolish—and cherished, so cherished—man before him. Quick and forceful and even painful beats, yet his body recognized and begrudgingly embraced them.
When he finally managed to speak, vocal cords stretched to their limits, his voice came low and rasping; a whisper that barely crossed the space between them.
“Love.”
Hidan rubbed his eyes and tilted his head toward him like an attentive dog. Kakuzu’s lone heart reacted to the sight, muscles and ribs aching with the force of its cry.
“My dear.”
“What?” Hidan stammered. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to hallucinate, old man. Not now, for fuck’s sake.”
And maybe Kakuzu was hallucinating, for he sighed sweetness once more.
“My heart.”
This time, Hidan didn’t understand. He furrowed his brows, touching Kakuzu’s face without flinching at the black threads that deformed him. His body was forced into learning the meaning of gentleness, terrified of hurting Kakuzu any further.
“What the fuck are you talking about? What’s with your heart?” he asked, merely curious at first, before anxiety settled in. “Is it hurting? Are you okay? You’re not dying on me right now, are you? Are you?!”
Kakuzu huffed, blinking slowly. He wanted to scold him for panicking so easily and for having no shame in exposing the true face of his feelings — but, honestly, what was left for them to hide anymore?
His finger traced the contour of Hidan’s face, rubbing away the fresh blood, smearing dirt with the dampness of tears. He looked so pitiful, so ruinously alluring, so brutally honest. Kakuzu wanted to kiss him just to chase away the sadness — melancholy didn’t suit that cynical face, much better fit to the hypnosis of euphoria.
“Kakuzu, by Jashin’s blood, don’t just sit there staring at me. You look cadaverous, and I’m scared it’s real and you just fucking died right here in my hands. And I swear, if that’s the case, I’ll puke all over you. Dead fucking serious.”
As ineloquent as ever, Kakuzu thought, amused. That was Hidan, his Hidan — so infuriating and immature, so reckless and irresponsible. So complementary to him that it made Kakuzu think maybe that stupid god did exist, maybe there really was some divine hand stitching together the threads that bound them.
“Kazu!”
“You” Kakuzu murmured softly, deliberately vague, enjoying the confusion unfolding. “My heart.”
Hidan frowned, watching as strength drained from his partner; moving seemed to demand an impossible amount of energy from him now, but Hidan was stubborn, ravenous for his touch.
Before Kakuzu could collapse, he grabbed his hand in a rush and pressed it hard against his own chest. He wondered if Kakuzu could feel how sickeningly fast his heart was pounding for him, how warm his body grew just to have him close again.
“You… you’re being greedy at a time like this?” he asked, confused but faintly amused.
My heart, Kakuzu repeated once more, and Hidan laughed.
“For Jashin’s sake. Disgusting pagan!” he said, without a shred of venom in his voice. “Is my heart what you want? Fine, fuck it, you can have it. It was yours anyway. And it’s even… it’s even good, isn’t it? You need a spare and I can live without one just fine. But honestly, I don’t think… I don’t thing I can live without you. It’s one of those — one of those bad kinds of pain. I don’t know. You get it, don’t you?”
Hidan’s honesty was unbearable. Kakuzu didn’t answer, though he wanted to, though he felt he should. A long breath escaped him, his body shedding a bit more of the fragile tension holding him present. In his half-lidded eyes, in the slight slack of his mouth, there flickered something almost like the start of a “stupid,” silent and familiar. No sound came, but Hidan heard the note of affection anyway.
“You’re stupid,” he shot back in the same tone, watching the muscles in Kakuzu’s neck go slack, lashes trembling before closing for far too long.
His voice sharpened, fear gnawing at the edges of his anger.
“But it’s fine. It’s fine, you hear me? Do what you have to do.” A hoarse pause, eyes scanning the torn-up torso. “I just don’t know how the hell you’re supposed to rip out a heart right now. You look like a bijuu chewed you up and spit you out. Seriously.” He sniffed, wiping his face on Kakuzu’s filthy shoulder. “No offense. But… I still love you. Shit. I actually said it. Jashin forgive me.”
The silence that followed was short and heavy. Hidan felt the faint pulse beneath his fingers, the weight of his body growing heavier against his chest. He pressed Kakuzu’s frozen hand tighter against his sternum, as if he could force his own heartbeat into him.
“You know what? No—” he corrected himself, his voice rising half a pitch, rough with self-sabotage. “Bullshit. I hate you more than I love you. More than anything right now. I hate every stitch, every grumble, every mask, every fucking thing that made you like this and makes me feel… this.” A tremor ran through his arms. “I hate you so much. Swear to Jashin.”
It was a blatant lie. Or maybe the rawest truth, diluted in the acid of panic. Hidan couldn’t tell the strands of the maelstrom apart. He kept Kakuzu’s hand crushed against his chest, knuckles whitening with the pressure. Then, slowly, he bent over the motionless body. His forehead pressed against the cold collarbone, breathing in the scent of iron and damp earth rising from the wounds.
His eyes closed as Kakuzu’s remained shut. He bore the full weight now, his arm curling around the torn back with a restraint forged in the fire of urgency.
“It’s gonna be alright. I promise.” His voice came low but resolute. “I’ll get you out of here. I’ll get us out.”
Even if Hidan had to carry every piece of him across the mountains, he would. He would crawl, drag, spend every drop of his own effort, blood, and sweat. He would persist, insist, even if it was idiotic, even if it hurt, even if giving up seemed easier. He would not lose Kakuzu — not while he had strength left to hold him.
(That was how they were, after all. The same broken piece that made Hidan spit “I hate you” while threading his fingers through Kakuzu’s as a safeguard; the same piece that let Kakuzu call him “dear,” so deeply steeped in his own affection that truth would spill even in unconsciousness.)
They could ignore the depth of the abyss beneath their feet, but never the resilience of the bridge that bound them.