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The More Things Change	By : Sushi4Brains Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 8511 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of its characters, nor is any profit made from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Pain receptors pushed to their limit, transmit incomplete and indistinct messages.
With each truncated breath, his lungs burn white hot even as his chest is frigid like a glacier’s base.
Tremulous arms and legs quake under the strain of a gawkily adopted pose – one side of his body wracked with violent spasms, the opposite side hangs in a state of atony.
Inhale.
But off in the distance, a bright light shone, flickering around the edges of this, his personal hell; the bright light which waxed and waned was nothing less than subtle spikes in the chakra pattern above him and to his left.
Exhale.
Yamato knew that chakra like he knew his own face; he’d trusted that chakra for as long as his memory held firm. And now, the chakra he knew and trusted was in disarray.
Kakashi, the real Kakashi, was embroiled in quiet turmoil all his own.
Inhale.
I’ve felt this before . . .. I’ve seen the end result of this struggle only once.
Winding down from a hellish mission where Hound took the lead, he’d watched from the safety of an empty equipment room as Hound ripped Kakashi from nave to nostril, refusing banishment to his dark, cold abode.
Exhale.
Optimism at a time like this, was a fool’s gambit, and yet he followed the fitful stream of chakra flowing from Kakashi like a weary nomad to an oasis.
Mercy, he convinced himself, mercy was gaining ground on cruelty . . . yes, he was sure of it now.
He lifted his head and looked directly at his captain without askance or waiting for acknowledgement. The look on Kakashi’s face, his brow furrowed, his jaw clenched, and his lips compressed into a thin, pink line - these, individually and collectively rekindled the dying cinders of hope.
Yes . . . he could taste it in the air around him – mercy . . . he could feel it stretching out its arms to enfold him. Yes, like a white linen wrapped angel, he could see it approaching so clearly now:
And so could Hound.
“Now isn’t the time wimp out on me, Kakashi,” hissed the fervid voice beneath the mask.
An apathetic half turn of Kakashi’s head, like someone roused from mental torpor -- the protracted rise of a single eyebrow, as if questioning his own motives; hope and fear clawed at Yamato’s gut with every millimeter that the single grey brow rose. It was as if fire were shut up in his bones, soldering him in place though he felt like jumping out of his skin.
Inhale.
A breath, weary as Kakashi opened his mouth to speak – it was for naught, cut short by Hound’s verdict:
“I’m not about to cut him loose either, so don’t ask.”
Exhale.
He watched it – mercy, creeping like a shadow across his captain’s face until it coalesced into a rigid curtain of duty, the obligation to finish what he’d begun.
Fretful now, Yamato saw the light of benevolence in Kakashi’s eye cloud over and fade to black.
But when the tawse tumbled from his captain's hand, Yamato was certain his punishment had reached its end.
“Wimp out?” Kakashi laughed. “Cut him loose? Why, Hound-san, that’s the furthest thing from my mind.”
Silently, Yamato strangled on a breath, unsure of which way it was supposed to go.
He turned in on himself, as if bludgeoned with a weighted club; his body crumpled slightly, his shoulders and chin dipped low as a rushing, boiling breath flew from him.
“As a matter of fact,” Kakashi said, “Tenzou’s stubbornness has grown tiresome . . . even for a patient man like me.”
And just like that . . . mercy took wing and Yamato, came undone. Like a weeping willow he stood, disappointment anchoring him in place as his limbs swayed in the shifting breezes of Kakashi’s compassion.
“Yeah, he’s an inconsiderate little prick too,” said Hound. “God only knows how long it’ll take me to clean his grubby sweat stains out of these fine pieces of leather.”
The constant drone of Hound’s complaints wither into nothingness as Kakashi reached down to cradle his kohai’s flagging erection in the palm of his hand.
Wide brown eyes follow the purposeful movements of a pale thumb, loitering around the underside of his suffused cock, delicately capturing samples of the viscid fluid oozing from the tiny slit.
His captain’s threatening tone and stance notwithstanding, Yamato feels his body reacting to the unexpected stroking, though his mind is screaming for him not to trust the gentle overtures.
This disorienting and unmerited display of familiarity and dare he think it … ownership, it felt so wrong, so improper and yet that’s exactly what made it so right.
Every time Kakashi rubbed his thumb up and over the frenulum, Yamato’s hips thrust themselves lewdly forward. His arms, poised to stretch upward and drape themselves over his captain’s shoulders, yet he stopped short, knowing Hound would rip them from their sockets should he attempt such a thing.
Instead, his hands fall to grip the back of the chair - his cock, ached and pulsing in time with his rampaging heartbeat whenever he snuck a glimpse of the sly smile on Kakashi’s lips and the wicked gleam in his eye.
He’s making a game of it now, he blearily surmised when his captain daubed the glistening substance up and around the pulsing crown - pausing in his movements now and then, Kakashi tested the tackiness of the fluid between his thumb and forefinger before slathering what remained across the pads of his other fingers.
“You know, I’m inclined to believe that ‘this’ is no ordinary sweat,” Kakashi said at last. “Take a closer look... tell me what you think, Hound-san.”
In the lower half of his swimming vision, he sees the tip of Hound’s index finger advancing – unable to thwart the shudder that shakes him, he rolls with the feeling of anticipation when Hound swipes at a dangling fat droplet. There’s a mix of pain and pleasure as the leather binds constrict once more when Hound lazily swirls his finger over the head of his turgid, straining cock.
“Definitely not sweat,” Hound announces even as he messily coats his gloved fingers. “Hmm . . . he’s a moukton user . . . correct?”
Kakashi nodded. “Hound-san, you know full well he's unique in that respect --”
“So then,” said Hound cocking his head to side, “should we assume that this … ‘fluid’ is sap of some kind?”
Round and round he dragged his fingers, ever so often flicking at the crown with his thumbnail. “And if this stuff is sap, I wonder what it tastes like? Ten bucks says it’s bitter . . . but, I could be wrong.”
Hound runs his the whole of his hand down the bound shaft and up again, coaxing out a few more dewdrops as he squeezes the slick crown against his palm. “Maybe it’s salty … maybe it’s sweet. How will we ever know for sure?”
Yamato cut his eyes to Hound, who tapped at the chin portion of the mask with his other hand and then back to Kakashi, who seemed to share Hound’s bogus sense of wonder.
Really? Is this the absolute best these geniuses could come up with?
He had but a moment to school his features before they caught wise - rolling his eyes at their lame humor or letting a sour ‘fuck off’ look show on his face would only incite Hound to do god knows what to him.
Still, the stupidly brave part of himself wanted to reach out and slap both of them upside the head.
Exasperation, what little of it remained, washed over him like a neap tide when Hound released him and Kakashi went back to his work of sensual tyranny. A simple brush of his captain’s fingers over and under the ruddy crown, left Yamato a panting, glassy-eyed puddle.
Yet that wasn’t enough to content Kakashi – now he varied the direction, speed and pressure of his fingertips as he dragged another line of moisture from the weeping slit and siphoned a series of moans and grunts from Yamato’s reluctant lips.
Since he’d already given up control over the movement of his hips, Yamato gladly lost himself in the rhythm of their smooth rocking motion; he willingly yielded to the pleasure as his body begged for more of the delicious friction each time Kakashi kneaded the sensitive seam connecting the collar of his cock to the shaft.
Dangling on the brink of orgasm, suspended over a pit of gratification by the strings of his captain’s whims, Yamato knew he couldn’t hold back much longer:
And so did Kakashi.
That husky throated laugh, sent vibrations surging through the hand which kept him near the point of no return. Suddenly, gentle strokes morphed into searing pinches and teasing fingers headed south where they turned into the cupped bowl of Kakashi’s palm, nestling his overfilled sac.
A sough, so plaintive, so desperate floated over their heads when Kakashi gave the tender gonads a slight squeeze.
“Why Tenzou, you’re purring like a little kitten,” Kakashi mocked. “It almost sounds as if you’re eager to tell us something.”
“Damn it! You should have known better,” screamed that tinny voice inside his head. “These bastards promised they’d make you talk one way or the other … and since brute force didn’t work--”
“Hound-san, you read lips better than I do . . . any idea what he’s trying to say?”
His jaw was snapped closed by the hand that wrenched his head in the opposite direction; pleasure shrank back and ran screaming when caught in the cross hairs of Hound’s bright red Sharingan.
“Oh, that’s simple,” came the thoughtful response from under the mask. “He’s dying to tell us what ‘this stuff’ tastes like, but he’s struggling to find the right words. Am I right about that, boy?”
Hound raises and lowers his jaw in a nodding motion, laughing as he makes Yamato his frightened marionette. With his other hand, inches from his captive’s parched lips Hound snarled, “You know how I hate to be kept waiting, boy. And look at that . . . you’ve made an awful mess of my glove,” he said pressing his fingers to Yamato’s lips. “Go on then . . . clean it off.”
Stunned eyes land on an area smudged wet and shiny against crinkled black leather and Yamato felt a right fool when his tongue crept forward to obey.
Inasmuch as the rational part of him wanted to protest this treatment, there was an overwhelming urge to reach out and grab hold of that firm hand that he might suckle each finger like a hungry calf to a teat. And as loudly as the proud part of himself wanted to curse them both for the humiliation they gleefully heaped upon him, the flat surface of his tongue was more so committed to eradicating all evidence of his neediness.
Working in harmony, the exact second Hound’s finger breached the seam of his lips, Kakashi released his hold on the low hanging sac - his deft fingers returning to attack the sensitive area beneath the head of his cock.
Inhale.
Again the voice inside his head screeched a warning. “You twisted little idiot! If you spill your seed … you spill your secret – is that what you really want to do?”
Exhale.
Yes, he thought, I mean no . . . have to focus on something… anything else . . . but it’s been so long, and it feels so –
“Don’t make love to it.” Hound snapped. “Just clean up your mess, boy.”
When half lidded eyes settled on the stark white mask, its eye holes rimmed with crimson, Yamato took the only course of action available – a one-sided game of chicken with the volatile Hound would keep his mind occupied while Kakashi relentlessly toyed with his body.
Determined not to waver, nor blink, Yamato set himself, watching for a glimmer of twisted pleasure or a squint of disgust in the lone grey eye that stared back at him from inside the mask.
A page from Kakashi’s book he ripped - the flat surface of his tongue lavishing lengthy laves and short bursts of spirited licking where only the tip of his tongue darted between Hound’s fingers.
But there was nothing, not even a flutter of Hound’s eyelids to chronicle his disdain or mild amusement.
And just as Kakashi had done earlier, Yamato continually varied the pace, pressure and location of his tongue, gifting Hound with a flurry of timid licks or wanton lapping.
Still, no response registered either in Hound’s eyes nor his body.
Though his pride withered with each attempt, yet he found capitulation to the shame bestowed an explosion of tastes and sensations he never expected. Against the nubs of his tongue, splashed the tang of weapon oil and tiny barbs of metallic shavings scrubbed against his teeth. He pulled his head back to deliver a final, languid pass of his tongue from the web of Hound’s glove to the tip of his finger.
There! There it was!
Victory over and liberty from the demands of his body was his, for the moment when a barely perceptible tremor flashed through the stolid Hound. The Sharingan was hidden from view and Hound’s natural eye widened; whether in shock or arousal, Yamato couldn’t be sure.
What he saw next was rage when Hound snatched away his hand and demanded:
“Wipe that stupid grin off your face and tell me what it tasted like, boy.”
There was a moment of groundless triumph, a fleeting giddiness in which to bask. “Saddle soap, sir,” he breathed out. “Fresh earth, old oil and something else … something bitter.”
“Well, aren’t we fortunate Kakashi? We’ve got the only pussy in the entire village that can articulate its thoughts.”
“You’ve made a mess of my fingers too, Tenzou,” he heard Kakashi say. “It would be the height of rudeness if you didn’t clean them as well.”
Even as Kakashi smeared Yamato’s dry lips with his own essence, Hound leaned in closer, menacing.
His Adam’s apple, keener than a three sided stone, gouged at his throat when he swallowed down his deep need. Quick as lightening, the corners his mouth were prized open to accept both Hound and Kakashi’s tactile members.
Side by side, warm flesh and cool leather exert firm pressure on his tongue, never reaching back far enough to gag him; the leather restraints wrapped around his cock, squeezed ever tighter as he moved his tongue in a halting back and forth motion to scrub them both clean.
His eyes fluctuate between them and a trickle of saliva escapes his mouth, slowly rolling down his stubbly chin.
He didn’t care if he never drew in another breath – the need to cum, so great and pressing, made him stagger under the weight of his own stifled moans.
Leather teasingly brushed against the inside of his cheek when Hound crooked his finger prior to withdrawal and before he could stop himself, before he could spare a thought for what his senpai would think, Kakashi’s finger was sucked deeper inside his mouth with an abandon that unnerved him.
“That’s my good boy,” whispered Kakashi, his lips so close to Yamato’s ear, while his other hand slithered down his shaft and over the binding straps until his blunted nails dug deep into the posterior root of the Yamato’s balls.
The shades of his eyelids, half-mast with expectation, popped open when Hound tugged at the leash and set that accursed bell to ringing once more.
The skin on his back quailed when he felt Hound move to stand behind him.
The tawse . . . it’s still the on floor! Oh my god . . . please don’t let him be the one to pick it up!
“This is the last time we’ll offer you a choice, boy,” Hound growls against his back, “so either you answer our original question right now and leave here with a case of blue balls --”
“Or else,” said Kakashi, retracting his fingers from the heat of Yamato’s mouth, “I’ll have to come up with some other ways for you to entertain us.”
Suddenly, the diaphanous cocoon of sensuality which encased him till now, ruptured with a bang - his mind suddenly clear, as the extremity of his predicament slapped him square in the face.
“So, what’s it gonna be ,Tenzou?”
“Senpai . . . I can’t answer the question. Please understand that . . . I just --”
“So be it,” Kakashi snapped.
What followed could only be described as a sad, frustrated expiration as those pale fingers wiped down Yamato’s chest. A yelp of pain resounded in the room when Kakashi grabbed hold the bound testicles in the palm of his other hand, exerting enough pressure to make Yamato rise up on the balls of his feet.
“In all the years I’ve known you,” his captain said, aligning his other hand beneath Yamato’s jaw, “you’ve never failed to carry out an order --”
“Don’t let him play you with those pleading brown eyes Kakashi. Can’t you see he’s depending on your kindness to --?”
“Kindness?” “Humph, I’m afraid that ship just hoisted anchor. What a pity for you, Tenzou.”
Though Kakashi was still wearing the same crooked grin and affecting the same bored expression, his body language bellowed aggression and wrath set free from its harness. That look in his eye, seldom seen by allies and feared by his enemies, was now directed like an arrow – straight through Yamato’s heart.
“For god’s sake man, yells the panicked voice in his head, “don’t you see how close he is to his boiling point?”
“Fuck the consequences! Just say it!”
*****     *****     *****
Terror whistled along his insides and dropped down into the basement of his stomach like a boulder off a cliff when he heard and felt Hound’s presence backing away from him. His brain kick started itself into self-preservation mode … a step or two backward and he collided with Hound’s whipcord lean body.
Kakashi let his eye drift from his kohai’s face as he folded his arms across his chest and glanced over Yamato’s shoulder.
“Hound-san, did I ever tell you that Tenzou here is an excellent dancer?”
What the hell’s he talking about now?
“Your boy,” spluttered Hound, “a dancer? That’s impossible. Dancers have superb posture; they move with an otherworldly grace . . . your boy can barely walk without scraping his knuckles against the pavement.”
“Oh, but it’s true, and if you’ll spare me a few minutes,” Kakashi said, stooping to retrieve the tawse, “I’ll see if I can dig up some appropriate music. Meanwhile, why don’t you prepare the dance floor for Tenzou’s performance?”
Watching him rise and turn on his heel, panic coursed through Yamato’s body like an electric current.
Between one swallow and the next, Hound wrapped his arm around his waist. There was scarcely enough time to think, much less to acknowledge the glint of steel before the edge of a razor sharp kunai pressed into the left side of his throat.
“All right now, boy,” slithered Hound’s words inside his ear, “no sudden moves.”
The arm around his waist seemed to burn itself into his skin, though the cool ceramic of the mask against the right side of his face sent a chill through him. “You’re a fool, Tenzou … an animal, driven by its instincts.   Mind you, I understand, I can even appreciate that. Not to worry, I’m not gonna kill you because of it – you’re far too amusing to watch.”
Contrary to his words, the kunai pressed deeper into his flesh. “You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Kakashi this pissed off. Need I remind you of the savagery he’s capable of ... especially when something or somebody he cares about forces him to shut down?”
“No sir,” came the tiny whisper through tight lips.
“Hell . . . he even scares me when he gets like this; there’s no telling what he might do next.”
Hound’s body tenses against him - the arm around his waist pulls in tighter even as the kunai stings against his throat.
“I tried to help you earlier,” he whispered, “and you pissed all over my efforts. Now there’s not a damn thing I can do or say to control Kakashi until his anger finds a suitable target.”
“Sir, please – I promise…I’ll tell you whatever you want to know --”
“Oh, I know you will … but aint no turning back now.
Foolish little boy,” he laughed. “Looks like you chose to fear the wrong one of us.”

Notes:
Atony: lack of tone or energy; muscular weakness.
Askance: suspicion, mistrust, or disapproval.
Moukton: a jutsu whereby two elemental natures (water and earth) are combined to produce an entirely different nature; in Yamato’s case, he is able to produce fully grown trees, or beams of wood from any point of his body. This ability can be used both offensively, to bind and hold an enemy or defensively to shield himself and others from danger.
Frenulum (anatomical): the small band of tissue under the glans penis that connects the foreskin to a mucous membrane which in turn coats the glans penis; this mucous membrane secretes a thin layer of mucus which keeps the penis and the underside of the foreskin moist and lubricated. The frenulum helps contract the foreskin over the penis. That’s a mouthful (pun not intended). For an uncircumcised man, this highly innervated piece of connective tissue is extremely sensitive and responsive to the slightest pressure.
Sough: a rushing, rustling or murmuring sound.
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- 13
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The More Things Change