Alright: First off...
LIME. If you aren't old enough, don't read. It's not explicit, but it's kinda edging over the 'T' rating here. If you want more details, review more. The 30th review thing still stands.
Someone asked for KakaAnko or an Adult pairing. I'm saving Anko up for a different pairing, I'm afraid. After this, most likely another NaruHina Chapter, because people keep bugging me for it.
Once again: If you ain't of maturity, bugger off.
Heat, overwhelming and flaring, coursing through skin and flesh as hands skimmed over forms, arms tangled and tongues twisted in a fierce battle for release. Curling, black hair mixed with silver, red eyes clashed with crimson, and the only piece of material on either entity was a flimsy rubber mask, hanging off the woman's toe.
His questing fingers finally made their move, sinking deeper into a well of moist heat that elected a shivering gasp from his partner, melding their bodies together and cloaking them under a veil of sweat and half-grime, blurring where one body ended in the writhing, shuddering mass, and where the other began.
"Ku… Kuren…" He gasped, only to have her snarl as he faltered in his ministrations; her eyes seemed to twist something deep within him as he attended to the task -as it were- at hand. He suddenly extracted his fingers and moved his hips, angling, finding her moving towards him as the world turned suddenly red.
"Don't talk." She grunted, arcing her back to allow him deeper access. Slowly and by degrees, her grunts grew frantic, more possessed, more desperate to the need that she was consumed by. She gripped his face as she began to close, her face suddenly begging for his sympathy.
"Please… let me… say his name…"
He winced, but he did not slow his pace.
"I don't care."
"I… Tha… Oh God… Asuma!!" She screamed to the night as her body tensed around him, shuddering in a thousand different places.
He lets himself release not long after, feeling little more than a rush of exhilaration, all intimacy for him is ruined when he reminds himself of whose face she sees over his own.
As she relaxed, the silver-haired man held her close, trying to understand what she was going through, the pain that commanded her to force him into these little games. She was one of the few who saw him maskless, therefore one of the few he could trust.
He wonders, now, as she turns to him with guilt in her eyes, whispering apologies that nobody else needs to hear, whether that was a smart move.
--
She doesn't know why she turns to him. Maybe it's the fact that he smells like smoke, or the fact that he parallels with… him… in the case of bad habits. The pillow books she found him reading were actually little more than a cover for the other thing he looked at, the scrapbook.
Pictures of his dead teammates, Obito grinning like an idiot, Rin giving disparaging looks to both the boys, the Yondaime smiling mysteriously as always. Other pictures, like Obito's birthday, or of the Cenotaph, or his own rookies, now scattered by the waters of fate.
She sees so many things wrong with the masked man, how he possesses the knowledge of over a thousand jutsu, but didn't come to the conclusion that choice led to hesitation.
To a ninja, hesitation led to an early death. The man was as lucky as his blonde once-a-pupil, and seemed to rely on his Sharingan more than completely necessary. Even with the Copying eye, her Genjutsu were still more than enough to deal with him, her Jubaku Jutsu specifically designed to counteract the peripherally-challenged Blood limit by attacking from the rear. Though it wasn't nearly good enough as she once believed, thanks to a certain Uchiha trapping her under her own illusion.
So she thinks him a fool who doesn't know when to stop searching and start thinking. An idiot who didn't know how to use every tool he had, from his range of techniques to his rather startling bishonen features hidden under the mask.
But she doesn't compare him to herself, she knows that pining after Asuma served no purpose but to frustrate those around her. It took four months after his death to understand that, but the price of that knowledge was truly terrible.
Her body, suffering under her grief and constant mental sickness, rejected the child growing in her womb. She woke up one morning to muscle spasms and blood and painpainpain, and when it was over, she found a thing had slithered from between her legs and the afterbirth was drenching the sheets of her bed.
Everything was burned, the stillborn, the bed, her bedclothes… Everything. Gone.
So she turned to the only one who she could bully into submission, she needed some sort of outlet. She needed her target for the rage, the terrible injustice imposed on her.
He provided.
--
She took.
He didn't know why she kept turning to him, maybe it was because a long, long time ago, she held information that could lead to his untimely execution at the hands of the village, and that this is some sort of cruel irony.
And he smirks, because Tsunade couldn't really care less about some citizen in Rain finding herself with child, or that a Silver-haired Chunin turned up at the tavern a day later with his body smelling of soot and his Kunai coated with blood. Shame had to be cleansed.
She found out because she knew how to manipulate him into oozing out secrets, making him laugh, pretending to intoxicate herself and subtley blurring his vision between consciousness and dreaming. One thing would lead to another and they'd find themselves thrusting at each other in the shower or on the pillows and suddenly he'll confess to things she only suspected. She was a Kunoichi, specializing in the techniques of illusion.
He didn't laugh at the satire of fate, boasting to the world that the only person she could ever completely fool was herself.
She was wild, but controlled. Cultured, yet somehow vulgar (And the magazines he'd seen flung around her bedroom didn't help there). Prude, and promiscuous in a way that made him grit his teeth while he fought to control his impulses.
She… was a Living Paradox.
--
He… was Untruth made flesh.
Walking around without showing his face, pretending to be things he wasn't (He even pretended to be the other man who still lived only in her memory, but only because she told him to) and tormenting her with riddles in plain speech.
By and by, she let her old lover go. It wasn't fair to the others around her, even if nothing had to be. She was alive, given another chance by some unknown power, and could affect the world in any way she chose. She could learn, she could do, she could teach.
So when her only female pupil comes rushing to her apartment, scared and terrified and angry because after a year of happy, carefree dating; she and her whiskered boyfriend had their first big fight. She just needed somewhere to stay, she wouldn't trouble her, she just needed somewhere that didn't involve a smell of Ramen or dark glances from her family.
And so her teacher remembers the baby she lost, a girl not five months alive in her body, and orders her student to tell her everything.
She wants to know if this is anything like being a mother.
--
He wonders what a father would think as he sits and reads on the training ground, watching the blond-haired vessel pace the training ground frantically and vocalizing absurd ideas on how to apologize to a certain heiress.
Her chakra suddenly makes itself known, bursting into the training ground with the force of a nova gone domestic and stomping up to her boyfriend, grabbing by the collar and forcing her mouth onto his. Then, in a strict no-nonsense tone, lists off several items of interest that he really doesn't care about. He's not the one who's stalling to ask permission from the head of a clan whether or not he can date his daughter without risking eunuchhood, nor is he the one who feels that a Ramen stand isn't the right place to take his girlfriend. The point about overprotectiveness catches his ear, and he looks up early enough to catch her demonstrating her 'vunerability' in action, sending his former student sailing through the air to leave a body shaped impression in a large tree.
Finally, she yells at him to pick her up at Seven, because he will take her out to Ichiraku's and he won't fret about whether it's 'good enough for her'. She leaves, and the Demon vessel groans on the ground before picking himself up and leaving to make reservations.
Alone again, the Jonin continues reading.
"I see she's picked up on a little assertiveness training." He remarks to the tin air.
"A crash course, I'm afraid." It replies, and her ex-tutor steps out of the trees behind him, smiling.
"I see."
They don't say anything for a while.
"Something you want to say?"
"My apartment, I have something to tell you."
"Writing reports till ten."
"It will keep."
"Till then, Kurenai."
She vanishes in a puff of smoke. And he realizes what's been irritating him so far.
She never says his name. He doesn't know why that hurts so much.
--
She knows why he hurts, and it's not anything to do with love.
So when they dally again that night and bask in the aftermath, she almost laughs at the surprise on his face when he remembers that it wasn't the other man's name she called, but his.
"Kurenai?"
"I know. It means what you want it to mean."
They pause, looking at each other, and he tilts his head.
"You are… healed?"
"Yes."
"I'm not him."
"I don't want you to be."
"I don't love you yet."
"I don't want you to."
"I don't know where this will take us, now."
"I don't care."
He kisses her, with the first feel of sincerity behind that simple motion, not that of a professional manner. This was different.
And she moans his name, just to affirm that whatever happens, he doesn't have to compete with a ghost anymore.
"Kakashi…"
And he smiles as the gentle touch of his lips trails to her jaw, to her collarbone, over her breasts and her navel and other areas besides. Because they aren't lovers, they share a bond that transcends even that.
They're Friends.
And while some might think that that isn't nearly as intense in emotion as the former, they're absolutely wrong. This was something neither could ever give up, would never give up. They weren't born to love, but they were born for each other.
--
They don't walk hand in hand. They don't kiss in public. They don't give anyone else any idea of what's going on.
They are Ninja.
Keeping secrets is their way.
Review, Pig Slaves! I don't care if you don't wanna! I won't update till you dooooo!
