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The storm that had dogged his footsteps since pretty much the day Ryouma had left Konoha finally broke shortly before he reached the village gates, which just lent further evidence to his theory that this mission was cursed . At least the torrential rain had washed away the blood and stink of rot, leaving him relatively clean, if soaked and muddy and three days late .

Which meant that instead of having three days with Kakashi before Kakashi had to leave for his mission, Ryouma would have three minutes. Maybe. Assuming that Kakashi hadn’t already left.

“Welcome home, Tousaki-san,” Takahito Mai said, when he arrived at the mission desk. A chemical attack during the war had scarred the left side of her body, leaving it mostly paralyzed, but she was still more efficient with one working hand than most ninja who had two. She held out that hand, expectant. “You’re overdue.”

Ryouma obediently placed a sealed scroll onto her palm. “There were flash floods and mudslides everywhere from Kitagawa to Shinjou,” he said with a grimace. “Otherwise, the mission was a complete success.”

Well, it almost hadn’t been, about eight or nine times, but no one wanted to hear about almosts, especially not Takahito Mai, who was Kakashi’s favourite desk attendant because she asked the least amount of questions.

True to form, Mai simply nodded, and dropped his scroll into a tray along with several other similarly sealed scrolls. “You’re dismissed,” she said briskly, and then, a little more quietly, “Hatake-san will be happy to have you home.”

Evidently Kakashi’s regard for her wasn’t one-sided. Ryouma would have to remember to tell him that. He grinned at her, gave a quick salute, and dashed out.

His apartment was about forty minutes away from the mission desk, at a comfortable stroll. Going over the rooftops cut that time in half. Ryouma made it home in even less time than that, latching onto Kakashi’s familiar chakra signature and letting it guide him like a beacon.

He’d just taken off his boots and thumped his sodden gear down onto the genkan when Kakashi came out of their bedroom — shirtless, maskless, and the best thing Ryouma had seen in over a week. He crossed the distance between them in three strides, and had just enough presence of mind to wipe his mud-spotted hands on his pants before pulling Kakashi in for a kiss.

At least he’d remembered to shave, this morning.

Kakashi’s skin was hot and still damp from the shower, and he didn’t seem to care that Ryouma was cold, wet, and probably tasted like a rain gutter. He tapped a question on Ryouma’s hip, and made a quiet sound of approval when Ryouma tapped back an all-clear.

That had been the one consolation in being delayed by rainfall — he’d had plenty of time to practice healing his own injuries.

“Missed you,” Ryouma murmured, smiling against Kakashi’s mouth. “Takahito-san’s nicer to me when you’re there too. You charmer.”

Kakashi huffed a laugh. “No accounting for taste. Did she glare at you for being late?”

“Like every single one of my Academy sensei , ” Ryouma said mournfully. Then he sighed. “How much time do we have?”

“About thirty minutes,” Kakashi replied, and bit his lip lightly in apology. “I’ll need six of those to get dressed. And you need to shower.”

Ryouma sighed, but dragged himself away from the warm press of Kakashi’s body. “Is this the suit mission that I know absolutely nothing about?”

“Yes,” Kakashi said, walking over to the bed, where the suit in question was laid out: jacket, vest, and pants in deep blue-grey, with a light grey shirt and dark blue tie.

After hearing Kakashi’s complaints about endless visits to the tailor’s, Ryouma was mildly surprised by how… ordinary it looked, though there was probably room for a whole arsenal under its unassuming lines.

“Can you put it on now?” he asked, snagging a towel on his way to the bathroom.

Kakashi’s brow furrowed. “We still have thirty minutes and you want me to get less naked?”

It was, Ryouma admitted, a fair point. He gave Kakashi an appreciative once-over, and then once more for good measure, because there was a lot to appreciate. But Ryouma had been fantasizing about Kakashi in that suit since Kakashi had first not-told him about the mission — and even before that, if he was to be perfectly honest.

“I want to see how it looks on you,” he said, with his most winning smile. “Please?”

With one eye covered, Kakashi couldn’t quite manage the Lieutenant Eyebrow, but Ryouma could see Genma’s influence there. “All right,” he said, and picked up the shirt.

Ryouma was tempted to stay and watch him get dressed, but it had been a long mission, and he’d spent most of it filthy and wet. Their apartment shower didn’t have the ruthless water pressure of the ones in the ANBU barracks — the management frowned upon ninja using jutsu to boost the flow — but the hot water was plentiful. And when they weren’t under a time constraint, the privacy was well worth it.

He scrubbed quickly and efficiently, using a nail brush to remove the last vestiges of gore from his hands. A bar of Kakashi’s unscented soap sat in their soap dish, next to a fresh bar of black raspberry vanilla, still in its wrapping. Ryouma patted it fondly, and went for the unscented option instead. Kakashi was scheduled to be gone for five days at least; he’d have plenty of time to indulge.

A rinse and a brisk rub with the towel later, he felt much better. He tossed his clothes into the laundry hamper, and wrapped the towel around his hips, before emerging from the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

Kakashi was standing in front of a full-length mirror. He was wearing his mask again.

He was also wearing the suit.

The tailor had done a good job. Even Ryouma, who was not remotely an expert on suits, could tell that this had been made to fit Kakashi’s body and no one else’s. The cut of the jacket framed the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips; the pants hugged his thighs and the curve of his ass. His hair gleamed bright silver against the dark fabric, and the tie made his grey eye look almost blue.

“Well?” Kakashi asked, turning towards Ryouma. The suit moved with him, emphasizing the long, lean lines of his body; his grace and economy of motion that was unusual even among other ninja. Kakashi looked like a civilian in his suit, but he didn’t move like one, and the contrast was startling.

It was also incredibly sexy.

“Wow,” Ryouma said, suddenly dry-mouthed. He swallowed, and tried again. “I hope you get to keep the outfit after the mission.”

Kakashi went momentarily still in a way that meant Ryouma had surprised him. “I could probably make a case for it.” He gazed at his reflection in the mirror, then back at Ryouma. “Really? It looks good?”

“It looks great ,” Ryouma corrected. “Do you have a big stick in your arsenal? You’re going to need it to beat off all your admirers.”

“If that’s supposed to be innuendo, you’ve done better,” Kakashi said dryly, as he unbuttoned his jacket, drawing Ryouma’s attention to the gloves covering his hands.

The black leather gloves, and Ryouma really wished he’d run home faster.

“As for the arsenal,” Kakashi continued, walking right up to Ryouma, and spreading out his arms wide and his legs hip width apart, “see for yourself. Tell me what you find.”

It took Ryouma a few seconds to realize that Kakashi didn’t mean that offer in a sexy way, but in a practical way because he’d probably get pat down for weapons at the target’s location. Ryouma obligingly skimmed his hands along Kakashi’s suit-clad arms and torso, trying to ignore the twist of resentment curdling in his gut, because Kakashi looked absolutely gorgeous. Well, Kakashi frequently looked gorgeous, but Ryouma had kind of liked being one of the few people who got to see that. And the only one who got to touch.

Which, even in his head, sounded a little pathetic, so Ryouma shoved the thought away and focused on what he was doing instead.

By the time he got to Kakashi’s thighs, he still hadn’t found a single blade. Confused, he glanced back up, only to meet with Kakashi’s smirk.

“Can’t make it that easy,” Kakashi said, sounding amused. “Want to try again?”

The second time, Ryouma was more careful. Instead of his palms, he used the sensitive pads of his fingers, feeling for too-thick seams and hidden pockets. He found the first weapon tucked behind Kakashi’s tie: a pair of senbon, no longer than toothpicks and almost completely concealed by the knot at Kakashi’s throat. Ryouma flicked his gaze at Kakashi, who smiled and nodded.

Encouraged, Ryouma continued. Kakashi’s arms and hands were clean, but there was a slight ridge along the cuffs of both sleeves.

“Wire?” he asked, tapping the button that probably doubled as the release mechanism.

“Very good,” Kakashi said, and Ryouma grinned.

He skipped the obvious hiding places — under the arms, the lining of the jacket — though he paused at the sight of a pen hooked onto the inside pocket. It looked normal when he uncapped it, except…

“Sharpened nib?”

“And poisoned ink,” Kakashi confirmed.

Ryouma returned the pen and kept going. Kakashi didn’t react when Ryouma unbuckled his belt and felt along the inside, though he did raise his eyebrow as Ryouma’s fingers slid beneath the waistband of his underwear.

“Really?”

Ryouma raised one right back, and was vindicated when he found a slender, sharp object pressed against the dip of Kakashi’s spine. “You were saying?”

Kakashi dipped his head, conceding victory. “Well, no one’s going to look there.

“Not even for an excuse to grope your ass?” Ryouma asked, and helpfully demonstrated — to prove a point, of course.

Something shifted in Kakashi’s stance, just for a moment; he didn’t move, his chakra didn’t so much as flicker, but Ryouma was still suddenly and keenly aware that he was standing in front of a predator.

“I’d discourage them,” Kakashi said, in mild, pleasant tones.

Ryouma took a deep, slow breath, and reminded himself that ninja were generally discouraged from showing up to missions looking freshly fucked.

Though, with Kakashi, it wasn’t as if anyone could tell . And Ryouma had just spent nine miserable, muddy days with only his right hand for company.

“Good to know,” he said, and sank to his knees.

The uptick in Kakashi’s breathing was immediate and gratifying. His legs stood firm as Ryouma ran his hands down the outside from hips to ankles, but Ryouma could feel the muscles tense under his touch. Ryouma took his time going back up, letting his fingers linger on Kakashi’s inner calves, the backs of his knees. There was something inexplicably arousing about being almost naked before Kakashi, his bare skin on display, while Kakashi was still fully dressed, looking prim and proper except for a distinct bulge in the fine fabric of his pants.

Ryouma licked his lips, slowly and deliberately, then looked up at Kakashi’s face, red-tinged where it disappeared beneath his mask. “ Now can I make a joke about big sticks?”

Kakashi laughed, helplessly and a little hoarse. “You don’t have better things you can do with your mouth than make bad jokes?”

“I might,” Ryouma allowed, smugly. “Depends how long we’ve got left.”

A quick glance at the clock on their wall, and Kakashi said, “Nineteen minutes.”

Ryouma nodded, and gave Kakashi his cockiest grin. “Plenty of time.”

He undid the pants carefully, folding the waistband over Kakashi’s thighs instead of just shoving them down. The underwear went next; no protective cup, though Ryouma assumed that would change once the mission actually started. Kakashi’s cock was rapidly stiffening in Ryouma’s hand, flushed and blood-warm, and he gasped sharply when Ryouma pressed a sloppy kiss to the head. Ryouma gripped Kakashi’s hip with his other hand, and held him steady as Ryouma swirled his tongue to catch the taste of pre-cum, then licked down the side of the shaft until he could bury his nose in the crease where Kakashi’s thigh met his hip.

A bare hand came down to grasp Ryouma’s cheek, and he turned his head to press an open-mouthed kiss against the scarred, calloused palm. “Sixteen minutes,” Kakashi gritted out, both a warning and challenge.

Ryouma pulled away, and met his challenge with a smirk. “Bet I can do it in twelve,” he said, and took Kakashi back into his mouth.

He didn’t waste time, just went straight to what he knew Kakashi liked best: tongue stroking the underside of Kakashi’s cock, cheeks hollowed to provide suction, while his thumb massaged Kakashi’s perineum. This wasn’t Ryouma’s favourite kind of oral sex; he preferred being able to take his time, hold Kakashi down and tease him until Kakashi was begging — and swearing, and occasionally threatening. Or being underneath Kakashi, with his hands pinned over his head and his mind blissfully blank as Kakashi fucked his face.

But this kind of ruthless efficiency had its appeal too, in the way Ryouma could feel Kakashi’s thighs trembling as he fought to keep his footing; the way Ryouma could make Kakashi cry out with a flick of his tongue or a light scrape of his teeth. Kakashi tasted clean, with just a hint of salt, and smelled intoxicatingly of heat and arousal, everything about him familiar and beloved.

“Ryouma,” Kakashi rasped, fingers tight in Ryouma’s hair, his voice a breathless wreck, and Ryouma was unprepared for the way his own body shuddered in response. The word resonated through him like a struck bell, throbbing in his cock.

This was the first time that he’d heard his name in nine days, Ryouma realized, in a haze of dizzying arousal. On the mission, he’d been a nameless, faceless blade in the dark. In Kitagawa, he’d been just another traveller waiting out the storm, a henge rendering him unrecognizable, unremarkable, and easily forgotten.

He moaned, low and greedy, and relaxed his jaw on Kakashi’s reflexive thrust, bringing Kakashi deeper into his throat. He let go of Kakashi’s hip to get a hand between his legs, tugging apart the folds of the towel and wrapping his fingers around his own cock. Above him, Kakashi made a rough, half-feral sound, urgent and wanting. Ryouma looked up, and saw Kakashi panting, mask pulled down to his chin, his eye so pupil-dark that it almost matched Ryouma’s.

“Together,” Kakashi managed, somewhere between a plea and a command. “Come. With me.”

Sudden heat raced down his spine like a lit fuse. Ryouma shuddered again, groaning his assent as his hand moved furiously over his cock, his pulse racing, blood pounding in his ears. The fingers in his hair slid down to grip the back of his neck, anchoring him, holding him in place. Kakashi thrust into him once more, twice; then Kakashi came, mouth wrapped around a half-formed word that might have been Ryouma’s name.

Ryouma had just enough time to swallow, hurried and clumsy, before he tipped over the edge as well, shaking apart between the hand on his neck and the one on his cock. His hips bucked convulsively as he spilled onto his fingers and the towel, pulling off of Kakashi’s cock to rest his forehead against the wavelike heave of Kakashi’s abdomen. Slowly, as they both caught their breath, Kakashi’s hand on his neck gentled, stroking instead of gripping, fingers ruffling languidly through the short hairs at the base of his skull. Ryouma sighed and leaned a little more heavily into Kakashi’s touch, glancing down quickly to make sure that he hadn’t dirtied Kakashi’s shoes when he’d come — though that just sent his brain spiralling in other directions, ones that required a lot more time than they currently had.

And on that topic...

“Did I win?” he asked. His throat was a little raw, and his lips felt pleasantly numb and well-used.

Kakashi laughed, rippling the muscle that pillowed Ryouma’s temple. “Yeah, you did,” he admitted, voice rough. “With eleven seconds to spare, even.”

Ryouma grinned up at Kakashi, smug and satisfied, as he wiped his hand on his towel. “Well done, me. Do I get a prize?”

“Negotiating after the fact weakens your position,” Kakashi said loftily, and hauled Ryouma up to his feet. Ryouma was about to return with You weren’t complaining about my ‘position’ a minute ago, when Kakashi added, “What do you have in mind?”

One of these days, Ryouma was going to remember that Kakashi was as likely to play along as he was to deflect, and actually prepare a follow-through.

He thought about the question as they put Kakashi’s clothes back on, wrapping him back up in layers of expensive fabric until he looked just as he had before Ryouma had gone down on him: beautiful and dangerous and untouchable.

Well, maybe not that last one, Ryouma mused, as he watched Kakashi dab away the sweat sheening his brow. Kakashi was still flushed, lips bitten-red, though once the mask went back up, no one else would know.

No one except Ryouma, who always got to see, because Kakashi always let him.

“Keep the suit,” he said, a few ideas forming – nothing as specific or detailed as The List that Kakashi seemed to add to whenever he picked up a new book, but Kakashi liked it when he improvised, anyway. “And the gloves.” A previous mental image resurfaced, and he added, “And the shoes. Wear them home from the mission.”

Kakashi’s eye widened, then narrowed, as his gaze turned assessing, and intrigued, and intent. “I trust you’ll make it worth my while?”

The responsible adult in him said that it probably wasn’t a good idea to start something he definitely wouldn’t be able to finish in the time they had left, but he was used to ignoring that voice. “Have I ever not?” he asked, voice pitched to a low rumble as he leaned in and kissed Kakashi thoroughly, sliding his tongue into Kakashi’s mouth to let Kakashi taste himself.  

When he pulled away, Kakashi was breathing hard again, and looked like he didn’t know whether he wanted to throttle Ryouma or shove him back down onto his knees. It was a good look for Kakashi.

“Don’t accept any more missions until I get back,” Kakashi said, with just a touch of growl threaded through his voice.

“Don’t get hospitalized, or dead,” Ryouma returned, and laughed when that earned him an affronted glare.

He kissed Kakashi once more on the way out the door, and then Kakashi was gone, his chakra signature flickering farther and farther away as he translocated to the village gates. Ryouma sighed and headed back into their bedroom, trying to remember who was in the village that he’d be able to drag along to a bar or a restaurant. Genma and Raidou were still out, but Hakone or Ayane would be game, especially if Ryouma offered to pay. Ginta was always up for a drink, and he’d probably given up on angling for a threesome by now.

Maybe.

Ryouma snickered to himself, and glanced at the calendar hanging from the kitchen wall — Captain Seaweed’s Monthly Adventures, a gift from Naruto-kun.

Five days. He could do five days.