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Title: 1117
Author: Evandar (yamievandar / hikarievandar)
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: T - NC-17
Pairings: established Kakuzu/Hidan, future Kisame/Itachi and Sasori/Deidara
Genre: Humour
Warnings: AU, yaoi, swearing, details of the hospitality industry, and probably OOCness.
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Backpacking through Cloud, Itachi runs out of money and runs out of luck. He ends up working for accommodation in a hostel, surrounded by crazy people and flagging hygiene standards. Good lord.
Itachi’s dripping with sweat and feeling disgusting when they return to the dorm. The sheet curtain covering the bed opposite the door has been lifted, revealing a very pale boy dressed in black pants and a black tank top. His hair is white and his eyes – when he looks up at them – are very definitely pink. He’s albino, Itachi realises, and feels like an idiot.
“Hey,” he says. “How was your first day?”
Itachi’s not sure how to answer. It’s a job that will save him a lot of money – he doesn’t want to spit on it – but he can’t quite find the words to describe it positively. There’s something awful about that. “It’s an okay workout,” he says lamely.
The boy – Hidan, Itachi remembers – snickers. “Shit, isn’t it.” He turns a page of his book. “You’ll get used to it.”
Some integral part of Itachi’s being is horrified by the very thought. Behind him, Kisame chuckles. “Wasn’t so bad,” he says, moving around Itachi’s frozen form. He heads to the bed under the one Itachi claimed. “Just a load of beds. Nothing gross or anything.”
“Lucky, un,” says another voice. Itachi finally moves away from the door and an androgynous boy with long golden-blond hair swans in. “There was vomit in seven-thirteen. Like, full on kebab spew right in the middle of the floor, un. Hey, you’re new?”
“Yeah,” Itachi says. “I’m Itachi.”
“Deidara, un.”
“Hi.”
“Just one pool of puke?” a voice asks. The bed behind the door is occupied by a red-haired boy with dusky skin – like he was once tanned but it’s faded. “My heart bleeds.”
Hidan grins. He turns to Itachi again, lowering his book to his chest. “This happens every day. There’s this big conversation about who had the worst shift. Sasori usually wins.” He jerks his head in the direction of the red-head. “Sorry about this morning.”
Itachi shakes his head. “Sorry I woke you up. Kisame said you do nights?”
“Seven til half-three in the morning,” Hidan confirms. “Usually. But I only do Fridays and Saturdays ‘cause it’s eight fucking hours of this bollocks.”
“Used, bloody condom in the sink of the disabled bathroom,” Sasori says, “and the turd of the day in the mens’ showers. The tenth floor is the gift that keeps on giving.”
There’s a round of laughter, but Itachi doesn’t join in. He can’t actually believe that they’re all taking this so calmly. Sasori looks faintly ill from the memory, but otherwise unbothered.
“Oh,” he continues, “and someone threw up in the sinks in the girls’ bathroom in the bar. And on the floor. And the walls. Everywhere, in fact, except the damn toilet.”
“Shit,” Hidan shakes his head. “I don’t know how you put up with that, seriously.”
Sasori shrugs. “I have to. Can’t afford a room. How was yours?”
“Didn’t get in until quarter to five,” Hidan says. “Some bitches started whining about bed bugs at three in the fucking morning so we had to go change the sheets.” He sneers and waves a hand. “Like that would fucking make a difference. So we head up, strip the beds – and it was lice, by the way, not bed bugs – clean the mattresses, change the sheets and the underlays and the duvets and the goddamn fucking pillows, green-spray the shit out the place, vacuum, the works. Then we get downstairs and these chicks come up to us and they’re like ‘hey, we’re not going back up there, there’s bugs’ and started asking for a refund.”
“But that’s…” Deidara starts.
“So not my fucking problem, right?” Hidan continues. “So by this point it’s half three and we’re supposed to be finished and now – thanks to these people – we’ve got another fucking load of laundry to do, and I have to spend another ten minutes telling these idiots that I’m a fucking cleaner and that if they’ve still got a problem then they need to go to reception – which is right next to where they’re fucking standing. Ugh. Like I actually want to know they’ve just made me waste my fucking time?”
“Where was Kakuzu?” Kisame asks.
“He took the dirty stuff straight to the laundry and loaded it up. If he hadn’t there probably would have been a fucking murder charge, seriously.” He yawns. “He’s in the shower. You’ll meet him later.”
Itachi scratches at his arm. Drying sweat is making him feel itchy. He heads to his bunk to grab his shower things. “I didn’t wake him up too, did I?” he asks. “I didn’t notice anyone else in here.”
“He was in with me,” Hidan says. He eyes Itachi for a moment as if trying to measure him up. “And no, you didn’t. He sleeps like the fucking dead.” He points to the remaining lower bunk. “That’s his official bed.”
Itachi translates that as ‘we’re fucking, if you’ve got a problem with it you can fuck right off’. Itachi doesn’t have a problem. His father probably would, but Uchiha Fugaku is a comfortable distance of half a world away.
“Okay,” he says. It’s the only answer he can think of. It certainly explains Hidan’s sheet-curtains. He pulls himself up onto his bed and opens his pack, rifling through it for his travel towel and his shampoo.
He’s not going to go into how hypocritical it would be of him to have a problem, when he’d spent half of his shift – once he’d got into the routine – staring at Kisame’s impressive biceps. But it’s nice to know that if something does happen, his new roommates won’t be particularly hostile.
Then the door opens again, revealing a tall, muscular man with dark hair and scars all over every visible inch of skin. He’s grumpy looking and built like a brick wall. Itachi can’t imagine anyone surviving being hostile to him, so maybe it’s just politeness out of survival instinct.
“Yo ‘Kuzu,” Hidan says. “We’ve got a newbie.”
Kakuzu looks up at Itachi, still perched on his top bunk, and he laughs coldly. “You poor bastard,” he says.
Itachi thinks it’s the most appropriate greeting he’s been given so far.
Author: Evandar (yamievandar / hikarievandar)
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: T - NC-17
Pairings: established Kakuzu/Hidan, future Kisame/Itachi and Sasori/Deidara
Genre: Humour
Warnings: AU, yaoi, swearing, details of the hospitality industry, and probably OOCness.
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Backpacking through Cloud, Itachi runs out of money and runs out of luck. He ends up working for accommodation in a hostel, surrounded by crazy people and flagging hygiene standards. Good lord.
Itachi’s dripping with sweat and feeling disgusting when they return to the dorm. The sheet curtain covering the bed opposite the door has been lifted, revealing a very pale boy dressed in black pants and a black tank top. His hair is white and his eyes – when he looks up at them – are very definitely pink. He’s albino, Itachi realises, and feels like an idiot.
“Hey,” he says. “How was your first day?”
Itachi’s not sure how to answer. It’s a job that will save him a lot of money – he doesn’t want to spit on it – but he can’t quite find the words to describe it positively. There’s something awful about that. “It’s an okay workout,” he says lamely.
The boy – Hidan, Itachi remembers – snickers. “Shit, isn’t it.” He turns a page of his book. “You’ll get used to it.”
Some integral part of Itachi’s being is horrified by the very thought. Behind him, Kisame chuckles. “Wasn’t so bad,” he says, moving around Itachi’s frozen form. He heads to the bed under the one Itachi claimed. “Just a load of beds. Nothing gross or anything.”
“Lucky, un,” says another voice. Itachi finally moves away from the door and an androgynous boy with long golden-blond hair swans in. “There was vomit in seven-thirteen. Like, full on kebab spew right in the middle of the floor, un. Hey, you’re new?”
“Yeah,” Itachi says. “I’m Itachi.”
“Deidara, un.”
“Hi.”
“Just one pool of puke?” a voice asks. The bed behind the door is occupied by a red-haired boy with dusky skin – like he was once tanned but it’s faded. “My heart bleeds.”
Hidan grins. He turns to Itachi again, lowering his book to his chest. “This happens every day. There’s this big conversation about who had the worst shift. Sasori usually wins.” He jerks his head in the direction of the red-head. “Sorry about this morning.”
Itachi shakes his head. “Sorry I woke you up. Kisame said you do nights?”
“Seven til half-three in the morning,” Hidan confirms. “Usually. But I only do Fridays and Saturdays ‘cause it’s eight fucking hours of this bollocks.”
“Used, bloody condom in the sink of the disabled bathroom,” Sasori says, “and the turd of the day in the mens’ showers. The tenth floor is the gift that keeps on giving.”
There’s a round of laughter, but Itachi doesn’t join in. He can’t actually believe that they’re all taking this so calmly. Sasori looks faintly ill from the memory, but otherwise unbothered.
“Oh,” he continues, “and someone threw up in the sinks in the girls’ bathroom in the bar. And on the floor. And the walls. Everywhere, in fact, except the damn toilet.”
“Shit,” Hidan shakes his head. “I don’t know how you put up with that, seriously.”
Sasori shrugs. “I have to. Can’t afford a room. How was yours?”
“Didn’t get in until quarter to five,” Hidan says. “Some bitches started whining about bed bugs at three in the fucking morning so we had to go change the sheets.” He sneers and waves a hand. “Like that would fucking make a difference. So we head up, strip the beds – and it was lice, by the way, not bed bugs – clean the mattresses, change the sheets and the underlays and the duvets and the goddamn fucking pillows, green-spray the shit out the place, vacuum, the works. Then we get downstairs and these chicks come up to us and they’re like ‘hey, we’re not going back up there, there’s bugs’ and started asking for a refund.”
“But that’s…” Deidara starts.
“So not my fucking problem, right?” Hidan continues. “So by this point it’s half three and we’re supposed to be finished and now – thanks to these people – we’ve got another fucking load of laundry to do, and I have to spend another ten minutes telling these idiots that I’m a fucking cleaner and that if they’ve still got a problem then they need to go to reception – which is right next to where they’re fucking standing. Ugh. Like I actually want to know they’ve just made me waste my fucking time?”
“Where was Kakuzu?” Kisame asks.
“He took the dirty stuff straight to the laundry and loaded it up. If he hadn’t there probably would have been a fucking murder charge, seriously.” He yawns. “He’s in the shower. You’ll meet him later.”
Itachi scratches at his arm. Drying sweat is making him feel itchy. He heads to his bunk to grab his shower things. “I didn’t wake him up too, did I?” he asks. “I didn’t notice anyone else in here.”
“He was in with me,” Hidan says. He eyes Itachi for a moment as if trying to measure him up. “And no, you didn’t. He sleeps like the fucking dead.” He points to the remaining lower bunk. “That’s his official bed.”
Itachi translates that as ‘we’re fucking, if you’ve got a problem with it you can fuck right off’. Itachi doesn’t have a problem. His father probably would, but Uchiha Fugaku is a comfortable distance of half a world away.
“Okay,” he says. It’s the only answer he can think of. It certainly explains Hidan’s sheet-curtains. He pulls himself up onto his bed and opens his pack, rifling through it for his travel towel and his shampoo.
He’s not going to go into how hypocritical it would be of him to have a problem, when he’d spent half of his shift – once he’d got into the routine – staring at Kisame’s impressive biceps. But it’s nice to know that if something does happen, his new roommates won’t be particularly hostile.
Then the door opens again, revealing a tall, muscular man with dark hair and scars all over every visible inch of skin. He’s grumpy looking and built like a brick wall. Itachi can’t imagine anyone surviving being hostile to him, so maybe it’s just politeness out of survival instinct.
“Yo ‘Kuzu,” Hidan says. “We’ve got a newbie.”
Kakuzu looks up at Itachi, still perched on his top bunk, and he laughs coldly. “You poor bastard,” he says.
Itachi thinks it’s the most appropriate greeting he’s been given so far.
