A few months ago on the kakasaku LJ community, nari-lightning posted a story idea she had but couldn't write, due to circumstances not allowing her the time (and her ridiculous belief in her lack of talent). I, along with a few others, asked to use this idea. It's been...well, months, and I haven't forgotten. I just got stuck a few times. And then there's the issue of I once swore I'd never post smut. And this contains smut. Never say never, right? And slight AU in that Jiraiya isn't dead. Because I refuse to believe it. I wrestled with myself about posting this to FF, but it's been up at the comm for about a week. Enjoy!

one two buckle my shoe

Looking back much, much later, Sakura would realize that it was her boots' fault that all this happened.

(And Ino's, but Ino was always the scapegoat when things went wrong (or so utterly right that she couldn't help waiting for it to come crashing down 'round her ears, and then it would be wrong) in her life. So Ino was pretty good at brushing it off.

(The boots, however, did not get off so lightly. They were suitably abused afterward.)

It was September 28. The air was crisp and cold—that winter came early and left late, like an annoying relative—and the streets were littered with brown leaves.

Sakura had indulged in a favorite childhood game on her way home from the graveyard shift that morning—Leaf Crunching. They always made the best noise when they were stepped on. She'd smiled and laughed like an idiot all the way to her apartment block.

And then nearly cried when she saw Ino in her closet like a poacher.

"Where are your party clothes, Forehead?" she demanded the moment the door clicked closed.

"At your apartment, Pig," Sakura spat back. "Every time I buy myself something cute, you borrow it, and I never see it again until some guy's pawing at it, trying to get at your boobs."

Ino harrumphed indignantly but gave no other indication that her friend had said anything. She continued picking through the sensible blouses and modest skirts, looking as though she were exposing herself to some horrible disease.

Meanwhile, Sakura had set herself up for tea and taken care of bathroom business. She was drying her hands on the towel when Ino let out an ear-splittingly delighted shriek.

"When did you get these?" Ino rushed her as she pulled the door to her bathroom open, clutching a pair of black boots.

They were fairly simple; black leather with a modest heel that had a single buckle on the outside at the top to hold them closed just below the knee.

"I don't remember," Sakura lied, straight-faced. She remembered perfectly well where they'd come from, but some things were better off unknown to Konoha's reigning Gossip Queen.

(They'd been a gift from Jiraiya, of all people, when she'd passed the jonin exams, and his (admittedly weak) explanation had been, "I taught Minato, who taught Kakashi, who taught you, so take a little gift from your great-grand-sensei." It had been bizarre, but Tsunade had hosted an impromptu party in her office, other people had also given her small somethings, and Sakura hadn't sensed anything wrong with the boots.

(Of course, using Jiraiya's logic and counting Naruto as a brother, or Tsunade as a mother, Jiraiya was also her uncle, but Jiraiya's logic usually gave her a headache (and the heebie-jeebies), so she tended not to think about it too much.)

Ino's increasingly high-pitched babbling broke into Sakura's daze.

"—got to wear these fabulous boots, Forehead!"

"Wear them where? On my couch?" She snorted. "Not going anywhere today."

"Then how about tonight? That's what I was talking about anyway," Ino sneered. "Jeez, Forehead, pay attention." She rolled her ocean eyes. "And, before you get your panties in a wad, consider this me cashing in that little Yuki favor, hmm?"

Sakura scowled fiercely. "Fine," she gritted out. "What time do I need to be ready?"

"Eight," Ino replied promptly. "I'll bring the wardrobe—" she glanced sourly at the bedroom where Sakura could see her clothing scattered across the entire room—"because yours is sorely lacking."

The blonde let herself out while Sakura trudged to her bed to assess the damage. Only a handful of shirts and skirts. Light, this time. Overcome by exhaustion, she just shoved it off her bed and flopped onto her pillows and wiggled into her favorite position.

She woke at seven-oh-three and dashed for the shower to begin her primping, tripping over clothes on the way. When she stepped out of her steamy bathroom wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping water onto her bare shoulders, she came face-to-face with a highly amused-looking, glammed-up Ino, holding a garment bag in one hand and a large makeup case in the other.

"Oh, Forehead," she sighed. "We have so much work to do."

Her friend ushered her into the bedroom and set the case down on the bathroom sink with a definitive, ominous clunk! sound, a wicked look in her eye.

"So very much."

She had gained ten pounds in makeup, she knew. She had to have.

But she did look damn good, if she did say so herself (and Ino certainly did, too). Ino had decided against curls right away, stating that Sakura's hair was too fine to hold a curl without a dozen cans of hairspray, so she had used a sticky substance to spike it up and out. Ino had done her eyes in smoky grey and black, with a heavy hand on the eyeliner, painted her lips brilliantly red and left her cheeks pale.

She had then been shoved into a halter top the same color as her lipstick, thigh-high fishnets, and a red-and-black plaid pleated miniskirt.

Ino had stuffed herself into a midnight blue bustier with off-center buckles in a row running top to bottom and a black miniskirt. She wore stiletto ankle boots and a kunai-shaped pendant on an iron chain around her neck.

Ino pronounced them fit for partying and tossed the boots at Sakura.

"Don't forget these."

"Of course not," Sakura muttered.

Ino smiled gently. "You look good, Forehead."

"You, too, Pig," Sakura answered.

"Of course I do," the blonde said smugly.

Instead of rising to the bait like her friend undoubtedly expected, she just laughed, linked arms, and dragged her to the door. Ino led her to the entertainment district, to a new kind of establishment to Konoha, something called a dance club.

They were extremely popular in larger civilian cities, and the shinobi, particularly the younger ones, were enjoying them now that they had been introduced to the Hidden Villages.

The ninja alliance had hung on for a bit after the war; ideas and other things had also been exchanged. The dance club—and the music it played—was one of those things. It had also been one of the few things Yamato had refused to build, although, out of gratitude and respect for all the other work he'd done in and for the village, both during battle and especially during the reconstruction, he got in and drank for free.

The line outside the building was long and moved slowly enough for Ino and Sakura to get bored and snappish.

"Why are we even going out?" Sakura asked.

"Have you lost track of the date, Forehead?" Ino exclaimed. "It's your half-birthday, silly!"

There was another long silence.

"Is this place even worth this kind of wait?" Sakura demanded, outraged.

"Yes," Ino said shortly, chafing her arms against the chill of the crisp early fall night.

Sakura grumbled mutinously, "It better be."

They said nothing more until they had gotten through the door.

"Well?" Ino asked.

Sakura, who was quite impressed but refused to give Ino the satisfaction of showing it, only grunted appreciation. She headed straight for the bar, and grimaced when she placed an order for beer. The bartender noticed.

"Beer not your favorite?" she asked, her voice light and pleasant.

"Ugh, no," Sakura moaned. "But it's beer, sake, or shochu, and I'd rather not wake up tomorrow with a hangover the size of the continent."

The woman laughed, short brown curls bouncing on her forehead. "Oh, sweetie, no," she said. "This place is no ordinary bar. We have any kind of alcohol you could want." Her copper eyes twinkled in a tan face.

"I've never had anything else," Sakura admitted uncertainly.

"She'll have a tequila sunrise." Ino had found her, and before she could protest, she was informed that "It tastes like orange juice. You'll like it." Ino flashed a bright grin at the bartender. "I will take a cherry vodka sour, please, and a margarita, Shinju."

Shinju, as the woman was apparently known, smiled back at Ino, and left to mix their drinks. Ino turned to Sakura, who raised her brows.

"What?" Ino said defensively. "I come here a lot. It's a fun place. Shinju is the owner's daughter, it pays to be on good terms with her." Ino looked at Shinju on the far end of the bar, dipping a glass into a powder, a lime wedge next to her. Her smile turned wistful. "She's a civilian, trained in Suna by a cousin to make drinks and run this place. She's new in town."

Sakura said nothing, and soon the woman was back, passing them their drinks. They paid and Ino tipped her generously, swallowed the cherry vodka sour in one gulp and carried her other drink to a table.

Ino would spend equal parts of the night on the dance floor—which Sakura enjoyed greatly—and at the bar, talking with Shinju.

Sakura sampled several drinks that night, including tequila shooters, something Ino called a "slippery nipple" and something Shinju gave her and said was "sex on the beach." The more she drank, the more she danced and the less she cared how stupid she looked.

Eventually the club closed, and Sakura got thrown out. Ino, however, had volunteered to help clean up and close, because one of the waitresses had quit at some point in the night. Shinju had smiled warmly and accepted, taking Ino's hand to show her where the cleaning supplies were kept. Her last glimpse of her friend before being tossed on the street was of a faintly pink-cheeked Ino stepping around the bar and closer to the other woman uncertainly.

Sakura smiled faintly. Ino was always aggressive when she went after a guy, and was hardly shy in any other case. Shinju, a civilian woman, was making Ino act completely out of character. She wished them luck silently and began to traipse home. She was two blocks away and the buckle on her boot was starting to dig into her leg. She stopped and stooped to fix it.

Sakura could never quite figure out how it happened, but somehow, between her fingers releasing the buckle after satisfactorily adjusting it and beginning to stand, she somehow ended up in an alley, pinned between a rough brick wall and her captain.

And she could never quite figure out why what happened next happened at all, either. Maybe it was because of the alcohol flowing through her veins, or maybe it was because Kakashi's erection was poking into her stomach and turning her on, but he was close enough to her that she could feel his breath on her cheek and lips, and she turned her head to align their faces and then they were kissing.

It was wild and frantic and she was afraid he would eat her alive and her lip would bleed for a while where he'd bitten it hard enough to break the skin but he tasted like solidarity, mint and beer when his tongue entered her mouth. She sucked on it. His hips jerked against her and his hands wandered across her breasts, flicking delicately at her nipples and down to her hips.

Kakashi lifted her up and Sakura spread her legs to wrap around his narrow waist where she felt the head of his cock pressing against her.

She gasped and flexed her hips. Kakashi pushed into her and lifted his mouth away from hers. He moved in close to keep her from falling; his hands were suddenly up her skirt and her panties were being pulled away.

Sakura untangled one leg clumsily and let the underwear dangle from her ankle. Kakashi shoved his pants down and then Sakura could feel his body begin to invade hers. It stung as he slid into her, because she hadn't been ready for this intrusion just yet.

He reached between them and slid a finger over her clit, returning his mouth to hers.

Sakura melted under his touch. Soon he was moving easily, keeping time with her soft moans, she thought, as she clenched around him.

She could feel orgasm creeping up on her bit by bit and was still surprised somehow when it crashed into her like a tidal wave, roaring from where they met up through her from her head down to her toes and shooting sparks through her lips and nipples.

There was warmth pouring from Kakashi into the place between her legs that was still tender and sensitive to the touch. He stilled and held her tightly for a moment before his now-soft organ slipped from her and was quickly hidden away when Kakashi pulled his pants up from around his ankles and fastened them.

Draping himself over her, he leaned in and nuzzled her neck and kissed under her jaw. Bewildered, Sakura fixed her panties and left the alley. Kakashi followed her. When he caught up to her, he dropped an arm casually across her shoulders, walked with her to her apartment and invited himself up for tea.

He stayed the night. There was no sleeping, and he made her breakfast the next morning.