Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Gentle Lesson: The Restoration of the Hatake ❯ Dirt ( Chapter 4 )

I don't own Naruto… in light of this - perhaps just as well…

 

 

Dirt

 

Later on, under the full moon, Kakashi made his way out onto his tiny balcony, opening the door to let some fresh air into his stale bachelor's apartment.

 

No kitchen. No bathroom. Just one room with a bed, a closet, a dresser and a shelf.

 

Down the hall, the communal kitchen and bathroom were open to all permanent residents. A new arrangement for single shinobi who didn't need expansive quarters and wanted to be left alone.

 

The moon was large and grey - soft light and distant. It was an aura to revel in - but no help to a shinobi with a lot on his mind.

 

A senbon.

 

“Yeah…They are shinobi who wear masks to hide themselves - to remove who they are when they end up in an untenable situation. That way, when they retire, they have an untouched life to go back to - at least, that's what I think.”

 

“They are people who feel just like we do, only as time passes by, the buffer between their missions and their daily life thins. It breaks, and their masks crack - see? And they pull out.”

 

“Those who don't, end up broken.”

 

As the sake slipped down his throat, Kakashi sighed. By the time the bottle was ended, Kakashi felt very heavy - it had been a long time since he had touched alcohol… but at least the pain was dulled - there was a certain numbness, as if he was divorced from reality. And everything was tied down to the center of the earth - his feet - so heavy - moved slowly inside.

 

“Unush - unused to it, I guess, Kashi,” he mumbled to himself. “Need to prac- practish - practice on it…. Hn….”

 

A hand descended, pinning his to the bed's pillow. Kakashi's mental alarm bells rang in futility. The scent alone of pine and sand told him enough - but part of him couldn't care less.

 

Perhaps he deserved this.

Those faces would no doubt agree.

The faces that haunted him.

 

Father.

Sensei.

 

So when harsh lips punished his, underneath his token protest, Kakashi went limp with acceptance of a sort.

 

The hands were hard and bruising on his body - ungentle and scraping. But the burn in his gut only grew.

 

Sadist that I am.

 

Kore bit, pawed, sucked and assaulted the paler Jounin's body, moaning in the ecstasy of lust. It was when - with sharp stabs of pain - he thrust his swollen cock inside Kakashi, that the shinobi met resistance.

 

But Kakashi's bucking only drove Kore deeper within.

 

And through it all - face shoved deeply into suffocating pillows - Kakashi choked on his screams, refusing to cry, to cry out - although the pain was pushing out - moving up his spine to pound primally in his head. White lights danced before his vision in a dark void.

 

And white light engulfed him as pain and orgasm wracked his body.

 

The alcohol, slow in dissipation, wrapped him in a warm feeling although somewhere he knew a leather belt was being applied to somebody… but it wasn't him… he'd never let anybody touch him - never… not like that… not since…

 

The effort of not remembering shut his mind down.

 

By the time Kore pulled his member out in a gush of blood and seed - Kakashi felt as used - as sodden - as dirty - as limp - as a rag. He said nothing as his - could this even be termed teammate? - no, tormentor - disappeared to clean himself off and leave as he usually did.

 

Kakashi wondered, muddled, whether next time he'd let it happen again.

 

He always comes back.

After awhile.

One can say no.

 

“Kakashi likes it rough.”

 

Kakashi flinched as a finger gently traced the scary which bisected his eyelid and cheek.

 

I am such a hypocrite.

 

CRACK! Kakashi couldn't even muster the strength to cradle his suddenly blackened eye, bruised cheek and cracked lip. Kore straightened after his vicious backhand and looked down appreciatively at his night's handiwork.

 

I deserved that.

 

It was amazing really, Kore thought, that this tensai nin can take it. But then. We're all broken. It's why I do what I do….

 

He grinned as he stared down at the delicate skin which so easily bruised. The black eye, the puffy cheek, split lip… he categorized them all so he could remember during those nights he'd been so alone.

 

So alone with his left hand and nothing else but the memory of the world's most beautiful face.

Seen only by him.

Kakashi was his, after all.

 

Nine pinch marks, thirteen love bites, and fifteen welts from the thin leather belt now around his waist.

 

Kakashi didn't respond to the open stare. Only when his personal demon left him - with the next gust of fresh air, did he let himself pass out with the thought.

 

I deserved this?

 

And then… as the dark surrounded him.

 

Finally! A genius to revive the glory days of the Hatake!

 

I'm so fucked.

 

 

I don't know what wrote this… it wasn't me…