Fandom Redemption [Closed] [Graverobber141/arbus]

[Graverobber141]

"Well, the bleeding has stopped, and while my own pride is beyond repairable," Satoru muttered in reply, already digging around within his belt pouches, "as long as I don't die of infection--" He figured he possessed a few hours before he had to started worrying about that, but better to take care of it now to the best of his ability, before he yet again claimed, in an attempt to cover up his outlandish presence in this when he wasn't supposed to be in, to have faced down another legend, only to have that legend impale him through the shoulder once again. "--I'll be a little crispy, but fine."

Withdrawing a roll of bandages and a healing herbal salve (Kioshi's gift before their departure), the swordsman placed the items between his legs, before grimacing as he peeled off his vest and shirt, having to use a kunai to free part of the fabric that had fused with his skin, gritting his teeth in the process.

At least it gave him time to think about Kakashi's subtle jab at his pseudonym, and he mulled over how much the younger version of the Hokage had been able to figure out; he was a clever man, and the swordsman had been fighting his sensei with the elder's own chokuto, jutsu, and very distinct style. Yet if his lie had been disentangled, he wasn't going to be the one to call attention to it.

"A bad one," Satoru claimed, unable to help the amused smirk that tugged at the edge of his lips, the slight, dry amusement that glinted with his eyes, and the chuckle that tumbled from his throat. "But I was the black sheep of my family."

 

[arbus]

Kakashi huffed out a laugh, immediately followed by a groan. "Stop. Joking." It was a lighthearted complaint, as he listened to the sounds that indicated what Ryusuke was doing. He was slightly regretful not to be of any help, but then again, when lacking a healer, it was always Tenzo who took care of their multitude of wounds and minor ailments alike. Medical jutsu was not Kakashi's strong suit, and apart from a bit of first aid and wound dressing, he was useless in that regard.

As Ryusuke removed the fabric from his skin, the stench of cauterization became more pronounced, and Kakashi crinkled his nose. Even clotted with dried blood it was sensitive enough to be offended by the scent, and if he had not been so muddy and able to move his hand, he would have pulled up his mask.

"Hmm. I don't know. I kind of like it. Ryu-kun sounds good." He hummed. "I think I'll call you Ryu-kun from now on."

He fell silent for a few minutes, dozing off in that way that allowed him to spin his thoughts, even though they twisted and wriggled out of shape, trying to from into dreams and carry him away. He did not allow it, however, and languidly mused about Ryusuke's words in the cave; how he claimed to have evaded the Swordsman earlier in the day, how he had gotten away a second time in twenty-four hours. Surely, that must be some sort of record.

The silence stretched so long Kakashi himself lost track of it, but eventually, in the same conversational tone he had used to ask about Ryusuke's name, he asked: "How long have you known the Swordsman?"

 

[Graverobber141]

"I've been called a lot worse," Satoru mused with a light chuckle, apparently giving no heed to Kakashi's earlier, half-hearted command; in fact, joking, in the aftermath of everything that had happened in the last few hours, was just about the only way he was staying sane. How else was he supposed to reckon with this hand he was dealt, his cards thrown together from a deck that didn't even relate to whatever game was being played?

At the next question, he felt his heart skip a beat, and this conversation suddenly felt like a minefield.

'Who are you, boy?'
'You wouldn't believe me if I told you.'

And Satoru, Ryu-kun, was utterly too exhausted to navigate it. Clicking his tongue to his mouth, he focused on finishing up tending to his wounds, rubbing the salve into the burns with muttered curses under his breath, before bandaging them to best of his ability, which, having relied on Kioshi for all these years, was rather--well, it did give the swordsman some appreciation for the medic, though, of course, he wouldn't let the smug blonde know that, for he would be forced to eat his own words for months.

That was, if he ever saw him again.

His mouth twitched downward, eyelids dropping to cover half of his tired eyes, and then he was letting go a long breath of inhaled air.

Fuck it, he thought.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he repeated quietly, pausing as he slipped his bloodied shirt back on, then his vest. "In fact, I'm sure you have a lot of questions that I'd answer the same way. It doesn't inspire confidence, I know, but..."

His head lifted, grey gaze fully opening to take in the sky above him. He thought of his sister, of where she was now, what she was doing, if she ever thought of him and wondered the same; of Kioshi and Shiori, and if they made it safely back to Konoha, if they were waiting for him to return, or if they had already departed for Suna.

"...I just want to get back home."

 

[arbus]

"No", Kakashi replied easily, "it does not inspire confidence, at all."

He had opened his right eye, studying the other's features. If the situation had been anything other than it as, Kakashi would feel the need to subdue him ... his suspicion more firmly embedded with Ryusuke's words, suddenly sure that this was not his real name, and that Satoshi was not who he claimed to be, either. Perhaps two rogue nin who happened to stumble upon them, who were at the right place at the right time, but that did not explain why they helped them, why they claimed to be the ANBU backup they so apparently were not.

However, there were situations in a shinobi's life when such things -- things like affiliations, things like official procedures -- started to lose their initial importance. And this was such a moment, because what it came down to was that he owed his life to Ryusuke, who had saved him even though they so apparently were not comrades, were nothing more than mere strangers.

So he hummed, a humorous, light sound. Almost content. As if, despite his words, Ryusuke's statement had satisfied him.

"Home", he repeated, his eye wandering over Ryusuke's frame, "Is that were your uniform is from?"

 

[Graverobber141]

A laugh fell from Satoru's lips at both Kakashi's response and his next question, one that was genuine, even though it was also laced with a drip of sardonicism, directed at himself. The logical part of himself was rebelling, asserting that he should have kept up the facade--deny and misdirect--for as long as possible, but he was just so unbelievably tired. Strained. And with everything that had happened threatening to make itself known in the front of his mind, clinging currently to the depths of his subconscious like vicious shadows, it felt good to not be expected to keep up his spun bullshit, especially when it would eventually get blown apart.

Maybe it was incredulously stupid, but, as Takeshi had once said, war was nothing more than the embodiment of humanity's incapability to rise above their own impulses and compulsions.

"Told you I was the black sheep of my family," he stated with a small and weak smirk, poking at his bandages through the hole in his vest and shirt; the fabric was both singed, torn, bloodied, and not all of the blood was his own. "Never really learned to be inspirational; I much prefer my role as a perpetual pariah. Keeps life more interesting."

His eyes dropped to take in the uniform he was currently messing with, as if he didn't know exactly what to do with his hands, but wanted desperately to do something with them. "Mm...well, relatively speaking, yes." It was the simplest answer he could give, without mulling over what he defined as a home: a concept that felt oddly divided in this moment, and trying to explain circumstances that would make no sense to this Leaf ninja at war with the Sand.

Exhaling, he fell back against the grass with a light thud, gaze trailing over the deceptively bright sky, and with a grumble, he stole a line out of the other Uchiha's book: "The Swordsman of the fucking Sand."

 

[arbus]

Kakashi's eye dropped to the frayed, blackened hole in Ryusuke's uniform. Sprinkles of blood surrounded it, and one particularly nasty, small blob of what looked like burnt muscle tissue clung to the material of his vest. It was a miracle that they had made it to the onsen; Kakashi felt like shit, but Ryusuke looked it. Looked much like he could need a nap and a soak in the hot water. Its healing properties would help to replenish both their chakra reserves, and mend the torn tissue in their muscles and skin.

"Maa", he said, teasingly, "I bet you can be very inspirational if you try." Through the sluggishness of his thoughts -- so frustrating, so familiar, that constant lack of energy -- he calculated how long it would take them to restore enough of their health to move on. They needed to contact the rest of the team -- Ryusuke would want to contact his comrade, the man that was, inexplicably, of Uchiha descent.

Had he had the energy, he might have torn his hair at the sheer strangeness of it all. Then again, he might not. Sometimes, he found it hard to find anything to stir his emotions these days, and while the worry about his comrades' wellbeing hung over him like a dark cloud, it was a dulled feeling, emptied out and, he thought, of not much consequence.

Relatively speaking, yes.

Whatever that meant. Ryusuke's elusiveness was curse and blessing in one. Kakashi had a feeling that he might not even want to know about it. It would certainly give him a headache. He huffed a breath, the closest thing to laughter that did not make his entire body hurt. Uchiha Shisui might be a magpie, but sometimes he hit the nail on the head.
"Listen", he said. He had remained immovable since Ryusuke had put him down, leaning against the tree like a somewhat battered, wild-haired puppet. "You should take a bath in that onsen over there. It's water has special healing properties." He hummed, a ghost of a smirk crossing his features. "Promise I won't peak."

 

[Graverobber141]

Lying there in the grass, his eyes almost fully closed and his breathing evening out, it would be easy to assume Satoru had already drifted off into a slumber, as he refrained from immediately responding to Kakashi; the only hint of his fading grasp in the waking world was the occasional twitch upward of his eyelid, a struggle that occurred once every few seconds in a practically feeble attempt to resist from letting the blackness overtake him. With the adrenaline little more than a useless leftover circulating in his system, he was exhausted, unusually exhausted. Even after the war--the war to end all wars--he hadn't felt like this, like he was diseased, and underneath it all was a shakiness, unrest, that would have made him pace if not for his muscles' searing soreness.

And all of that didn't account for the pain, which became more defined as his mind registered that danger no longer snapped at their heels.

He first shifted his jaw to confirm he could move it, and parting his lips, he took in how dry his throat was and the taste of metal that still lingered on his tongue. "I'd actually prefer it if you watched." There was something in his voice, an emodiement of that shakiness taking root in his body, and the smirk he flashed Kakashi's way was an illusion. "Mostly to make sure I don't get stabbed in the back." It was a struggle to get onto his feet, and as he did so, the sheath of his chokuto became a noticeable weight at his side, the simple sensation of it clinking against his pants leg distinct and heavy, like a stone had just been tossed at his hip. Immediately, his hand jerked up to trace across the line of the cut on his neck.

There was a thundering knock at the door of his subconscious, a collector coming to demand the accumulating emotional debt he had been packing away all this time.

Fingers dropping to grasp his knees, he hunched over, dry heaved, and with what little strength he had fleeing from his bones, he fell. Palms sprayed out into the soft grass to catch himself, and he expelled what little he had that day for breakfast.

Takeshi would have had his head for becoming overwhelmed on the edge of a combat zone in such a way, and that thought made him laugh, a strange mixture of harsh, giddy desperation. "Inspirational, isn't it?" Why, why the fuck was he still joking?

Because a dead man had almost killed him. Because here he was, with the younger version of Kakashi, which meant--

He didn't want to think it, like a ghost flickering in and out of his vision, not entirely there, but haunting, its presence felt as a cold chill down the spine, a white noise within the medulla.

--Uchiha Sasuke had to be younger as well, vulnerable, not the world-renowned, talented, feared shinobi of their timeline, and what if--

He tried to stop it. Ignore it. Bring it to a full stop, but it persisted in existence. Like trying to tune out a ticking tock in the background; eventually, one could stop registering the noise, but it was still there, present, counting down like a bomb.

--Takeshi didn't have to die. What if he found the Uchiha, and--

No. Stop. No.

Like nothing had happened, like everything was completely normal, he forced himself to his feet once more, began tugging off his clothes, which were tossed carelessly onto the grass, and stopped when his hand grazed the chokuto. His mouth twitched, caught between a grimace and sick, mocking smirk, and then he undid his slash, letting the sheath clatter onto the ground with it.

"Ten years," he admitted, a delayed answer to an earlier question, "I knew the Swordsman for around ten years, give or take."

Then, swaying in his stance, because standing was an effort, biting down this instability that threaten to leak out from its carefully contained, isolated prison within his mind was an effort, he resorted to leaning against a tree, the rigid bark scraping against the bare skin of his back. Leveling a guarded gaze onto Kakashi, he stated, "You shoulder join me. The quicker we both get back onto our feet, the better."

Maybe it was contagious, but the insistent, driving need to get out displayed earlier by the Uchiha was starting to scratch underneath the surface of his skin.

 

[arbus]

Kakashi knew a fake smile when he saw one, as he was a frequent distributor of those himself. But he had no intention to acknowledge the other’s pain, wouldn’t know how if he tried, and so his response was mild, superficial. „That’s right“, Kakashi said, pretenting to be mildly surprised. „In that case I‘ll make sure to keep an especially close eye on you.“

When Ryusuke fell, a sound erupted unbidden from his throat, and he automatically moved to assist him, which resulted in little more than his face twisting into a grimace of pain, as his body protested loudly, muscles spasming and forcing him into helpless submission.

What a sight they made — rendered useless, incapacitated by the Swordsman, stranded in some corner of the Land of Grass. He could do nothing but wait until Ryusuke had gotten rid of what Kakashi supposed must have been his breakfast, the other‘s words (I knew the Swordsman for around ten years, give or take) ringing in his ears, and the lack of alarm he felt was as disconcerting as the statement itself should be.

He was glad when Ryusuke decided not to linger on his moment of weakness, which appeared to be of a psychological nature as much as a physical one. The burning desperation in his eyes, inadequately hidden beneath a mistrustful gaze, was so plainly obvious Kakashi had to avert his eye.

He was not interested in the other‘s agony. It was a cold thought to have, but it was that simple. A cruel matter of priorities.

When Kakashi finally met Ryusuke’s eyes, his own had turned apparently unassuming, relaxed, as if Ryusuke had not just broken down before him: „Maa, you‘d have to toss me in yourself. I‘m afraid I can‘t lift a finger.“

 

[Graverobber141]

There were a few, small saving graces left in the world: Satoru's momentary display of vulnerability and weakness slipping past them as if it never existed was one. Or so he thought. Yet he couldn't shake it entirely, this collateral damage amounted from stumbling into a timeline of war and conflict (and a chance), and there was some hidden, quiet, childlike part of him that wished the silver-haired man, whose elder image had indulged him just the night before while seated by a fire, would call him out on his bullshit. The way Takeshi would, but the Swordsman was dead, physically in his when, emotionally in this when.

His mouth twitched again, a subtle tick, and then he let out a laugh that was supposed to be light, but had an edge to it, like the wind chakra flowing through his veins. "Well, I got you this far didn't I?" On adrenaline, and he missed the way the chemical kissed his muscles and mind like fire; everything was easier when heated.

Head drifting to take in the onsen a stone's throw away, he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, before stumbling toward it without another word. Walking around the rocky edge, the steam rising from the water felt extraordinary welcoming against his skin; his body and hair were drenched with sweat, black strands plastered against his face and neck, and from being glued to the insignificant wound from his sensei's blade (ironically significant in the damage it had caused within his thoughts) a portion of his hair was caked with his own dried blood, and he the thought of getting clean, as if he could scrub himself back to complete stability, was a reprieve.

After scouting out a shallow portion of the spring, one where his limp companion would be the least likely to drown in the case of falling over, Satoru limped back to the tree, gathered Kakashi up with a grunt--his muscles complained vehemently, and for a moment, his vision went black, he stumbled, but was able to recover--he managed to drag the operative to the edge of the onsen with only one verbal complaint: "Fuck, Kakashi. For a shadow operative, you weigh a lot." An unfair assessment, he knew, but he needed some way to vent his struggle.

Though he wanted a rest, he pushed on, undressing the man rather roughly. Once bare, Satoru carefully placed Kakashi into the heated spring, setting his back against the natural stone wall. Here the water raised to be about at one's waist while sitting, and having used the last bit of his stamina reserves, Satoru sunk into the onsen, humming like it had been raining for hours and he just spotted the sun peeking through the clouds, felt its warm rays grace his face.

Slinking down until his head submerged, he waited a few moments before resurfacing, grey eyes flickering over to his companion. "Try not to tip over. It'd be a shame if you died by drowning after the shit we just survived."

 

[arbus]

As soon as he was moved, his body lit up, his chakra pathways and surrounding muscle tissue on fire from the severe exhaustion. He could not hold back the groan, a guttural sound wrenched deep from his stomach. His face screwed up as he was heaved over the other's shoulder, arms dangling uselessly; he really was like a puppet, and it was not as if he hadn't found himself in situations like this before. This time, though, he had overdone it, had pushed himself to the limit and over and now he was paying the price -- it hurt like a bitch.

As Ryusuke lost his balance and his weight shifted, he gritted his teeth.

„I will ignore this jab at my graceful physique“, he replied, though it sounded more strained than anything else. It was not as if he did not appreciate the absurdity of the situation; being hauled over a naked stranger's shoulder and dragged across the grass to be thrown into a sorely needed bath had its humorous side, one Kakashi would normally appreciate greatly. Just that his head was spinning and pounding and that for a moment there, he feared he would give an encore to Ryusuke's vomitting and dry-heave, but the moment passed. He let himself be undressed, averting his eyes into the clear sky. This was something he had been through with Tenzo, and one time on a supposedly easy carrier mission gone terribly wrong with Genma, but usually, whoever was responsible for his useless, chakra-exhausted ass was not naked -- nor was he.

When his body submerged into the water, his discomfort eased. The stone was warm in his back, and he slid down, until the back of his head fell back against the stone. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The relief was not instant, but a gradual, comfortable losening of his tensed muscles, of the soreness and the ache. He sighed.

"I don't die that easy", he murmured, his lips pulling into a lop-sided, somewhat self-depricating smile. "You neither, judging by that nasty scar on your shoulder."

 

[Graverobber141]

'I don't die easily. You neither, judging by that nasty scar on your chest.'

At those words, Satoru swore he could feel the large puncture in his shoulder pulsing with a raw pain: the mark left behind as a permanent reminder of that morning on a riverside, where madness had danced with sorrow in his very soul, he had played King's Gambit perfectly--to the point it almost terrified him in its complex implications, and he had felt what could only be described as a cold void, right after the lightning pierced through him as if an ethereal being was reaching for his spirit. The jagged, deep scar marring his pale skin gave him the appearance of a ruined statue, as if someone had chiseled continuously away at the marble carved into his chest.

Gaze trailing over Kakashi's face, studying the curve of his nose, the line of his mouth, how it moved when he spoke, he felt a sense of recognition, the sensation catalogued away for later consideration, and then he looked away, upwards toward the sky, neck craning back against warm stone.

"Life is surprisingly fragile." He said it like he was commenting on the weather, his tone jaded. "No one ever dies that easily, not until they do."

Chance. He was saved then by nothing more than the whims of a certain pink-haired medic, now by those of his former sensei; nothing had occurred on his part, and that was paradoxically as grounding as it was maddening. In that same vein, the Uchiha had only been spared his blade because of a split second hesitance, born from his then still clean hands and some underlying reluctance to rain hurt upon those intertwined with the source of his own.

It was starting to really sink in: the fact he had killed, snuffed out life, undoubtedly taken someone from somebody. The restlessness reasserted itself, and even within the warm, comforting embrace of the spring water, he felt stained.

'How?' he wanted to ask, subtly taking in the aloof soldier next to him out of the corner of his eye, who seemed largely unfazed by what had transpired. 'How do you rationalize this?' But it was a question without an answer, so instead he found himself letting out a small laugh, disarming his previous statements, and with a small smirk, asserted, "I mean, eventually we'll get old, our looks will fade, and our enemies will stop pulling the punches because they're enthralled by our pretty faces."

 

[arbus]

"Life is surprisingly fragile. No one ever dies that easily, not until they do."

Only with effort, Kakashi suppressed a scoff. He turned his head, until it faced away from the other, painfully aware of the nakedness of his face, the display of emotion running unfiltered over his unschooled features. The special water of the onsen already had a nursing effect on his cells, and his limbs felt not so heavy anymore. Unbidden images rose to the surface of his mind; reserved normally for the lost, dreaded hours long after midnight. But Obito and Rin and Minato hovered, right now, at the front of his mind; had he not thought he would meet his end after all, only a couple of hours ago under the sharp blade of a seasoned shinobi?

But he did not die, did he? It was the other people that left, taken from him one by one, and sometimes Kakashi thought it would be a fucking mercy to follow, one that the fickleness of fate did not grant him. How often he had danced on the precipice of death, that last year alone, and it had refused to swallow him. He uttered a laugh, bitter and raw and careless. He had a feeling that he could grow fond of Ryusuke, if just for the other shinobi's own rawness, a similarity that amused Kakashi. In a strange way, he reminded him of Genma, who came across just as charismatic and cynical while brashly laughing the shitty hand they were dealt in the face, unabashed.

Kakashi opened his eye, the charcoal one, and from its corner he took in Ryusuke's smirk, the expression on his face. Idly, he wondered if the man would be interested in tumbling into bed with him -- a chance he'd have to take before the other turned out to be the rogue nin he suspected him to be. It gave him a gleeful burst of pleasure to think of how affronted Hiruzen Sarutobi would be if he ever found out. He hummed. "You don't look like your enemies ever pulled a single punch on you." Scars, as far as Kakashi was concerned, were pars of the course in a shinobi's life; neither a badge of honor nor a disfigurement; simply something that came with the profession, much like a fishmonger's hands smelled of fish and a butcher's apron was drenched in blood.

His gaze traveled past Ryusuke's pleasantly exposed throat into the sky, judging the altitude of the sun. "I'll have enough chakra to summon my ninken in a couple of hours. They will be able to track down the rest of the team. Our destination is the Land of Lightning, where we'll meet our contact."

As an undercover ANBU agent of Konoha, Ryusuke would know that already. To share the information in that way meant a blatant admittance to his knowledge of Ryusuke's fake identity.

 

[Graverobber141]

There was a cynical hum that escaped from Satoru's throat, the noise bordering on a scoff, if only he had put in more effort, at Kakashi's assertion that his enemies hadn't pulled punches on him. He was left to idly wonder if his hesitance on that riverside counted as a pulled punch, where he would be if he had actually drove the end of his sword home; there was oddly little desire in him left to do the Uchiha harm, but if he was a causality on the path to silence, along with the emotional, collateral damage left to flood over all those connected to the both of them, then, in these minimal seconds of weakness, he thought so be it. How could a dead man care anyways? And he thought of leaning over a shogi board with Takeshi once more, listening to the way Gin used to laugh when mother was still alive, a sound that faded into oblivion after her death, and then...he imagined what it would be like to get to know her, this face with the name of Satoka who he could barely recall, and that bothered him, left one of those nasty holes in his being that prevented him from becoming something more, because he felt like he should know her, every detail of her.

Of course, he didn't believe in such things, and part of him wondered if his sensei ever did, or if the Swordsman's uttered I will see you on the other side was merely a mantra to keep him going. Yet, sometimes, he even thought the lack of existence would be a welcome reprieve.

He still subtly watched his companion out of his peripheral, in one of those compulsions to examine others from a distance, a way to substitute for that inability to form meaningful connection, along with so many of what Kioshi, in his rare moments of exhausted anger, called his vices, along with that searing declaration of I can't fix you. Drinking in the other's form, he saw those same traces of his thoughts in the operative's movements, and then let his eyes lazily, unsubtly take in the lean muscle of Kakashi's body, because heat was so much easier than anything that went deeper than the surface of the skin.

'Our destination is the Land of Lightning, where we'll meet our contact.'

So he knew, Satoru thought mildly, his own gaze drifting to take in the steam rising from the water, watching it wisp into the air before fading. There was a relief that followed, where he imagined he should feel threatened instead, but one didn't survive battle with another without developing some sort of trust between the two. Brotherhood, Takeshi had called it once: a phenomena where two people could despise each other, but would lay their life down for the other when push came to shove.

"The bastard I'm traveling with uses hawks for communication and scouting," he replied. "They'll be useful for regrouping, and finding a path into Lightning that hopefully doesn't have another Swordsman guarding it." Sinking further into the onsen, until his chin touched the surface of the water, he proclaimed, "We'll get you there."

Because what else were they going to do? In this war zone, it was safer to travel in a pack, and it would give them time as they figured out how to get back to their when. He mused it would somehow be through the Uchiha's rinnegan, but he hardly understood how the fancy dojutsu worked, had only seen it in action once, over a short distance, but the previous night Uchiha claimed he could possibly go further. None of it sat well with him, and he couldn't fathom the thought of what if they couldn't get back. To do so was to risk insanity, and the longer they spent here, the harder it became to ignore that one, persistent thought.

Exhaling a long breath, feeling the beginning of a headache creep within skull, Satoru cocked a single brow at Kakashi, that smirk of his twitching at the edge of his lips, "So, what are we to do for those few hours while we recuperate? Shogi, perhaps?"

 

[arbus]

"That's good", Kakashi said, dropping even the last of pretense when he informed him, "Shisui will get in touch with us sooner or later, too. He also uses birds."
This openness, this lack of pretense was as much a product of his exhaustion as it was a strange, rather foreign -- but undeniable -- level of trust. Ryusuke had, after all, not hesitated to save his life, had intercepted the Swordsman's strike. He could have fled; he must have known that his cover would blow sooner or later, and yet he was here, still, helping him.

His gaze had shifted onto Ryusuke once more, more blatant now that he had caught the other man looking, like a silent answer to his own private thoughts. "Maa, Ryu-kun", he said, voice trailing lazily over the surface of the water. His interest was piqued, but sadly, that was the only thing on him able to show any kind of reaction. He heaved a heavy sigh at that more regrettable aspect of chakra exhaustion. With the shallow range of movement he had gained, he shifted his leg, until his knee brushed the other man's. His gaze was heavy-lidded with more than just fatigue now. "I wish I could suggest something more interesting, but until I replenish some of my energy, I'm afraid shogi it will be. If you move my pieces for me." He blinked, then chuckled, as if realizing the potential innuendo.

Regardless of the healing properties of the onsen, they would have to get out soon. Ryusuke's skin was flushed, and the comfortable relief Kakashi had felt slowly turned into a more unpleasant strain, the fumes of the water clogging his nostrils and worsening the pounding in his head. Nevertheless, Kakashi found himself surprised at how much the pain in his muscles had eased; hopefully, with another dip into the water later, he would be able to at least move on his own -- even though his presence meant a constant liability for Ryusuke. He had no choice -- the information stolen from Sand was ingrained in his sharingan, recorded by the spinning tomoe. He had been staring down at the writing while his hands had hastily flipped through scrolls, without really registering what he was seeing, while Tenzo, Shisui and Itachi had fended off the approaching Sand nin.

In his pouch, he carried a basic storage seal holding some crockery and a bedroll. If Ryusuke would be able to take the first shift, Kakashi could sleep off the worst of his fatigue and then summon Pakkun and the others, who would not only help them find the team but provide a much needed defense against potential enemies. Right now, both of them were near-helpless. A talented chunin probably would be able to take them out, which was enough incentive for Kakashi to get them up and running as fast as possible. That, and the outlook of attaching his lips to this long, inviting neck that his eye seemed to be drawn to constantly.

"I have some herbs and bandages in my pouch", he said, eye shifting to the bundle of clothes by the onsen. "If you mesh them and apply them to your wound, it will dull the pain."

 

[Graverobber141]

The brush of Kakashi's knee against his own made Satoru's slanted smirk more defined, devilish, and his eyes shifted to lock with his companion's, the sly, piqued look of a predator shadowing within the grey of his irises, before they trailed downward to take in the movement of his lips, line of his jaw, pulse within his neck, the way his chest lifted with each intake of air. Humming appreciatively, a sound that resonated within his throat, the swordsman's body rose slightly out of the onsen, heated water dripping down his toned, flushed skin, as he stretched his arm out behind the operative's head, reaching for the pouch in question, and he lazily drug it closer to the edge, where, with his back turned, he took his time to rifle through it; all a blatant display for Kakashi's benefit.

"Some of the best things in life require patience, handsome," he murmured pleasantly, retrieving the bandages and herbs. "What fun would it be if we both indulged our curiosities without a little bit of effort?"

Climbing out of the water, he situated himself on the edge, using one, smooth rock as a surface and another as a mortar to ground up the herb, starting, as he did so, a game to be played mentally, without the use of physical pieces or a board: "Pawn to F7." Applying the paste carefully to his wound, it did relieve some of the pain as promised, along with the healing properties of the onsen; he felt less on the verge of death than he had earlier, which was progress, he supposed, though the effects of blood loss and exertion still clung to his muscles like lead seeping into his veins. After wrapping a bandage around his torso and shoulder, he judged it was about time to lift Kakashi out of the water as well.

A sigh, grunt, and some effort later, Satoru managed to drag the operative out of the spring, setting him against a tree once more, before withdrawing to let him dry. After dressing himself, leaving off his vest and shirt, as he didn't want to don the ruined articles of clothing just yet, he returned to Kakashi to also help in back into his clothes.

"How about you get some rest? I'll keep watch." It seemed like the best course of action, considering he could actually stand with a bit of thought, and to find the others, they would have to rely on Kakashi's summons. Though he still wouldn't be that much use in a fight, with a bit of thought, he could rig some traps: trip wires and shuriken, perhaps, to stay on the quiet side. Yet they were still riding on the grace of Lady Lucky, a lover who his sensei had reminded him constantly was unreliable; their best bet was to remain undetected. "And if our luck finally runs out, at least I'll be able to give you some warning before we both die."

 

[arbus]

Kakashi, who had regained enough of his muscle strength to at least assist with both being transported out of the onsen and then being clothed, hummed, his smile a silent thank you. He would be considerably more abashed by his helplessness if it had not provided him with some time close up to Ryusuke's naked, and through and through pleasant frame. He had enjoyed his little show in the onsen very much, and in any other circumstance, the chance to dry naked in the setting sun would have been a welcome reprieve from the usual strain that was his life.

He bore the humility of being dressed by the other with the same kind of resigned humor he summoned when he found himself incapacitated in a hospital bed, unable to lift a finger. There was nothing to be done about it -- becoming frustrated was counter-productive more than anything else, so he moved along with it, and made sure to use his chance and brush his lips against Ryusuke's delicate neck as the man helped him settle down once again. "Pawn to F2", he replied, voice husky with either sleep or lust or both, "and, luckily, I am a very patient man, Ryu-kun."

He sighed theatrically. "Though I'll go out on a limb and say it would be great fun, even without the extra effort."

His fingers caught on the other's elbow. His own fatigues were stark with sweat and blood, reeked, and he would have been more comfortable to stay naked than to sit in his dirty clothes. The nights were cold, however, and the sun would be down in only an hour or so. To pull his mask back up would have made him feel better, had it not been for the fact that the material was soaked in blood and salvia. His clothes needed a thorough scrubbing, and even just for his sensible nose he sincerely hoped they would find time for that later.

"We won't die", he said, searching the other's gaze, "if you manage to keep us alive for the next couple of hours. Then I'll be ready to defend us, too." He smirked. "I keep a bedroll in a storage scroll in my pouch. Use it, if you're cold. Get into the onsen again, too, to help with your healing."

 

[Graverobber141]

Even after Kakashi's lips had withdrawn from the pulse of his neck, ghosting tantalizingly against his heated skin, Satoru could feel a tingling sensation left behind in their wake, like lightning sparking across his nerves. Mouth twitching into a smirk that could only be described as unreservedly interested, his teeth displayed dangerously like fangs, his grey gaze, clouded over like a storm, drifted down to take in that mouth of the ANBU's, before trailing down to examine his exposed throat, the way his artery pulsed, and the swordsman's eyes lingered, as if enthralled by the motion.

"Hmm, well then, I suppose you have incentive to get well," he hummed, lifting a few fingers to lightly trace along Kakashi's jawline, before withdrawing his hand to rest against his own leg, idly drumming against the fabric of his pants. It lasted for only a moment, the way his edged smirk softened, his eyelids dropping slightly over his irises with a faint amusement, and after his next words, "Ah, a gentleman that can see the future; what a curiosity you are, indeed, Kakashi," the expression was gone as quickly as it came.

Standing to his feet, the swordsman wondered why those words had felt so significant--'we won't die'--as if by hearing them stated by another, even in their uncontrolled circumstances, he could almost believe them; they could almost make the fact that there was only so much he could do to ward off a nasty end for them both bearable, and this phenomena battled against his natural instinct to predict the worst, see nothing but the worst.

"Silver General to H6," he stated simply, before gathering up his energy to move further. As much as he wanted to continue this game he was playing (and not the one being spoken), he had things to do if he wanted to make sure Kakashi's declaration remained true. He took his time with setting up the perimeter: a delicate task he treated like an artist painting a landscape. His traps were simply intricate: a series of trip wires, triggers, and a few simple seals that, when set off, would rain down shuriken and kunai, and one even to trigger a paper bomb closer to the onsen, where he could (hopefully, depending on chakra levels) feed the explosion with his jutsu. Had Shiori been with him, poison would have been added to the mix, but he could only work with his own weaponry proficiency, and he took pride in his profession. With luck, his traps wouldn't be put to the test.

By the time he returned, the sun was dipping into the horizon, hidden behind the vast forest, yet its colorful rays shaded the darkening sky in orange, and Satoru felt a chill begin to crawl over his skin. Finally relenting, he once again threw on his shirt, before retrieving the bedroll his companion spoke of, laying it out underneath the same tree he left its owner under.

"Well enough to tuck yourself in, my samurai in shining armor?" He asked, lifting a single brow in question.

 

[arbus]

What he sensed from Ryusuke was predator, threat, a tantalizingly heady mixture, an opportunity to go up against, to meet halfway and see who was to relent, and who to bite down in the nape and hold. Kakashi certainly did not mind this game, bared his throat for the other like a taunt, but then sunk back further, and broke the tension with a small chuckle. "You won't call me that when I'm through with you, Ryu-kun", he promised darkly.

When Ryusuke returned, Kakashi was leaning against the tree, head titlted to the side, an arm wrapped over his stomach. His eyes were closed, breathes long and deep, the face underneath the crust of dirt and blood smooth and all the younger in its relaxed state. It took him a long time to answer, but finally his lips shifted into a half-smile, and his voice was a lazy drawl, heavy with sleep: "I've been called many things. But that?" He huffed. "And shouldn't you be my samurai in shining armor?" He cracked open his right eye, taking in the bedroll. He had not noticed Ryusuke placing it there. "Clearly, I'm the damsel in distress in this scenario."

His gaze shifted to Ryusuke's face.

"Helpless. Defenseless. At the mercy of your every whim."

It was a special talent, to sound so disinterestedly lazy and lewd at the same time. Then, he offered, as if he had not just blatantly been flirting with the other man: "Black Castle to 8H." Without the mask, his face was open, almost painfully so -- every emotion flitted clearly over his features, like someone who was not yet proficient in schooling his appearance into the bored, neutral display his older self had so obviously adapted and honed to perfection. And now, with all the remnants of the battle gone, the last of the tension seeping out of his mind and muscle memory to be replaced with the comfortable heaviness of sleep, it was all the more prominent. The expression on his face was neither guarded, nor watchful; though it was impossible to tell if this was a decoy, or if he really, truly did not care.

Another thing he had not realized was how the sun had set, sinking deeper behind the crowns of the trees, the diffuse, orange light shedding a pleasant glow on the world. The hair on his arms and neck stood up in goosebumps from the cold, however, a stark reminder of the fact that it was, actually, winter -- albeit the mildest one Kakashi had ever experienced.

"What's that about?", he asked, his toe poking the bedroll. "It's for you. You look like you could use some warmth."

 

[Graverobber141]

'Helpless. Defenseless. At the mercy of your every whim.'

Well, it certainly was an enticing thought, though Satoru wasn't foolish enough to think the ANBU sprawled out vulnerably before him in an almost risqué fashion was completely incapable of having bite. A shinobi was never weaponless, and teeth could be used to kill, rip into a throat like an animal; when one was desperate, back pressed against a wall--or tree--they become capable of anything. Kakashi wasn't done, no matter his words, his display, and the possibility of a fight, heated and blood-pounding, a struggle for control, against a well-defined man who could match his own fury made that smirk of his quirk upward, his pulse quicken with the excitement that came before a hunt.

Because that's what this exchange was: a hunt, two wolves in sheep's clothing circling each other, waiting for an excuse to pounce, and with Kakashi, as the operative himself had pointed out, defenseless before him, he suppressed the natural urge, instinct, to act on his basic, primal desires, at least so immediately; even with his very blood starting to burn through his veins, the look in his grey eyes darkening with lust, he reached for that learned patience of his, let it tame him, because the chase was just as enrapturing as the kill itself.

Another low, daring hum rumbled in his throat, and sitting lazily back against the grass, he tilted his neck to expose it provocatively, watching his companion closely. "I believe we both know what you are capable of, handsome, and that hardly makes you a damsel. Besides, I find chivalry to be insulting and rather uninteresting, having shining armor is a great way to get killed, and I've always considered myself to be more of a ronin than a samurai."

A pause. Fingering at the blanket of the bedroll, his eyes drifted up to examine the painted sky, and even though this cold was pale in comparison to the onslaught of freezing bitterness he faced the day before, his natural inclination toward the heat had him subduing the urge to crawl underneath the fabric he was currently toying with. "Silver General to G7." Finally, he pulled back the blanket, before settling his eyes on Kakashi. Brow twitching upwards, unsubtle suggestion lined his voice as he asked, "Was that an offer?" A light breath of air tinged with amusement fell from his lips, yet he did not relent. "You need the rest more than I do. I'm a man who expects nothing but the best, after all."

 

[arbus]

Somehow, Kakashi seemed to have developed a weak spot for that neck, back in the onsen, in the amount of time it took to make a long, sweeping glance. "Or it makes me a damsel with some quite astonishing talents", he replied easily, even while his one, open eye was fixated on the white stretch of the other's throat, as if he could not quite bring himself to look away.

"You can consider it one", Kakashi said, unfazed. "Body heat to keep ourselves warm."

„I‘m a man who expects nothing but the best, after all.“

Another chuckle fell from his lips, and amusement, humor, made his face light up in a genuine smile. "Maa, Ryu-kun, don‘t worry. That‘s exactly what you will get.“

He shifted is gaze towards the dark sky. A clear night, so it was star-strewn, the moon a bright looming half-circle above the tree tops.

„Or, you could simply stay in the onsen“, he continued, moving slowly. He was careful to keep his face neutral even at the ache like misfiring synapses all through his body, but his hand was shaking slightly as he lifted the blanket, scooting onto it like he was either very old, or perhaps a sloth. „But that would leave you all shriveled up. Also, it‘s unhealthy. You might pass out, and guess who‘d be the damsel then?“ Teeth gleaming as he flashed Ryusuke a grin, then the look of concentration as he sank back against the padded bedroll. He patted the spot next to him, wiggling his eyebrows in the comical exaggeration of a seduction.

 

[Graverobber141]

Satoru was sure there were very valid reasons why he should be acting more appropriately than he currently was, but listening to Kakashi rattle off ridiculous excuses for why he should be crawling into bed next to him, taking in that equally as ridiculous look dancing across the operative's eyebrows, he found he couldn't think of a single one, and couldn't help the laugh that tumbled from his lips, followed immediately by a hardly scolding declaration: "You are entirely shameless."

It was a display: the way he exaggeratedly leaned back on his arm, tilting his head to take in the mentioned nearby onsen, studying its waters in contemplation, even as a sly, devilish smirk spread across his lips. A few heartbeats of silence, because of course he had to draw this out, before he was relenting with a heavy sigh. "But I suppose you are right, Kakashi."

Shifting his weight, Satoru moved to join his companion within the bedroll, lying down on his side, propped against his elbow with his cheek held in his palm, to keep just the slightest distance between their bodies, before pulling the blanket over them both to contain the heat. Admittedly, the warmth was a welcome reprieve from the cold, which still significantly bothered him, yet it was the distraction he found to be more invaluable, welcomed.

"You know," the swordsman started, his voice low, almost a purr, colored with an absurd amount of lasciviousness. His fingers reached out to ghost along the operative's neck, trailing down his artery, before flipping casually at his collar, and then entangling in the fabric of his shirt. "If we're so concerned about staying warm, we should take off our clothes. Our body heat will be able to transfer between us better that way." With a grin that could only be described as shit-eating, he cocked a brow questionably.

 

[arbus]

The black-haired swordsman had a way to make the syllables of Kakashi's name, falling from his lips, sound like a promise. Like a temptation. Kakashi hummed, the smile still on his face as innocent as could be. He noticed the expertly kept distance between their bodies, yet another tease, one he ignored completely as he tangled their legs, shifting to pull up against the other man, a hand on the back of his head. A gentle tuck at his hair to tilt the other's chin upward, and his eye trailed over that handsome face. Kakashi was not shallow, but it was hard not to notice Ryusuke's perfectly symmetrical features, the elegant lines of his mouth curving up into a seemingly perpetual smirk.

The laugh that had tumbled from his lips was suiting him, more than the dark edges of his smile, or even his wicked humor.

Ryusuke tried to hide it, but behind his demeanor, the sarcasm and the violence Kakashi sensed roiling inside him, simmering underneath the perfect skin, he knew how much the swordsman wanted this. As a distraction, he might tell himself, to make a point; but Kakashi knew it was the warmth he sought, solace, because that was the way it went on a mission like this.

"We will", he said lightly, fingers tightening in the thick black hair. His mouth, when it caught the other's, was a warm cavity, firm but unobtrusive as his tongue moved to taste, like a prospect of what was to come. Nothing about that kiss was chaste -- it was its own kind of promise, and when Kakashi eased the kiss back, lips lingering against the corner of Ryusuke's mouth, his breath was fanning over the other's face a bit more shallowly, a bit faster than before.

"But later, in the safety of a village." He trailed his lips along Ryusuke's jaw, nibbling at his chin with his teeth, then bedded his head into the crook of his own arm, body pressed up close now, as if he was used to sleep like this, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. He let out a breath, shifting to make himself more comfortable against the other body, eyes already closed. "And when we do", he said, voice low from sleep or some other, darker intent, "you will tell me your real name."

 

[Graverobber141]

The kiss was all-consuming, ravenous, and it was over way too quickly for his liking: a promise not yet fulfilled, and he felt his desire for that promise blaze through his veins like wildfire, uncontrolled and intoxicating. A discontented hum chimed from his mouth at the withdrawal, and as if proposing a challenge, he nipped at the operative's lower lip, teeth scraping against skin just enough to be slightly painful, before he submitted to Kakashi's ministrations, tilting his chin to allow him better access to his jawline.

Watching Kakashi curl into his side, relaxing so easily into the warmth radiating from his body, Satoru could feel a electrifying sensation left behind on his lips, could almost taste that lightning chakra on his tongue, and the shudder that ran fingers down his spine had nothing to with the cold.

'...You will tell me your name.'

The assertion, stated so calmly, yet like it was an undeniable course of action, made him chuckle quietly. His hand lifted to run gently through that mane of wild, silver hair, grey eyes studying the way the moonlight was strewn across the marble of his companion's face, marred by a single, jagged scar that stretched across his closed eyelid, and he felt his own lips twitch upwards in a smirk that was soft enough to be almost disarmed. Leaning his head down, the swordsman grazed his mouth against the operative's ear, tracing the outline of his lobe, as he murmured almost inaudibly, "Is that so?"

Then he laid his head against his curled-up arm, other hand lazily trailing down Kakashi's spine, before resting against the small of his back. An uncountable amount of heartbeats passed and his breathing slowed, his eyes closed, yet he fought off the tiredness that tugged at his conscious mind, listening intently to their surroundings for any hint of danger, shouldering the role of guardian. Eventually exhaustion won out, his body succumbing to overexertion and its wounds, and sleep embraced him.

He awoke when the sun was just peeking over the horizon, still half dark sky painted with the bright colors that would soon consume it. Climbing out of the bedroll, the swordsman groaned, muscles complaining, though he noticed they were, at least, a lot more agreeable to his movements than the the night before. He took a seat in the grass slick with morning dew, the wet smell mixing with the aroma that drifted from the onsen, and retrieved two ration bars provided by the Hokage from his belt pouch. Shoving one in his mouth, he held the other out toward Kakashi in offering. "It's not much, but it should help you gather up your strength."

 

[arbus]

Water splashed softly, as Kakashi raised his arms from beneath the surface to place them behind himself against the rocks that served him as a backrest. His head inclined, grey eye moving over the lean body he had spent most of the night pressed up against, then moved with Ryusuke's motions as he sat down. His eye curved into a smile as the other offered a ration bar, and he moved from the far end of the onsen, crossed it to climb out of it, his movements still a lot less smooth than they usually were, but at least he could move at all.

A pug was sitting in the grass before the onsen, moveless like a tiny statue. He watched the stranger -- Ryusuke -- from behind drooping eyelids.

"I don't know, boss", he said, as if continuing an earlier conversation, "he definitely smells like trouble."

From the branches of a tree not too far off hung Kakashi's uniform, steaming slightly as it dried in the cold air. With a chuckle, Kakashi padded on naked feet through the moist grass, bent to gather and change into his underwear, then took the ration bar from Ryusuke, "Thank you, Ryu-kun", before returning to the bedroll, drawing the blanket up over himself until he was wrapped into it so tightly that only his head poked out, hair hanging into his face and still dripping. Sitting like that, his hand protruded out of the folds, and he bit into the bar. "I see you come prepared. Strange", he mused, "I know these. They have been distributing them since my father's genin days. A very intriguing piece of information on Konoha's history, don't you think?"

Though the implication of the statement -- the suspicion (How did you get by these, stranger?) -- was clear enough, his voice remained mild.

"By the way, nice work with the traps. Very intricate setup." His smile grew more profound, and he chewed the last of the bar before his eyes traveled towards the rising sun.

"We move as soon as one of my ninken arrives with news. I sent them on trail a couple of hours ago."

That no raven had arrived yet was a fact he worried over like a sour tooth, but his demeanor remained relaxed, almost to the point of carelessness. Almost as if this trip to the onsen had been a long-planned vacation, rather than a last-minute resort from a fight that had almost cost them their lives.

"That water does wonders to your chakra pathways", Pakkun said, as unimpressed as his master, "a pity we don't have these in the village."

"A pity", Kakashi agreed, sighing. "I guess I will have to go on holiday more often."

"That's what I keep telling you."

"Maa, maa. Let's not have that discussion again." Kakashi shot Ryusuke a look. "Need help with your bandages?"

 

[Graverobber141]

A mildly amused huff of air forced its way past Satoru's lips, and his grey eyes traveled lazily from the rather perpetually unimpressed-looking pug--he reached within his memory to recall the hound's name, yet it kept escaping his grasp--to Kakashi, who was once again walking along that line of suspicion, nudging the boundary to enter into territory of answers the swordsman couldn't provide, not only because of how outlandish they were, but because he didn't even fully understand them himself. Watching the operative dress rather unsubtly, he idly considered if trouble could even have a smell; he knew what it looked like, of course, and a prime example was the muscular frame of the man before him, but a scent? Perhaps fire. Something burnt and singed. Smoke. Or blood. His nose twitched, becoming aware of the fabric of his shirt, which possessed the strong stench of all those things, and with a small tilt of his chin, conceded to the point.

Choosing to ignore Kakashi's implied question--there was only one non-answer he could provide, and he was tiring of repeating himself--Satoru stuffed his mouth with the rest of his ration bar, and decided to bask in the compliment of his handiwork instead: "Weapons are my forte, handsome. Engineering elaborate and effective set-ups such as this is--well, I suppose you could say interest of mine. Combines my two favorite things in the world: cleverness and sharp objects."

With that his gaze dropped to his chest, his finger poked through the hole in his shirt to carefully brush against his wound, and he considered the unavoidable task before him, perhaps his least favorite thing in the world. While help certainly wasn't needed, he wouldn't deny it, if only to make the ordeal more bearable with the attractive operative's presence. Letting that sly, suggestive smirk of his dance across his lips, the swordsman tugged off the offensive fabric concealing his chest, tossing it casually to the side. "It would be appreciated, Kakashi."

A few hours: that's how long Kakashi's ninken had been gone, and the fact they hadn't returned with a scent yet made Satoru anxious; it showed in the occasional, easily missed shake of his hand as he undid his bandages to start changing them. He couldn't understand why he worried so much about the Uchiha, but the feeling edged closely to guilt. Guilt, of all things, concerning the man that had killed his sensei.

"And if your mutts come back without a trail?" He asked softly, even if he already knew the answer. The operative had a mission, and without any leads on their comrades' positions, they couldn't search a combat zone, certainly not in their current condition.