Kakashi sat back in his chair, leaning his body away from the broad desk and the demoralizing piles of paperwork spread across the surface. A hefty sigh left him, filtered through the mask, as he let his hands fall limply to the sides of the chair.
A few months ago, he never would have thought this would have happened to him. Sitting there, at that huge – but beautiful – cherry desk that wore a nameplate like a crown: Hatake Kakashi, C.E.O.
The Fourth Shinobi World War ended in lots of blood and tears, but that was to be expected from such an event. Still, Kakashi had lost many allies he had grown familiar with, including his lifelong rival and nuisance, Might Gai, and he knew it had made him an even more reserved old man. Getting to know too many shinobi only increased the probability of one of them dying. He had known that for years, but had somehow grown soft to the concept.
Once the war had ended for good, Kakashi had been able to dodge the bullet for becoming Hokage due to Lady Tsunade's revival and survival, though she, like all the other shinobi, had been ragged upon returning to the hollowed-out village. It had been like coming back to a ghost town in the way that it was so quiet, so solemn – so dead.
Tsunade did not, however, let Kakashi shirk his duties so easily. The village's foreign commerce overseer had been caught in the crossfire, leaving them without anyone to direct the goods coming in and going out of the village. She had needed a willing (and competent) participant to accept the open position immediately to prevent the townspeople from starving and falling into otherwise worse conditions. Kakashi hadn't necessarily been willing, as she tapped a chipped, red-nailed finger on her desk, but he took up the mantle anyhow.
Kakashi toppled forward and sagged into the desk, setting his head in his hands as his elbows pressed firmly into the tabletop. He scrubbed his fingers down his tired face and attempted to focus his eyes on the important words typed out in front of him, but they wouldn't cooperate.
He had known that right after the war, missions for even the most skilled shinobi of the villages would plummet instantaneously. Everyone in every village would be busy trying to build themselves back up and no one had the money or the desire to pay for the services of a shinobi, not for a while. This opportunity that gaped open and sucked him up had been a great one, indeed, but not Kakashi's first choice in means of survival. He was not a business-man-type, but for the sake of the circumstances, he certainly had to try his damnedest to fit the mold, even if it meant crushing his fingers a little.
His silver head raised to glance at the clock. It was getting late, but he still had quite a bit to accomplish before the next workday began. He frowned. His stomach was going to begin grumbling soon, he knew, and oddly enough, he had been getting inexplicably aroused at this time of night the past few days. His frown deepened. It had been a while since he'd gotten any physical relief from his life-sucking job, and sad though it may be, his imagination had been going through a drought due to the all-encompassing paperwork and legalistic bullshit he had to wade through day in and day out – taking care of his excited issue by himself wasn't going to work.
He sat back in the chair again, absently tapping his fingers on the arm of it, eyeing the telephone poised at the corner of his desk like a guard dog awaiting orders.
There was really only one possibility, aside from attempting to ignore the erection rubbing uncomfortably against his scratchy pants.
Guiltily, but not shamelessly, he had sunk into the lifestyle of requesting call girls to visit him on occasion in his office. It saved time, made things simple, and the situation also had the fascinating ability to explain itself. Receiving them in the privacy of his office (accompanied by the less-than-seductive frown dressing his face) made it blatantly obvious what the circumstances were: I'm uncontrollably horny, I need a break; I don't need teasing or fun – the faster you do it, the more I'll pay you.
Kakashi's long fingers hovered over the receiver. His receptionist – a middle-aged man named Hob who was divorced three times and destined to live the rest of his partially-balding, civilian existence alone – completely understood Kakashi's plight and had helped him out before on numerous other lonely occasions. All it would take was a call and in half an hour, a beautiful woman in heels would be sauntering into his office. No questions, no fuss, no worries.
Kakashi picked up the phone and dialed Hob.
