Chapter Text
The rain had finally stopped, but the town's streets still shimmered with moisture, neon reflections trailing in every puddle. Suri kept her head low as she slipped through a narrow alley, her black hair swaying behind her—courtesy of her disguise jutsu. The yukata clung to her legs with each step, and beneath it, her pulse beat in anticipation.
Tonight would be her first night of work at the brothel.
She still wasn’t used to the idea of being someone else after dark. A mask of makeup and chakra. But ever since that night two weeks ago—the one where her body had awakened, and her bloodline had revealed its secret after loosing her virginity—she’d been hungry. Curious. More alive than she had ever been.
She paused.
There were voices in the dark—low, rough, masculine. Her chakra flared subtly as she took a cautious step forward.
Two men stood ahead of her, framed by flickering paper lantern light and the damp haze. One of them, tall and broad like a living fortress, held up another—slighter, though cloaked in a presence that felt sharper than steel. Blood stained both of them in streaks and smudges, but they weren’t panicked.
They were watching.
The larger man was the first to move, subtly shifting to shield the other from her view, his hand flexing near the wrapped hilt on his back.
“Keep walking,” he said, voice low and grating, like stone dragged across stone. His eyes narrowed, and despite the grin stretching his jagged teeth, his chakra snapped like a current of cold lightning.
Suri stopped.
“I’m not a threat,” she said, slowly raising both hands. “But you both look half-dead. There’s a place nearby—quiet, private. You’ll bleed out before you hit the next roof.”
The tall one snorted. “You in the habit of dragging strangers home, little girl?”
Suri’s eyes flicked to the smaller man behind him—his cloak torn, his breathing shallow. But his eyes were sharp, dark as midnight, fixed on her in utter silence. He was analyzing her chakra, her stance, her intent. She felt it—like genjutsu without casting.
“I know what it looks like,” she said. “But I can offer you shelter. I have a room at a brothel nearby. Clean futon. First aid supplies. No one will bother you if you stay quiet.”
The taller one eyed her with suspicion. “And what’s your angle, then?”
“I owe someone who once helped me when I was bleeding out in a street,” she said slightly nervous. “Maybe I’m repaying a debt.”
For a few long seconds, there was no reply. Just the distant drip of water and the sharp tension hanging in the space between them.
Then the tall one shifted.
“Tch. You hear that, Itachi? Good samaritans still exist.”
The quiet one gave no reply—but his gaze had softened just slightly. Barely. He nodded once.
“…Fine,” the tall one muttered. “Lead the way. But if you try anything stupid, girl—”
“You won’t have to finish that sentence,” Suri said, turning.
The weight of their footsteps followed her in silence.
________________________
The madam of the brothel asked no questions when Suri brought the two cloaked shinobi in, though her glance lingered on the taller man’s weapon before she turned away.
Suris rented room was tucked away in the corner of the second floor—secluded, private.
She watched as the larger man helped the other to the futon, lowering him with an odd kind of gentleness. He may look like a brute, Suri thought, but not without loyalty.
“You’re lucky,” she said as she retrieved her small medical kit. “Your injuries seem shallow.”
The quiet one finally spoke, voice low and strained. “Appearances can mislead.”
Suri paused but said nothing. She began cleaning the blood from his body, hands steady, eyes focused while treating his wounds. Her chakra pulsed gently into his skin—subtle, nurturing, like mist settling over stone.
His gaze flicked to her. “That chakra… it’s unusual.”
“I could say the same about your eyes.”
That earned her a faint twitch of a brow.
Once finished, she gestured to the bath. “You,” she said, looking at the tall man, “are too covered in blood for me to tell where skin ends and wounds begin. Get in the water.”
“You giving orders now?” he asked, amusement rising in his tone.
“I’m not asking,” Suri said, tilting her head. “Unless you want me to patch you up blind.”
He snorted but rose. “Fine. But don’t scream when you see all this muscle, sweetheart.”
“I’ll try to contain myself,” she muttered, grabbing towels and following him down the hall.
__________________________
Steam curled around them, clinging to Suri’s skin. Kisame stripped without hesitation, his body massive, broad, riddled with old scars. He eased into the bath tub with a low groan, letting the warmth sink in.
Suri crouched beside the edge, soaking a clean cloth in water.
She didn’t speak at first—just began to work, cleaning the streaks of dried blood across his shoulder.
“You’re not shaking,” Kisame noted.
“I’ve seen worse.”
“Hah. Either you’re stupid or experienced.”
“Maybe both.”
He laughed, deep and genuine, and it echoed off the tile.
But then he went quiet, watching her out of the corner of his eye.
“You knew we were dangerous. You still brought us in. Why?”
Suri paused, wringing the cloth. “…Because whatever you are, you looked like you needed help. And I can help.”
“Hn. Brave girl.”
“Or just reckless.”
She moved to clean a cut along his ribs. He didn't flinch, but she felt the way his breathing shifted slightly, his chakra loosening like a loosened knot.
He leaned back a bit more, closing his eyes.
“…You’re good at this.”
“Not the first time I’ve cleaned blood off a man,” she murmured. “Though you’re the first blue one.”
Kisame chuckled again, teeth flashing. “Stick around, and I’ll show you all sorts of firsts.”
Her cheeks flushed despite herself.
Steam clung to the tiled walls like a second skin, muffling the world beyond the bathhouse. The warm water lapped around Kisame’s massive frame as he leaned back against the edge, muscles relaxed but eyes sharp beneath the lowered lids. Suri kept her hands busy, cloth moving along his arm, trying to stay focused. But the subtle hitch in her breath when her fingers brushed a scar across his chest gave her away.
He cracked one eye open.
“Did you just blush?”
Her hand froze mid-stroke. “No.”
Kisame chuckled, deep and amused, sharp teeth glinting in the soft lantern light. “Huh. You’re a bad liar, you know that?”
Suri tried to pull her hand back, but he caught her wrist gently in his much larger one. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t pull—just held it there, warm and still. His eyes studied her with a curiosity that felt heavier than his blade.
“Most girls in this place don’t blush over a bare chest,” he said, voice lower now, tone somewhere between teasing and intrigued. “Or act like they’ve never seen a naked man before.”
Suri hesitated, then exhaled. “That’s because I haven’t. Not like this. Not… while working.”
Kisame raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
She nodded. “I’m new. Haven’t had a real client yet. Just started a few days ago.”
There was a pause. Then he let out a low whistle and released her wrist, sinking a little deeper into the water. “And here I thought you were just playing coy. You’re really green.”
“I’m not clueless,” she said quickly, sitting back on her heels. “Just… still learning."
He gave her a long look, unreadable. Then he snorted softly.
“Well damn,” he said. “Can’t imagine I’m the kind of guy you had in mind for your first official night. Bet you pictured someone clean-cut, smooth-talking, not…” He lifted his arms out of the water, broad and scarred, resting them onto the bathtub edge. “…seven feet of shark freak.”
Suri didn’t answer right away. Instead, she dipped the cloth back into the water, wrung it out, and reached to clean a thin gash along his collarbone.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said finally, a smirk tugging at her lips. “But you’re not what I feared either.”
Kisame went still under her touch.
“…You’ve got guts, girl,” he murmured. “Hope you keep them.”
For a moment, only the drip of water and the flicker of steam filled the silence between them. Then Kisame tilted his head, a crooked grin sliding across his face.
“You know,” he said, “you could make me your first client.”
Suri blinked.
“Not sayin’ you have to,” he added with a chuckle. “Just that it’d be one hell of a learning experience.”
Her face flushed hotter than the bathwater.
“You’re teasing me.”
“Sure thing,” he said grinning, leaning back again, arms spread over the edge of the tub like he owned the entire room.
Suri glanced at him—at the way his eyes sparkled with amusement and something else behind it. He was terrifying, yes. But also… warm in a way she didn’t expect - easygoing.
After her treatment of Kisame, she decided to bring him to the brothel restaurant—his stomach was already growling with hunger.
The quiet hum of low conversation and clinking ceramic filled the brothel’s restaurant hall. Lanterns hung low from the ceiling, casting a golden glow over silk cushions, lacquered wood, and half-lidded gazes. Women leaned into men’s arms, hands drifting along thighs beneath tables, the air thick with food, perfume, and heat.
At a small table in the corner, Suri poured warm sake into a shallow cup and slid it across to Kisame.
The robe she’d found for him was the largest in the building, and even then, it strained a little across his shoulders. But he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, the looseness of the cloth around his chest only made his size more noticeable—massive and raw, but oddly relaxed as he leaned on one arm and tore into a grilled skewer of pork belly.
“Good food,” he muttered. “Didn’t think this place would have anything that wasn’t boiled grass and rice.”
Suri smiled, sipping her own drink. “We keep the good stuff for the good tippers.”
He snorted. “Guess I’ll have to tip big then.”
She laughed, soft and low. The sake was warming her from the inside out now, leaving a haze in her chest and a boldness on her tongue.
“You’ve got a different vibe now,” she said, tilting her head. “Less ‘I might kill you in a back alley’ and more ‘I could ruin your whole body in bed.’”
Kisame paused mid-drink.
One eye narrowed at her. “That right?”
Suri rested her chin on her hand, fingers curling along the side of her cheek. “Mm-hm. I saw you in the bath, remember?”
Kisame smirked—but it was tight at the edges. “You keep talkin’ like that, I’m gonna stop being polite.”
“If you wanted to stay a little longer tonight… I am available. As long as you’ve got the coin.” She said with a smile.
Silence.
For once, Kisame didn’t have a quick reply.
“…You sure you know what you’re saying?” His voice lowered, rougher now, eyes locked on hers. “I’m not like those clean-cut nobles who ask for oil and back rubs. I’m not gentle. I’m not small. And I don’t stop halfway. You’re soft. New. I’d break you.”
Suri didn’t flinch. Her heart beat harder in her chest, but not from fear. From want. From days of hunger building behind her eyes and under her skin, fed by chakra and something deeper. Lust invited recklessness.
“I’m not asking you to go easy on me,” she whispered. “I’m asking you to fuck me like you mean it.”
Kisame froze. His cup stopped halfway to his mouth.
For a moment, the air between them didn’t move.
Around them, laughter and quiet moans filled the room—but it all felt far away. She saw his pupils dilate. Saw the veins in his forearms tighten as his hand gripped the edge of the table.
He set the cup down slowly, his grin gone.
“You sure?”
Suri nodded.
“I’ve been sure since the bath,” she smirked.
Kisame stared at her a moment longer. Then, quietly, he stood—his massive frame rising like a shadow above candlelight. He didn’t offer his hand. He didn’t speak.
He just turned and walked toward the hallway.
And Suri stood too, legs trembling, body hot with anticipation, and followed him
Suri caught his sleeve before they reached the stairs, her fingers gripping the robe just below his elbow. Kisame paused, glancing down at her, a question in his eyes. She leaned in close, her voice low.
“My room’s still occupied,” she murmured. “And I’m not sure I’d stay quiet with you inside me.”
His brow lifted slightly. The grin that spread across his face this time wasn’t teasing—it was dark, pleased, and hungry.
“Is that right?”
Instead of answering, she tugged him toward the reception desk. The night attendant barely looked up, used to this kind of business at this hour. Kisame leaned against the counter, towering over the man with an easy menace.
“Private room,” he said, tossing down a stack of ryo with a heavy clink. “Biggest one you’ve got.”
The attendant nodded quickly, sliding two keys across the counter. Kisame grabbed both—but only kept one. He handed the second to Suri without a word, their fingertips brushing.
He didn’t ask her again if she was sure.
They both knew the answer by now and honestly, he didn't care anymore—this offer was too tempting.
She followed him down the hall, heart pounding, mouth dry, heat pooling low in her belly. Kisame walked ahead, the robe hanging loose off one shoulder, muscles shifting beneath it like coiled rope. Every step he took seemed slower, heavier—like he was holding something back.
When they reached the room, he slid the door shut behind them and locked it. Not because he needed privacy.
But because once this started, no one else would be allowed in.