3/31/20 Edit: smoothing out flow, shifted a chunk from chapter 2.

More accurate to say this is what Duty should have been.

Fair warning for new readers: mild crack/AU. Loosely set after the last big war (you know the one), complete with the version of Team 7 I love best. Our main players are 25ish. Emotions burn slow and hot.

Disclaimer: do I really need to say it? Naruto ain't mine, bruv. Please suspend your disbelief.

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1. Players Gonna Play

Goddamn, I feel sorry for all those people who don't have huge dogs to nap on…

Kiba stared up through the waving branches above him, eyelids heavy. He felt equally sorry for all the folks currently on away missions from Konoha. Spring had recently sprung, and the whole world was blooming. All the trees were putting out their best leaves, as well they should. Leaves were very serious business round these parts. The dog ninja huffed some fresh air and rolled over, burying his nose in his companion's fur. Akamaru gave a contented grunt and dozed on, long-practiced in the finer aspects of being a pillow.

"KIBA!"

The man cracked an eye open and strained his peripheral vision to see his mother's canine partner Kuromaru bounding towards them. He looked kind of pissed. Kiba groaned, but otherwise didn't move. Maybe playing dead would work this time.

Not in the mood for shenanigans, the giant hound barreled straight into Kiba's ribs to bring himself to a stop. He snapped his teeth impatiently when Kiba had the gall to roll around swearing. "You infernal whelp, the clan meeting started an hour ago! Get your hind in gear!"

Kiba sat up with a scowl, cradling his side. He rubbed his aching ribs. "The phrase 'unnecessary use of force' comes to mind."

"Don't give me that! Up, boy, UP! It has been weeks since you were designated as the heir, yet you seem oblivious to the most minimal requirements of the position!" Kuromaru slammed a paw into the ground.

Kiba side-eyed the beast. "I was born the heir."

This pedantry was not well-received, and the growl rattling Kuromaru's chest kicked up a few decibels. Kiba chewed on his upper lip. There was a solid chance his mother had granted preemptive clearance for her son to be physically dragged back to the clan compound. She'd done it before, knowing full well there'd be no love lost between them over a few oozing bite marks. Plus it made her laugh so hard she almost pissed herself.

He glanced at Akamaru, who stretched next to him and fixed Kiba with a look that communicated volumes. Don't push your luck, buddy. Then the dog yawned and gazed up at the sky like he hadn't also been playing truant. Kiba glowered at him, but got to his feet anyway, rolling his shoulders against the sun-warmed leather of his jacket.

Kuromaru's teeth were bared, but he kept them to himself. Instead he sat back on his sizable haunches and gave Kiba the old fish eye. Kiba scrunched up his face and rubbed it, sighing dramatically. "Gimme a break, Kuro. We have the same damn meeting every month."

"The clan elders are attending. Your absence bears reconsideration."

Kiba swatted his backside a few times to knock dirt off. "Yeah, they show up at, like, every other meeting to bitch about stuff."

"This is not the regular bitching, your mother must have told you," Kuromaru said, still watching Kiba sternly. "Even your heavily pregnant sister is attending, and she was five minutes early."

"Hana's empty social calendar, while regrettable, ain't a motivating factor for me." Kiba shrugged a shoulder, dismissive. "Doubt anybody'll die if I skip out."

Kuromaru snorted, then turned back the way he came, breaking into a casual trot. "You just might, if you make your mother wait long enough. I advise you get moving, pup."

This was an excellent point, but Kiba made a face at Kuromaru's backside anyway. "And I've seen the light. Halle-fucking-lujah." He jerked his head at Akamaru, who loped alongside as they made for home.

Tsume was tossing the final seating cushion into the corner when she smelled her wildest child coming into the yard. She shared an irritated look with her daughter, who was seated across the large hall on a chair. Hana raised an eyebrow over the rim of her tea cup.

An assortment of feet tramped down the hallway. Tsume's jaw clenched, and she ran her tongue over her teeth testily as her son entered with his dog entourage. A few clan members were still scattered around in hushed conversation, but all eyes locked onto the heir immediately. The younger ones tried to act nonchalant (and failed). The older ones grinned as if deranged (very likely). Kiba didn't seem to notice, doing his best to pretend remorse (complete horseshit).

Tsume snarled quietly and pointed the boy towards his sister with an irate claw, moving to intercept the geezer brigade that was hobbling their way. Dealing with her sometimes stupid offspring was trouble enough without bored old farts stirring the pot.

Kiba slowly changed direction. One of the old folks was gesturing at him, barely keeping the false teeth in his mouth. Then they all laughed like they were at a comedy show. One patted Tsume heartily on the arm with a broad wink, though it's possible he was just having a stroke.

Kiba couldn't remember what the hell this meeting had been about, but was really beginning to wonder. He looked askance at Hana, who set her tea down and smiled at him. "Oh look, my favorite brother's here!"

Kiba put his back to the wall beside her. "Neato, maybe he can sub in for me at these goddamn things."

"He'll have to learn to read a clock first."

"That's a hard ask."

Hana moaned in response as she pressed a hand to the side of her swollen belly, forehead creased in pain. She breathed deeply for a few moments, then leaned her head back. "Based on the way he's trying to murder me, I guarantee this kid is gonna make ANBU. Little shit," she murmured, stroking her stomach.

Kiba grunted his assent. Those tiny feet were vicious. "Let's put a pin in baby's career options till he actually moves out. Back to me. What'd I miss and why do the olds keep looking at me like that?" The group was still in animated conversation with his mother, peering at him with beady eyes. The hair on the back of his neck prickled.

Hana yawned as she scratched Akamaru's head, conveniently placed on her leg. "Well, there was a rollicking debate about how much sluttier you've gotten. Also almost everyone agreed you need to show more responsibility as incoming clan head."

Kiba snorted. "Responsibility? Sure, Hokage-sama thinks I'll make squad leader within the year, but I need to show more responsibility. Fuckin' obviously."

Hana's expression was impassive. "I'd wager our elders don't equate 'dicking down everything in a skirt' with 'ANBU black ops'."

Kiba grit his teeth and told himself that he was not the kind of man to hit a pregnant woman. But he was real tempted to flick her in the earlobe or something.

"What the hell, boy!" Tsume's bark was decidedly snappish as she advanced on her children, eyes fierce. The fogies were still clustered a ways off, muttering amongst themselves and leering.

Kiba made an effort to sound contrite. "Sorry, Ma. Time got away from me."

"Then remind me to staple a planner to your ass," Tsume growled. Her glare made Kiba itch. "Did Hana tell you?"

"She told me my healthy sexuality's controversial." Kiba scowled.

Tsume considered the possibility that her son was karmic payback for being a hell-raiser herself as a youth. She sighed away another measure of sanity. "Look, I don't make the rules. When a male steps up to lead, the issue of heirs needs attention. Your sister'd be a different matter, but any mother of your children has to agree to be blood. Savvy?"

Kiba's eyes bugged out a little. His sister was shit at summaries. "Hold up, how'd we jump to babies all of a sudden?"

His mother's eyes were flat with scorn. "Don't tell me you're unaware how gene transmission works."

"'Course I fuckin' do. Been taking active measures to avoid it. Besides, Hana's blood. Her kid'll be blood. Why do I need to have one?"

Tsume looked dangerously close to cuffing him. "Successful clans grow. We live in prosperous times, and the elders want options."

"The elders have too much goddamn time on their hands." Kiba's lip curled, displaying his sharper teeth. "Maybe they oughta take up water aerobics, or goddamn basket weaving."

His mother exhibited a rare moment of fatigue, massaging her forehead with the heels of her hands. "Whine all you want. They're demanding their worries get addressed before you become Alpha. I advocated for you, but compromise is part of any negotiation." She fixed him with her flinty gaze. "Things are already in motion. All you have to do is be respectful when called for and show up, for gods sakes."

Kiba bristled. "I'm respectful as shit. And what goddamn things?"

"Some old-school protocols are being revived," Tsume said, tone revealing nothing. "I understand the protest, but it's not completely up to me."

"It definitely fucking is," Kiba grumbled through his teeth. "You just don't want a mutiny of old people on your hands."

"Until the Konoha Community Center steps up its offerings, the old dogs need bones to gnaw. Better yours than mine." Tsume shrugged and started to walk off. When she reached the door, she threw an ominous grin over her shoulder. "Just relax for now. Live your life. You don't have anything to worry about until Elder Hachiko's arrival."

Then she disappeared down the corridor. Kiba's brow furrowed. "Am I supposed to know who that is?"

His sister sipped her tea. "Wouldn't help you either way."

"I gotta call the hospital. See if I can get a scan done." Genma was facedown on the table, a caricature of sadness.

"And why, pray tell, would you need a scan?" Shikamaru spoke to the sky, fingers laced behind his head, utterly unmoved.

"Because that she-devil pulverized my heart! Geez, listen better. Some friend you are."

"Shame she didn't get your voice box too," Kiba groused, nursing a beer on Genma's other side. He was feeling decidedly surly.

Kiba had headed to the mission center directly after the meeting, thirsty for sanctioned violence. He'd lucked into a well-paying gig to hand some rogues their own asses, but had two days to stew before leaving. Then he'd stopped by the lounge to check his mailbox and found Genma draped on the couch like sad laundry, with Shikamaru parked beside him looking like he was trying to listen without killing himself. They'd both looked up at him with equal degrees of hope, and Kiba was the worst sucker for puppy eyes.

But Genma wouldn't quit whining, so Kiba had insisted that for everyone's sanity, they retire to a bar. And Genma was not nearly as sad as he was pretending to be, so he'd dragged them to a painfully trendy place that was already playing its music too loud. And Shikamaru had been dealing with Genma longer and was impatient for booze, so what the hell, right? The back patio was deserted and almost pleasant with the warm breeze blowing through, despite the insistent muted pulse of techno permeating the air.

"You guys are both dicks," Genma said, propping himself up enough to tongue the straw of his hurricane into his mouth.

Shikamaru stood and stretched long arms above his head. "Call it inborn response to drama queens." He grabbed his empty glass and waved it at Kiba. "You want another?"

Kiba gave a casual salute, adding "Whiskey this time, rocks", and Shikamaru braved the portal to the bass-drop dungeon once more.

Kiba turned his near-empty bottle in his hands, reflecting on the fact that he had done almost nothing of consequence all day. He'd have been feeling great if that heir bullshit wasn't stuck in his craw. Kiba chewed on the inside of his lip. What a fucking racket… He preferred his privates be under the scrutiny of the young and sexy, but obviously nobody asked his opinion.

Genma heaved a morose sigh. Kiba roused from his dark thoughts and inspected the other jounin critically. Genma's relationship addiction had gotten out of hand a long time ago. The man loved to be in love, but whether the feelings were real or not was highly debatable.

Kiba jabbed his bottle at him. "To echo Shikamaru: 'this happens every month, you consummate sad-sack.'"

Genma affected a wounded expression. "Uh, more like every other month, thank you very little." He slurped his drink obnoxiously. Kiba rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. You just wanna get wasted at three in the afternoon."

"I'm drowning my sorrows. Straight-up assassinating the fuckers. I should get mission pay for this." Genma pulled his straw and chugged the last of his slush as he got to his feet. "Besides, I don't recall having to twist your arm any."

Kiba downed the rest of his beer and lobbed the bottle into the trashcan across the patio with more vehemence than necessary. He wondered why Shikamaru was taking so long.

Genma made to head towards the patio door, but it opened before he got there. A tired-looking Naruto slipped out in a cloud of dubstep. Shikamaru brought up the rear, drinks in hand, and kicked the door shut behind him. Kiba raised his eyebrows, surprise lifting his mood a little. "Okay, I know why we're here, but why're you here?"

Shikamaru passed him his whiskey while Naruto sank into Genma's seat, expression turning sour. "Because Konohamaru's a traitor. Just came off a mission with them, and Moegi's like 'let's get a drink' and I'm like 'why not' and he was all 'hell yeah', but the fucker bailed as soon as my order came." The blond glared vaguely at the table. "He left me in a circle of Moegi's gal pals. And this place has cosmos on tap, so they just go off."

Shikamaru was struggling to keep a straight face as he lounged back in his chair. "Did they try to get you to take your shirt off again?"

Naruto looked very glum. "No, but one of 'em groped me so hard I'm gonna have divots in my ass."

Kiba sniggered into his drink. Their future hokage flipped him off. "Laugh it up, dog breath. See how you like it when they're tweaking your nipples…" Naruto trailed off like he was having war flashbacks. Clearly his newfound popularity was a heavy burden.

Genma, still standing behind them, gave a low whistle. "Gal pals, nipple tweaks, and grab-ass. Knew I came here for a reason."

Naruto sighed miserably. "I don't get no respect, no respect at all."

Genma blasted them with bass on his way back inside. "Who needs respect when you can have muthafuckin' TEQUILA SHOTS?!"

The door slammed on this portentous announcement. Naruto leaned back with an "ugh" and tipped the rest of his rum down his throat. Shikamaru met Kiba's gaze with a resigned look and clinked their glasses together. "We are so getting alcohol poisoning."

Genma was so drunk he was actually crying. "But she had sucha nice ass."

Naruto was nodding and petting his hair, as was the custom of the severely wasted. " 'm sure 'nother nice ass'll come along t'morrow."

Kiba observed this tender tableau, weaving a little in his seat, and mused over when exactly the night had gone to hell. Probably the fifth round of tequila.

The first couple of shots had percolated rapidly with everyone's chosen lubricants. Shikamaru had turned more liquid in his seat, Naruto lost his dead-eyed stare. Genma remained annoying, but they were drinking alcohol, not miracle juice. In any case, tension crawled away to take a nap, and Kiba had relaxed again. So when Shikamaru stuck a finger in Kiba's face with a don't-think-I-haven't-noticed-something-crawled-up-your-ass-today-buddy, though he wasn't normally a sharer, Kiba had spilled what was bugging him.

His revelation had surprised everyone into silence. No one had any real experience with their entire family ordering them to cease their harlotry and make with the babies already. Things had slanted moody again. Then Genma, ever the reliable agent of chaos, started moaning a lot and calling Kiba 'Mr. Big Dick' in an unsettling cutesy voice. Needless to say, it was kind of hard to be serious after that.

Unfortunately, chaos flows both ways. On Genma's next venture for tequila, he'd engaged in some unlawful mingling with Moegi's brood. He'd returned with a tray full of mezcal and a giggly train of drunk ladies traipsing behind him. Subsequently, things took a turn.

It hadn't seemed so awful initially. Alcohol levels were surging around the table, the girls were cute, and booze made Kiba foolish for pretty faces. He'd started some heavy flirting, had some laughs, did a body shot off a curvy brunette with gusto. But then she'd squealed that she just got licked by the Big Dick guy, sounding far too much like Genma had, and then they'd all started squealing, which totally ruined it.

So by the time the next gulp of tequila floated his way, Kiba had already sunk back into drinking to forget.

Now he was leaning on the table pressing his hands into his temples. Someone had propped the door open at some point as the bar crowd swelled, and the patio's dim lights seemed to be throbbing in time with the speakers inside. He was trying to get his brain to stop doing the same thing.

"…so I just told that no-good butthole to get out of my life, and that I never wanted to see him again! And he never came back! And I said, 'Good riddance, if I ever see your cheating butt again, I'm going to have my new boyfriend kick it!', but it's really pretty lucky he hasn't come back, because I haven't got a new boyfriend yet!"

Body-shot brunette had been in the strawberry daiquiris all night. This wouldn't have been a problem if she hadn't been absorbing all the sugar and venting it through her vocal chords. Kiba took a long pull of whiskey, contemplating the relative merits of euthanasia.

"So anyway, do you have a girlfriend? If you don't, I'm totally going to ask you out!"

Kiba turned to her, brows flat over his eyes in inebriate contemplation. The young woman was fluttering her lashes, perhaps trying for alluring. Her body language screamed that she was ravenous, but only for the sausage in Kiba's pants. Genma's stupid nickname was a resounding hit, and much as Kiba wanted to lie to the girl to protect his bygone virtue, his macho pride wouldn't allow it. We all have our crosses to bear.

Stalling, he swiveled his head around to survey the pandemonium of the impromptu dance floor that had opened up on one half of the patio. A number of people were bumping around under the swinging lights, including Moegi, whose hair had long since fluffed out of her pigtails, making her look like some kind of rave lion. Bewilderingly, Shikamaru was next to her doing a slow cabbage patch, smoothing his hands all over his body like he was on ecstasy. This was problematic for a few reasons, mainly that Kiba had been counting on his comradeship in this conflict.

He swung his head back to check on the other two. Naruto was falling asleep sitting up, face in his hands, elbows propped on Genma's back as the idiot sobbed into his lap. Fucking useless. Then he felt a sticky finger trace his clan tattoo, a hand creeping up his thigh. Body Shot giggled next to his ear, and Kiba recoiled. Just because he had a reputation for sleeping around didn't mean he had an obligation to. The gears in his head ground out Plan B: booze, way more booze.

He knocked back the rest of his drink and stood up—so far so good—swayed for a moment, then lurched bar-ward, reaching the sanctuary of the pounding speakers in time to miss Body Shot's pouty interjection. He let the crowd flow rock him up to the bar and flapped a hand at the bartender, who ignored him.

"Hey Mr. Big! Did you hear me? Do you have a girlfriend?" That voice shrilled in his ear. Kiba stared blearily at the bartender, who continued studiously drying a glass, the bastard. Thus far, plan B was a hot pile of failure. Too bombed to produce a Plan C, Kiba opted for his default: spout some charm and leg it.

"Yeahhh, girlfriend, girlfriend'sh waitin' for me, I uh… I'ma go." Genius.

Body Shot's face loomed uncomfortably close. Kiba didn't care much about personal space normally, but was starting to think he should. He reeled back on instinct. Her perfume had smelled a lot better when they were outside with the breeze. Now the body heat and humid air conspired to drown him in a thick cloud of dizzying fake florals and sweat. His stomach churned.

"Got-gotta go, late late," he mumbled, shoving past the hands that were trying to sneak under his shirt and following his desperate nose to the closest fresh air. He fought his way through the crowd, swimming against the human undertow until he finally stumbled through a doorway. He breathed deeply a few times before realizing that he'd gone out the front. Then came the recognition that his friends were still on the patio. The thought floated in his brain pan for a moment, and he shuffled back around. Then his brain pan sloshed itself in horror because Body Shot had cut right through all the crowd-as-water metaphors like a shark, toothy smile included. She was making straight for him. Slapped with an overwhelming wave of fuck it, Kiba reversed his shuffle and broke into a loose jog.

She seemed determined to trail him home. Dimly, he realized that he didn't want her knowing where he lived. Time for some slick ninja maneuvers.

He turned a corner and tried to remember what any of those were.

His eyes shifted left, discovering an apartment building. A decent amount of buzzers glowed faintly at him. Something about buzzers struck Kiba as a very good thing. He dashed up the steps, punched a button, and prayed to any gods listening that whoever answered was feeling charitable.

The speaker crackled, then grouchily croaked, "Someone better be dying."

Kiba cleared his throat and wrestled his brain into gear. "Uh, 's me. Lemme up. Forgot my key."

The line was silent for a long moment. Then: "Who is this?"

Kiba leaned his forehead against the door, willing it to buzz open. But he could smell Body Shot nauseatingly close behind him, and had to take a gamble.

"ANBU, yer under arrest haha… no, uh, come on baby, it's yer, uh…" He swallowed, breathing shallowly, "…lil' love muffin."

The line was silent again, then, with a frustrated huff on the other end, went dead. Kiba pondered whether Body Shot would leave him alone if he threw up on her.

The door buzzed. Kiba gave a weak fist pump and got it open just in time. He turned to his pursuer, dizzy with victory, and booped her on the nose. "Sorry babe, gotta go have lotsa girlfrien' sex. See you neverrrr."

He shut the door in her surprised face and slumped back against it, sliding down to his butt. He sent quiet thanks to whoever let him in and lay his spinning head back. Now to regroup, let the smell beast vacate the area...

Kiba collapsed onto his side, snoring loudly. The gods laughed.

Kiba rose from the bliss of unconsciousness on an elevator made of pain. Someone had put an axe through his head sometime during the night. He groaned pitifully into the pillow his face was stuffed in, then carefully turned his head and opened his eyes.

He had no idea where he was. A slow pan of the room revealed unfamiliar furniture. It was impossible to tell what time it was other than "day", as whoever lived here had very competent blinds. Kiba considered his suffering a reasonable excuse for not giving a shit, and tried to go back to sleep. He was starting to doze off again when the blinds were pulled up with a loud thrrrrrrunk and the sun screamed directly into his eyeballs. Kiba threw an arm over his face, spewing profanity.

"Morning, Big Dick."

His blood froze, those words recalling the part of last night he'd really hoped to forget. But he'd escaped… Surely if he'd ended up at her place, he'd be tied to a bed spread-eagle, gagging on cheap perfume.

Oh god. Kiba's scent-memory betrayed him like a motherfucker, and he made a pathetic little ulp sound as he held down a heave.

"Don't even think about ralphing on my goddamn couch." Firm hands wedged under his armpits and hauled him up before steering him a short way down a hall into a bathroom. He stumbled over his own feet as he lunged for the toilet and banged his knees on the tile in reverent misery.

There wasn't much in his stomach, but it still took a minute for the retching to calm. As the queasiness receded, the pounding in his head doubled down. He whimpered and leaned against the bathtub next to him, squeezing his head between his hands. "Kill meee."

"Strangulation, decapitation, a really sharp spoon—you name it, I'm game."

Kiba dug his fingers into his temples. "Use the spoon, scoop my brain out."

"Or I could just pop your head like a little grape." Knuckles were cracked. "Less complicated."

Kiba squinted at the rumpled shape in the doorway. She was sporting a serious case of bedhead, which would have been cute if she hadn't been radiating murder from every pore. Her green eyes spat poison at him, and he wondered why the fates couldn't take a dump on someone else today.

"Well, we're over tile. At least clean up'd be easy," he said, trying for charming. Metaphorical mountains had been moved by this charm in the past.

Unfortunately, Haruno Sakura was a seething volcano. It was blood sacrifice or bust. Kiba doubted his long-dead virginity would pose an issue for this pink-haired rage goddess. Maybe she's who hit him with the axe.

"Certainly easier than your little projectile episode on the stairs," Sakura said, folding her arms with slow menace. "Those carpets are surprisingly absorbent."

Kiba pushed himself up to perch on the side of the tub, head too sore for shame. "Guess your landlord's gonna feel real dumb he splashed out for the fancy shit, huh?"

Sakura growled. Kiba did his best to demonstrate abject misery. They watched each other for a few more moments.

Sakura looked away first, shaking her head. "I can't believe how many idiots I have the direct privilege of knowing. Rinse your mouth. I'll get the goddamn Tylenol."

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