It all started when he dropped his book. Kakashi hadn’t known that the nubile twenty-year old would pick it up and lounge in the grass near where he sparred, reading it as she sunbathed. Her long fingers stroked her bare stomach after she’d pulled her shirt up to her bra line to get some sun there. It had been years since Kakashi had really admired such tight young skin and kept an eye on her in case she raised it high enough for a glimpse of something more.

He felt dirty. But for Kakashi, dirty was part of daily life so the feeling wasn’t unpleasant or unwarranted. Actually, it felt pretty normal.

Of course, the voyeurism should have stopped at that. But when he emerged from the pub at ten, the burn of whiskey still in his throat and the scent still on him of cheap perfume from the drunken cougar that had offered him a blow-job in exchange for a place to sleep, he caught sight of her.

It was as he stood in the doorway of the pub that he watched Sakura’s long legs carry her toward her apartment, his prized book tucked tightly under her arm and her white hospital coat slung over the other. His keen vision (even intoxicated) picked up that a little slip of paper she used as a bookmark was about three pages from the end. Perhaps she’d been reading it all day. Kakashi knew firsthand what reading something like that could do if taken in large doses.

Following her with some intention, the Copy-nin easily climbed the tall tree outside her apartment and perched himself on a large, sturdy branch across from her bedroom window. The foliage was thick and if she was up to what he predicted she’d get up to, the odds of her noticing anything besides the backs of her eyelids or her bedroom ceiling was remote.

And just as anticipated, (he knew women so well) Sakura dropped the well worn volume on her bed and proceeded to strip herself of every item of clothing. But Kakashi felt self-conscious suddenly because it was in the way that she began to disrobe that his preconceptions about her and how she might timidly attempt self-stimulation disintegrated.

With slow ease, Sakura pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor. Left in just her black lace bra and a tight skirt, she stood in front of her mirror and looked at herself. Gingerly, her fingers grazed her shoulders and caressed her body over her bra and again down to stroke her tight stomach. Next her skirt was slid down, but it was achingly slow. She bent forward and led it all the way down to her feet before gently and carefully stepping out of it. This was when her admirer realized she wore just a thong.

Kakashi felt the twitch in his pants and used a thumb to adjust the beginning of an erection, coaxing it roughly to cooperate.

Walking back around her bedroom, Sakura fell onto her bed and writhed a little against the soft blanket, humming her pleasure at having a moment to relax. Then she made a small production of removing her bra and panties before swinging around on the bed to have her head at the end and her feet near the headboard.

[working on it]

They meet in the middle.

Between their two countries -- their two villages -- she with a brother gone and she with a brother still living, Tsunade of the Leaf (not yet, as she would be called someday, Godaime Hokage) and Chiyo of Sunagakure.

Tsunade kow-tows; the polished red nails of her small feet curl down and scrape at the mat upon which they stand; she beckons, invites her enemy in to sit with her for tea as they wait in this land of birds and sky and withering fall grass perishing from the absence of rain. It is late in the war; the battles drag on, invisible blood runs between them, between their loyalties, but they meet here, in this world, in this sanctuary; they meet with bruised hearts, they meet with the muted voices of unspoken loss. They meet as women, they meet as soldiers; a shinobi does not show emotion; a shinobi is a weapon. (In the morning, Tsunade blots her tears with the other side of the rag from which she's cleaned a wound -- a leg, this time, and it had to be amputated beneath the knee.)

Chiyo is coming to Konohagakure for diplomatic reasons, but her eyes are hard; scrutinizing. The leech-gatherer, she calls Tsunade, when she thinks she cannot hear (but can); she's picking flowers for a funeral -- a boy, this time, no older than --

Tsunade hears, and curses under her breath. Crushes a flower underfoot. Kicks a hole through the nailed boards of the rickety compound; there are robed ladies inside lighting incense and saying a prayer for the dead and dying, aiding their souls on their journey toward the afterlife, and Tsunade huffs out hard . . . stands there, with her hands pressed to either side of the doorframe and her lips open in a silent o; she exhales so hard that the wisps of hair around her face lift up. Puff of breath out.

Tsunade wants to laugh. She really does. Laugh in disgust, at this foolishness. Laugh in exasperation. Laugh away that feeling that vice that's squeezing the hell out of her throat, but a shinobi does not show emotion. Rule number -- she forgets which.

She thinks of Jiraiya, that big idiot. When did he ever abide by that rule? When did Orochimaru? Or maybe Orochimaru has. Maybe he has too perfectly, she thinks with a flash of unnamed ache; no, never mind. Damn, she's got to get to work.

"I never expected to encounter a child such as yourself," the woman tells her.

God I second this *_*

Oh, this sounds like fun. Working on this now.

*drool* I'm starting this right now!

Their first night as a team, they sleep in the jail that they liberated earlier that day, cell doors hanging open into empty halls, mildew dampening the cold stone walls.

Sasuke is walking through the complex, thinking about this team - about the responsibility of team captain. Leader. Sasuke is ready. It is nothing he isn't capable of; at sixteen, he is as much of a leader as he'll ever be. He picked the team specifically for their abilities, and the fact that they seemed to recognize him on a level beyond "Orochimaru's charge," a title commonly attributed to him among Orochimaru's other subordinates. They didn't need to see him as their superior, but they did need to acknowledge his strength and skill.

Sasuke's steps falter as he picks up the sound of raised voices echoing in the bare hallways. He rolls his shoulders, adjusts his katana, and heads towards the sound. He sincerely hopes that Suigetsu and Karin are not so much of a problem as to seriously compromise their objectives. Antagonism, Sasuke understands. But there are priorities when working in a team. This is why Sasuke will play mediator, tonight.
.

The sun beats heavy on the back of Sasuke's neck as he picks his way down the rocky slope towards the dark shade of the forest below. Karin is panting lightly, Suigetsu sipping noisily at his water bottle. Juugo steps so quietly that Sasuke, not for the first time in the few weeks he has been travelling with these three, forgets he is even there.

Karin misses her footing and sends a loosened rock tumbling down below them, disappearing into the tangle of bushes below. "If you spent less time watching Sasuke and more time watching your feet-" Suigetsu's sneer is cut short by the large chunk of stone Karin has hurled at him, followed by a string of curses. Sasuke clenches his jaw. He never would have anticipated that this aspect of leading a team would prove the most frustrating.
.

It is their fifth night in the woods, and it is nearly time for Sasuke's watch, the moon climbing high above the trees. He has been awake for some time, his mind categorizing weapons, sorting strategies, his battle with Itachi somehow much more immediate now that he is finally on the move, aboveground. Sasuke has been waiting for Karin to come back so he can relieve her, but he can't sense her chakra anywhere nearby. As he scans the area, he notices Suigetsu's bedroll is empty.

Sasuke shoves his palms into the dirt to push himself to his feet. Time to go mediate.

When he finds them from his vantage point in the canopy, however, Sasuke is entirely unsure of what a team leader is supposed to do in this situation. In the blue-white dappled moonlight that falls through the leaves, Suigetsu's pale arms suspend his weight as his hips drive down hard, fucking Karin into the dirt. Her eyes are screwed shut, cheek pressed into the soil as she bares her neck to him. He has his mouth up against her ear, low and steady tones suggesting that he is muttering words to her.

Sasuke watches them for a minute more, unable to hide his curiosity at how exactly the two of them managed to stop fighting long enough to recognize they were attracted to each other. Suigetsu's shirt rides high over his spine, the dimples of muscle in his lower back shadowed against his skin as he moves into her. Her stillness-her apparent compliance-baffles Sasuke. He feels embarrassed seeing her like this, so vulnerable and submissive to Suigetsu.

Sasuke drops noiselessly from the branch and returns to the camp.
.

Between the planning, the travelling and the preparation, Sasuke has also been wondering how Suigetsu and Karin work. He has caught them twice more since that night in the forest: once, Karin was on top and Suigetsu's hands were awkwardly tucked behind his back, head hung between them, a curtain of hair obscuring his face as she held him propped against a rock with one splayed palm between his pectorals, the other on his shoulder for leverage. The other time, Suigetsu had a fist in Karin's hair as he fucked her mouth, smearing grit and dirt from his other palm across her face roughly as he watched her.

She could feel him filling her up with his enormous tongue. It was almost too much to take and she wanted to pull away but she knew there would be serious consequences if she did.

Anko squirmed as Orochimaru removed his tongue and smiled up at her. It was odd, she felt empty now with him outside of her and she did not like it. As scary as he was he was good at pleasuring young women and he knew it.

For a while they just sat there, staring at each other.

"Well?" Orochimaru asked her. "Aren't you going to return the favor?"

He had stated it like a question but Anko knew it was a demand. She was curious to know what it was like to suck on a mans penis but she wasn't too sure if she wanted to find out with Orochimaru.

She slowly bent over and gave him an experimental lick. Anko could feel him shudder as she put the whole thing in her mouth. He was too big for her mouth and she had to be careful not to go too deep.

Soon she felt someone licking her vagina lightly, just barely, as if to tease her.

It was difficult. Trying to pleasure this man while he did things to her with his tongue. She had always thought his enlarged tongue was something strange but now it was something she found so useful. How many other ninjas had he pleasured with this tongue? She did not even want to beging to imagine.

She started moving her one hand up and down his chest while the other supported her. She reached for his nipple and gave it a squeeze. It was wonderful, torturing him the way he had tortured her. It felt great to finally have control over someone.

Orochimaru put his hands in her hair and pulled. Hard enough to make her moan, but not hard enough to make her stop. Just when she thought Orochimaru would never be satisfied he let out a mighty groan and came in her mouth.

Anko was not prepared for this and looked up at him with panic as she choked and spluttered.

Orochimaru just laughed and put on his pants. When she finally started breathing normally he had already reached the door to her room and was ready to leave.

"I'll see you next week, Anko."




Fuck, I don't even write fanfic. I think you can tell but someone has to get this shit started. C'mon Anon start filling out requests.

"You're trembling," Gaara noted coolly and Hinata squeezed Naruto's hand tighter for reassurance. His flat green eyes shifted to from her to her husband. "This is a bad idea, Uzumaki."

Hinata shook her head. "No, it's not," she stepped forward, leaned up on her toes, and very, very gently pressed her mouth against his.

After a moment, she leaned back. Gaara licked his lips slowly. Hinata felt her legs shake even as heat unspooled in her belly.

She stepped closer, pressed her body against Gaara's, kissed him again. She slide her tongue along the seam of his lips, and when he opened his mouth, she teased his tongue with hers. He caught on quickly, mirroring her motions and kissing her with restrained desperation. The restraint was new; Naruto did everything so very enthusiastically that any kind of curtailment was out of the question, but the desperation - oh, she knew that well. She knew what it was like to be alone, to be too scared to reach out and too experienced with rejection to hope for anything different.

That made it almost easy to release Naruto's hand, to twine both arms around Gaara's neck.

Naruto rubbed his hands encouragingly over Hinata's hips, started to untie her her obi. He let it drop to the floor as he kissed behind her ear, pulled her collar away to nip and suck at the nape of her neck. Her kimono opened and she pressed her naked skin against Gaara's clothed front. Gaara was panting, eyes closed tightly, hands in fists at his side, but cool sand was coiling around her legs pulling her thighs open.

Naruto was cupping her breasts, tugging softly at her nipples and she unfastened Gaara's pants, stroked him. He shivered, jerked his hips forward, pushing more of himself into her hands.

She stroked him until she could see the cracks in his self-control, the edge of roughness when he stepped closer, pushing her back against Naruto and forcing himself inside her.

She was still nervous and he was bigger than Naruto, so there was resistance. She hooked an arm around his hip, opening herself, pulling them in deeper. She gave a little groan at the sensation, her head falling back.

Naruto had been just stroking her hair but at that sound he stopped, paused for a moment and then ripped the back of her kimono away with a low growl.

She felt him prodding at her back, the tip of his penis tracing the crack of her buttocks. Naruto's hands were on Gaara's hips, guiding or catching the rhythm, she didn't know, but on one of Gaara's thrusts, Naruto entered her as well.

It was too much, far to much, their matched pace filling her until she was a cup filled past the brim, and she was over-flowing, spilling apart, coming with inchoate, pleading noises.

I got this... it might take me a little while since I'm also writing a research paper, but I'll definately have it for ya in a bit :)

God Yes! I second it!

"Sit back," Sasuke says.

Orochimaru barely has time to see the knee before it connects with his abdomen, sends him down into the chair; back against the hard stone. The boy is looking down on him, down on him with those eyes -- red and tomoe-ridden, like the red of the red and white of the dress he's wearing -- like the red of his high boots as he plants the heel of one in his should-be master's chest, then stands back. Cocks his head and holds his gloved hand to his hip; and Orochimaru hears him breathe out in a long, cold sigh of disgust.

"I play this game with you only because it suits me to do so, you dirty old fuck," he says, with a sneer, with a laugh, and then he's on top of Orochimaru -- on top of his lap, pulling his shoulders forward, then shoving him backwards so that his head smacks into the chair, thuds, and he sees stars, briefly. Then he smiles under a curtain of black hair; the boy bites. He's all teeth as he's nipping at the leather-white mask of a face that Orochimaru sheds from day to day, from night to night; the boy is all teeth and the smell of alcohol spreads through his hot breath as it fans across his "master's" chest, as his own chest rumbles with laughter -- that Uchiha laughter, repressed in the sternum, sticking and clogging and seeping through every word, every gesture, all over that Uchiha skin, in those Uchiha eyes, in the Uchiha hair that's all covered now with tiny red bows. And he sits back, Sasuke does, and twirls his fingers through the tips of his hair; grinds his pelvis down over Orochimaru's lap, so that he bucks once, squirms, frowns at the boy; the naughty boy.

"Is this how you wanted Itachi?" he asks. "Is this how you wanted my brother?"

Orochimaru doesn't answer; isn't entirely sure, because Itachi was different. Itachi was. But he runs his hand up under the boy's dress, through all the ruffles and lace; skims a fingertip over the hem of the panties and gently tugs at them. Sasuke exhales slightly and sits up, sits forward with a grunt of impatience -- and he's always like this, too, this boy with all this teeth. He never wants it slow. He's fifteen now and impatient. So very impatient. And Orochimaru wants to tsk him, tell him to mind his manners, but he's not his father. "How do you know this isn't how I had your brother?" he asks, in a silky rasp.

And Sasuke's hand goes around his throat.

"Take them off," he demands, and Orochimaru palms the curve of the round ass. He obeys (but really, isn't this his lair?); he drags the panties down slowly. White and silky and paper-thin; his nails make short work of them. "And prepare me. Don't you dare try to fuck me raw."

So Orochimaru lifts one hand to his mouth and lathers it with saliva -- lathers and slurps with his too-long tongue and grins all the while at the petulant scowl which he's being faced with. He spits, so the foam begins to flood out, goopy and thick, and the scowl deepens, and Sasuke's nose is all furrowed. He won't enjoy this. He never enjoys it. He only wants the power. He doesn't want him; he plays this game because this is the game Orochimaru wants of him, because he wants him... but the boy doesn't want it. He's always so cold. So distant, even if his flesh is so warm. Sasuke is looking at him with those eyes, looking through him with those eyes. So cold. So cold, like he's forgotten how to see everything in the world, save for Itachi.

He leans forward, raises his ass so Orochimaru can press his fingers in, can begin stretching him. This is nothing new.

working on it, anon!

I second this, Anon. *__*

He'd only seen them a few times. The first he was awed by how much work it must take to cause such permanent damage. The second time he could only think how could he wrap his right hand so thoroughly? Shouldn't the bandages be bunched or uneven?

The third time was seared into his memory. The bandages were off and the rough hands were sliding over his skin while Lee was whispering in his ear, "Naruto-kun? Naruto-kun? Are you alright?"

The blow to his head must have been harder than he thought. Ever since that day Naruto wondered how those hands would feel somewhere other than his face. Would the gnarled fingers find places deep inside him that his own smoother ones did not? Would the sensation of being encircled by the rough callouses on his fingers be too much when combined with the softer surface of his palm? Would he embarrass himself by soaking the bandages as soon as he was touched or could he resist the urge to give in immediately?

Or better yet, would he ever get the chance to experience anything other than the fleeting touch of friendly concern or a powerful punch intended to make them both stronger? Maybe would it take a stroke of luck or maybe a strategically placed lucky stroke? Either way it was best to keep quite until he found the right words after all, a innocent touch was better than no touch at all.

SECONDED!!! 8D

lol, she has no tits

snagging.

And another kink, which I forgot: Noise.

Oh HELLS YES! *scurries off to write*

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