#itasai

He'd mention something about sun and ocean air doing wonders for a person's countenance, if he weren't so utterly tongue-tied around him. They'd met a scant few times, by virtue of Itachi being childhood friends with Akari and she having pulled Sai beneath her wing just a few short years previous. Aware of one another, in each other's orbit, but never close enough to know. They're both quiet and private by nature, Sai supposes, and surrounded themselves with others who would do the talking for them. And now they're the left-behinds at the first taste of sand and sea, the members of Sai's squad running off immediately to challenge one another to a game of volleyball, with Yamato acting as unenthused scorekeeper. Shisui and Akari made a beeline for the water, and when he looks he can see her clinging to his back and probably yelling something about not taking her in too deep. It leaves Sai and Itachi sitting next to one another on the overlarge blanket, close enough he can hear Itachi breathing over the squall of waves.

Not unkindly ignored, nothing to be insulted over. Sai can see the way Naruto waves his smooth tanned arms over his head, calling him to join. It serves as distraction and it earns Naruto a volleyball to the face. He's also spotted Shisui moving to jog back to Itachi and drag him by the hair, only to be stopped by Akari's arms about his waist to drag him into the water once more. Laughter echoes on all directions, Sai digging his bare feet further into the sand when he adjusts his weight and looks from mother to friend to taichou, leaning back on the blanket until his elbows are weighted against the soft fabric.

It isn't uncomfortable. He doesn't feel othered. Not right now, at least. He sits in the shade beside a man who seems to understand Sai without even knowing him; more content to sit and watch and bask, in the dynamics and the bonds they'd formed. Happy, to see freedom of joy and love in lives such as theirs. An outsider looking in, not quite sure how to join even after years of forced family but comfortable in the knowledge that they would be welcome, always. They're kindred spirits in that manner, Sai surmises.

Itachi in relaxation is the same Itachi in all other circumstance; composed, rigid. A quiet intensity bellying the edge of a knife. He sits with legs folded and spine straight, gaze sweeping over the sand between his brother and his friends. Even with the added humor of the great and whispered-about Uchiha Itachi sans shirt and wearing shorts decorated with small birds, revealing pale legs and with thin blue veins weaving over his bare forearms that Sai cannot force himself to look away from, still he's nothing short of utterly serious.

But his smile - barely there, just a small twitch of the mouth. Eyes softened and shoulders relaxing beneath the weight of expectation and worry, just a little. Just enough.

His face in partial profile, revealing the strong line of his nose and the way his bangs hang just past his cheekbone, brushing back over his ear from the soft breeze. It makes Sai's fingers itch towards his sketch pad, staring as he is at the older man with unrepentant wonder. He's already counting off the tools in his mind, the exact brushes and tones he'd use to capture this moment of quiet peace. His chosen medium is black ink, and whilst it would be appropriate for Itachi's graceful lines and his black hair, black eyes, black shadows dogging his strained shoulders; it wouldn't feel right. Something more abstract, colorful. He's full of fire in equal measure to any darkness, and whilst flames cast shadows so too do they bathe in light.

Sai blinks, realizing he's been staring for who knows how many minutes when Itachi turns his attention away from his nearest and dearest and towards him. Sai's mouth parts immediately, apologies dancing on the tip of his tongue -he's practiced enough at this, the shy stuttering over his words when he'd been unintentionally making someone uncomfortable- alongside explanations that he's still on the edge of understanding boundaries and proper decorum. But Itachi had waved away his words, and mentioned that being a shinobi prodigy did not equate being a social butterfly. Kindred spirits, indeed.

Sai had flushed deeply, because of course he had. Doubly so when he'd noticed that Itachi didn't lose that smile, when he looked at Sai. Still he looked like a man at peace, surrounded by those he cared for. It warmed Sai's heart as much as it did his face.

-----

He does, indeed, end up drawing Itachi. Before the heat had dug in its claws in full, when they still lazed beneath the shade of the umbrella. Itachi had spotted his hesitation, and asked in that unerringly polite tone of his if Sai would enjoy drawing the view. It's rare that they get to see it, after all. Not unkindly, though Sai had agonized for half a moment if this was nothing more that a nudge to get him to leave him alone. But Itachi had still smiled, and Sai had pulled out his sketchpad and pencils and paints with sure hands.

He'd spent time trying to perfect the precise shades of blue and white on the water lapping at shore by mixing paints, spent even less time whipping up a view of Naruto with his face red and Kakashi face-down in the sand; their game had become more volatile when he hadn't been paying attention, it would seem.

He'd spent the most time on a small portrait of Itachi. Chin cradled in his palm, that small, secret smile curving his mouth. Outlined in a light gray, filled in the black with reds and golds. Abstract, and quite lovely. It was the better view of the day, at any rate.

-----

The heat was getting the better of him, he was certain, when the sun reached its highest peak. Sai had moved to fanning himself with a scrapped page of his sketchpad, laid flat on his back in the shade that refused to further coddle him. He knew the conducive course of action would be to follow Akari's lead -and her aggressive shouting that the water was perfect- and cool off in the water, but that would require leaving his small haven beneath the umbrella. The cause of said sanctuary was currently rested on his side and facing Sai, head cushioned on his palm whilst lazily flicking through a novel.

The words danced on his tongue as they had before. An invitation to join him -surely needed, if the lone drip of sweat falling from his dark hair and down the elegant curve of his neck was anything to go by Sai wasn't staring- in walking the water. Perhaps diving in, as Shisui had done the moment they'd arrived after barely taking enough time to kick off his shoes and pull the shirt over his head, running headlong into the ocean as Akari yelled for him to be careful. Itachi might be a bit more composed than Shisui, at any rate.

The worst he can say is no, Sai reminds himself. The crush of rejection feels heavier than anything else, and he fidgets in his anxiety with brows drawn.

His movement catches Itachi's attention. The book is closed gently as he looks up at Sai from beneath thick lashes, glancing from his wide eyes to the water and back again. And, as Sai had come to expect by now, Itachi swoops in to save him any speck of confusion.

"Would you like to go in?" Itachi asks, raising a hand and gesturing towards the shore with a lazy flick of his wrist.

"Would you come with me?" The words are out in the open before Sai can think them through. He cringes, internally; the tone is light but the words, themselves, sound as though they come from a nervous child seeking bravery and assistance from someone older. And though his mind is a bit of a mess when it comes to Itachi, the very last thing he wants right now is for him to see Sai as a child. It's entirely possible he's overthinking again.

Itachi's brows furrow as though in thought, nodding once to himself before dusting any invisible sand from the smooth fabric of his shorts. "Of course. You cant leave me to be the singular hermit alone, after all."

The wry remark startles a small laugh from Sai, ducking his head to hide his smile. The warmth in Itachi's tone curls around like a blanket, and he pushes himself to standing before he can put too much stock in the other man's words, instead stretching his arms above his head and trying not to wince in the direct heat the sun provides.

He's halfway to turning to look at Itachi when a hand circles his wrist, tugging gently. They're face-to-face, Itachi standing far closer than Sai anticipated; it serves to make him blink owlishly, swallowing around the sudden tightening of his throat.

"You'll burn," Itachi says in a tone that brokers no argument, a small yellow bottle held in his free hand. Ah, so there's that mother hen that Shisui grouses about loudly and often; another insistent tug on his wrist has Sai stepping even closer, and his mind fizzles out immediately when Itachi puts his hands on him.

He flinches, unaccustomed to a touch that translates into tenderness. Not from anyone other than a scant few he can count on one hand, that is. Itachi murmurs a low apology, cracks wise about sunscreen somehow always being too cold even when applied in scorching heat. Sai barely hears it, mind utterly focused on Itachi's palms -rough from years wielding weapons and molding chakra, but touching him light enough to make him shiver- spreading the substance over his arms and shoulders, a look of concentration painted across his lovely features.

He turns when he's bid, eyes fluttering shut as Itachi works the lotion into his back. His fingertips hesitate on his hips, before digging in just a touch too hard to be considered effective for the task at hand. Sai wills his body not to react in the obvious way, making calculations in his head and imagining all sorts of terrible things that have nothing to do with strong, sure hands tracing his curves and angles.

One finger curls upon the monkey's paw when Itachi moves a step away, holding out the bottle in offering. Sai could weep for the loss of contact, but takes it with a hushed thank you and begins covering his face, neck, and chest. Focused utterly on the task and not the way Itachi's head is tilted on an angle, eyes dragging up and down his body; nor on the way he rubs the leftover lotion staining his hands on the sides of his neck.

He has elegant hands, Sai thinks. Suited to a musician as his are suited to a different variety of artistry. He nearly fumbles the fucking bottle as he loses himself to a momentary fantasy. A pretty boy smiles at him and he's a wreck. Maybe Sakura was on to something when she'd mentioned Sai might become a bit of a late bloomer due to his upbringing. He certainly feels like one of those school-aged teenagers with a crush, at any rate.

"Will you get my back?" Itachi pulls him from his rambling thoughts, tone somehow impish and teasing as readily as it is completely innocent and ordinary. Sai blinks once, and then twice, heads bobbing as he eagerly nods his assent in silence; opening his mouth at inopportune moments had ruined many a moment, and he reverts back to accustomed silence as to not make a bigger idiot of himself.

Itachi turns his back, sweeps his long hair over his shoulder, and waits. If Sai's hands tremble when he digs his palm in against the curve of his shoulder-blade and spine, Itachi doesn't say a word.

-----

Thorough humiliation further breeds opportunities for indignity, it seems. Once Sai had finished up, all but dropping the bottle onto the blanket, he'd looked anywhere but at Itachi. Arm across his chest and fingers curling around the opposite elbow, he'd been going for a picture of careful nonchalance as he'd waiting for Itachi to pull up his hair - into a messy bun at the back of his head with wisps dangling against the back of his neck, because he was a cruel and terrible sort of man. Itachi had turned, head tilted once more to the side, and offered that same small smile before stepping away and towards the water, Sai watching him go with a renewed flush. He'd done it on purpose, he was certain; to what end, he couldn't be sure.

They meander together in the shallows, Itachi with hands in his pockets and smiling down at the clear water coming up to his knees. Sai kneels down with abject fascination, glancing from flora to fauna with wide eyes. He'd never seen any of it in person, and felt a giddy smile unfurl as he reached a hand beneath the water to run the tip of a finger over the dancing seaweed.

Itachi had remarked something about being careful; Sai had only been half paying attention, despite all earlier implications to the contrary. His dark eyes flicked from the water to the sight of Itachi's legs standing far too close and back again, finding it difficult to focus on anything aside from the light gleaming off the water's surface. He watched his reflection and willed himself to think of something halfway clever to say, when he'd felt a hand curl around his bicep and yank him backwards.

What was that earlier assessment of indignity? Sai's eyes had gone wide and he'd instinctively reached for a weapon slung across his back that he knew wasn't there, on alert despite the momentary loss of balance from standing in the waves. Itachi pressed close to his side, Sai's head whipped to where he'd last seen Akari and Shisui -sitting in the shallows some yards down, kicking water and talking with heads pressed close- and found them utterly lost to their own little world. His mouth opened in warning, when the surface of the water where he'd just been kneeling surged away and rushed back together, hard enough he'd felt droplets splatter across his naked chest.

Sai blinked. Blinked again. Considered the now-soaked volleyball and the shouted apologies from somewhere on the beach. The burn of embarrassment was an old and trusted friend by now, and he's turned his face towards Itachi with a closed-eye smile and the barest hope that he wouldn't notice the red on his face wasn't from exposure to the sun.

Someone -probably Sakura, most assuredly accidentally- had slammed a ball too hard and he'd assumed Itachi had sensed mortal danger. If the ocean could rise and swallow him, any time would be delightful. (Although, he admitted to himself to save any scrap of pride, if it had been a blow from Sakura, even a small rock spelled mortal danger.)

"Thank you," Sai murmured, mouth still stuck in that self-deprecating smile.

A warm chuckle was his reward, in that dripping dulcet tone that did some odd things to the integrity of his knees. Itachi still hadn't removed the hand from his arm, a fact Sai wouldn't have been able to ignore had he tried; awareness sparked where skin met skin, and he swallowed down his embarrassment without moving a scant inch, too fearful Itachi would pull away.

"I'm more observant, usually," Sai explained with a shrug, clearing his throat to hide his chagrin.

"Distracted?" Itachi shot back, gesturing towards the water lapping at their legs. But his eyes spoke of a different meaning, punctuated with a squeeze of his fingers. He knew, he knew Sai knew, and for one brief and terrible moment Sai thought the ocean really would swallow him entirely because Itachi still hadn't stopped touching him, nor had he lost that soft and tender smile, reserved only for those he cared for.

"Well," Itachi continued after earning himself a strangled hum from beneath Sai's breath, "we cant be too careful." And with that, his hand slid down the smooth skin of Sai's arm to tangle their fingers together, tugging him gently towards deeper water with nary a backward glance.

Sai's knees did not dip, thank you very much. He was entirely composed and collected, mature, even. He wasn't distracted by the pound of his pulse nor the feeling of anothers hand in his, nor was he already mapping out more portraits to parse out to fill his sketchpad with likenesses of Uchiha Itachi.