Author: Amaya
Editor: Aiko
Characters/Pairings: [Shisui x Sakura]; mentions of [Genma x Sakura] and other minor Sakura-centric pairings.
Categories: Romance, Drama, Action
Rating: Mature [See Warnings Below]
Warnings: This story contains strong language, depictions of violence and mature sexual content, including, but not limited to: breath play, superior/subordinate kinks, rough body play, power kinks and so on. You have been warned.

Full Summary: As the most elite of the elite shinobi to ever grace the village, Anbu operatives were easily some of the most frightening and striking characters one could come across. The way they protected the village while cloaked in shadows, appearing like some God-appointed deities when they were needed most and forgoing honor in exchange for anonymity—was as seductive as one could get. But to Sakura, the real allure lied in the deceptive red smiles painted on their masks, and in figuring out who was behind them. ["Don't start things you can't finish, Haruno."]

Kamen

Chapter || Twelve

"Took you long enough!"

Locking her door, Sakura rolled her eyes at Ino's exasperated huff. "As if you've never kept me waiting before!" The pinkette snapped, though not unkindly. After a final, cursory tug on her door to be sure it was secure, Sakura followed Ino down the steps of her apartment complex, then fell in step beside her as they reached the ground floor.

It was early in the morning, the sunlight rousing more vibrant colors from the world's sleepy monochrome, drawing out a blueish tint from the otherwise charcoal sky. Beyond a handful of shinobi and even less shop owners, the village wouldn't wake for a few more hours, leaving the two kunoichi in a peaceful silence—a silence that was perforated by the rantings of a chatty blonde. As her best friend, Sakura reamed as attentive to her as possible, nodding and throwing in a few disbelieving questions here and there, even though it was unnecessary. Even if she wasn't listening, Ino would've kept on.

"—and then she tells Ibiki I'm the one who mixed up the files!" Ino wrapped up. "Can you believe the nerve of that bitch? After I helped her with her with her report!"

Sakura shook her head with pursed lips. "That's ridiculous," She sympathized. "Did Ibiki believe you when you told him it wasn't you?"

Ino inclined her chin and crossed her arms, looking every bit of a brat as she could without stomping her feet. "No! He put her on the case! Said I needed to "be more careful" and "own up to my mistakes"! My mistakes—my ass!" Sakura sniggered at Ino's comically poor impression of Konoha's top interrogator, complete with a sour expression, the stiffening of her shoulders, and the crossing of her arms. Then she deflated almost comically. "I hate her. So much."

Sakura clapped Ino's back consolingly and made to respond, but quickly clamped her mouth shut when she noticed a figure leaning against a tree a few feet away. Seeing the black cloak and the snowy mask, the two women tensed, although Sakura was sure Ino's reasons were substantially different from her own. She glimpsed at her friend from the corner of her eye, the blonde having already done the same, before refocusing on the Anbu. A moment later, a second Anbu slunk out of the shadows of the alleyway beside them, while a third dropped down from the roofs, landing gracefully albeit purposefully in front of the two kunoichi, preventing them from moving further.

"Haruno-san," The Anbu in front of her greeted. The ferret-like features of his mask were familiar, which made Sakura visibly relax, even if just barely. Being approached by Anbu, regardless of the reason, was hardly ever good, after all, especially if it was a whole team.

"Nezumi-san," She replied, her voice just as polished as his. The officer didn't say anything else, but the command in his silence was more than loud enough for Sakura to understand. She turned to Ino, nodding dutifully. "I'll see you later, Ino." Ino nodded in return, to both Sakura and the Anbu operative, then continued her path to the hospital without another glance back. Once alone, the masked shinobi placed his hand on her shoulder, and then the telltale pull of teleportation upturned her stomach; when she blinked, they were standing before the Hokage and—Obito?

Tsunade's expression was tight, her lips almost a frown, and a crease formed between her brows; her senpai's face looked the same. It was clear to Sakura that whatever she was there for, was serious, if not because Tsunade's grim countenance, then because of the four Anbu kneeling beside her, out in the open. The Anbu that acted as the Hokage's secondary guard (well, and all Anbu in general) were always hidden unless otherwise ordered, meant to be imagined and not real, recognized only as a presence that made the hairs on the back of one's neck stand up.

Her observations of each mask was transitory, flickering from the rodent mask, to the fox mask, then to the unfamiliar green and white dog mask, and finally the wolf mask.

Absently, Sakura wondered if Okami was leering at her. If she focused enough, she swore she felt something, a tightly restrained intensity—and dare she say, anticipation—hidden in its weight, but it was so well concealed, she wasn't sure if it was just the threads of her imagination playing tricks on her. Still, she pictured him, whoever he was, grinning beneath his mask. The shadows on his face shifted, warping his porcelain grin into a sneer—a telltale sign that he was looking at her now. And that realization burned her all the way from the tip of her tongue and down her throat, until it settled pleasantly at the pit of her stomach, like a healthy shot of top shelf sake. The comparison made her lips quirk, but she quickly nibbled at the smallest bit of flesh as she could instead—disguised of course, by the movements of her hand brushing aside imaginary hair from her face.

Quickly stamping down on the stutter in her heartbeat and the embers below her navel, Sakura redirected her attention to her mentors. Bowing, she greeted, "Shishou. Senpai."

"Good morning Sakura," Tsunade began, while Obito tipped his chin in acknowledgment. Her timbre was overwhelmingly mordant and clear with sobriety. "I'm sorry for interrupting you so early into the day."

"It's not a problem," Sakura assured, matching her mentor's tone. "I was just on my way to the Hospital for my shift."

"That won't be necessary," Tsunade hummed, then reached into the drawer beside her knee to procure a scroll. Once she was sure the scroll she had was the correct one, Tsunade tossed it to her apprentice while saying, "I'm sending you on a solo mission to Shion village."

As soon as the scroll was in her hands, Sakura examined it. The hashira was a chalky brown color, with a bronze rod with tear-drop ends, and the cord that sealed it was a disgustingly vibrant red—a missive from the Tsuchikage himself. In well-practiced calligraphy that could only belong to someone with the Tsuchikage's age, were details of injury: fractured ribs, a possible concussion, remnants of a poison that she wasn't too worried about if not for the laceration that may have reached the liver, and several burns across the arms and torso.

While Sakura read over the finer details of the scroll, Tsunade nodded to Obito, who went on to verbally debrief the rest of the assignment. "This mission is of the highest priority, Sakura. The Tsuchikage's apprentice was attacked by rogue ninja while traveling from Sumire, and without medical assistance, he'll die." She looked up sharply at that, already understanding what was expected of her. Obito gave her an encouraging nod as he could not smile, although Sakura could see the beginnings of it tearing through. She made a mental note to demand answers from him when she returned.

"Forgive me for asking, but why is the Tsuchikage asking us for assistance now, considering the state of our relations?" Sakura inquired, slowly, carefully. "He never comes to us for anything."

"That's precisely why we're going to help," Tsunade answered, her tone insisting it was the simplest thing in the world. "Oonoki is too stubborn and deep rooted in his ways, so for him to ask for our help, means he's desperate. Not that I don't understand why; if you or Shizune were in that predicament, I'd swallow my pride and request his assistance, too. Especially since his apprentice was attacked by a rogue from Konoha." Then the busty blonde turned her head away and clicked her tongue, taking on a more annoyed expression while Obito let out a nearly inaudible sigh. "And I owe him a favor," She grumbled under her breath.

Had the situation been a little less grave, Sakura would've scolded her mentor. At her position, she shouldn't owe anyone, especially opposing rulers, any sort of favors; and she could only imagine how this agreement came to pass. But then again, this wasn't the first time she's ever been sent for a personal favor, nor did Sakura think it'd be the last. On the upside, sending her to heal the Tsuchikage's apprentice would bode well for future relations, so perhaps her mistress's poor decision held some merit?

As if sensing Sakura's ire, Obito quickly amended, "Your assistance in this will help relations between our villages, Sakura. By saving his apprentice and creating a good rapport with him, the Tsuchikage will have no choice but to publicly acknowledge his appreciation."

That seemed to be a bit of a stretch, but Sakura wasn't about to call either of her seniors out on that. So instead of berating her village head, she sucked in her frustrated sigh then set the scroll back on Tsunade's desk. "I understand," She announced. "I'll leave immediately."

"Good. Because of the sensitive nature of this assignment, Okami-Han will escort you," Obito informed, gesturing to the still bowing Anbu operatives on either side of him. "While this mission is all yours, they're under strict orders to ensure the safety of not only you, but Oonoki's apprentice, so Okami will be in command of this operation. He'll have equal say in decisions as you do. Once you've stablized the apprentice, Okami-Han will break into their own assignment, after which you'll return as a unit. And I'm sure I don't need to explicitly stress the underlying nature of your assignment, right Sakura?"

"No, sir!"

Tsunade reached for the scroll and returned it to the drawer, a small but pleased smile making her lips twitch, while Obito finally allowed the faintest hint of one to break through his mask. "Good. You're dismissed."

Sakura gave one last bow to the Hokage, then turned her attention to the four Anbu in the room, mindful to ignore Okami's mask completely. "I'm going to change and grab my travel pack from home, then I'll meet you at the gates in half an hour." They didn't respond, but she knew they heard her, so she swiftly turned on her heel and left the room. Once out in the hallway, she leapt from a nearby window, moving from rooftop to rooftop, mentally listing every item she would need for her trip. Tsunade hadn't specified a return date, which meant she and Okami would have to discuss how thorough they'll need to be regarding her healing session, and that she'd have to estimate just how many essentials she'll need to bring.

Okami-taichou...

With no one around her but a few birds and the wind, Sakura allowed her heart to run wild with its excitement. It had been over two months since her steamy encounter with the elusive Anbu Captain, and she hadn't seen even a glimpse of him since then. They hadn't crossed paths in the hospital or the Intelligence Division; he hadn't been sent to relay any messages—he hadn't even been put on Tsunade's guard rotation. The first month without his inimitably compelling presence had been easy, all things considered. Between all the emergency cases at the hospital and all the extra training sessions and the missions she'd taken up with her team, she had been preoccupied. She honestly hadn't even noticed how much time had passed until that conversation she had with Ino in her office, but after that, it seemed as if every passing day nibbled away at her patience as she almost waited for him to show up.

In all honesty, part of her her wondered if he had left for a mission and never came back which, while depressing, wasn't uncommon when it came to the elite group. It was part of the reason why Sakura rarely ever saw a mask more than once. Another part upbraided herself for even bothering to care, because as much as it—no, she wouldn't say hurt—to think about it, he held no obligation to her. He didn't owe her anything.

Well, anything but that promise he had made while in the throes of whatever it was they had.

So no. She wasn't upset.

She wasn't hurt.

She wasn't worried.

But she was frustrated, and maybe more than a little bit relieved to see him alive and kicking. It was a shame they'd be working together, though, because seeing him back in Tsunade's office had done things to her—wicked, unfair things. Seeing that porcelain simper only brought back evocations that Sakura only allowed herself to divulge in during the heat of the night, when there was no one but her hands to distract her. Part of her admonished herself for being so affected, because he was just another man under all that armor, the same way that Genma and Kiba, and Kotetsu and Izumo were under theirs. But there was something very, very different between them and Okami:

She knew who they were.

With Genma and Kiba, she knew they were in the Corps.; had already seen both of them in uniform sans the mask (or in Genma's case, had seen his armor in his apartment), so if they had decided to play around while dressed in their fatigues, there was no harm done. With Kotetsu, he was still highly revered by his comrades and trusted by the Hokage, and therefore had his own set of restrictions, but nothing as strict as an order of anonymity.

Whereas with the enigmatic Anbu Captain, Sakura had no idea who hid behind the polish. No name, no face, just the color of his eyes, and even then Sakura wasn't sure if they were real because who had such intense, caliginous eyes like that? Realistically? Other than a handful of Uchiha, no one. She liked the secrecy, the mystery—the tension. It made her feel powerful, desired. And he made her feel so, so good without even doing anything. If he could do all that with just his praise and fingers, then what else could he do once the rest of his armor had been stripped away?

A nearly mirthless chuckle ruptured from Sakura's throat as she thought about the situation. She would have never thought that she would have been so keen at the aspect of something so inherently scandalous, let alone partaking in it so reverently. Had this been a few years ago, she would've floundered and blushed and maybe even reported the masked shinobi for misconduct. She blamed Genma for this. Ino and Naruto and Kakashi, too, because their combined deviance must have rubbed off on her somewhere.

But then again, she never expected someone like Okami to be so interested, either. There were far too many complications and concerns to account for when it came to things like this—their titles, his identity, her reputation—so it would have been too much of a hassle to even think about pursuing.

And yet, he was the one who started this tryst.

Sakura may have enjoyed looking, and God did she enjoy looking, but he was the one who made the first move. He was the one who approached her, who asked her for the spar that started it all. He apparently had his own fantasies, if his blatant intrigue in her strength was anything to go by, and he clearly knew what he was doing and what he wanted. He admitted as much on more than one occasion.

"I'm not one to mind a good show."

"I've always been one to appreciate the abilities of others."

"I would've never though I'd catch the eye of Anbu."

"Just this Anbu."

But did she?

...nope. Absolutely not.

But Okami seemed more than content in teaching her, and that was all the encouragement she needed.

Arriving at her apartment, Sakura quickly brushed her thoughts away and ran inside. She had to hurry and get everything in order because she knew she only had a few minutes before Okami would appear, and once he did, she wouldn't have much time to do anything else.

Kamen

Shisui knew Haruno was aware of his presence.

He would bet this mission's pay that she noticed him the moment he entered her apartment. He heard her rummaging around in her bedroom, changing her clothes if the sound of fabric falling was any indication, and it took a little more restraint than he'd ever care to admit, to keep from slinking in as she dressed. Knowing what he knew about her now, she was expecting it—anticipating it maybe. So out of mock spite, he stood sentinel, almost awkwardly so, in the center of her living room.

Somehow, her apartment was both everything and nothing like he expected it to be.

Gray, white and green were prevalent tones across the room, opening up the otherwise small space and pairing nicely with the light hardwood flooring. There were plants hanging from the corners of her ceiling, and potted in tiny white ceramic on shelves that spanned an entire wall. He recognized some herbs, but he the lavender and orchids stood out attractively against the greenery. She had a few bookshelves lined up against the eastern wall, filled with colorful spines and stocked with scrolls, adorned with little knick-knacks. Picture frames were neatly collaged along the walls leading into the hallway, painstakingly arranged and glimmering proudly in the light that filtered through the mint curtains. As expected, it was very clean and modern in appearance.

However, in contrast to that, various shoes were haphazardly abandoned both on and off a rack beside the entrance, all shinobi compatible, but in different styles and heel length, designed for different terrain and purposes. A pile of weapons pouches were collected beside the coffee table, which was overtaken with unraveled scrolls and medical textbooks, while some weapons were organized almost methodically all around it, grouped by type and by size. A charcoal blanket was neatly folded and draped over the back of the light green couch beside an orange one, which edges weren't matched up, and four travel bags were tucked under the table.

All in all, the apartment screamed: a little bit of chaos, a little bit of OCD. It perfectly encompassed the essence of Haruno Sakura.

The most peculiar thing stood out to him, however: a sword displayed above the hallway entrance. There were many weapons littered around her place, but none purposely put on display like that, and no other swords. It made him wonder about the base of its importance. He didn't get to ponder on it long, because Haruno's soft footsteps reached his ears.

"Okami-taichou," She acknowledged, moving around him to pluck the dark gray sling-bag from its place under the table. It was still packed from her last mission, apparently. Or perhaps, it was always ready to go? She seemed the type to be overly prepared for everything.

"Jonin Haruno."

Shisui watched as the rosette entered her kitchen. She had exchanged the navy blue skirt and the red and yellow top she was wearing, for her usual combat-ready attire with the addition of a forest green travel cloak. A shame, really. He rather liked that skirt on her.

"Did you need something?" She asked, while removing what he assumed was a storage scroll from a drawer beside her stove, which somehow didn't surprise him. Her tone isn't quite stiff, but he's heard her polished, professional tone enough times to recognize it when she used it.

Shisui could tell by the stiffness in her breathing that she was listening for his footsteps, feeling for the faint vibrations they would create, but with his Shushin, she wouldn't feel a thing until he's already pressed up against her. Yet, when he planted his hands on the counter, on either side of her, she didn't so much as flinch. She just continued to seal a handful of MRE's into the scroll as if he wasn't there, but he knew the cinders of her excitement were beginning to light.

This little act of hers, pretending she wasn't at all affected by the feel of his chest plate against her back, was (like many things with her) far more attractive than it should have been. It made him want to press against her until there was no such thing as space between them, and grind his hips against her until she felt the consequences of her actions; and it had been so long since he'd seen that fire in her eyes, that he wasn't afraid to admit he missed it.

But he resisted the urge. He was working, after all.

"I just wanted to remind you of my expectations, seeing as how we'll be spending some time together during these next few days," Shisui replied, the faintest snippets of his personality seeping into words. "You know how I feel about disobedience." It was more warning than mirth, but he'd let her take it how she wanted.

Haruno hummed, still not actively acknowledging him, but Shisui was quite to take note of her stiffening shoulders. "Of course. I'll be on my best behavior," Then she paused, adding as an afterthought, "Taichou."

Shisui's fingers twitched against the countertop, begging to bear purchase in her shoulders, her hips—her. "Careful," He advised in mock annoyance, tilting his head back. "That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble. I'd hate to have to punish you for insubordination."

Haruno turned around to pin him with the most defiant look he'd ever seen on a woman. Beryl perforated obsidian, steady, fearless, alight with a flicker of irritation but otherwise impish. He recognized the challenge in her gaze immediately, and fuck was it a good look on her. She folded her arms over her chest, creating a wall between them, and cocked a hip, looking very much like the brat that she was, much to his amusement. Then slowly, her hand drifted from its perch on the counter, the tips of her fingers dragging along the front of his chest plate with intent, so agonizingly slow that his muscles spasmed with arousal.

"If I didn't know any better, Taichou, I'd assume you have a thing for me."

Before Shisui could stop himself, a bark of a laugh tore itself from his throat. She had said that last time they met, acting just as cocky now as she did then, if not more so.

"And if I didn't know any better, Brat, I'd assume you want me to punish you." Encircling Haruno's wrist with his slender fingers, Shisui pressed her hand firmly against his chest, daring her to make the next move. The tip of her tongue appeared, licking at the seam of her lips so quickly, he almost hadn't noticed. He mirrored her without a second thought, only with the addition of his teeth as he swallowed his growl. "Am I really going to have to remind you who you're talking to, Haruno?"

"And who are you?"

The allusion in her words wasn't lost to him. Frankly, he was surprised the question hadn't come sooner. Haruno wasn't known for her patience after all, and after the way he had been winding her up these past few months, Shisui knew she was toeing disastrously close to the edge of her forbearance. Still, the brazenness of her inquiry confound him. He had seen her back in the Hokage's office, gazing at him with those vibrant, lusty eyes and licking her lips. She hid it well, but not well enough. He wasn't above admitting that his pants fit a little tighter knowing she was so affected by his presence even after all this time.

Who would've thought that cute little Jonin Haruno was so bold?

Shisui grinned beneath his mask when she shifted in his captivity, inching closer to him and then coming close to a pout when he added more distance between them. Oh, he missed this bratty side of her! With a little more bite in his intonation, he growled, "I'm your captain, Jonin Haruno."

If she was unsatisfied by his answer, Shisui couldn't tell, but he highly doubted she was. She bit at the edge of a smile, the action making him groan inwardly as he risked a glance at her eyes; they were positively glowing with too many things for him to name. How depraved was he, that such a diminutive, inconsequential gesture could make his muscles tighten?

She smirked something fearsome. "Good."

And then he felt the ghost of a whisper against his chest, making his lungs—and pants—tighten. Within seconds, the minty touch warmed into something more, something tangible enough to make him to shudder and expel a broken breath. Her chakra pulsated like an animated being, reaching down, down, down towards his navel and lacing with the arousal that had begun to roar to life within him. Shisui head tilted back, his eyes closed and his lips curled back in a silent snarl.

"Is that all you wanted, Taichou?"

He clicked his tongue, pleased by the kittenish lilt that continued to reflect in her eyes. She was just full of surprises, wasn't she? It was interesting, seeing the many contradictions in her personality as both himself, and as Okami, as she displayed a completely different side of herself depending on which version of himself was around. As Shisui, Jonnin of Konoha, she was polite, hotheaded but never towards him, and refined—cute. But with his mask in place, she was fiery, and sly and selfish and fuck was it sexy.

The way Haruno acted with him as Okami reminded him of the version of her he adored the most: the wildfire that overtook acres of battlefield.

That was the Haruno he wanted most. And the closest thing he would ever see without risking his health, was like this, so he'd take it.

Shisui moved so suddenly, pushing his hips flush against hers and roughly backing her against the counter, his fingers entangled in her hair. He tugged on them with a fraction of the fervor she deserved, biting back his grunt when she gripped the straps of his armor with bloodless knuckles and made her chakra undulate within him. It was more than heat he felt this time. It was fire and want and chaos and reached all the way down to his toes, tangled in his hair, and it shook him to his very core. Oh, how he wished he didn't have to wear his mask! He wanted to leave angry marks all over her neck, her chest, her shoulders, just to look at them and please his ego because that's what she deserved.

He wanted her then and there—mission be damned!

Against the counter, the wall, the floor, he didn't give a fuck; he just wanted her now.

He wanted to push her down on her knees, wanted to feel that troublesome mouth around his cock, see those eyes peering up at him, do all the things he promised he would. And he genuinely considered it. Shisui didn't doubt she would have done it, either, seeing as how her fingers had slid down his metal plating and hooked around the waistband of his pants, not quite dipping inside, but caressing his hips.

But he was working. Their time was running out.

So Shisui pulled her hands away from his waist and trapped them against the counter beneath his own. Once he was sure Haruno wasn't going to move, he slipped one hand under his waistband and gripped his member with a restrained shiver. He ran his hand up and down a few times, moving lazily, not so much for the relief, but for the build up, gazing at Haruno with fervor as she watched him with eyes so dark with arousal they could have rivaled his own. As he stroked himself, Shisui leant against her completely.

"I want you to remember what I said last time, Haruno," He growled, lowly, dangerously. "I want you to think about everything I said I was going to do to you—how I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll feel my cock in you for days after." He twisted his wrist, ran his thumb along the wet tip of his hardening shaft, the smooth leather of his glove making his breathing hitch as he removed his hand. Shisui reached for her face without warning, his slicked thumb pushing against her lips until they parted for him, and he watched with desire-dampened eyes as her tongue purposefully licked at the proffered digit.

"I want you to remember how I taste," He continued, his eyes narrowing as Haruno gently trapped his finger with her teeth, "Because the moment this mission is over, I intend to make good on that promise, Sakura."