Short Stories | By : SakikuTorakak Category: Naruto > General Views: 1798 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto; neither the character nor the fandom nor any franchise associated with it. I make no money from this. |
Character: Itachi
Prompt: torture
Rating: R
Warnings: PTSD, Angst, torture
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Nail Polish
“You are painting your fingernails. Again.”
Itachi didn’t look up. He had felt Kisame approach and stand in the doorway several minutes ago, but the larger nin had kept quiet. Until now.
“Hn.”
He gracefully dipped his brush into the glossy black liquid and carefully drew it across the nail of his index finger. It was cool and glittered wetly.
Spikes of pain as they slowly forced the slivers deeper-
“The last time you painted them was two days ago. Two shitty freaking days ago. We haven’t even gone on a mission yet for you to chap your nail polish.”
Itachi could hear the exasperation coloring the former mist-nin’s voice. This was a long-standing issue between them: Itachi’s nail polish, and his tendency to apply it too often, in Kisame’s opinion. Nothing had changed since their last time. And the one before that. And before that. So Itachi refrained from dignifying Kisame with an answer the man must have heard plenty of times before.
First only with their fingers, then with a hammer. A hammer that occasionally missed-
Breathing evenly, Itachi smoothed the brush across his middle finger on the left.
They made him watch. Watch as they gradually drove long bamboo splinters deeper and deeper beneath his nails. As if he needed to see to feel their presence scream along his nerves-
A fist against the door frame, splintering wood but not bringing the whole thing down. “Oh, for- How long are you planning to ignore me in favor of your girly paint-job?” The mist-nin growled.
Kisame didn’t take well to people not reacting to his presence. It was something of pride for him, that nobody ever overlooked him. Partly because of his height, partly because of his blue skin and fish-like exterior, partly because of the blood-hungry feel to his enormous chakra. Wherever he went, he stood out and got reactions. So, in the exceedingly rare case he didn’t get any reaction, he tended to demand one through violence.
In the beginning, he had painfully eased out the splinters beneath his nails as soon as they threw him back into his cell. Tried to treat the wounds. Dexterity was important for shinobi. But as soon as they fetched him for another session, they replaced the splinters he had removed (agony beyond agony to torture inflamed and weeping flesh) plus added one more-
“Until I’m done,” Itachi answered monotonously. He didn’t want to take the risk of messing up his paint-job, should Kisame be even more confrontational than usual.
He went on towards his fourth finger. He had done this so often that he didn’t really need to look anymore to make sure the brush covered the whole nail in a smooth and uniform coat, and yet not spill any color on the surrounding flesh.
His fingers had swollen to twice their size, making it nearly impossible to bend them, let alone form a fist. He had to swallow down hard on the thought that he might lose some - most, all - of his ability to form seals, to channel chakra. Two of his fingers had gotten infected already. Could ninja function with only eight - seven, six, five - fingers? The pounding of his heartbeat in the tip of his bamboo-clawed fingers was nauseating-
His pinky was done with in a single swipe. Then came his thumb nail. The last one. The largest. The one that had never healed properly, that was opaque and splintered towards the end. It was almost a blessing that his eyesight had declined so much that he had to do most of it by feel and muscle memory.
He couldn’t help but stare at the purplish-black mess his fingers had turned into, stare at it and try not to be sick-
There. He was done.
He raised his head and looked into the direction he could see Kisame’s blurry outline in. He cocked his head. “Would you like me to paint your nails, too?”
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