He reached Kura by nightfall.

Though the digital map had projected that it'd take him two hours to get to the town, it didn't seem to account for the influx in traffic—sometimes standing at a halt. He felt a little perturbed leaning back in his seat, wondering if the police had began doing thorough sweeps at the town-line. He had even pulled out his cell to check the blogs and Konoha newsfeeds for updates. After padding through multiple sources for news, he allowed his mind to take solace in the lack of news. Though the paranoia in the back of his mind was telling him that the police were going radio silent for a reason.

They were already much too generous with information. As much as they wanted to keep the citizens in the loop in a desperate attempt to mitigate statewide fear—it was only keeping him cognizant of his surroundings. Fucking idiots. But he was relieved to still have this much legroom to move around—for now. It was still early and he knows it won't be long before they start to tighten the noose. He hoped to be long gone before then, preferably on the other side of the globe, if he'd struck that kind of luck. He'd even take another country, somewhere maybe for good.

And do what?

That question, it always bounces around the dark cavernous waste of his mind—without an answer to pin it down. He had never rested with the idea that he'd get away from this shit and the fact that he had gone a far distance with his vengeance only made him certain, he'd be at the end of the rope soon. Whether he'd be hanging from it or cutting himself free…he wasn't quite sure. And what about her?

What about her?

Keeping her, was out of the friggin' question. Getting involved with her in the first place was a huge disservice to himself, in more ways than he could count. This entire time—he maneuvered around this country like the apparition of death. Untethered, unburdened and unimpeded by mindless moral codes. Free to nurse his rage and escape persecution, free to flaunt his evasiveness—his ability to kill effectively and callously.

Living in the rawness of his soul.

Exploring his most primal urges and knowing that he was a creature that should have never existed.

And what about her?

I need a drink.

He had been itching for a taste of something astringent, hallucinate and poisonous. It was about time he got to wind down—maybe even beat it off to something slutty before bed. Like old times. He had a lot to work out with himself and not much time to do it in.

The florescent traffic sign advertised a few rest stops and a Kobini cornerstone a mile from the first motel.

Once he reaches the Kobini, pleasantly surprised to see a liquor shop on the opposite end of the street. A goddamn sign that some deity of mercy wanted to see him get his rocks off. He parked on the curb—lingering a beat longer to make sure there weren't any signs of law enforcement, though he'd never really be sure regardless.

Hotto lay sprawled out in the backseat and has been topless and comatose since he had promised to let her starve if she insisted on speaking to him—or flashing her tits at unsuspecting buses of children. He wouldn't be waking her, though it did give him pause to be leaving a cunning little bitch like her in the car.

It wouldn't take him long.

He's never been one to stare up wondrously at the nights sky but felt compelled to do so whilst crossing the street. Several fireworks skitter across the massive sheet of night in a piercing shrill before rupturing like a flash bomb. Luminous sprays of colors sprung out, painting the entire street and the sky in flashes. Waterfalls of light sprinkle in the aftermath, dazzling a family as they exit the convenience store.

"Whoa fires! Kaa-san!"

A fat cheeked kid marvels, standing between his two parents—brandishing a popsicle at the random spectacle. The parents chuckle, stepping aside for Naruto to get by, but standing still to watch the fireworks together.

He doesn't want to explore the reasons why he twisted around to look at that family after pressing his shoulder up against the door and letting himself into the store. It was best to leave it obscured, behind the grim walls of his mind.


Funds were soon to expire but he at least had enough to scrounge up a room at the hotel, buy a bottle of booze for himself, a half a dozen cups of ramen and snacks for Hotto —who still hadn't roused. He didn't take the moment alone for granted and hoped like hell that she'd stay that way the entire night. At least until he gathered up the strength to tame her.

He secured the keycard from the lobby desk, after forging the signature of one of his alternative identities. The guy who checked him in didn't waste time proving the validity of his identity and handed him back his I.D card after the exchange. Naruto made small talk—questioning him about the occasion for the fireworks.

"Hokage appreciation week."

The man answers in a tortured tone, adding nothing more.

What in the high hell is a Hokage?


The room isn't a complete shitbucket and that's saying something for as little ryō as he payed. The muted gray chipped walls, the unsavory smell of 'lived in' funk clinging to the stale air and the way the door barely hung on its hinges would have to fucking suffice.

He continued on with the theme of not waking Hotto, lifting her body out of the back seat and toting her. He wonders if they'd send someone to his door after watching the security cams. How often does someone come in carting an unconscious woman into their room, with her breasts exposed.

Probably more times than the employees could from the look of this place.

It doesn't help that there's a chill in the air—calcifying her nipples. He felt something light glide itself suggestively up the back of his neck, sending his abdomen into an involuntary curl. Hinata's face rocks, turned up to the sky—her dark lashes casting long shadows along her cheek. She lay light in his arm, no heavier than a sack of potatoes. Her expression a default but more his bunny's face than the other two.

He couldn't help but to be mesmerized. This face might've been with him all day long but he had never once, wanted to look at it until now. He lingers at the foot of the bed holding her bridal style—looking down on her. Her body stirred lightly with peaceful breaths that lift her chest and he couldn't tear his eyes away—his gut felt sickeningly hot and unsettled.

Maybe I've gotta take a shit…


The opportunity to get shitfaced doesn't come often so he planned to lean into the moment with very little restraint. He's already uncapped the vodka and started to binge it carelessly from the bottle. The bitter-acidity scorches down his throat, leaving a rewarding burn in its wake. His chest feels hot and itchy, like a hot-air balloon has inflated somewhere under it.

The light over his head flickers and he slides the remote from the end table—flipping through the grainy channels without much interest. He avoids any channels with headline banners and settles on a bald guy wearing bifocals and fretting over a neatly trimmed shrub. He tosses the remote in the bed and begins reaching his hands back over his shoulders to pull the hoodie up over his head, undressing for shower.

He spent more time than necessary beneath the tap, noticing blood caked around his cuticles and in other crevice's. The hot water untensed knotted muscle and a delicious tingle of secrecy settled in his groin. A haze coated the bathroom and he leans back against the wall, raking a hand through his damp hair. He stood under the deluge with baited breath, feeling his feelings and grasping his already engorged dick. His thumb facing the base as he fisted it initially with halfhearted ambition.

Then his dick twitched on its own volition.

The edge of his mind teetered and swiveled, his thoughts racing as his hands worked on him with that effortless dexterity. Shallow breaths broke unevenly from his lips. The bathroom lights bled through his closed eyelids but his brain began pulling more precise material for him to settle into.

The first few imagines in the form of bodies—unfeeling to his touch. The rest became a montage of his bunny—immediately awakening a kind of ravenous tenacity. Something in the pit of his stomach aches and contorts like he was housing a belly full of wasps. Hurriedly, he adjusts his hands position. His elbow strikes the shower wall behind him, the muscles that powered his forearm began to splinter with a slight burn.

He could see her face plain as day—like the first day he had took notice of those stunning eyes.

How inviting her lips looked, how her rough scars felt beneath his fingers. How she surrendered herself to him…. how delectable her skin tasted—how he often imagines how she might taste on his tongue.

Droplets of water trek down his scowling face as the beating gets more visceral and less graceful. The sound filling his ears with desperation.

The veins in his dick feel like the strained cords of a guitar and the sensitivity starts to make him wish that he could stop. His lips twist into a snarl of slight discomfort.

Saliva collects to the front of his mouth as his tongue roves against his cheek restlessly, the skin shifting beneath his palm as he pulled up along the swollen curvature.

He wanted his mouth on her—in her. Wanted to feast on her and watch her writhe with embarrassment, overwhelmed by his doggedness. He wanted to make her unintelligible—to make her scramble for an escape and have absolutely no way of leaving him. He wonders if anyone had ever made her come. Wondered if anyone had ever wanted to see that pretty face of hers come undone with immense satisfaction.

Imagined his tongue hungrily laving at the juices lining her pulsating pussy. The sound of her moans would probably send him over the edge.

Fuck…

Fuck..

Fuh


He retired to bed shortly after eating a cup of ramen and hitting the prone to pump out a little over one hundred pushups. Slightly disappointed that it's a lot less than he was accustomed to. He attributed this to the fact that he had been tired as shit and slipped into the bed beside Hotto. He turned off the television, displeased with the bald nerd still giving 'quality advice' about maintaining a shrub.

Hotto's rhythmic breathing seeped into his brain as he lay on his back with an arm pinned beneath his head. How did a fragile little thing like her become his sole responsibility. He was sure he had asked himself this question before and was no closer to finding an answer.

Him of all fucking people.

There were things he just wasn't well suited for and sustaining another person's life seemed to be apart of that criteria but here he was. And there she lay, crazy as shit but otherwise, safe.

The thought of it sent a warm buzz to the back of his head, though his stomach felt crammed with jagged dread.

Could die because of me….

Light dances through the windows and flitters across the ceiling as cars pass. Faint shadows paint the ceiling and he sighs.

What the fuck is he thinking? She wouldn't have it any other way…well—some of her.

Mind numbing silence eventually lulls him to sleep.

45 minutes later….

He felt something press warmly against his chest and his eyes fall open groggily toward the ceiling—no lights stretched across it, not even a shadow. His mouth is a rancid mess of stale noodles and alcohol.

A yawn wrestles its way through his sleep stiffened mouth.

"…sorry, d—didn't mean to wake you."

It's a bashful reply to a question he hadn't asked—and she stirs beside him, trying to give him room.

In one languid move, he's turning over to sling an arm over her hip.

The dark is just about impenetrable but he could roughly see the gloss and shine of her eyes, make out the contours of her small face.

Her fists were tucked up under her chin—probably in some pointless attempt to shield her breast even though they were bathing in stark darkness.

They lay face to face, breaths clashing softly. He doesn't know how long they stayed that way, silently staring at one another. Him biting back the impulse to accuse her of being Haru—but also not caring if it was. As long as she was pretending to cut him some fucking slack.

"M—ay I, move closer?"

Wordlessly, he lifts his arm but hesitance delays her. Eventually she eases over to him with great trepidation. The heat of her small body merging with his feels foreign and the thing in his chest knocks against his ribcage. He lowers his arm, letting his palm wander over her smooth hips and up the delicate dip of her bare back.

The touch elicits a shudder from her and he watches her face closely. Letting his hands thoughtlessly iron out her panic.

"What the heck are you scared for?"

She swallows, "I don't want you t—to be upset with me."

The behavior gave him some sort to reassurance that this was in fact his bunny.

"Yeah about that, that ship has sailed and capsized in the fuckin' Atlantic," he assures her, watching her brows knit with worry, she chews at her bottom lip slowly. "…with the other two inside of it. You on the other hand—I might've grown a bigger tolerance for."

A grin broke out across her lips and though the darkness had drained the color from the room—he knows that her cheeks were likely flushed.

"I-I I'm sorry I—left. I jus—"

He shakes his head dismissively, exhaustion pulling his eyes shut, "….relax crazy. I don't give a shit about any of that. You're back—focus on that."

"Well…a—at least can I say, thank you, for not hurting Lee."

Naruto laughs—nearly choking on the thick spit trapped in his gullet. His hand froze at the small of her back before he finally composes himself, clearing his throat, "Listen, don't make me a liar—as a matter of fact, let's talk about anything else."

At least the effort had paid off. Even if he was a cripple.

Couldn't just let him off the hook, no matter what he chooses to do with the information.

His eyes were still closed, his conscience wavering. He hears her laugh breathlessly—her fingertips shyly graze his stubbled jaw before pressing much more firmly against his face, caressing him carefully.

"I—is this, ok?"

"Heck yeah, but it doesn't mean you have to do it. You're not being punished—you don't have to be afraid of me anymore."

"I'm not afraid…Naruto-kun." She admits softly, gingerly tracing her thumb along his jawline, "I—Its just, I like touching you. I want to do it—all the time—everyday."

He opens one eye feeling a slight shift touch the mattress. The distance between completely filled and there's no space between them.

Gentle fingers trap themselves in the hairs at the nape of his neck and it's been so long since someone had ever touched him there.

He opens his mouth to say what he assumed would be, "You don't have to ask for permission to touch me, go right ahead."

But instead, it came out like this,

"Lie down on your back, let me taste your pussy."