They eyed each other for a moment, neither giving away their hand. Those green eyes challenged him, faced him with no fear. The two nins stayed silent, neither attempting to break the tension in the air. It almost palatably crackled around them. Was he a breath away from fighting the Kazekage for his freedom? Or was Gaara depending on outwitting him into exposing who he was?

It was Itachi that made the first move, pushing the red head against the wall. This was something he had witnessed Orochimaru do, to distract one from whatever the snake didn’t want that person to know. His hand found it’s way to Gaara’s throat, thumb pressing against the tip of his chin. A part of him wondered if he had really caught Gaara off guard; no sand or hands pushed him away. That part was quieted by the overwhelming need to see the Kazekage squirm. He leaned close enough to feel the other’s breath brush over his lips, something in him stirring at the closeness of his rival. He raised his gaze, amused that the green eyes were held slightly wider open than usual. Tilting his head, he teased once more, lips not quite meeting Gaara’s. A whoosh alerted him that he had pressed his luck too far, and he was quickly turned, back pressing against the wall. The stone radiated heat through his robes, the sun’s warmth lingering in the obsidian despite the setting sun. Itachi noticed, somewhat detachedly, that the sinking sun’s rays made the Kazekage’s hair brighten, almost as if it were fire. A gritty pressure against his wrist told him without moving that his wrists were pinned, above his head, the hold on him like an iron clamp.