Author's Notes: Rating changed. Lemon warning - albeit it's a "clean" lemon.
Welcome Home
'Tired so tired. Should take a soldier pill, but don't want to abuse that stuff. Not good to rely on it all the time. Almost home. Straight to bed and sleep. A nice long sleep for 24 hours or more. Screw everything else,' Kakashi thought as he traipsed back home after completing his mission of executing four dangerous escaped shinobi convicts. The actual mission was to capture them, but they insisted on fighting to the death. There wasn't anything he could do if the target had a death wish. Sometimes he really hated his job, but it was all he knew, all he was good at.
He had run double fast to get back home at night rather than the next morning. Now his body suffered for the endeavor. He knew he should have taken a rest before returning to Konoha but he did not want to spend another night away from home, from the person waiting for him. He did not want to worry her a minute more, but right now he did not feel he could face her.
It had been a hard mission, not a difficult one, but one of those missions that after its completion made him feel empty and dirty.
When he neared the door to his apartment he instinctively knew someone was there so he took out his kunai in preparation. But this person was not bothering to mask the chakra - friend not foe. The odor of cooking wafted through the cracks in the windows and door. He put away his kunai and turned the knob instead of kicking it in. To his surprise he found Rikako in his little kitchen puzzling over whether or not eggplant should be pared and whether or not the seeds were removable.
"Welcome back," she said without turning her head. "I estimated that if you were quick to finish your mission you would be home tonight. Otherwise I was going to store this away for tomorrow so you can just heat it up. But I don't understand why you like eggplant. It doesn't taste like anything." Despite her calm words, her heart was racing. 'He's back, and he's safe. What would I do with this food if he did not return? I hate eggplant!' Mackerel and eggplant were his favorite foods to her complete incomprehension, but she had planned to cook them for him. Contrarily, he did not like sweets, which were what she preferred.
He came up behind her and hugged her from the back. Normally she would have immediately told him not to touch her until he showered and changed. But there was a feeling conveyed without words. She felt something different from him, something dark and painful, so she allowed him to cling to her.
It had been a particularly disturbing mission. It didn't get easier with age, if anything it was becoming harder and harder to ignore the blood, the cries, the pleas, the ramifications of death. 'Just make me feel alive,' he thought as he pressed himself against her. She could feel that he needed her, that it had been a tough mission emotionally, psychologically, that he needed peace of mind, a distraction, someone to hold onto.
She finally put down the eggplant and knife. The food could wait, but he needed her now. She turned to him and reached up to him to brush the hair from his eye and then she removed his forehead protector, which caused his lovely gray hair to tousle down.
She noticed that even his normal eye appeared red. It looked as if he hadn't slept in days. "You haven't been taking care of yourself," she chided.
"I'm fine, now that you're here."
She gave him a small smile as she slowly pulled his mask down and evaluated his face. Had the lines deepened since she saw him last? The crease that appeared between his eyes whenever he was troubled seemed more apparent. She then grabbed him by the arm and directed him to the bathroom where she immediately turned on the shower and let it run to warm up the water.
He stood motionless, too tired to move, as she slowly undressed him. First she removed the equipment belts and hip pack and leg pack, conscientiously putting them aside. Then she unzipped his shinobi vest and hung it up. The pockets would have to be emptied later. She noticed that his shirt was ripped and bloody in several places. She pulled his shirt and mask over his head and carefully examined his torso for wounds. There was one in the back that was still bleeding a bit that Kakashi was not able to reach with his hand to heal with channeled chakra. And bruises all over his body, especially prominent because of his pale skin.
'You would think after all these years his body would be one hard callus, incapable of bruising,' she thought sadly. The gloves she had some trouble with as they were rather tight fitting so he had to do it himself. She slipped his feet from the sandals and scolded him for not taking them off as soon as he entered the apartment. The soles of his feet were black with dirt from traveling such a long distance. 'Shinobi really should wear socks.' Then the pants and underwear came off and went directly into the laundry hamper with the shirt. Unlike usual, he was so tired, he was not even aroused by her actions. She tested the water. It was nice and hot now so she ordered him in.
He closed his eyes, lowered his head, and supported himself with his palms against the tiled wall. The hot water warm his body, washing off the dirt, the blood, the sins he committed in the name of Konoha. 'So tired, I'm so tired of this life, yet there is no other possible for me.' He almost forgot about the woman with him. She had undressed and slipped into the shower behind him. That was unusual for her since she preferred baths - she did not like water in her face. But she made this small sacrifice for him, to comfort him, in his time of need.
First she placed a generous amount of shampoo into his hair and worked it to a lather. It always amused her to play with his hair, making it stand up with the soapy bubbles. Then slippery soaped hands slid across his torso, cleansing, massaging and healing at the same time. 'Another scar, poorly healed, he must have been tired,' she observed every so often. She noted with pride that the ones she had healed were near invisible.
Kakashi felt the sting of the soap seeping into his open wounds, sharply reminding him he could still feel pain, that he was not some automaton killing machine. Her hands glided in swirls around his buttocks and reached into the deep creases of his body. He felt himself responding to her touch despite his fatigue. With her fingers well lubricated with soap she explored the inner recesses, moving her fingers gently within him.
Was this part of the cleansing process or was she purposely trying to get a rise out of him? He could not help but respond, quietly moaning and gasping as her fingers penetrated deeper and deeper, hitting the secret sensitive spot. Then he felt her re-soaped hands move down his legs. She ran her hands down the front of his legs first, then the back, then the creases between his thigh and pelvis, so close, so close to that erogenous area where he really wanted her to touch. She teasingly left that for last.
Her arms wrapped around his waist and her nimble fingers moved to the front as she pressed herself into his back. He could feel her ample breasts pressed just below his shoulder blades. Now he was at full arousal. One slippery soaped hand smoothly slid back and forth along his shaft while the other snuck down to grab its two little buddies gently but firmly, rotating them and cleaning them with the motion.
He had not moved from his spot just underneath the showerhead. The water continued to flow across his hair, down his face and trickled to the back. But now he was barely conscious of the hot streaming water, all he could think of was that adorable set of hands, small and strong, caringly caressing him.
He moaned more audibly to let her know he was close to climaxing. She understood his grunts and gasps and started to grip more firmly, and moved her hands faster. Despite his fatigue, he came with a powerful spurt, his whole body jerking uncontrollably, sending his seed in a parabolic arch before it fell into the water and spiraled into the drain.
She re-soaped her hands and cleaned his front again. Then she took the showerhead off and rinsed his hair and body thoroughly. He moved to obey her instructions to lift that arm, then the other, that leg and then the other, then bow his neck.
Finally satisfied that he was clean and not smelling like a wet dog, she turned off the shower and stepped out first to grab the towels. He wearily watched her as she dried off, noticing how precisely she did it, starting with her hair, her neck, her back, her arms, working her way down to her toes. Then she reached back to him to towel dry his hair before allowing him to step out.
'She must have done the laundry for me,' he thought as he felt the fresh pile of the terry cloth move over him.
He was nice and dry now, and smelled clean, of soap and only slightly of his own distinctive scent, a bit of a heady musky smell, male pheromones mingled with perspiration. She liked his scent when he was clean and not smelling like a dog. She knelt down to dry his lower region and smiled a bit as she took in the scent there that was different and stronger than the rest of him. 'I love the smell of him, the feel of his body and all its imperfections. All the little bumps and ridges, the patches of rough skin, the hardened spots, the topography of a difficult life.'
The friction of the cloth around his privates sparked another reaction despite the languidness he felt after his release. But she ignored it and instead guided him to the bed, and made him lie face down. She took out a jar of medicated ointment from her bag to rub into his tired flesh, squeezing his shoulders with her fingers and thumb, pressing pressure points to relieve his tension.
It felt heavenly. Slowly, seductively her hands moved about his body, pinching, pushing, pulling his tired muscles; infused with chakra, he felt the tingling warmth penetrating his muscles, invigorating, yet he felt ready to fall into an endless sleep.
Then she leaned over him."I really do love you, you know," she whispered shyly into his ear.
"Yes, I know, about time you said it. I was ready to just dump you," he murmured with a smile.
His comment earned him a well deserved poke in the ribs.
He listlessly peered from his pillow at the nude form beside him. 'So she finally admitted it after all this time,' he thought a bit sadly. After so long, he should have been over overjoyed, so why didn't he feel that way?
His thoughts drifted to a distant memory when another young woman had said those words. 'I love you. Why can't you…'
Back then he wondered how could she love someone like him? He did not deserve to be loved. Did he deserve it now? Even after this last mission?
He had executed four violent criminals. One of the convicts he executed was a woman. And she had looked like Rin.
-…-…-…-
Author's Notes: Stories that have veteran shinobi angsty about taking lives tend to annoy me unless there's a really good reason why after so many years they would suddenly get upset about killing someone.
