Kakashi squinted through the haze of smoke that weaved itself in long, unfurling tendrils over the few patrons of the club he found himself in.
Gloved palms cradled the shot glass he’d been given, fingertips tracing the rim in distracted circles as he stared into space, his eyes beginning to burn from the cigarettes and his strange tendency to neglect blinking when he was thinking this deep. It had been a long time since he’d darkened the doors of a place like this; depraved as he allowed people to think him, he couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of their faces if they’d discovered how fantastically dull he could be.
Icha Icha was the only distraction he allowed himself, burying the images of war beneath the black and white letters that lined every page with clarity and direction that always ended in pleasure. He never minded the indignation of his peers - better to imagine bodies coated with sweat and sex than blood that ran ankle deep and faces marred beyond recognition by the end of a blade.
Apart from that single (and might he add minor) indulgence, Hatake Kakashi was absolutely, certifiably boring. Sure, he donned a mask that covered half his face, and what little else could be seen was half obstructed by a lopsided hitai-ate, but honestly, masks were becoming somewhat of a shinobi fashion statement whether Kakashi adhered to the latest trends or not.
“Trendsetter,” he muttered to himself, snorting a laugh that seemed much too loud before clearing his throat awkwardly and feigning interest in a weird stain on his table. He let a few beats of the sultry - albeit cheesy - music that wafted from the speakers pass before glancing up again, his eyes fastening back onto the reason he’d come in the first place.
In the center of the building was a stage that ran the length of the farthest wall, oil slicked poles jutting up from various points along the platform. If he recalled correctly - and he always did, Sharingan be damned - the last time he had dragged his battle worn body into this establishment, there had been a few young men wrapped around those poles, their lithe forms spinning lazily in time to whatever song had been playing.
It had been soothing to the jonin to watch the dancers - as much as gyrating, half naked men could be considered soothing. There was something in the predictability of it all, the knowledge of where this dance was headed and what was expected of Kakashi himself as a customer. It was an anchor to which he could tie himself for whatever length of time he desired; the scratch that alleviated his itch for control in a given situation.
Tonight, though, his disappointment was nearly palpable once he’d discovered the stage empty of any writhing, nubile lovelies. Having never been adept at social etiquette, and finding himself at a loss for what to do, Kakashi figured what harm could come from one drink? After all, he’d come all this way, and it wasn’t like he had much else to do.
Only now he’d had his drink, and wasn’t entirely sure what would be considered an appropriate amount of time for him to steal away, unnoticed.
“Another drink for you, sir?”
A soft voice tugged him out of his indecision, his visible eye trailing up a body tanned and taut in the best of ways. Kakashi felt his skin flush hotly as his gaze raked over the man standing over him. He couldn’t recall ever having seen him before, and Kakashi wasn’t one to forget a face, especially one so lovely - or attached to a person wearing little more than a skirt, stockings, and heels.
“Yeah,” drawled Kakashi, trying not to stare at the way the other man’s fishnets stretched over his lovely calves, climbing up toned thighs to slip beneath the frilly red fray of skirt that barely covered what looked to be a promising-
“Hmm?” His singular gaze snapped up to the young man’s face, getting stuck on lips that were just full enough to nibble. Absently, he scratched at the stubble that peppered the skin beneath his mask.
“Did you want another drink?” Brown eyes danced amusedly, and Kakashi figured he must be a little tipsy because fuck if he wasn’t smiling right back at the young man. And here he’d thought he was getting better at holding his liquor.
“Yes, I believe I’d like that, mister...?” Kakashi trailed off, hoping that the man would take his hint. He wasn’t disappointed.
“Yume,” he said, the tip of his tongue flicking out over the fullest part of his bottom lip before he sunk his top teeth into the pillowy flesh. It was obvious flirting at its finest, and Kakashi’s fingers squeezed at his empty glass in response. “Amai Yume.”
Kakashi nodded, eye arcing in a goofy grin. “I’ll take a whiskey neat, then, Yume.”
“Amai,” winked the waiter, his stilettos clacking against the floor when he turned to leave. Kakashi was so focused on the swishing of fabric as the lovely man moved that he almost missed the grin tossed at him from over a bare shoulder. “You must call me Amai.”
“Amai,” repeated Kakashi, his eye fluttering all over that gorgeous back and tight little ass as it sashayed over to the bar, the tulle and lace of the skirt lifting teasingly with every movement.
Really, Kakashi thought, someone ought to write that boy’s mother a thank you note.
A man could travel all over the continent - and Kakashi was speaking from experience, here - and not find a single bum worth staring at, much less one on a man who knew how to wear a skirt so well. Scratch that, Yume’s mother deserved a fucking fruit basket!
He tried not to ogle the man while he leaned over the bar, giving Kakashi’s order to the bartender, but it was so damn hard to ignore the way Amai’s stare kept flickering to him. Especially when he flashed Kakashi a blinding smile like it was his fucking birthday and Kakashi was the cake.
This night was certainly starting to look up, Kakashi thought as the man placed a tumbler half full of sloshing amber liquid on the tray and sauntered back across the room.
“For you, my man of mystery,” said Amai, setting Kakashi’s whiskey down in front of him with a flourish.
“Mmm,” was the hummed assent, Amai scratching at an interesting looking scar that stretched across his nose and over high cheekbones like a second smile. He wrinkled it in the most adorable way when he caught Kakashi staring.
Kakashi leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper, his pulse pounding in his ears. Really, he’d thought himself a better man than to be reduced to nearly panting by a gorgeous pair of legs. “How so?”
“Well, you’re wearing a mask, and you haven’t given me your name.”
“I mean, the mask is kind of hot,” admitted Amai, the very picture of coquettishness, “but I’d like to know your name, if that’s alright.”
“Hatake Kakashi,” said the jonin, and if the other man had heard of him, he didn’t let on. Kakashi liked that. “There. All is revealed.”
“Perhaps, Hatake-san,” grinned Amai, the suffix a low purr that sparked a buzz along the knots of Kakashi’s spine. Bending over the high topped table, Amai rested his elbows on the wood, the stance doing interesting things to the length of his skirt. “I have my doubts.”
Kakashi cleared his throat; the room felt much too stifling, his clothing too restrictive. He hated the absurd way his voice cracked when he spoke again. “Really?”
“Definitely. So tell me: what brings you here?”
Kakashi shrugged, letting his attention drift to his glass. Up to this point, things had been going surprisingly well. The banter was on (though Kakashi suspected this had more to do with Amai himself rather than his own cleverness), the flirting was easy, and surprisingly, the man hadn’t run away screaming. But he had no idea how to answer this last question without sounding like an absolute pervert. Which, of course, he was. Hell, everyone in the place was, if you wanted to get judgmental about things.
Yet there was something about Yume Amai that made Kakashi want to be more than just a faceless pervert in a random club. So, he said simply, “I was getting ready to leave, actually.”
“Things a bit slow for your liking, Hatake-san?”
Kakashi shrugged, lifting his hand to pluck at the silver strands of hair at the nape of his neck.
“Oh, I wouldn’t give up too soon.” Amai grinned, his dark eyes shining beneath long lashes. “I hear that tonight is the last night for one of the dancers, who intends to go out with a bang.”
“Oh?” Kakashi raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t imagine anything more intriguing than the man in front of him.
“I’d love to hear what you think of his performance.”
Kakashi watched as Amai stood, an enigmatic little smile playing at his lips. He had to know full well where Kakashi’s attention would drift, so when the man pivoted on his heel, letting his fingers swirl over the swell of his ass, Kakashi felt no shame as he openly stared, appreciative. He bit his lip beneath the mask - not for the first time thankful for its cover.
“Enjoy your drink, Hatake-san,” Amai said lowly, hips swaying as he strolled away.
Kakashi’s attention stayed trained on Amai’s body until the other man slipped behind a swinging door and out of sight. Letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, Kakashi reached for his whiskey, tugging down his mask and sheltering his lower face with his free hand while he nursed the drink.
He wanted to knock the glass back and run like hell, if he were being honest with himself. He’d had enough of making a drooling, ridiculous ass out of himself for one night. And were he not the genius he knew himself to be, he’d still be able to deduce that Yume Amai was likely stringing many other pathetic ninja along. It was in his job description, after all.
Still, there was the masochistic part of him that wondered what would happen if he stuck it out, maybe had a few more drinks. Or perhaps he was wrong on that count, and it was the horny part of him that made him want to stick it out. But then, Kakashi was the worst drunk that he knew (at least, to hear Genma tell it), and he wasn’t too keen on the idea of a hangover in the morning.
Nodding to himself, he decided that the best course of action was to escape to the comfort of his apartment. He signaled to the bartender, pushing back his chair to stand and leave, when the lights dimmed and the decidedly sleazy song that was playing was abandoned in favor of something more provocative. A few colored lights spun languidly in a half assed impression of a strobe light while a light fog rolled across the platform. From somewhere overhead a spotlight clicked on.
And amidst all of this was Amai, his hair tucked beneath a fedora while what little of his face could be seen was split by an impish grin.
He’d traded his skirt for a tight pair of black satin briefs and a flowing, bright pink top that he’d left unbuttoned. In place of his heels were black, sequined stiletto booties, and while a very small area of Kakashi’s brain cringed, the rest of him shivered at the way Amai strutted across the stage. The man was all confidence and grace, his smile a promise that his audience would not be disappointed. Even the way he tossed his hat into the crowd was elegant, like a queen throwing rose petals on her subjects instead of a stripper removing clothing.
Bottom line: he was fucking hot.
Embarrassed, Kakashi scratched at the back of his neck, willing himself not to glance around the room to see if anyone had noticed how quickly he’d plopped back down into his seat, exit strategy forgotten.
Amai wrapped a lace-clad palm around the metal beam, slowly circling it with his head tipped back, his hair falling in sheets to his waist. Corded forearms stretched over his head while Amai bit his lip, a wicked grin tugging up the corner of his mouth as he rolled his hips suggestively. Kakashi felt sure that those dark eyes were on him, watching him as he watched the dance, stoking the lazy flame of lust that curled around the base of his spine.
Amai closed his eyes, releasing Kakashi as he reached behind his head to clasp the pole, tugging himself up to spin around the beam once, shoes glinting with the pinwheel motion before landing soundlessly on the stage.
It occurred to Kakashi then that he was gawking. That he (the fucking Copy Nin for fuck’s sake!) had been reduced to a wriggling little worm of hormones in the face of crossdressing and loud music was almost enough to make him run for the door.
Because Amai had straightened one leg in front of the other, bending over to drag his fingertips up his calves and thighs, over the flat of his stomach and to his nipples. He paused to tweak the pebbled flesh for a moment and Kakashi nearly moaned at the whole thing; he was so turned on. A glove was ripped off, dripping off long fingertips and falling to the stage before those fingers moved on to finally tug through the fine tangle of Amai’s hair.
A few slow rocks of his hips and the dancer was ripping off his shirt as though impatient, tossing it into the crowd with a wicked smile. Amai gripped the pole again, swinging his long legs upward to wrap them around the metal. Kakashi could only stare at the lines of Amai’s strong, lean back as he hung upside down, arms undulating to the music like a bird in flight.
The dancer made it seem effortless - as if it were nothing to spin holding onto a thin rail with only his lower legs - and Kakashi found himself mesmerized by the planes of muscle that shifted beneath Amai’s skin as he moved. He’d always considered what strippers did to be something of a simple task, but watching the way Amai reached for the pole, his powerful arms holding him steady while he slowly 'walked' through empty air to turn himself right-side up again... well, Kakashi could only imagine the strength and control it took, which only served to arouse him that much more.
Holding onto the pole with only his thighs, Amai threw his head back, his long hair flowing as he swung gracefully around the metal beam. His body twisted with the music, folding in on itself before stretching out again, each movement seamlessly flowing into the next.
By the time the song began to wind down Kakashi felt feverish. His pants were uncomfortably tight, stretched thin over his aching dick, and the warmth that pooled in his belly had very little to do with his drained empty shot glass.
And still Amai continued to torture him, reaching up to pull himself ever higher while tossing back his head until he reached the top. There was a popping sound, and then a rain of glitter that fell to the floor in a mass of riotous color as the dancer slithered down the pole, his body picking up speed with every turn until he was little more than a blur.
He stayed like that for a moment, a hovering, spinning ball of tight flesh that held his audience captive, before the whirling slowed and he unfurled his limbs, gracefully floating the rest of the way down. It was here that the music stopped and Amai landed, his face flushed with euphoria. He let go of the pole and stepped away to bow, the glitter that had fallen over his hair and face sparkling like snow.
It was such a breathtaking view that Kakashi burst into applause, leaping to his feet without giving thought to how ridiculous he must look. It was an effort to drag his attention away from Amai as he exited the stage, blowing kisses to the crowd along the way until his back disappeared behind a curtain. Gradually, the lights rose once more and Kakashi slumped into his seat, his mouth agape.
A wave of embarrassment crashed over him then, with such force that he briefly considered climbing beneath his table, using a teleportation jutsu to get him the hell out of here. That he’d allowed himself to get caught up in something as simple as a well-executed pole dance was beyond mortifying. It was one thing to sacrifice your pride in the privacy of your own home and enjoy a nice, healthy wank; getting aroused in public was a totally different story.
He had, in fact, raised his hand to form a seal when he heard his name being called from across the room. Looking up, he locked eyes with Amai, who was dodging the men who called for him or reached out to run their fingers over his skin. He’d changed back into his skirt but kept the boots, and, with a rush of heat, Kakashi wondered if Amai had been in a hurry to see him again. The thought sent a rush of warmth to his stomach.
“Did you enjoy it, Hatake-san?” he asked breathlessly once he’d reached the table.
The part of Kakashi’s brain that was cognizant enough to form a response scrambled desperately for something halfway decent to say, only to be squelched by the senselessness of Kakashi’s prick, which was full and needy and downright demanding. In the end he shrugged dumbly.
“Tell you what,” Amai grinned, his teeth brighter than his shimmering lip gloss. “I’ll let you pay me for a lap dance.”
Kakashi couldn’t stop the laugh that burst from his lips, earning him a grin from Amai that was positively vulpine as he grabbed Kakashi’s wrist. Kakashi let Amai tug him out of his chair, and allowed himself to be towed through the club. He followed as best he could, muttering apologies to the few men he elbowed as he struggled to keep up with the dancer.
“Namake!” Amai called to the bartender, slapping a hand on the bar to get the man’s attention. “I’m taking the room, okay?”
Kakashi barely had time to register what looked like baffled amusement on Namake’s face before he was dragged down a long corridor, the peeling wallpaper and dark floor of which made him slightly uneasy. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the white splotches that dotted the walls at all. Amai moved through the space with the ease of familiarity, and Kakashi had to admit, even if only to himself, that he liked the feel of Amai’s fingers wrapped around his own.
They paused at the end of the hall, Amai punching a code into the keypad on the surface of the door there. Frustration settled in the pit of Kakashi’s stomach as he watched how quickly the long, brown fingers danced over the numbers comprising the code.
“Do you, um...do you do this often?”
At the question, Amai shot Kakashi a look over his shoulder. Kakashi stood as if rooted to the spot, not moving a single step when Amai opened the door and pulled at their joined hands.
Amai sighed. “No, I don’t.”
Satisfied, Kakashi trailed behind the dancer into a scant room where he was led to the sole chair that huddled in the middle of the floor. In the far corner was yet another pole, looking a bit worse for wear as it stretched from floor to ceiling. A stereo was next to it, the coils of its long cord wrapped up like a snake.
“No video camera?” Kakashi asked, his voice too loud in the sudden stillness.
The only explanation Amai gave him was a shrug. He leaned against the closed door, unabashedly giving Kakashi the once over. He seemed to find whatever it was he was looking for, abandoning his scrutiny to cross the room, his long legs gracefully pulling him over the shag carpet.
“I think yes,” Amai said, crouching to press a button on the stereo. Immediately, percussion rolled out from the speakers, drowning out the sound of Kakashi’s own pulse as it thundered obnoxiously in his ears.
And then Amai was standing, crooking a finger to coax Kakashi to him; Kakashi all too happy to comply. He felt himself pushed, his balance knocked askew as he flopped into the chair where Amai pinned him with his stiletto, which he pressed into Kakashi’s thigh.
Kakashi moaned lightly, trying not to squirm beneath Amai’s smoky stare and desperately failing. He reached for the dancer’s leg, only to have it moved beyond his grasp.
Lips brushed his ear, fingers raking down the shivering planes of his stomach. “The things I would do to you, Hatake-san.”
Mindlessly, Kakashi reached for the other man, his body leaning forward into unexpected emptiness.
“No touching,” came the voice from somewhere behind him, thick with laughter. Kakashi wondered how the hell he was going to get out of here with his dignity intact if he couldn’t at least rub one out on something.
Preferably one of those thighs, but he wasn’t picky.
“S-sorry,” he whispered, annoyed at the thready sound of his voice but too far gone to really care. “Keep going.”
Amai’s fingers were back in his hair, tugging to pull Kakashi’s head back and expose his throat. With his free hand, he hooked a thumb into the waistband of his skirt, towing the fabric down over the swell of his backside.
“No,” Kakashi gasped, his fingers twitching to touch all of that gorgeous, tan skin. “No, leave it on.”
“Kinky,” grinned the dancer, gripping the sides of Kakashi’s vest to pull them closer. “Do you like clothed fucking, Hatake-san?”
“I’m a fan of any kind of fucking in general, but sure.”
Amai let out a surprised laugh at that, but the truth was that Kakashi was just as stunned at his ability to be witty at a time like this. But then the dancer did something with his hips that brought his very hard cock against Kakashi’s own and Kakashi felt like all the wind had been sucked out of him.
“I thought you said ‘no touching’,” Kakashi rasped, trying to think of anything he could that would keep him from blowing his load in his pants like an inexperienced teenager.
“I said you can’t touch. I can do whatever the hell I want.”
“You’re going to kill me,” Kakashi groaned, bucking his hips a little and grinning when Amai hissed a breath that whistled through his clenched teeth. The dancer mimicked the movement, and Kakashi’s eyes rolled back - the pressure was nearly too much.
“Gods,” mumbled Amai. Kakashi glanced up to find the other man’s eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open.
Desire boiled beneath his skin and, experimentally, Kakashi let his hands drop, fingers dragging stripes of white pressure up Amai’s calves. The thighs clenched around Kakashi’s own began to tremble, and when he glanced up, it was to find a delicious flush blooming over the dancer’s bared chest.
By the time their eyes met, Amai’s were wide, pupils blown with desire.
“Tell me how you like it?” Kakashi asked, wanting to kick himself for sounding like one of the would-be actors in the free porn he sometimes checked out on Gai’s computer when he was supposed to be watering his plants. But he had momentum working for him, and the thing was building like an avalanche, urging him to push and see where this would go.
The man in his lap barked a laugh, the sound dying when Kakashi’s fingers stole beneath the skirt.
“D-don’t...” another groan, and then, “Don’t stop.”
Kakashi’s hands slid to palm Amai’s ass, his breath hitching when the dancer’s eyes fell shut, his fingers curling beneath the top of Kakashi’s mask to tug it down. Amai pressed his lips to Kakashi’s, tentative at first, groaning when Kakashi opened up to him.
It was as if the man had set to kissing Kakashi senseless, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth, teeth biting and tugging at Kakashi’s lower lip until they were both breathless. He gasped when Kakashi’s fingers slipped beneath his thong to tease his balls.
“I don’t...” he said between kisses, “I don’t have..anything...”
Kakashi froze, leaning back to search Amai’s face for any sign of joking. There was none; only the sheepishness of his smile and the blush on his cheeks. Kakashi wondered what the man would think if he told him he didn’t care. Instead, he said, “Oh.”
“Not to worry, Hatake-san,” Amai whispered, standing to slip off his thong. He climbed back into Kakashi’s lap, leaning forward to lick a stripe up his neck. “I’m sure we can think of something.”
“Check my pouch,” Kakashi mumbled, busying himself with nibbling the skin at the hollow of Amai’s neck. He sighed against the wet spot, barely aware of the sound of his bag being rifled through.
“Oh, shinobi-san,” said Amai, laughing. “You really are prepared.”
Even if Kakashi wanted to explain, the thought scattered like leaves in the wind when Amai leaned back to unzip his trousers with one hand, the other clasped tightly around a bottle that he’d presumably found in the bottom of the bag. Kakashi sat up to gather both his pants and boxers and shove them to his knees.
“Mmm... you’re already so hard.”
“Shit,” Kakashi’s voice was ragged, and he found himself unable to look away from the strong fingers that curled around him, slathering ointment all over his dick. Amai poised himself over Kakashi, his slickened fingers disappearing beneath the flowing layers of his skirt. There was only the sound of Kakashi’s heavy breaths as he watched Amai, whose eyes were dark and distant as he prepared himself.
Finally, so slowly that Kakashi nearly cried out in frustration, Amai lowered himself, groaning when the flared head of Kakashi’s prick pushed past his tight ring of muscle. It took every ounce of Kakashi’s willpower not to let go and shove up into the dizzying heat. To distract himself, he leaned forward to suck at Amai’s nipple, grinning when the other man moaned lightly.
Amai started moving in earnest then, lifting up only to lower his body farther down until finally he was resting on the tops of Kakashi’s thighs, filled. He sat stock still for a few moments, his breath coming in deep, heavy puffs that fanned out over Kakashi’s cheeks and neck.
“Wanna move,” Kakashi mumbled, his cock twitching inside Amai as if to emphasize his point.
“Yeah,” Amai encouraged, pushing up onto the balls of his feet before letting himself fall again. When he did it a second time, Kakashi met him halfway, too eager to wait.
The chair creaked beneath their weight, seeming to complain each time Kakashi thrust, and the position left Kakashi frustrated. He wanted more.
“Wait,” Kakashi said, his voice thick, “hang on.”
“Something wrong?” Amai asked, frowning at the palm that pressed against his chest, shoving him away.
“I have an idea.” Grabbing the other man’s hand, Kakashi stood and walked the few steps to a wall. With a grin, he spun Amai around, whispering into his ear as he pressed the tangle of them against the smooth, cool surface.
Gripping himself, Kakashi raised the hem of Amai’s skirt and pressed back into the dancer, unable to stifle a groan when Amai cried out. He moved carefully at first, angling and re-angling his hips until Amai was a moaning mess, making the most beautiful faces Kakashi had ever seen.
“Faster,” Amai said quickly, and Kakashi watched as the man began to stroke himself furiously, his eyes fluttering and teeth digging into his bottom lip. “Please, Kakashi, faster!”
That was all it took to make Kakashi frantic, his hips snapping as he pounded into Amai. There wasn’t enough skin to touch, to taste with his tongue or nip with his teeth. Too soon Amai was coming, his body clenching around Kakashi and sending him toppling into the white, hot depths of orgasm.
And when they were through, spent and panting in a heap on the floor, Amai said, “I want to do that again.”
To which Kakashi asked, “Your place or mine?”
* * * * *
Kakashi tugged the crumpled paper from his vest, thankful that Kotetsu never seemed to mind his slovenly handwriting or the ramen stains that somehow always ended up splattered over his reports.
Perhaps it was more that the chuunin wasn’t willing to reprimand Sharingan no Kakashi, which Kakashi - for once - didn’t mind. It was true that the Copy Nin wasn’t the most sociable of persons, but choosing to be reclusive and having people avoid him were two totally separate things.
He preferred to think that the hordes of men and women revered his rumoured penis size instead of his jutsu, and as such, were rendered speechless in his presence.
The floorboards creaked beneath his shoes as he ambled down the corridor to the mission desk, the office strangely quiet for this time of the evening. He waved to Genma who rushed past, ashen faced and wide eyed, his senbon twitching in agitation.
“Yo.” Kakashi hailed Genma’s retreating back. He shrugged, reaching into his pocket to tug out Icha Icha Violence when a voice reached his ears.
“Now Gai-san,” chided the voice, smooth and dangerously sweet. The sound of it prickled over Kakashi’s skin to raise gooseflesh. He jammed his report back into his vest pocket. “Perhaps in the past this... this handwriting would have been acceptable, but when you hand in your report to me, it will be legible.”
Kakashi nearly choked on his bark of laughter as he pictured Gai’s face at being so openly chastised. He hurried the last few steps, anxious to see the holy terror Sandaime had placed at the mission desk.
As soon as his feet hit the floor of the room, he froze, heat flaring in his belly and his ears burning. There, sitting behind the desk was none other than Yume Amai.
His hair had been cut, sprigs of it jutting out from the tie he’d pulled it up into, and his fishnets had been traded for a standard shinobi uniform and flak jacket. But there he sat all the same, gaping at Kakashi in what might have been horror.
“I will wager five hundred laps around the city wall that Kakashi’s handwriting is worse than mine,” Gai said, bringing both men out of their collective stupor. He turned from the desk to stomp from the room, lower lip jutted out. “Good luck with that one, Kakashi. He knows nothing of enjoying the springtime of one’s youth, nor does he appreciate a dynamic entry.”
With a final glare at Amai, Gai stormed from the office, leaving absolute silence in his wake.
“Hello, Yume-san,” said Kakashi finally, stupidly lifting his hand to cover his face though the blush he was shielding was safely tucked away behind his mask.
To his astonishment (and subsequent glee), the dancer launched himself at Kakashi, clapping a hand over his mouth and hissing “shut up!” as he shoved Kakashi toward the utility closet. Frantically, Amai opened the door and plunged them both inside, pulling the string to the lightbulb that dangled from the ceiling before tugging the door shut behind them.
The air inside the confined space was stuffy, and Kakashi shifted his weight to dislodge the broom handle that dug into the small of his back. Amai himself was losing a battle to a filing cabinet, which coated the sleeves of his obviously new uniform with bands of dust that he futilely tried to swipe away.
Cute, Kakashi thought, hooking his fingers in Amai’s waistband and tugging the younger man toward himself to free him from the cobweb that had draped itself over his hitai-ate. His eye crinkled at the dancer’s flush - damn, but he really was adorable.
“Thank you,” spluttered Amai, straightening his flak vest and taking a deliberate step backward. Kakashi shoved his hands into his pockets, sad at the loss of skin against his fingertips.
It was damn near impossible for Kakashi not to lean in, to drag in a breath of the other man’s smell or nip at the silken skin of his neck - gods knew he’d nearly pulled his dick clean off of his body from all the times he’d gotten worked up remembering Amai with his legs wrapped around that fucking pole. Still, he figured an explanation was in order, and seeing as the other man wasn’t initiating conversation, he decided to break the awkward silence between them.
“Amai, I didn’t think -”
There was that hand again, clamping over Kakashi’s mouth while Amai’s eyes rolled in terror.
“Please don’t call me that!” Carefully, Amai released him. “Hatake-san-”
“Kakashi!” Amai practically yelled, exasperation tugging lovely little veins out in his temples. “Just listen to me for a moment, please?”
“But of course.” Kakashi shoved his hands into the recesses of his pockets, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Go on.”
The dancer had barely opened his mouth when the door cracked and a dark head of hair poked in.
“Iruka-sensei?” Both of the men whipped their heads toward Kotetsu, who was standing in the doorway, confusion written all over his features. “Kakashi-sensei? Do you two... do you know each other?”
“Yes,” Kakashi answered at the same time Amai - or was it Iruka? - yelped “No!”
Shooting them both a look, Kotetsu shrugged, shutting the door behind him with a sigh.
“We have about five minutes before he tells Izumo that we’re in here having sex,” said Kakashi, a wide smile crinkling his visible eye. “Unless, of course, you care to make the rumour true, in which case -”
“No!” squawked the dancer, and really, Kakashi couldn’t be blamed if he found the near purplish hue of the other man’s skin endearing. “I am not having sex with you in this closet on my first day!”
“Next week sometime, then?”
“NO!” roared the other man, and suddenly Kakashi found himself against the wall, a glinting kunai at his throat. “Despite what you might think, Kakashi-san, I am a professional. What happened between us...please believe me when I say that I have never done anything like that before.”
“I do tend to have that effect on strippers,” nodded Kakashi, sympathetic.
With a defeated groan, Amai- Iruka slumped against the filing cabinet. His weapon clattered to the floor. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
The other man laughed weakly at that, shaking his head in resignation. Kakashi bent over to retrieve the kunai, sliding its handle into Iruka’s hand.
Then, he asked, “Iruka-sensei, is it?”
“Sensei,” Kakashi said, rolling the word on his tongue, making it sound almost sensual.
“Oh,” Iruka said softly, slamming his eyes shut. “Don’t say it like that.”
Kakashi smiled, thrilled to no end at Iruka’s reaction. “Like what, sensei?”
“You know damn well what I mean.”
“How about you explain it to me over ramen?” Kakashi leered, unable to help himself from leaning into Iruka’s space. He placed a hand on the filing cabinet, letting his nose run over the expanse of Iruka’s neck. His breath came faster when he felt Iruka shiver. “When does your shift end?”
Iruka ducked under Kakashi’s arm, throwing open the door to scramble into the safety of the open room. “My apologies, Kakashi-san, but I will be here late, and then I have a class to teach in the morning. I’ll have to pass on the ramen.”
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” Kakashi asked, quirking an eyebrow at the blushing sensei.
“Definitely not.” The sensei grinned, making his way back to the mission desk.
Kakashi didn’t bother to stifle his laughter - or the fact that he was eyeing Iruka’s ass as he walked away, for that matter.
“Try me again in two weeks, Kakashi-san,” said Iruka, settling behind his desk. “And you’d better be prepared to impress me if you think you’re going to get a repeat performance of our last time together.”
Damn, but Kakashi’s job was starting to look much, much more exciting.