Little Sasuke wants. Itachi wants more.
“I’m hungry, Niisama. Give me a peach.”
Itachi reached in the picnic basket Mother had packed for them. The white peach was ripe to the touch. He thought of fluttering eyelashes, juice spurting on lips-chin-fingers, long and grateful sucking. Mmm, Niisama, so good...
“There’s none left — here, have this,” he said, throwing his brother an apple.