Okay, so this was written for a contest at the Y!Gallery. The prompt was "What's your flavor?" I think this is a wee bit off-topic, but whatever, I'm happy with it all in all. Also, in case I'm unable to write anything else before Ka-chan's b-day (which I probably won't be), this is his present...It's kinda dark for a birthday gift, but...OH WELL!8D HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KAKA-CHAN!3
All shinobi are paid for with blood. But I feel like I cost more than normal. Was that why I turned out to be so much more valuable to the village than everyone else? Was I like a collector's edition; a one-of-a-kind item? Or was the extra blood an insurance policy; a little something to make absolutely certain that I wasn't a defective product. Are all the best shinobi born from a deeper pool of blood? Or was it just me?
All things are born from blood, quite literally. The birth of a child is messy business. And dangerous. I turned out to be hazardous to my mother's health during her delivery. She'd been so careful of me all throughout her pregnancy: eating right, taking vitamins, and exercising when she could. But all that didn't seem to be enough. Not only was there a severe abruption, putting us both in danger; I was a breech baby with my feet coming out first.
If it hadn't been for the abruption, the doctors probably could have turned me around in the womb and everything would have been fine. But as things were, they had no choice but to do an emergency c-section. Something my mother didn't survive. There were a lot of complications during the surgery, and my father said she fought valiantly to stay alive. But in the end, death took her and left me alive and screaming in my mother's blood.
She'd been the first to pay for me. Her blood had been the first I'd absorbed.
That left my father to raise me alone. Lucky for him, he'd always been good with children. Of course, raising me was still hard, as it is for any parent, especially when it's their first child. But my father managed.
It had been easier for him when my existence had still been a secret to the world. Until I was four, the only people who had known about me were my father, the Hokage, the doctors and nurses that had been there at my birth, and the woman that my father had hand-picked to take care of me when he had to go on a mission.
My nursemaid wasn't a shinobi, and that was probably a mistake. My father had been thinking she would be safer guardian because she was a normal civilian and no one would suspect he'd choose a normal person to take care of his son, not with as many enemies as he did. And he also thought she'd be more trustworthy than a shinobi—less inclined to lie or betray him because, on some level, she would be afraid of the big bad White Fang.
He'd been right about the latter part. She never told a soul about me, not even her own family. She never even hinted. She certainly didn't want my father angry at her. But unfortunately, people noticed her secrecy about her ward. And eventually, people snooped as they are prone to do in hidden villages where no one completely trusts anyone else.
Most people weren't very surprised to find out about me. They'd already known my father and mother were married. It was only a matter of time before they had a child, right? They were more surprised that I'd been successfully kept a secret for so long.
But now that I was known to the world, people started coming for me, and none of them ever seemed to be amateurs. After my big reveal, my father was allowed to stay home with me more often to protect me, which he did very well, as expected. However, not well enough to keep me from knowing I was almost killed or abducted. Most of the time the threat got quite close to me before my father was able to deter them.
So on many occasions, I got to watch my father murder my potential abductors. And always, it was bloody, because none of them were ever pathetic enough to give up or even be taken out easily. They fought to the bitter end, and I always ended up with various amounts of blood on me. Sometimes it was just a little spraying, other times I was practically bathing in it, but always there was at least a drop, like my skin longed for it and drew it to me.
Also after my coming-out, my father prematurely began my shinobi training, and it turned out that I was a genius. I easily picked up the basics—and some not-so-basics—and within a year I was going to the academy, two years earlier than most.
My father was very proud of me, which made me very happy and eager to please him more. So I trained hard in the academy, and I never shied away from my opponent when we sparred. I hardly ever lost any sparring matches, and very rarely did I refrain from drawing blood. To say the least, that did not endear me to any of my peers. But pleasing them and making friends had never been my objective, so I didn't care. My father was happy, so I was too.
He was even happier when I was able to defend myself from an attacker for once. It was a long and frustrating battle, and it wasn't helping that my father was standing aside, watching and giving me pointers like I needed his help. But in the end, I won, and I was covered in the man's blood. I'd come from behind him and driven two kunai into either sides of his neck, which killed him almost instantly, but it was also pretty messy. He stumbled backwards, tripped on something, and fell to the ground with me beneath him. His heart pumped huge amounts of his blood all over me before it finally stopped beating. But the blood still came out, and I was stuck under the man until my father moved the body off me.
I was scolded for getting stuck under the man, but I barely heard a word my father was saying to me. I was shocked by all the blood. Or maybe it was just the taking of a life; it had been my first one. It had been surprisingly easy. The sensei at the academy always said the first few would be hard for us, but he'd been wrong in my case. I'd been born from death, had grown up with death, and now I was death.
The blood was heavy in my clothes, weighing me down like the man was still on me. I stared wonderingly at it as it dripped slowly down my arms. I wasn't quite sure if I was fascinated by it, or utterly horrified. It was a bit too early to tell.
My father didn't really give me a chance to think about it too much. As soon as he was done reaming me, he made me peel off all my clothes so he could hose me down (literally) before marching me inside to take a shower.
It turned out to be a mix of fascination and horror. As the rest of the blood washed off me in the shower, flowing down the drain in little pink rivers, I found myself almost hypnotized. It floored me that the blood had come from my own actions. Usually it had always been someone else doing the maiming and killing; I just happened to be nearby to soak up some of the blood. But this time I'd done it myself. It was both empowering and nauseating at the same time.
I could help pay for myself now.
I didn't kill again until well into just before the Third Great Shinobi War. Though, that didn't mean more people hadn't died for my sake. Minato-sensei killed many people to save not only me, but my other teammates as well. I killed for them too, though they'd never returned the favor. Not that that bothered me. I had never expected them to in the first place, nor did I need them to. They were both weaker than me; they needed protection, not me. I could take care of myself, and they both knew that—even if one of them hated it.
Shinobi have to be continually paid for throughout their lives. They have to make payments, or else they die and become a payment for someone else. My mother's, along with all those anonymous would-be killers and abductors, sacrifice seemed to have worn out during the war. Fresh blood was needed, and apparently it needed to be a large payment this time. The blood of an unknown attacker wouldn't cut it this time.
I guess it was easy for my father to pay the price after his disgrace. He didn't want to sully my reputation anymore; he didn't want people to hate me because of him. So he gave his blood. His body was steadily cooling and the pool of his blood was starting to congeal around the edges when I found him. It soaked into my clothes when I knelt beside him to hold his head in my lap. Curiously, I didn't feel anything when I first saw him. I guess I was in shock; it didn't hurt until much later.
I sat like that for a long time, just soaking up his blood. That payment lasted a long time. Almost throughout the entire war, but not quite. My teammates had paid for the rest. First Obito, just after we'd finally started getting along. I'd shed tears to try and repay him for his shed blood, but they weren't nearly as valuable.
Rin died a few days before the war officially ended. It was a little ironic, I thought. But I also resented her for it too. After all the blood, sweat, and tears I'd put into keeping her safe like Obito had asked, she went and killed herself. I guess I should have seen it coming though. She'd never really gotten over Obito's death, and adding all the heartache of seeing people die all around her, feeling as though she could have done something if she had just been a better med-nin…I definitely should have seen it coming. But I didn't, and her blood had gone into my preservation too.
I was still running on their blood. The sacrifice of loved-ones always lasted longer than that of anonymous enemies. And it always seemed that the people I cared for were all too ready to pay for me. This is why—the real reason why—I don't allow myself to get too attached to anyone. My affection seems to be a curse. Everyone who'd ever warranted affection from me was dead now.
Except for one person.
Minato-sensei was still alive. More than once I thought he'd end up dying for me, but he always seemed to survive. I'd tried to distance myself from him, hoping that would keep him from getting killed for my sake, but Sensei wouldn't let me. His warmth was contagious, just like my curse. But he appeared to be immune to my curse. And because of that, he owned me.
He'd given blood for me many times. I couldn't even count how often he'd almost died to save me, even after I'd scolded him for doing it time and time again and ordered him to stop it. He never listened though, and now he'd become the only person who'd paid the blood price for me and lived. So he owned me.
I didn't mind being owned by Sensei though. He was a good master, although I'd never called him that out loud. He wouldn't like it. I did my best to do things he liked, but it was hard sometimes, because the things he liked made me very uncomfortable. I didn't like crowds or trying to have conversations with strangers—"meeting new people and making friends," Sensei called it. It was just awkward for me. I didn't need friends, especially not when I had Sensei. And even if I managed to make friends, they'd probably end up dead because of me anyway. But I tried anyway to please Sensei.. I always failed and ended up making other people feel just as awkward as I did, but Sensei appreciated me trying anyway, and that was good enough for me.
But being with Sensei wasn't all bad. He did do some things that I liked. He liked taking walks late at night when everyone else in the village has gone to bed, and he liked to read quietly inside when it rained, and to spar with me outside when the weather was nice. He also liked to cook with me, which was one of my favorite things to do with him. The only hang up with it was: after we'd eaten and cleaned up, Sensei insisted it was time for a little rice wine. That "little" never actually ended up being little though.
Sensei always had odd requests when he was inebriated. Most of the time I didn't do them, because he wouldn't like it if he was sober. Or they were just impossible. Like the one time he asked me to milk a snake and bring him the venom so he could mix it with his sake because he wondered what it would taste like. Needless to say, I'd refused to do that. He'd pouted a bit, but then moved on to some other topic to discuss rather one-sidedly and loudly with me.
I was pretty good at ignoring Sensei when he was drunk, but there was one time that he made it absolutely impossible. I'd made up his futon on the floor for him because it was getting late and he was sure to fall into his usual drunken coma soon. I was helping him stumble his way to the bedding, and when we got there, I don't know if he tripped or if he did it on purpose, but he fell into the bed, pulling me with him. He seemed to think I'd done it and he got excited, accusing me of making a pass at him, which he would gladly act upon.
And he did, and I let him.
I had no qualms with sleeping with Sensei. In fact, despite his state of sobriety, I rather enjoyed it. I'd had to finish myself off, but I didn't hold that against him. He'd passed out almost as soon as he'd cum. With a little less alcohol in his system, I was sure he could make me scream.
But although I had no problems with it, Sensei certainly did. He was very upset the next day after he'd had his three cups of coffee and leftovers from the night before for breakfast. He tried to pretend it never happened and that it didn't bother him, but I knew him too well to be fooled. I was a little hurt when he started avoiding me, but I didn't let it get to me, and I actively sought him out everyday to force him to spend time with me.
Eventually he got over it. He was tired of feeling uncomfortable around me. And he figured that if I wasn't upset, what was the point of him being upset? So with a deep breath, he blew out all his discomfort in one long puff of air and everything went back to normal. I envied Sensei that little trick of his. I would kill to be able to just blow all my worries away like that.
Once Sensei was done with his misgivings, he became quite contented to do with my body as he pleased. I didn't mind this one bit either, because I'd been right; Sensei could make me scream with relative ease.
It was the best right after we'd both gotten back from a hard mission. We would walk home calmly enough, but as soon as the door to our shared apartment shut behind us we were on each other. Most nights we didn't even make it to the couch ten feet away let alone the bed in the next room. He would usually just shove me face-first against the nearest wall, push my pants down to my ankles, and then fuck me to within an inch of my life with naught but a bit of his saliva for lubrication.
That was always my favorite way to fuck. Sensei got so animalistic and possessive. It was the only time that he ever really acknowledged that he owned me. And every time we did it, he had to mark me. Every time, he bit me on the back of my neck, or my shoulder, even though the mark wouldn't be visible once I put my mask back on (if I even managed to get it off in the first place). And he never stopped until I bled, which I loved. And then he'd growl, "You taste metallic," as he sucked at the wound. It wasn't enough for him to just remind me, as if I could ever forget; no, he had to mark me to make sure everyone knew that I was his.
Sensei was always a little sheepish about his aggression the next day though. He didn't like to hurt me, even though he never inflicted a pain on me that wasn't welcome. Yeah, it was kind of uncomfortable to sit for a few days afterwards, but we always had a some time off after missions, so I always had time to heal. And the bite marks? I would never feel bad about those. I liked giving a little of the blood that he'd bought and paid for back to Sensei. I'd convinced myself that having some of my blood inside him would help his chances of surviving the next required payment. But despite all that, he still apologized profusely every time he saw the mark or caught me flinching when I sat down.
Sensei preferred to be as gentle with me as possible. It wasn't that he thought I would break or anything; it was just that Sensei was a bit of a romantic, and he liked to torture me just a bit. He liked to make love to me, whisper sweet nothing in my ear, and then snuggle afterwards. If he was feeling really in the mood, we bathed first. As soon as I walked through the door, he'd sweep me off to the bathroom to soak in the tub, which he would already have filled with hot water and bubble bath. He'd clean every inch of me slowly and thoroughly, making sure to pay extra attention to my nether regions. And then when he had me moaning and begging for release, he'd declare our bath over and coax me out of the water to dry me off. I'd glare and pout at him, he'd laugh, and then we'd retire to the bedroom.
He'd wait until I'd gotten comfortable in the middle of the bed before he touched me again. But when he finally did start touching, he did so with an enthusiastic luster that made me forgive him for denying me a few moments earlier. He didn't have a set pattern for exploring me, but you could be sure he'd covered every inch of me with his hands and mouth by the time he got around to preparing me, which he always took his own sweet time with. I hardly needed much preparation, but that didn't stop Sensei from being completely and frustratingly thorough.
By the time he actually entered me I was practically sobbing with need, which I think was always his goal, even though he wouldn't admit it. I knew he liked it when I begged. It drove him wild when I'd moan for more, to be fucked into oblivion even as he thrust slow and deep. I'd scrabble at his back or hold tightly to his hair while he sucked my neck, again leaving his mark, but less savagely.
He only gave in to my pleas and fucked me like I wanted after I'd pretty much given up all hope of cumming. It was silly of me, really, since he always let me cum, but he was so skilled at the sweet torture it was easy to convince myself that this time would be different. But all the frustration was worth it in the end. The only time I ever came harder was during the post-mission sex.
Afterwards there was the obligatory cuddling. Sensei's favorite position was laying half on top of me while I was on my back, his face pressed into the left side of my neck. He would rub lazily up and down my side with his left hand while his right played with my hair. We'd stay like that for a good long while, resting and basking in our afterglow. Eventually though, he would start pressing kisses to all available skin. He'd lick a long line up my neck and nibble back down the wet trail he'd left behind. Then he'd whisper it; the same thing he always said when he was licking me. "You taste metallic." It always made me shiver when he said that, though I was never entirely sure why.
"Sweaty," I'd say, but I didn't really believe it.
You taste metallic, he said. I taste like blood. I taste like the blood all the people I've loved spilled for me—because of me. Was it worth it for them? Have I become what they'd all hoped for? Probably not. I'm pretty good at failing the people that mean the most to me. I knew I wasn't the only one like that; Sensei himself had told me about all the people who'd died for him over the years, but why was I the only one who walked around oozing their blood from my pores?
But it didn't matter. That's what Sensei would say. It didn't matter so long as I lived. Those people had died for me, not so I would become great, but just so that I would live. So that's what I would do. I'd live and become a blood payment for someone else someday—someone I cared about. If my blood is ever deemed worthy enough to purchase someone's life, then maybe all the death surrounding me will be worth it.
Okay, hope you enjoyed! Do you think it really fit the prompt? I'm still unconvinced, but I couldn't think of anything better_ Plus, the only Kakashi that I like more than emoqueen!Kashi is mischievouspervert!Kakashi, so...XD