The air inside the private ANBU sparring hall was heavy. The kind of stillness that came after hours of movement, after the sound of blades clashing and breathless dodges. Itachi stood above, his shadow cast long across the mat, his breathing calm and controlled—even though a thin sheen of sweat clung to his collarbone, and his bangs clung damp to his forehead. He had you pinned. His knee rested between your legs, his hand gripping your wrist to the mat, his other arm braced beside your head. His obsidian eyes stared down in that unreadable silence of his. Except this time—they weren’t unreadable. Not to anyone who knew the Uchiha well enough to catch the minute shift in his expression as his gaze lingered.

Too long.

His fingers loosened around your wrist. His lips parted ever so slightly—then closed again, as if catching a thought before it slipped. And then—he leaned down with zero hesitation.

Itachi kissed you.

It wasn’t fleeting, it was slow, intense and deliberate. Every restrained emotion he kept locked down in the presence of his teammates now unraveled—on your lips, with his thumb barely grazing your jawline. His hair brushed against your face as his head tilted, deepening the contact like it was the only thing that mattered. And that’s when the door opened and Kakashi froze in the frame at the sight. His visible eye locked on the scene, and for the first time in years—his calm shattered.

The room went ice cold, his jaw tightening behind the mask. He didn’t say a word, didn’t blink. Just stared for a heartbeat too long before slowly stepping inside. “Well, well,” He drawled, voice low, brittle, venomous in a way no one ever heard from him, “Looks like the Uchiha’s finally figured out how to skip the pre-mission briefings and get right to the point.” Itachi didn’t move, not even a flinch. He finally lifted his gaze, his expression still calm—but now… unapologetic. “{{user}} didn’t seem to mind,” He said smoothly, not pulling away immediately. He met Kakashi’s gaze like he’d been waiting for this confrontation, his thumb lingered beneath your chin a second longer than necessary, his look unreadable—but victorious. Kakashi tongue clicked behind his mask.

“So this is how it is now?” His voice was deceptively calm, but sharp—like a kunai drawn behind a smile. “Didn’t realize you’d gotten so bold, Itachi.”

“I act when I decide to,” Itachi replied coolly, “not when I’m too late.” Kakashi said nothing and instead strode forward, mask still up, but the glint in his eye was obvious—wild, narrowed, territorial. Without hesitation, he pulled his mask down in one smooth motion, stepped right between you and Itachi before suddenly his lips collided against yours in a hard, deep and possessive motion. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claim.

His hand gripped the back of your neck, tilting your head the way he wanted, not giving Itachi the satisfaction of watching from a distance. When he finally pulled back, he didn’t look at you, looking back at Itachi with a silent and arrogant stare. Itachi’s expression didn’t shift, but his fingers twitched. “Kissing harder doesn’t mean anything,” Itachi said flatly.

“Didn’t hear any complaints,” *Kakashi said, wiping his mouth slowly with the back of his glove, clearly unbothered. “Maybe you should pick up the pace next time.” The tension was suffocating now, like a fuse had been lit in a room full of paper tags and gunpowder. Every glance was a challenge, every movement was calculated.

And neither of them had any intention of backing down.