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Passion in my Pants

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It was unknown how the Sexy Calendar Mission first came about, ANBU secrecy being what it was and all.  There was general consensus that the commission had come from a high-ranking and immensely wealthy noblewoman in the Fire Daimyou’s court, though no one could figure out how she even knew who Konoha’s Team 6 were, much less the fact that they were sexy.  Still, a mission was a mission, especially when it came with the kind of price tag normally associated with S-ranked Bingo Book bounties. 

Raidou found out about the mission first, via Kuroda spouting some bullshit about wanting to preserve the integrity of the original Team 6.  He turned the mission down.  When that didn’t work, he went home and came back with an excuse slip signed by his moms.  When that didn’t work, he tried to hide out at Yuuhi Benihime’s house for “intensive genjutsu training,” only to find that Kuroda, in a rare show of sharp intellect and stunning foresight, had already cut off that particular escape route by promising Benihime-sama her own copy of the calendar.

“Fine,” Raidou said, in the end, and sent for his team. 



“Well,” Genma said, with a casual, roll-with-the-punches shrug that never failed to remind Raidou why Genma was his favourite, “I guess it’s not the weirdest thing I’ve ever had to do for a mission.”

Beside him, Katsuko looked as if her birthday had come early and the present was an all-you-can-eat buffet of her favourite foods served upon the scantily clad bodies of beautiful men and women.  “Someone pinch me,” she murmured euphorically.  “I think I’m dreaming.  Actually, no, don’t pinch me.  If this is a dream, I will eviscerate the person who wakes me up.”

Ryouma, in clear demonstration of his willingness to risk life and limb on a Hokage-sanctioned striptease for the good of their village’s finances, had shown up to the meeting shirtless.  “My body is Konoha’s,” he said, glowing with noble selflessness.

Though that might have just been the body oil. 

Raidou gazed at his team, and then noticed that the side of the room that usually provided snark and judgemental sarcasm was strangely silent.  He looked around.  “Anybody seen Hatake?”



Hatake, as it turned out, found out about the mission shortly after Raidou, by virtue of Benihime-sama telling Kurenai, who told Rin, who told Kakashi, who immediately dropped enough money to pay for his half of their meal and was out the door before the bills even hit the table. 

The Yondaime caught up to him halfway to Suna.  It took some doing, because Minato was fast, but Kakashi was motivated.  Eventually, the fact that Minato had taught him just about everything he knew won out. 

“I will defect,” Kakashi said threateningly. 

“I figured you’d say that,” Minato said, and reached through the void to pull out a small, squirming body that he promptly tossed into Kakashi’s arms.

“Nii-san,” Naruto whimpered, blue eyes huge and wet, “are you really gonna leave forever?

Kakashi stared helplessly at the forty pounds of emotional blackmail clinging to his shoulders, and then pinned the boy’s father with a glare that vociferously accused him of being an amoral, traitorous bastard who fornicates with barnyard animals.

Minato smiled sunnily back.



By the time Hatake sulked into the large meeting room that had been repurposed for their photoshoot, the photographer (award-winning, internationally-renowned, and here at the personal invitation of the woman who’d commissioned the calendar) was just finishing Ryouma’s individual shots.

“Nice of you to join us,” Raidou said dryly.  His photoshoot had featured him wearing ripped jeans that were more rip than actual jean, while fondling his sword suggestively (he apologized quietly and fervently to it for the misuse).  Raidou wasn’t sure why anyone would want to see him lick the blade, but the photographer assured him that it worked with his image of “savage sensuality.”

Though Genma’s photoshoot – which had mostly been close-ups of his face, framed with sun-streaked hair that gleamed like gold under the lights, his full, red lips wrapped around senbon, strawberries, and his own fingers – that had been, ah, interesting, so maybe there was something to it after all.

Objectively speaking, of course, because Raidou had boundaries. 

“Taichou,” Kakashi grumbled, looking like he held Raidou personally responsible for this predicament.  He glanced around the room, his gaze landing on Katsuko, lying on one of the couches, eyes glazed over, the very picture of bliss.  “What's wrong with Ueno?”

“Nothing,” Katsuko replied, dreamily.  “Nothing will ever be wrong again.”

Raidou hadn’t been able to make himself stay in the room during Katsuko’s turn (to be fair, Katsuko had openly fled when it was his turn), so he only had Genma’s report on what had happened.  He still didn’t understand how food could be pornographic, but had decided that he valued his sanity (and his ability to look Katsuko in the eye) too much to request further explanation.

On the dais in the center of the room, the photographer snapped her final shot of Ryouma, wrists bound above his head and liberally splattered with fake blood and dirt.  The photographer had decided early on that she liked the way Ryouma looked while bloody, dirty, and restrained (an idea that had Katsuko loudly cat-calling in agreement, Genma muttering a word over and over under his breath, and Raidou trying his damnedest to look anywhere other than at Ryouma’s… everything).  Her assistant led Ryouma off to the side to wash up, touching him a lot more than was professionally necessary as Ryouma grinned lasciviously and offered the young woman a personalized tour of Konoha that would probably consist entirely of his bedroom.

“Who’s next?” the photographer called. 

Because Raidou was a seasoned ANBU veteran, and because he’d spent more than three days in Kakashi’s presence, his hand snapped out and grabbed hold of Kakashi’s gloved forearm a second before Kakashi could translocate himself to the other side of Fire Country.  “This one!” he called back.

The scathing look Kakashi shot him promised a death so horrific that oblivion would be a longed-for mercy.  Raidou, who saw that look every morning they had to break camp before dawn, simply smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.  “Have fun.”




Kakashi’s photoshoot started out well.  The photographer took one look at him and immediately started gushing about body lines and facial angles.  Apparently, Kakashi’s face “caught the light” beautifully, whatever that meant (maybe he was reflective, since he was so pale?).  Her enthusiasm dimmed considerably, however, once Kakashi made it clear that he was not going to take off his uniform shirt.  Or his mask.  Or show any facial expression that wasn’t homicidal.

“I like the intensity, Hatake-san, but you are looking a little… stiff,” she said, lips pursed in a thoughtful frown. 

“Sorry,” Kakashi said, as apologetic as a kunai in the face. 

Raidou had to give her credit. He’d seen battle-hardened jounin flinch under the full force of Sharingan no Kakashi’s glacial glare; this woman just looked as though she found him inconvenient.

“Hmmm, maybe we just need something else.” She looked around, found Ryouma (clean now, though still shirtless), and dragged him by the wrist to stand beside Kakashi.  “Perfect!  Hatake-san, don’t move.  Tousaki-san, please drape yourself around him.”

Kakashi and Ryouma froze, then turned their heads toward Raidou.  So did Katsuko.  Genma was pointedly looking away, sending a clear message that Raidou was on his own for this one.  Coward. 

Raidou weighed the need to maintain team boundaries against his desire for this whole ordeal to be over already, as well as his lingering resentment that Kakashi had run away when he’d heard about this mission and hadn’t had the decency to take Raidou with him. 

“The sooner you finish,” he said, in his captain voice, “the sooner we all get to go home.”  And, in Raidou’s case, drink until the alcohol killed off enough brain cells for him to forget this day ever happened.

Kakashi’s glower could have stripped paint, while Ryouma’s face lit up with an unholy glee that made Raidou concerned about his clear lack of self-preservation.  Especially when Ryouma patted Kakashi consolingly on the shoulder and said, “Just think of me as a prop.  A sexy prop.  I can swoon into your arms, if you like.  Or you can swoon into my arms; fainting’s more your thing anyway.”

Beside him, Genma murmured something about getting his med-kit, just in case.  On his other side, Katsuko hugged her arms around herself and said, rapturously, “Best. Mission. Ever.”

Raidou just sighed.



A week later, each member of Team 6 received their own, advanced copy of the calendar in the mail. 

Raidou had intended on tossing his into the trash without opening it, because everybody in that calendar was himself (the memory of his photoshoot still made him cringe), or his almost-little-sister, or people he was most assuredly Not Allowed to lust over.  Unfortunately, instead of his copy being delivered to his room at the ANBU barracks, it got sent to his moms’ house, which resulted in Raidou squirming in mortified despair as his moms giggled over the photos and said horrifying things about keeping the ones of him for the family photo album.  Really, Raidou did not know whose shrine he had accidentally pissed on to deserve this, but he’s truly, profoundly sorry.

Katsuko brought hers to the weekly kunoichi dinner, and promised a hand-drawn reproduction of any photo to the person who would pay for her meal.  By the end of the evening, she had secured enough commissions to get free food for a month.  She wondered, briefly, if she ought to share her winnings with Ryouma, who was by far the most popular request (not that she blamed them; that photo of him on his knees, back arched, pants barely hanging on to the curve of his ass was inspirational, to say the least).  She didn’t, in the end, because food, but she did buy him a drink the next time they went out.

Genma skimmed through his own photos, noting with pleasure that the lighting they’d used had done lovely things for his eyes.  He took a little longer on Raidou’s, gaze lingering over the sculpted musculature of his arms, the hard, flat planes of his stomach that lead down to his… sword, held firmly in his large, strong-looking hands.  He tried his best to be objective with his subordinates’ photos, though Ryouma’s made things somewhat difficult, especially when Genma’s brain reminded him of the fact that Ryouma and Raidou had had sex, and insisted on providing mental images of what that might have been like.  Kakashi’s photo with Ryouma had Genma praying that it was just the magic of photography causing them to look like that, and not because there was actual unresolved sexual tension between the two rookies.  Team 6 was complicated enough as is.

Ryouma pored over every single photo in the calendar, even his own.  He regretted it afterwards, because Raidou shirtless and practically pants-less was bad enough, but the photo of him smiling at the camera made Ryouma actually whimper.  And Genma, holy shit, with his honey-gold eyes and the seductive curve of his mouth, halfway between warm and wicked.  The photo of Katsuko looking like a warrior goddess with her legs bare and swords flashing was… yeah, but also the photo where she was doing obscene things to a peach.  Even Kakashi, and that was its own shocker, because the barely-reined killing intent that Ryouma clearly remembered Kakashi radiating during the photoshoot somehow translated to Kakashi looking like he was barely reining in another impulse entirely, and Ryouma hadn’t thought that Kakashi’s face could even do that.  He sighed, reminded his libido (again) that what he had was too good to fuck up, and went for a long, cold shower.  

Kakashi looked through the entire calendar, from beginning to end, once.  Then he burned it to a crisp with a burst of lightning chakra, and pulled out Icha Icha.  Fictional characters were better than real people, any day.