Yet another fic written for the LJ community 101 kisses. This time, theme #52, Lingerie; undergarments. Disclaimer: Kishimoto Masashi owns the Naruto universe and its characters, not me. What can I say? I really did mean to put them back when I was done.

Notes: Well...I personally don't see Kakashi as someone to visit the brothels, but this just seemed to work. Plus, he's probably pretty fishnookered at the time (actually, I just wanted to use that word).That, and the theme wouldn't possibly have worked out otherwise. Haha. Maybe I'm just lazy...?

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Make Believe

He doesn't usually do this. Well, often enough, but it's not a habit. It's not an addiction.

He promises himself that.

Tonight's girl is blonde, blue-eyed. They always are. Sometimes they're even former shinobi, and if he's lucky he can persuade them to use Henge no Jutsu (though whom he asks them to mirror shocks and even disgusts some of them). It makes things easier in the moment, but he feels dirtier afterwards. Of course, it never hurts much less, anyway.

The room stinks of sex and sweat, but then, it is a whorehouse. He forces himself to ignore it, to focus on the swell of her bosom as she unbuttons her shirt. Underneath, he can see a flash of pink. Sensei always detested pink. Now she's onto the fifth button, making short work of them like she's had practice (but then, she has), and he can see a whole frilly bra's worth of pink. It's a sharp, glaring color, not pastille-tones like Sakura's hair.

Now the woman is leaning over him, hair tickling his face and her breasts invading his line of sight. With her this much closer, he can see brown roots between the locks of her blonde hair. She's straddled him, rubbing against his hips. Sometime in the last minute, her skirt came off, too. She's wearing underpants of the same heinous design as her bra. The detail catches his eye but not his attention. Without the proper amount of hesitation, he reaches around her back to undo the strap holding her dignity marginally intact.

A soft whimpering sound rises from her throat, obviously coached but well-acted enough for what it is. Nothing sounds genuine once you've had the real thing, he supposes. Her lips travel down his neck, his torso, lower. There is a moment of guilt, the thought of just pay her and go, don't do this tonight, of all nights, but he is not anything close to strong anymore.

He spares one glance into her eyes (not as blue as he had thought on first seeing her, but they're never as blue as those eyes anyway), and then he lets himself go.

When he wakes, he is alone in the room, his face pressed to the scratchy material of her bra, which has become trapped somehow under his cheek. He rubs a hand over his eyes as his thoughts splinter into a migraine. Apparently, he had too much to drink. He doesn't do that often, either.

Only one night a year.

He tosses the underwear into a corner of the room, disgusted with himself, and goes home to take a shower.

Sensei's been dead for ten years as of last night, and Hatake Kakashi still searches the village for his ghost.

.o.o.

.o.

.o.o.

:-: so i'm trying to pretend you're out in the garden, that you're about to walk in to wash your hands in the kitchen:-: