Adult-FanFiction.org : Naruto

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
- 3
- 4
- 5
TMTC Chapter 4: Double Trouble
What need was there for words when one action spoke volumes?
In the silence, came reprieve . . .
time to prepare himself for what would follow,
time to hope for a last minute stay of execution
he knew would never come.
In the silence there was also assurance; once dealt with, his sins forgiven, he could return to his pedestrian life . . . far away from his captain.
One last gift silence bestowed –
justifiable apprehension.
Kakashi was a man who lived to defy the expectations of others; always straightforward in speech and inconsistent in action.
As if the past eighty-four hours weren’t proof of that.
Four days and three nights spent in Hound’s dispassionate presence and murderous intensity, three hours at the bathhouse, working around Kakashi’s physical distance and then the sudden, sensually threatening closeness.
All of it, confusing.
Less than an hour ago, was the concern shown in the healing his wounds. Sure, Kakashi rendered aid to an injured comrade when necessary, but the sincerity behind the gentle touches and teasing kisses rendered Yamato speechless and horny.
The only times his captain laid hands on him were either to push him out of harm’s way, pat him on the back when he did well, or to punish him like a willful child when he screwed up.
But this entire evening felt rather like he'd been sucked up into a cyclone; a mad whirl of words and stormy silences, pulled him in one direction and snatched him the opposite way before he could get his bearings.
But this was how his captain always was – it was his way of decompressing after tedious missions.
He understood of course, a psyche as fragmented as his captain's needed a single object upon which to project its inner conflict . . . something or someone to act as a retaining wall to keep two very powerful personas separated. So, he either buried his head in a book for hours on end, shutting out everything and everyone around him or he’d seek out an easy to fleece comrade, like him or Gai, tinkering with their minds or scrounging up a free meal.
Over the years, he came to see these harmless activities as another quirk of his captain’s personality; that made dealing with his rare moments of playful silliness or Hound’s even rarer displays of remorse easier to work with.
But tonight, Kakashi reached a new level of incongruity.
And the wrong word
at the wrong time
might set free the wrong personality
to deal with him in his very susceptible state.
He should have been scared witless, but minute by agonizing minute his anxiety transmutes into a sluggish, gurgling resentment.
Gone were the days when everything Kakashi said was taken as gospel truth; the time had passed when every move Hound made was met with open mouthed, wide eyed wonder. He’d stepped out of his captain’s shadow and stood up from under Hound’s thumb years ago.
Kakashi’s blatant refusal to accept that was not only irritating, it was downright disrespectful.
And just like that, the fire his captain was so pleased to see earlier burned afresh within him; the haunting silences intended to intimidate him became the anvil upon which he forged his anger.
Eccentric bastard! Let’s just get this over with.
Eccentric, he laughed to himself, a label applied to those too rich, too powerful or mysterious to be called crazy to their faces.
Kakashi was all these things and as twisted as they came. Still, the man had a way about him, a charm that could deflate anyone’s anger faster than a straight pin to a balloon. It oozed from his pores like a charlatan’s elixir, insinuating itself as a cure for whatever affliction beset the person he was conning.
In truth his allure was moreso an illicit drug, addicting body and soul, sharpening the craving for more and more of his whispered promises and lies.
And the longer he stood in the center of his captain’s home, the harder it was to maintain an edge on this newfound anger;
you see, Tenzou was like a junkie, fresh out of mandatory rehab
and his captain was offering just one more fix.

*****     *****     *****
Kakashi’s inner sanctum was one of those places everyone wanted to see; only a few were granted access into his bastion of peace against the clamor of battle and the hushed murmurs of polite society. But for all the privilege access provided, for Yamato, this was a place he’d forever associate with the pain of correction and the agony of unrequited desire.
A place where the smell of over ripened fruit on the kitchen table and the scent of the woods on a warm summer’s day mixed together, undulated in a hypnotic dance that transported him straightway to the last time he’d stood here.
In his mind’s eye, he saw himself as that sixteen-year-old boy standing in the same spot . . . unarmed, unclothed and trembling as his nineteen-year-old commander scolded him from his seat on the old wooden chair; he felt the warmth from the other man’s body as he stretched himself across those strong thighs in preparation for punishment. Even now, he could hear himself softly sobbing as the narrow paddle fell again and again . . . the smack of pitiless wood against tender reddening flesh always brought him to an embarrassingly emotional release.
And as those memories wound themselves through his mind, he felt that same itchy, tingling sensation flapping around in the pit of his stomach that made the rest of his body ache for Kakashi’s touch . . .
With a slight shake of his head, he squeezed his eyes shut tighter. I can’t afford to let myself go back to that place!
He came to his senses slowly only to discover what initially felt like a roughhewn gorge a trillion miles wide between him and Kakashi was approximately ten inches of empty space by his reckoning.
In the moments since his disappearance and return, the very atmosphere around his captain was unsettled and brittle in its coldness.
By the gods, this is exactly the way Hound approaches a mission; deadly silent and emotionally detached.
The temptation to crack open an eyelid without permission was overwhelming, taking every ounce of willpower he had not to succumb. Somehow, the idea that Hound was the one examining his nakedness was extremely terrifying yet inappropriately arousing; the arms held loosely at his sides, flew forward to hide a spontaneous erection, knowing all the while that nothing would escape the other man’s notice.
Once more, he felt as if he were walking a tightrope, blindfolded and hogtied, high above a moat filled with hungry piranha; one false move and he’d be ripped to shreds. Then came a blast of hot air behind him, like that from a furnace; it pushed him forward, though he knew he hadn’t moved an inch.
“You’re trapped in an illusion,” his mind pointed out. “This isn’t real!”
That’s right, direct eye contact with a Sharingan user is necessary to invoke a genjutsu; the only time it was uncovered was when I challenged him in the bathhouse changing room.
Muddled as his thoughts were back then, what with Kakashi’s body pressed against his, he couldn’t remember whether he’d looked directly into the damn thing or not. Still, he felt it a reckless waste of energy using such a powerful tool against a comrade for something this trivial, especially since he’d been cooperative up until now.
Then again, maybe it was Kakashi’s ‘bass ackward’ way of acknowledging his growth; a warped way to amplify the anticipation.
Regardless of the motive, the most important things right at present were figuring out how to short circuit the flow of his chakra and circumventing the jutsu.
Just when he’d gained a measure of control over his faculties, Kakashi spoke:
“Open your eyes Tenzou.”
That smoky voice wrapped itself around him like liquid silk, drawing him closer, inescapably binding him to the one who’d pronounced his judgment . . . to the one who stood ready to carry it out.
Heavy eyelids snapped open, wanting to take in the expression on Kakashi’s face, yet fearing what he might see when he slowly lifted his head. Bare feet stood beside one of the chair’s sturdy legs . . . Kakashi’s shins. still bound with crisp white bandages, his navy blue uniform pants and shirt looked as if they’d been tailored to accentuate his willowy frame. As expected, his broad hands and slender fingers were free of the leather gloves he usually wore; they were gripped tightly around a large, wide mahogany box he held in front of his body like a present.
Finally, there was Kakashi’s face . . . clean shaven, ruggedly handsome with a devilish grin on his lips and the Sharingan concealed behind an eye patch made of dark blue fabric.
Hold on a minute! If my eyes were closed this entire time and the Sharingan was hidden, it would have been impossible for him to capture and hold me in a genjutsu.
Refusing to believe the disjointed thoughts and phantom sensations he’d felt earlier were products of his own imagination, he chose to focus instead on the box Kakashi held.

That choice proved itself as a huge mistake.
He should have stayed trapped inside the world of illusion . . . a world where his deepest secrets and memories provided a pleasant diversion, but what that box contained was reality, a relic from his past . . . a past he’d be revisiting all too soon. Chewing at the inside of his cheek kept him from saying something stupid and once more he lowered his head in shame.
“Ah, I see you remember our little box . . . and its purpose,” Kakashi said. “Shall I also assume you know what comes next, Tenzou?”
A slow, guilty nod was all he had the capacity to give; as if the sight of that innocuous brown box sapped his remaining strength.
If he lived for a thousand years he’d never forget what those six scraps of wood held, or the ritual it came to represent. You see, for every six months spent under Kakashi’s command, a new implement was added to mark the occasion, after it had been properly ‘broken in,’ of course. All told, the box contained five paddles of various lengths, widths and weights, two leather straps, one thick, the other thin; one razor strop, three tawses (one with two tails, the other with three tails and the last with four tails), and one wickedly effective hairbrush.
He heard the swish of starched fabric as one leg brushed against the other when Kakashi took his seat and then there was the sound of heavy wood settling against wood when that box was set on the floor.
The time for pardon was upon him; the pain of atonement was nigh.
“You already know how I’m going to punish you,” Kakashi said.
He lifted his head just as his captain leaned to his left; the sound of metal scraping against metal filled the quiet space when the clasps holding the lid of the box snapped open; the sight of blood red silk cradling each implement, the same color his bottom and thighs would be when this was all over, made his cock twitch.
What the hell is the matter with me?
“Now that I have your full attention, tell me why I need to punish you, Tenzou.”
This was the part he hated worse than the sting of any implement contained in that stupid box.
He simply couldn’t bring himself to speak. His throat, dry as the desert during a sandstorm, but his reticence had more to do with a presence slowly approaching behind him.
Another rush of heat accompanied the sound of footsteps, heavy and ominous, the fine hairs from the back of his legs to the nape of his neck reached out like metal filings to a magnet toward whatever this ‘thing’ was.
Without warning, something firm and leathery pressed itself between his shoulder blades, tracing a heated path down his spine. His eyes flew to Kakashi sitting there nonplussed on his throne of judgment, giving no indication anything was amiss.
Quickly looking to his right, Yamato came face-to-mask with ANBU’s Hound.
Good god in heaven . . .
I must be losing my mind!
As the last bits of color retreated from his cheeks, Hound moved closer to stand beside him; his untamed silver hair spilling over the left side of the mask . . . the white cloak, his mantle of authority, draped over broad shoulders, and the grey breastplate he wore was meticulously clean. Brushed silver gauntlets on his forearms overlaid elbow length black leather gloves; the close fitting black uniform, and general aura of hostility Hound wore like a second skin, were making him lightheaded with fear when the man stepped closer to growl,
“Yes, Yamato . . . tell us why you should be punished.”
If Hound said anything else after that, he missed it entirely, given the sound of his own rapid heartbeat pounding in his ears.
Breathe . . . just breathe, he told himself. This is Kakashi … toying with me,
trying to freak me out.”
Suddenly it dawned on him; one of these ‘men’ had to be a shadow clone … but which one?
As soon as his eyes stopped darting between the smug man seated before him and the glowering man standing by his side, his body reacted faster than his mind could and he took a half step backward. Hound grabbed his right arm in a vise like grip and jerked him toward Kakashi.
His breath came in spurts as he tried to regain his footing.
“Kakashi?” "Hound-san?”
“What the . . . why are you . . . what the hell is going on here?”
There came a grunt of disdain from ‘Hound’ and a light chuckle from ‘Kakashi’ before he heard the man in the chair say, “Oh, don’t mind him. Hound insisted on being here to oversee your punishment and I just couldn’t refuse.”
“Damn right,” Hound said when he released his arm. “Kakashi was always much too lenient with you.”
Stepping closer, Hound and all his menacing darkness completely obstructed his view; a chilly breastplate pressed against his bare chest as Hound roughly slapped away the hands hiding a straining erection.

“If I feel he's holding back on you this time,” he whispered as his gloved hand stretched around Tenzou’s throat, “I’m going to step in and make damn sure this is one lesson you won’t soon forget.”
Holy crap!
Never before had Hound made a physical appearance during one of their ritualized punishment sessions; why would Kakashi allow it to happen now?
As Hound dragged his fingers down a quivering chest, all coherent thought fled from his mind; when a smooth calfskin leather palm cupped his balls, there was a manly gasp of surprise a split second before his mind went totally blank.
“Well, well,” said Hound as he applied pressure around his hefty handful, “looks like your little kohai has finally grown a pair, Kakashi.” A final squeeze, not enough to cause pain, but one clearly designed to tantalize and then, Hound abruptly turned and walked away.
His eyes fluttered closed when the hem of his team leader’s cloak brushed against his midsection ... the scratch of soft wool more like talons, glancing across the shaft of his cock.
Taking his place near the box, Hound folded his arms over his breastplate. “Let’s get this show on the road,” he snapped.
When next Yamato opened his eyes, there sat a clearly bemused Kakashi with a look of expectancy in his eye; the masked man beside him stood ramrod straight, primed to swoop down on him should he incorrectly bat an eyelash.
In that instant, one of the craziest ideas ever took shape in his mind; Teamwork, it was a concept both Kakashi and Hound heartily espoused and both personalities had zero tolerance for those who could not or would not work well together.
If he were able to pit one personality against the other, it would surely force the dissipation of the shadow clone, leaving him at the mercy of the other.
Groveling would only stroke Hound’s ego, yet it would stir Kakashi’s heart to empathy.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Kakashi said. “Shall I repeat it for you, Tenzou?”
There was that patronizing tone in his voice, the one that normally triggered an exaggerated eye roll, but this time it was met with a glimmer of optimism. The longer he kept ‘Kakashi’ talking, the better his chances ‘Hound’ would be muzzled.
“No sir,” he meekly replied, “that won’t be necessary. I’m sorry, I made a very stupid mistake … compromised our position and could have gotten us killed.”
The joints in the floorboards sharply met his kneecaps when he pitched himself forward; his forehead, kept inches from the pockmarked wooden surface when his clammy palms slapped against it.
Overkill perhaps, but he no longer cared whether Hound or Kakashi knew how nervous he truly was.
“I let myself get distracted,” he hurriedly said. The tips of his brown hair agitated a thin layer of dust beneath him when he bowed lower; grit and dog hair flavored the powdery substance in his mouth when he whispered, “Please, forgive me sirs.”
Again, there was silence.
He couldn’t see what was going on around him but he could sense Kakashi and Hound exchanging heated looks; Kakashi was likely moved with compassion, while Hound was probably glaring darkly, silently egging Kakashi on to finish what they’d started.
Through the floorboards, he could feel the heat of rising impatience but from whom, he could not tell.
It was Hound who spoke.

“Forgiveness is granted only after truth is confessed."
Truth, it was a burden made heavier each year he held onto it, suppressed it, and denied it; were he to utter the truth aloud, it would be his ticket to freedom though it would sever once and for all the bond built with Kakashi.
Truth, were he to whisper it, would repulse Kakashi as surely as it would infuriate Hound.
No . . . not a chance I’m not willing to take!
“Please sirs, I fucked up . . . for my mistake, I’ll gladly accept the consequences--”
“Oh, yes,” was Kakashi’s cold response, “you will accept the consequences, Tenzou . . . gladly or otherwise.”
The old chair creaked when Kakashi leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. “Now, look at me . . . tell me what was so important that it took your mind off the mission.”
There was no way in hell he’d able to look up now, for his eyes would betray whatever lies his lips would tell.
“Please sir, I’d rather not say.”
The sound of sandaled feet approached from his blind side and then Hound's ominous presence hovered over him; a heavy palm slapped down, grabbing hold of his hair, yanking his head and torso upright.
“You’re testing my limited patience, boy," hissed an angered Hound. "Answer his question!”
Through the pain, all Yamato saw was Kakashi, his forearms resting on his thighs as he leaned forward. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be, Tenzou,” he said.
The fingers entwined in his hair tensed, this time jerking his body backwards until his head rested against a muscular thigh. Hound leaned over to say, “You’ve got five seconds to tell him the truth . . . or I will.”
White hot anger sent whatever sense of self-preservation Yamato had left running for cover; before he realized what he was doing, he’d already reached up to free himself from Hound's grip.
"Let go of me, you bastard!" Rocking his head backward as hard as this position allowed him to, he glared directly through the narrow slits of his captor's mask as he spat out these last words:
"Enough! Release the jutsu!
I've had my fill of your games for one night!"
Astounded when Hound freed him, he was completely unprepared to brace himself when a bony knee forced itself between his shoulder blades, pressing him down until his forehead smashed against the floor.
"Foolish little boy," he heard him say. "You're in no position to make demands."
Before he could catch his breath, Hound's weight shifted and the hand that once painfully tugged at his hair was now wrapped around the nape of his neck as he was crudely hefted to his feet. Shoved forward until he stood at his captain's right side, it was hard to miss the look of pity in Kakashi's dark gray eye, right before he felt himself being pushed across the waiting lap.
The next things he saw were Hound’s feet standing on either side of the open box of implements.
"We'll get the truth out of you," said Hound, "one way or the other."
The heavy weight of Kakashi's forearm fell across the small of his back and warm fingers curled themselves under the top portion of his thigh. "Have to admit I'm disappointed, Tenzou," Kakashi quietly said. "You of all people should know better than trying to make me turn on myself."
An inordinately pleased Hound barked out a laugh that sent chills down his spine; Yamato knew that laugh . . . it was the one Hound favored whenever he stood over a vanquished enemy.
"I gave you an opportunity to tell us the truth," he finally said.
And as a leather gloved hand reached down to pick up the hairbrush right under his nose, the man behind the porcelain mask laughed again:
"You squandered your chance.
And now . . . it's my turn."
Notes:
Incongruity: not harmonious in character; inconsonant, lacking harmony of parts.
- 3
- 4
- 5
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The More Things Change