Tenzō is glad the woman doesn't have to die.
Well, Tenzō doesn't have to kill her, not now. She will die eventually, possibly by the hands of a Konoha-nin in the next few days. But her killer isn't likely to be Tenzō, and for that, he can be grateful.
Seducing someone for Konoha is something he accepts as part of his duty. Killing someone for Konoha is exactly the same, although it haunts his nightmares more than the phantom sensations of hands on skin. Mixing the two burdens results in a nauseating concoction that Tenzō can happily do without having to drink tonight.
Her laughter rings in the space between them, a few notes too high-pitched to be entirely pleasant, but it seems genuine. Her cheeks flush with a pretty pink, her blue irises shine bright with interest, and her chest brushes against his arm in a manner that spells in capital letters where she intends the night to head. Tenzō hopes it doesn't come to that, but she isn't as tipsy as he thought, and she doesn't seem keen to remedy that with the rum and coke he bought for her ten minutes ago. Perhaps he should try to play the asshole, make her annoyed enough to chug the drink and leave, but that's risky at best. It can just as easily result in her chucking it in his face and leaving without ingesting the wood clone seed that swirls in the bubbles, and Tenzō can't let the mission go bust because he isn't keen on the idea of sleeping with her.
It's a good thing Tenzō prepared multiple seeds, because she drags him out to the dance floor without taking so much as a sip of her drink. What sort of drug-lord's niece doesn't indulge in alcohol? She certainly isn't innocent, though, from the way she flirts and giggles and rubs up against him.
Tenzō isn't much of a dancer, but this doesn't require a master. He has practically nothing in the way of modesty, decent rhythm, and has spent a large portion of his life observing normal people. As it turns out, those things are all he needs, especially when she spends more time pressing her breasts into him and trailing her hands down his chest than making any attempt at coordinated dancing.
The stuffy atmosphere in the club condenses in his lungs, the music pounds oppressively loud, and scents of sweat, cologne, and hairspray assault his nostrils. Tenzō fits in as a young adult with a nondescript appearance, especially after changing his ANBU uniform out for well-fitted jeans, a dark green henley, and braided leather necklace, but he feels as obvious as a chidori with the anxiety that wells in his gut and speeds up his heart. Every sense is overpowered, from the flashing lights (not multicolored, thankfully) to her soft fingers on the back of his neck, warm and inviting. Tenzō wants nothing more than to leave, get out, go hide in a damn tree (and he means 'in' quite literally) until he can breathe fresh air again.
He takes the opportunity to shut out the rest of the room when she pushes him against a dark wall, crushing her sticky lips to his. He tries to imagine he's anywhere else, a difficult feat with her fake nails raking sharply against his pectorals and the taste of something mildly sweet and definitely not the fucking rum meeting his tongue as he slips inside her mouth. Her body lotion must be labelled as "shimmer" something or other, because her arms sparkle under the lights and Tenzō knows his shirt will, too, by the time they're done. It's about the most ridiculous thing he can think of, apart from how easy it would be for someone to rip the dangling crystals from her ears.
Tenzō isn't gay. He's slept with a woman before and enjoyed it, although sex isn't something he seeks out regularly to begin with. This girl is only a few years older than him, and reasonably attractive in a vapid, overdone kind of way. But the setting, the knowledge her uncle's blood has probably already been spilt by Kakashi and Yugaō's hands, the frustration because he's just trying to get a damn tracker on her that won't get lost when she changes her clothes, all combine into one of the least arousing scenarios he can picture.
It takes more effort than he expects to keep his smile enticing, his touches flirtatious, and he can't begin to fake a true, physical sign of interest in her at the moment. Which is going to be a problem pretty soon, with the way she's trying to press herself between his legs. He can easily imagine she's the type to take the lack of an immediate erection as a personal slight to the efficacy of her feminine wiles.
Opening his eyes without breaking the kiss, Tenzō's gaze roams the club, sweeping lazily from corner to corner so it won't be too obvious where he's looking when he checks on her guard's location. Before he catches sight of the bald, muscled missing-nin, someone else steals his attention, their unobtrusive figure somehow striking him as being as out of place as Tenzō feels. It's a man leaning against the far wall, mostly encased in shadow but facial features thrown in sharp relief by the strobing lights above the bar.
Tenzō's heart rate kicks up another five notches and his fingers clench tightly around her waist. The man is watching them. Or, more accurately, he's watching Tenzō. The target gives a pleased moan and trails a hand down his bicep while the other twines in his hair, tugging at the short strands. The man is apparently unabashed to have been caught, studying Tenzō with a quirk of his head. Tenzō is suddenly struck with such a sense of familiarity that, for a moment, he forgets about the woman attached to him. High cheekbones, pale skin, straight nose, narrow hips... It's the expression that finally makes it click—the man smiles, his eyes creasing into happy arches.
Apparently Kakashi finished earlier than expected. The transformation jutsu is partial, probably only affecting his clothes and head. Amused irises match his new hair, which is dark brown and wavy, curling around his ears and tamer than Kakashi's has ever been in his life. Tenzō's gaze slips down his captain's face, wondering how much of the lower half is a glamour, how the thin pink lips and angular chin might compare to Kakashi's actual features. Despite working together for two years, Tenzō only has fantasies to fill in the blanks beneath Kakashi's mask.
The woman's hand squeezes his ass, a cogent reminder that they're in the middle of a mission. Tenzō's breaks the stare by closing his eyes, certain that if Kakashi had anything relevant to communicate, he would have already done it. Tenzō manages to focus on his objective for a few seconds. His hand rises to brush against the swell of her breast, the other dipping into the small of her back, pressing them together from chest to hip. When he slits his eyes open next, he's careful to check on her guard first. The shinobi barely glances at them, busy chatting up the bartender.
Kakashi has always drawn Tenzō's gaze like a magnet. Normally, he has the privacy of a mask to disguise any unreasonable interest. Tonight, he's laid bare in more ways than one. But so is Kakashi. He leans against the opposite wall of the club in the guard's obvious blind spot (he couldn't have made it past chuunin with those careless tactics). His hands are stuffed in his pockets, posture relaxed, but there's an edge of tension to the way he holds himself that Tenzō knows only drops when they cross Konoha's walls. His smile has slipped away, eyes intent as they rake across Tenzō's forehead, his lips, the point where his arms envelope her slight frame.
A thrill runs down Tenzō's spine like frisson, pleasant tension coiling in his gut. Tenzō can feel the woman's soft body pressing against his, hear her panting in his ear when he breaks the kiss to mouth at her throat, but his mind is filled with Kakashi. Kakashi, and what it would feel like if a single gray eye watched him with that same fixation.
Sliding a hand around her thigh, Tenzō hikes her leg around his hip, and it's only when she groans and grinds against him that Tenzō realizes he's half-hard.
That, in and of itself, isn't a problem. In fact, it's necessary if he has to keep up this charade until clothes start coming off. Tenzō can force himself to climax if he has to, can manipulate his chakra to make his blood flow to the proper places and conjure some vague mental images to reach the least satisfying conclusion of his life. He's experienced that awful sensation before, and he'll do it again if he needs to. There's no shame in doing what's necessary to achieve the objective.
But this erection has nothing to do with her, or the mission, or a nameless, faceless body scrounged up from the vague fantasies Tenzō allows himself to indulge in.
It isn't her breathy moans he imagines as he nips at her neck, canines skimming against the tender skin beneath her ear. It isn't her breasts that he imagines under his hands, round curves replaced in his mind's eye with lean lines, blunt nails, white scars, silver hair.
Fuck.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Tenzō regains his focus with no small measure of force. He has practice shoving those dangerous thoughts to the wayside, keeping at bay the vivid ideas that sometimes threaten to plague him near climax. He respects Kakashi, far beyond the realms of a fellow shinobi or a one-night stand. Tenzō views him as a friend, his leader, and knows the trust in their relationship is mutual. Normally, Tenzō is content with exactly that.
But normally, Kakashi doesn't watch him rather than their target. Normally, Kakashi doesn't study Tenzō while he kisses someone else. Normally, he doesn't even seem to notice the rare times when Tenzō finds an ANBU outside their team with whom to spend the night. Kakashi never makes a perverted comment even when Tenzō catches him reading smut in public as if it were one of Tenzō's books on architecture, never gives a hint that he has interest in real people rather than cheesy characters. So Tenzō has no immunity built to this, no calluses formed to separate himself, his lust, and his racing blood, from the things he imagines he can see in Kakashi's half-lidded stare.
Glancing once more at the guard, Tenzō slides his hand from the woman's thigh and quickly dips into his pocket, securing a seed between his fore and middle fingers. The dancers surge together as an apparently popular song plays, and for some of the tensest minutes of his life, Tenzō loses sight of his captain. Finally, the music shifts, the masses part, and Kakashi's lanky form is revealed like a magician pulling back the curtain. He hasn't moved, static against the milling crowd. Tenzō drinks in the sight like an elixir, lust surging, filling out the illusion of interest he's barely been able to maintain.
His gaze trails up Kakashi's civilian boots, black slacks that perfectly frame legs Tenzō knows intimately, has seen bare and felt underneath him at the end of those seldom, exhilarating spars when Tenzō conquers. His stare hungrily travels over the maroon shirt that conceals the muscles of Kakashi's abdomen, up to slender wrists, pale from the fingerless gloves that normally cover them. He absorbs disclosed collarbones and the graceful curve of Kakashi's throat, exposed flesh that Tenzō has only caught stolen glimpses of while bathing in streams or stripping off ruined, bloody uniforms to replace with bandages or armor.
Tenzō has no idea how much of Kakashi's face is transformed, will probably never learn. But he knows the elegant curve of Kakashi's neck. He's spent countless hours watching Kakashi's head tip back during sleep, or raising to the stars to track their course, extending the long line of his throat. Tenzō has run his fingertips over the nape of it while examining fresh head wounds, spent so long imagining what it might feel like under his lips that he understands that shape with an intimacy reserved for lifelong lovers. He wishes that the skin now caught between his teeth, the taste that meets his tongue as he laves her neck, were tangy with blood or salty sweat—familiar scents, familiar pains, familiar like Tenzō's greatest friend.
He palms the woman's plump cheeks over the thin cloth of her skirt, prompting her to thrust against him in a manner that wouldn't have been allowed in a finer establishment. Tenzō has no worry of losing his erection now, not with the heavy heat of Kakashi's stare caressing him, not when his own eyes rise to meet perfect lips that are… moistened by a slow, deliberate slide of Kakashi's tongue.
No one could rightfully blame Tenzō for the reflexive jerk of his hips, the low groan that is ripped from his chest, the way he almost drops the tracking seed as his fingers flex and drag her core against him. The pink line of Kakashi's lips spread, barely lifting at the corners, what a daring person might call a smirk. He meets Kakashi's gaze and sees dark satisfaction in falsely hued orbs. Tenzō trembles to think that he could have placed it there.
Slamming his eyes shut, Tenzō breaths raggedly against her skin. He wants to bathe in that smile, feel it wash over his body, stealing his pleasure with a greedy need Kakashi has never shown but that Tenzō craves to see. Sliding his palm up her shoulder blade and neck, Tenzō ostensibly tangles it in her hair, but uses a subtle slight of hand to pop the seed in his own mouth as he detaches from her throat. Her eyes flutter open for a brief moment when Tenzō kisses her again, but she moans around him, into him, too absorbed in reckless lust to notice when he uses his tongue to press the tiny seed behind her teeth.
He rubs a thumb along her throat, pressing a smooth circle into a spot under her jaw, a pressure point that causes her to swallow. And the mission is done.
Tenzō continues the kiss for too many minutes longer, pulse pounding in his ears loud enough to drown out the bass that vibrates in his bones. While his mind rationalizes the way his groin slots against her thigh as a distraction, just allowing time to ensure she swallows the tracker, his face burns with the truth.
He isn't ready to lose the heady thrill of Kakashi's attention.
There's no way to leave her cold without arousing suspicion, though, and that is the very thing they are trying to avoid. Once her uncle is found dead, she'll be taken to a safe house that another ANBU team is prepared to raid. They only need the exact location that her movement will provide. Tenzō doesn't know if she will die on that day or not, but the entire plan would fail if the nin guarding her thought to check her for a sign of foreign chakra, presuming he has the means to do so. They can't afford to believe he doesn't.
So his options are to fuck her, or manipulate the situation until she ends the encounter on her own. The latter would be quick and easy, only requiring a few disgusting words and a sneer. Tenzō already has them prepared, could push her buttons like tickling ivory. But Tenzō knows without question that he won't.
He whispers suggestions into her ear, feels her shudder against him. She pulls back with glazed eyes and he takes her hand as they weave through the crowd, headed for the dirty bathrooms in the back. Her guard watches them leave and slips from his stool to follow at a reasonable distance, finally showing the mildest concern for her well-being.
Kakashi has already disappeared.
Tenzō manages to satisfy her with only his fingers. His history with women doesn't leave him a plethora of nuance upon which to draw, so he goes with tried and true, slow and firm, thumb rubbing circles against her clitoris and two fingers buried within her slick heat. Deft hands accustomed to flashing through hand seals and spinning shuriken, as well as an observant nature, make up for any experience he lacks. He learns what makes her pleasure build, her thighs tremble. He feels her muscles contract around him, rhythmic, and watches her come down from a momentous height. She breathily insists on returning the favor.
When Tenzō comes, it's the vision of a gray eye and pink lips that bring him to ecstasy.
Kakashi is gone when Tenzō exits the club, hands and mouth itching where he enthusiastically scoured them clean. It takes less than ten minutes to travel to the meeting location, Washi slipping into place beside him as they escape the heart of the city. Kakashi, by the time they arrive in the disused shed, has dropped his glamour, he and Yugaō waiting in full ANBU garb with versant, cold masks cloaking their features. Tenzō says nothing more than "mission accomplished" while he strips and changes back into his uniform with efficient, practiced motions.
They set off north, towards the location where they'll rendezvous with the others. Kakashi's team will assist in tracking the target, using Tenzō's seed, but drop back at the end to provide external cover for the ambush unit. It's a simple job, but there's nothing that can be fucked up more fantastically than 'simple'.
After a few miles of running, Kakashi falls back to keep line with Tenzō, Yugaō and Washi maintaining pace several yards ahead.
"Are you good?" Kakashi asks quietly. Though the hound mask gives no hint of emotion, his tone is low, serious.
It's a standard question after seduction missions, Tenzō knows, the most unobtrusive way to check for emotional ramifications. Consent is these situations is questionable at best, and though most shinobi are able to categorize sex the same way they do classified information, sticking it in a concrete box and throwing it out to sea, some don't find it so easy. And sometimes, missions just fuck you up, no rhyme or reason to it.
Tenzō has more training than most, Root being far less concerned with the laws of morality than Konoha's ANBU. His blasé approach to nudity and sexuality likely stem from that, and body modesty is nearly a foreign concept. But he knows most are self-conscious to a degree, knows Kakashi takes covering himself to a daily extreme. He also knows that plenty of people have a problem using sex as a weapon, some even seeing it as state-supported prostitution. Shinobi with that view typically don't make it into ANBU. Tenzō doesn't have a problem either way, although he would have never allowed Washi, their youngest team member at only sixteen, to take Tenzō's place in that club. Neither would Kakashi or Yugaō, for that matter, any one of them willing to bear the burden. Tenzō was just the simplest choice.
Kakashi is looking into the forest ahead when Tenzō glances at him. He considers the question, and what else Kakashi could potentially mean by it. His friend's cloth mask is firmly in place, had probably never been off to begin with, and Tenzō takes a moment to overlay the images, to see if he can imagine that throat, that chin, those lips, that smirk, on Kakashi's features.
He can.
Tenzō's face heats and he, too, turns straight ahead. "Good." He murmurs.
As long as Kakashi stands beside him, Tenzō thinks that 'good' is plenty.