A/N: This has been written for Kinktober 2021 and today's prompt is Bodyswap ✨ Due to the nature of this challenge, I've only done the most cursory of proofreads ✌️
Content Warnings: N/A
He's had to adjust, of course, to her gravity, her strength, her chakra, that had all been a given. A challenge he's almost enjoying, truth be told. When they'd trained enough to be sure they could get home safely to get fixed up, she'd clearly had fun with it, as well. Though, she'd spent half the session bemoaning the loss of her brute strength. Once they'd set off, he'd expected seeing himself out of the corner of his-her- eye, would feel no different than running alongside a shadow clone.
Definitely not the case.
Every time he catches her-himself- in his peripheral, something, the movement, the posture, isn't quite right. There's also the un-ignorable foreignness of the body he inhabits hindering him from feeling anything approaching normal about the situation.
They're ushered home with strict instructions not to allow anyone they don't trust boundlessly to know what's happened and wait it out. Naruto gets his trial-run at being Hokage, celebrating far too gleefully, given their situation, and they're both on leave until things sort themselves out. It's not worrying, really, they're experiencing a period of relative peace and there are enough strong ninjas in the village that the likelihood one of them will be needed urgently in the next forty-eight hours is lower than it's been in years, but- it's strange. Very strange.
"So," he tries to tuck his hands into his pockets as he normally does and finds he has none where he'd like, clasps them behind his back as he's seen her do often, "what will you do with a day and a half as our village's esteemed Hokage, Sakura?" she leans back in an impersonation of him so accurate it's almost insulting and laughs. Does he always look so ridiculous? No, he assures himself, she must be doing it wrong.
"What does our esteemed Hokage normally do?" her tone is sly, but she doesn't allow him the chance to meet the question, "Play with nin-kin? Avoid paperwork? Indulge in a little perversion?" she waves the book she's found in his pocket. What she doesn't say is mourn, he's grateful for it.
"As long as you don't plan to ruin the mystery," he gestures casually to the mask. He wonders if she's grinning, under there.
"Only for myself, of course." he can hear the tease in her voice. "The perversion is alright, then?"
"Can't be helped."
They're almost at the point where they should separate when she breaks the comfortable silence which has fallen between them.
"Say, since you feel that way," he takes a moment to recall their last subject and wonders if he wants to know what she'll say next, "I was thinking-well- as you know, I am a medical-nin-"
"Konoha's best." She looks at him, then. He hopes she's smiling.
"There would be information-it would be useful for me to know certain things, you know? From the male perspective." Kakashi stops dead when he gets it, torn between laughter and mortification.
"Sakura, you're not asking to-"
"It would be pertinent information!" the look of horror must show on his face, "You could try it, as well!" she's giving him the vapours.
"Sakura, I don't think-"
"Come on, Kakashi! Aren't you at least a little curious?" and that tone coming from his own- it's too strange. Too strange. Everything about this situation is too strange.
"Oh, god. Do as you like, but please, Sakura, never tell me of it. Never."
He groans, she whoops, and promises to treat his body well- she has to be making it worse on purpose, at this point, and they part ways. Kakashi is not above admitting that he flees.
He's not curious.
This is what he tells himself as he takes a purely perfunctory shower, changes into more comfortable clothes, relieves himself. Bodies are clinical, casual things for them. They've patched each other's wounds from head to toe enough time to know them well, in a certain sense, as have all ninja who have spent any length of time working closely together. It's never an issue.
This, though, is something else entirely.
Kakashi has never given serious thought to what pleasure might feel like as a woman. Fleeting curiosity, perhaps, but given he could never know, there was hardly any reason to really wonder. If it were anyone else, he might even take the chance to find out, but it's not.
It's Sakura. And the thought of doing that, of her body in this context, well it's- it's not nearly so strange as it should be.
His former student, the little girl who cried over her teammates' hurt, even when she didn't understand their reasons, and resented her own weakness as if any of them could have stood up to what they'd become. Not so little anymore, he thinks, catching sight of himself in the mirror over her dresser. He knows what he'd find if he undressed. Scars, the life of a shinobi told through marred flesh, red lines where her armouring has dug into flesh, the small tattoo on the inside of her ankle she'd been so proud of when she and Ino had wanted control of the marks their bodies carried, for once, just after the war. She'd cried over that, too, he remembers, for reasons all her own.
What would he feel, though? What does he feel, now? There's an ache in her bones, a consequence of using her chakra so heavily and often during and after the war as a mainstay at the hospital, he suspects. A strength which simmers, somehow, just below the skin. It's no wonder she feels its absence so strongly. Sakura's body is sensitive, it seems. Perhaps that's her nature, to stay so in tune with every feeling below the surface, as a medical-nin, or perhaps it's just him. Hypersensitive in unfamiliar skin.
He thinks about the things he's been ignoring, the things he can't bring himself to push down, any longer.
The way their eyes catch during a meeting, knowing and aching in fondness and shared weariness. The way they'd held each other together, after the war. Sharing meals just to ensure they both ate, keeping each other in check to keep themselves in check. The night he'd drank just a bit too much and apologized, shame-faced, for having failed her as a mentor. She hadn't corrected him, but she'd forced him to face her and told him that he may have failed as a mentor, but he'd failed against impossible odds. Told him he hadn't failed her as a man, a shinobi, a friend ever since. He'd had to drop his face back to the table to keep from letting tears fall.
He thinks about the way they invade each other's space so casually, the way it doesn't always feel friendly. He thinks about the way that sometimes, once they've caught each other's gaze, looking away seems to feel like an impossibility. Like it burns.
He thinks about her. Sakura. The strongest Kunoichi living, a legend in her own right, and definitely no longer a child, not by anyone's measure.
Shit. He thinks. Shit, shit shit-
As it turns out, it feels pretty incredible.
Pleasure rolls through him, full-bodied and intense, and he has half a mind to track down the ninja that attacked them and find out what he'd done. The thought of never experiencing this again feels like quite a shame. He's used to pleasure which comes on strong, concentrated. He feels the symptoms of it through his body, but not the pleasure itself, not like this.
It'd taken a while to figure out, find the middle-ground between pressing too hard and too little. He knows less is more, but gauging his own reactions instead of having someone tell him yes or no is always a learning curve. He'd found a rhythm, though, and from there the pleasure had built quick and strong. The intensity of orgasm felt familiar, but the wave of pleasure breaking across his nerves was certainly new. So was the lack of recovery time.
Now, he allows himself to venture further, dips two fingers into skin so slick and smooth it makes him want to weep to think what she'd feel like around him, and marvels at the unfamiliar sensation. The landscape isn't entirely a mystery, of course, he's done this enough times with enough people to know the shared essentials, but the feeling inside is. Pleasure isn't immediate, but the feeling of fullness sparks the desire to chase after it, like it's muscle memory to know what comes next. He follows his instincts, takes a moment to account for the angle, and crooks his fingers in a way that soon has him reaching down with his other hand to rub over himself, keep the heavy pressure building inside.
After the next orgasm shakes through him, he lies in Sakura's bed, catching his breath, and eyes the bedside table with eager suspicion.
It's almost too much, like this. The intensity of the orgasms increase enough it's ridiculous, strong enough to make his legs shake and seize at his arms so he can't even keep going through it. It's addicting. He pumps the smooth silicone inside of himself and wonders distantly if he could reach her deeper, if the real thing feels better. If he could make her feel better. Thinks of everything that could be missing: touching, kissing, biting and the warm weight of someone else against you and- fuck.
When he wobbles to the bathroom and catches sight of himself- of her, debauched, swollen and flush where he can still feel his pulse between her legs, he thinks, what's one more, anyway?
Midday the next day, Kakashi sticks a bowl in the microwave and when he turns around to grab cutlery he finds he's standing in his own bedroom, in his own home, wearing his own skin.
He looks around, Sakura has gone to no trouble to avoid or impose any signs of herself. There are dishes drying which weren't before, the bed is made but not washed, the nin-kin are fed and he suspects, by how much food is missing from the fridge, they've been spoiled. It doesn't feel like nearly the imposition, the invasion, he wishes it did. He thinks of Sakura, finding her body sensitive with overuse, evidence of what he'd done pushed into her skin, and burns.
Nothing for it, then.
She's a little ahead of him, headed for the Hokage's office just as he is.
Better to rip off the band-aid, he thinks.
"Yo, Sakura." he tries for casual and suspects he fails miserably, to anyone who knows him well.
"Kakashi," she smiles, she seems happy to see him. That's something, "I thought you'd claim you needed another day or two to recover, avoid work," she teases.
"Ah, well," he waves a hand through the air, trying to decide whether he's pleased or disappointed by how casual things feel between them, "what can I say? Tough to keep busy, I suppose."
"Really," her smile takes on an edge which leaves him feeling distinctly unsettled, "it certainly doesn't feel as though you had any trouble keeping busy, to me." Oh, god.
She grins at his mortification, far too delighted, and continues, "So, did you try looking in the mirror while you did it?"
"No." he lies.
"No? I did." he wants to die. He wants to ask her what she thought. "Not bad, sensei."
"Please," he grouses, she's having far too much fun at his expense, "do not call me that ever again, Sakura."
They make it through the rest of the day with relative normalcy, for once Kakashi is grateful for the never-ending parade of people sent to interrupt him throughout his day.
Eventually, though, the day comes to an end. He's just contemplating his chances of escaping without further embarrassment if he slips out the window- slim- when the door opens and shuts behind him. It's warmth, before anything else, which fills his chest and gives him his answer of what to do next.
A/N: I had a few different ways of ending this in mind and in the end I ran out of time to decide. I might revisit it and add an ending some other time, but I love this pairing, so I'll be writing more of them sooner or later, either way. Feel free to say hello in the comments or on tumblr at BitchBot3000 (my fic blog) or GaySasukke (my questionable Naruto sideblog) ✌️