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Luck is the Residue of Design	By : redjunko Category: Naruto > Het - Male/Female Views: 1825 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Luck is the Reside of Design
- 1
Luck is the Residue of Design

by red.junko

Tsunade roared with rage, tore up the yellow ticket in her hand, and slammed both her fists into the metal railing that separated her, the spectator, from them, the racing horses.

"I'm going to fucking kill that horse!" She pointed an accusing finger at the said horse, then made violent fist-pumping actions whilst continously shouting obscenities.

Next to her, reclining lazily and amusedly in his hard plastic seat, Naruto counted the pairs of U-shaped troughs Tsunade had made along the lengths of the railing from one end to the other. "Hey baa-chan, how much more are you going to lose? This is getting boring you know."

"Shut up you brat! It's because of you I'm having all this bad luck!" Tsunade growled and slumped down into the seat next to the blonde fox. She grabbed her bottle of cheap sake (all money must be maximised for gambling!) and downed it in a chug. Quieting down, she opened another bottle with a flick of her finger, and took a thoughtful sip.

Naruto watched her. They had been together long enough for him to pick up on her habits, the little changes in her demeanour. Quiet and thoughtful after screaming bloody murder usually meant one thing.

"Naruto, I was wondering---"

"No," he answered, and tried not to piss in his pants when she turned to him, her eyes round and red with maddening rage. "No and not because I won't lend it to you, but because I don't have any to lend to you."

"How could you not have any?! Where's that froggie you always carry with you? Where's big fat froggie?!" She groped into all his pockets looking for fat Mr. Frogger the coin purse. Naruto patiently waited for the groping to end and tried not to mind so much as Tsunade carelessly brushed against regions that Sasuke could only dream of brushing up against.

She finally found it in the inner breast pocket of his jacket, and let out a cry of dismay to find fat Mr. Frogger had been reduced to starving and malnourished Mr. Frogger.

"Where's all the money?!"

"I gave it all to the oyaji in the ramen shop in front of our hotel for three days worth of ramen," Naruto explained, feeling somewhat chuffed with his plan.

"What did you do that for you brat!" Tsunade buried her face in her hands, moaning.

"Cos you'd take it away and we wouldn't get anything to eat for two days," Naruto grinned proudly. The day he found out that he was to guard the Hokage (from herself, he had finally concluded) on her three day gambling spree holiday, Naruto had transferred all his money into a secret savings account, cut up all his debit and credit cards, and made sure that on the first day they arrived in the Earth village, that he had made sure they paid for the accommodation and food in full.

This, he had learnt the hard way. . . after last year's Hokage Holiday break in the Wind Country, where the old hag had flushed out all the money from his account using his debit card, raked up debts to break a small country with his credit card (luckily he had insurance, and filed for fraud), and caused him to go seven days without food whilst being forced to sleep in a barn, next to the racing horses that all obsessively peed at him and tried to get into his pants at night.

When they got back, he had filed a long report to the senate that achieved two things: first, the hokage holiday was reduced to only three days from a week (Tsunade had give him a punch that broke his face for it), and the second, he was exempted from all missions that might, even in the slightest, involve a horse.

But that was last year. He no longer slept with his butt against the wall, nor would he explode into a fiery ball of Kyuubi-controlled freak at the first mention of "neigh". He credited this achievement to persistent psychotherapy from the Konoha Medical School, and zen meditation every night before bed. The only urge he felt now at the sight of a horse was a controllable murderous rage involving many a kunai.

"Anyway, since you blew all your money in the first day, I guess we can spend the next two days relaxing in the hotel," Naruto chirped happily, jumping to his feet.

Tsunade swore she could kill the boy if he didn't lose that chirpy tone in his voice.

"I'm going to go get some dinner, don't come home too late baa-chan!" Naruto grinned and skipped away.

Tsunade took another chug of what was left of the sake and watched the blonde hair disappear into the crowd. She sighed and smiled. Maybe the brat wasn't so stupid after all. "Now, let's see how much we've left."

Digging into the lapels of her jacket, she managed to dug out about 27 yen. She groaned, it'd take at least 60 yen to buy another betting ticket. Maybe the brat was right, maybe it was time to give up and go soak in a bath. Tsunade dropped the coins into her pockets and made her way up the stairs past the betting hall, giving the ticket booth a lingering glance of longing and regret.

And that was when she caught sight of them.

They couldn't have been more obvious. Standing in the middle of the crowd, dressed in black robes with swirly red cloud patterns. The big sharky one with his gigantic sword, the shorter dark-haired with the charismatic lines on his cheeks. The first thought that came to her mind was Naruto: Akatsuki. After. Kyuubi. Must. Protect. Brat.

She would have charged straight off to the ramen stall where she knew he'd be, if not for the sight of the sharky one breaking into tears as the stoic Uchiha pointed at the big sword that was slung across Kisame's neck. Intrigued, Tsunade settled herself in a partially hidden spot behind an alcohol vending machine, observing the two.

After what seemed to be further conversation between the two (if conversation could be classified as Kisame making pleading and begging gestures while Itachi silently pointing at his prized sword), the shark boy handed over the sword to the Uchiha, and then fell to his knees making praying gestures.

Tsunade watched as Itachi brought the sword to the ticket booth, and then emerged later, swordless but with a prized yellow ticket in his hand. He stood next to Kisame, eyeing the large TV screen that showed the races, his face emotionless compared to Kisame's pained expression. When the race started, Kisame fell to his knees, gestured to the heavens, and shut his eyes. Itachi just stood there, holding the ticket.

Tsunade grinned. Heh, so the Uchiha has a gambling problem eh? Funny that, she would have never thought his vices would include gambling as well (killing, maiming and general evilness suited him better she thought). At the end of the race, Kisame fell to floor, curled up and cried, and Uchiha tore up the yellow ticket (slightly annoyed too, she noted). He walked away, leaving his partner curled up in his foetal position on the ground. Itachi spent a few minutes digging out various coins from secret pockets in his robe (goddammit, how many pockets did that robe have?!), but ended up staring at the coins in his hand, making no move to buy another ticket.

It was then that an idea struck her. And before she knew it, she was next to him, counting the coins in his hand.

"What are you doing?" was his question posed in a quiet monotonous voice that, if she didn't know he was an S-class missing nin clan slaughterer, she would have considered. . . gentle.

"Look punk, you know who I am and I know who you are," she looked at him in the face, whilst consciously trying to avert his eyes (tsukiyomi on holiday. . . not pleasant). "And if I wanted a fight, I'd done it before you pawned off your partner's sword to get a ticket---"

"What do you want?" He broke her monologue.

This time she didn't manage to avert his gaze. Hmm, he really does look like that Uchiha brat. "I have 27 yen," she said.

His face seemed to beam, but it quickly returned to its nonplussed candour.

"Let's split it," she said. "You have 33, I have 27, we get a ticket and if we win, we split it 50/50."

"60/40," he said.

"55/45," she bargained.

"70/30," he replied.

"Why is it going up?!"

"69/31," he conceded.

"Goddammit Uchiha, we can fight it over the whole day but the next race starts in 2 mins," she glared at him.

He matched her glare, hesitated, then dropped the coins in her hands. "59/41," he said.

"Make that 55/45," she grinned and ran to the booth, missing his scowl that was partially hidden behind the long collars of his robe.

Two minutes later, they were in front of the TV screen. Itachi was holding the yellow ticket in his right hand, standing upright, eyes glued on the screen; and Tsunade was shouting and waving her hands, screaming: "Faster! Faster!! FASTER!". At the end of the race, five minutes later, she had her arms around him, cheering. They had won. He even smiled.

They took their earnings, and bet it on another horse, and another, and another---winning every match until they were kicked out at 7PM because that was when it was time for the horses to go back to the barn, get some dinner and get into the pants of whichever boy was around. Undaunted, they popped into the next-door gambling tavern, and gambled on cards, dices, snooker, booze. Tsunade won all the drinking competitions for the two of them, and Itachi played excellent snooker. On the cards and dice, well. . . they were just lucky.

"You know, I'm very unlucky," Tsunade had told Itachi after they won the first dice game.
"Never have I gambled and won until this day," Itachi returned with his own quiet confession.

They didn't speak anymore after that, but gambled and won so much they were kicked out of the cards and dices table for. No one wanted to play snooker with Itachi, and Tsunade got so drunk if she drank anymore she would have probably leaked alcohol from every pore of her skin.

If Uchiha Itachi had been a sensible normal young man, he would have brought Tsunade out of the tavern and sent her back home. Instead, he guided the reeling drunk woman to the fruit machine, and they scored jackpot with every turn of the crank. Effortless. . . even he, Uchiha Itachi, had to be impressed with their luck.

"Why am I so lucky today?" He had turned to the drunk hokage, bemused and confused.
"Cos we're making up for all the years of sheer bad luck," she laughed, breathing alcohol in his face as he steadied her from falling off the stool. She leaned on him. "But you know. . . something bad always happens whenever I get lucky at gambling."
Curious, he pressed her on. "For example?"
She snorted. "The last time I won, I got into a mess with that homo-paedo Orochimaru, I guess you know him eh? He's got your brother you know."
"Who and what my brother takes up his backside is none of my concern," Itachi replied somewhat frostily.
"And you, who do you take up your backside?" She giggled in his ear, tipsy.
That question would normally have prompted decapitation, and in appropriate cases, castration, but tonight Itachi felt somewhat. . . generous.
So he cupped her face and pressed his lips hard against hers.
Except he had to do it twice, that damn collar got in the way first time round.

He pushed her into men's bathroom, and she stumbled in, one arm against the tiled wall for support. The other men in there, poised over the urinal, quickly clutched at their trousers on the floor, zipped up and left in a hurry.
Especially after Itachi flashed his sharingan and showed a face that promised excruciating pain to all present unless they put ante up on their NOWNOWNOW disappearing act.

She was slumped against the wall, the lapels of her kimono no longer so tight around her chest, baring a cleavage that made him want to grab her by the hair and give those luscious lips of hers a hard suck---those slightly parted lips, playful, seductive. She let out a short laugh, and it made him turn around to find out why. There was a mirror behind him, and he found himself suddenly face to face with his own countenance. His eyes were red and wild. It was, he always thought, his most redeeming feature.
His best feature.

The red played with the black, engulfing and encompassing.
He pulled her towards him and violently smashed his mouth against her.
He was red, she was black.

Maybe it was because she was drunk out of her mind, but she didn't resist him. He would like to have thought that even if she was sober, she wouldn't resist him either. He tore open her kimono, and despite his basal instinct of lunging at her, sucking, kissing and licking---he stood back and admired her. She was beautiful. He found the violence in his hands receding, and he placed his right hand on her left breast, stroked it, suddenly gentle.

In his stupor, she had uncloaked him. His dark robes were on the floor, and she was yanking at his net shirt. She wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him towards her, and the next thing he found, her tongue was in his mouth and she was moaning as he massaged both breasts with his calloused hands. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her in against him, feeling the heat of her chest. In turn, she licked his neck. She licked it and bit it, and he barely repressed a growl when she suck on his earlobes.

He felt a rising heat somewhere below the beltline, and she didn't help diffuse it when she stuck her hand down his trousers, caressing him there. And suddenly he was violent again. He clawed at her back, his tongue desperately searching, entwining itself with hers, and he grabbed at her and pushed her around and up onto sink. She pulled her hand out of his leather trousers and he groaned at the absence of her long lithe fingers. She wrapped both legs around his back, trapping him against her. He gnawed at her lips, at her neck, sucked and licked her nipples. She moaned, and his arm brushed against what was between her legs, and suddenly he knew he had to have it.
He tore at her blue cotton trousers, and found her vividly wet and dripping with desire.
She threw her head back and moaned deeply when he rubbed his fingers against her wetness, and he found that he liked that sound, that he wanted more of it.

So he brought his head down and tasted her with his tongue, and the louder she cried, the more he lashed against her entrance. She pulled at his hair, scratched at his neck, and when he tore away his lips and stuck his finger up her, she pulled his head back up and kissed him hard. She wanted him. She snapped off his belt, unzipped him, and grabbed at his member. It was his turn to moan. She pushed him into her, into her there. And as he entered her, filled her, felt her, she invaded his mouth with her tongue again, and rubbed her chest against his. He moaned into her mouth. He thrusted into her and she cried for more.

He felt her tight around him, clutching at him, and it made him thrust harder and faster, slamming against the walls of her inside. She moaned and he growled into her ear, taking her earlobes in his mouth. The heat was rising fast inside him, and he knew he would lose the plot soon---but he didn't want to end it this way. He pulled out of her and she howled, confused and objecting. He pulled her down from the sink, and turned her around, and he saw both his and her reflection in the mirror. Lustful, desiring, desperate.

He spread her legs open, and slammed into her again. She howled, but this time in pleasure, as he hit the spot, and he watched her expression in the mirror as he thrusted into her again and again. She locked his gaze, his red eyes reflected perfectly in the mirror, and she mouthed that she wanted more of him. She wanted more, deeper, faster, more. He complied, holding onto her hips as he slammed into her inside wall. The heat was rising fast. His breath was deep, ragged and quick, and so was hers. His arms left her hips and travelled upwards to clutch at her breasts, she moaned and he slammed into her hard, felt her tense muscles in him, heard her climatic cry, and then he was released.

He fell on top of her, and she felt his hot discharge engulfing her insides. They stayed like that for a minute or more, he didn't know, until he felt hot liquid running down her legs with his hands, and he pulled out of her, and slumped against a wall.

She pulled herself up, her hair was down and messy, and turned towards him, a secret smile on her lips, but she said nothing. She grabbed the hand towels around the sink, and he watched as she cleaned herself up---donning those trousers, covering her breasts with that grey kimono, putting on that dark green kimono jacket.

"So tell me Itachi," she finally said. "You were pushing your luck weren't you? You were lucky and you wanted to see how far your good luck would go."

He was still in the state of undress, and he didn't respond, but she stared straight at her.

"At least that sobered me up," she sighed, making her way out of the bathroom. She turned to him before she walked through the door, a dark grin on her face. "I guess you weren't only unlucky in gambling to not have done it already, boy, but you were pretty good for a first timer Uchiha."

He was expressionless, and he said nothing. It was only a few minutes after she was gone that he realised she had run off with all their winnings too.
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Luck is the Residue of Design