Chapter 1
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Feral Touch
...
"Let's get these out of the way, shall we?"
Kakashi breathes in and his chest his tight, but he nods shyly and lets the older man back him up against the wall. There's a shallow, foul-smelling puddle overflowing from the gutter by their feet and the discarded wooden crates piled about them are covered with old chicken feathers and dander. It's enough to make him wrinkle his nose in anticipation of a sneeze-but it never comes.
Maybe because his body is being jostled, shoved into the brick by the man's fumbling, gloved hands. Maybe he's too nervous to sneeze.
The man is a little taller than Minato's height. His shoulders and gut are broader, stockier than the recently departed Hokage. But his eyes are blue and there was something about the cut of the man's armor-plated gloves that reminded him of slender fingers carding silently through his hair and gentle brushes to his masked cheek when the other had thought him to be sleeping.
His jounin vest is unzipped roughly. Yanked from his shoulders and shunted down to tangle about his wrists behind his back. It's what he'd expected, but the harshness of the action-the rapid callousness of it has him backpedaling, gasping quietly. There's a subtle quirk of a grin breaking over the man's face, and Kakashi knows that his reaction did not go unnoticed. That it's just made the man hungrier.
He no longer looks anything like Minato.
"Sh, Sh. Shh."
The muffled pulsing of a heavy base-line reaches them thinly through the closed door leading back into the bar. Kakashi's sandals squeak against each other, and the soft, unsteady sound he made in the back of his throat is swallowed by one of the man's gloved hands shoving down his mask and dipping two of his fingers between his lips. The man's hot breath, sweltering and ripe with alcohol, blusters over his ear and the bare skin of his neck, making him shiver.
The course fabric of the man's fingerpads has the slick dampness of his mouth tingling as they roll over his tongue; brush against the inside of his cheek.
Kakashi closes his eyes. Hard.
He focuses on the pawing of the man's other hand along his torso and hips. Frowns distantly with the concentration of imagining it into the intuitive, supportive caresses of the late Yondaime. Slow flickers of heat quiver and then bloom, spreading like electricity beneath his skin. There's a tense knot of sensation balling, gathering sloppily somewhere deep between his legs. And it's enough to make him toss his head, white-silver strands tumbling over his shut-tight eyes and pale lips ripping free of the prying fingers with a wet gasp. Kakashi moans shakily. His hips tilt forwards helplessly, and he rocks into the pressing weight of those gloved hands, unthinking.
"You're so turned on right now."
The man's dark voice jolted him out of his fantasy with a feeling like being stung. Kakashi's eyelids fluttered, his vision spliced by the mussed scatter of his silver hair and the feathery crush of his thick eyelashes. The man's glove slid from his parted lips into a tight, possessive circle about his neck. Kakashi's heart skipped. He could feel it throbbing in his windpipe against the rough fibers on the man's palm.
Sensei...
It didn't make sense. Even now, months after the village-wide funeral ceremony with the hordes of orchestrated flowers, parades, and speeches-Minato's was the first name upon his lips when he needed someone.
"You didn't even notice..." The man grunted into his ear heatedly, hands dripping over Kakashi's body like water, "But you're practically naked."
Kakashi looked down and stiffened. His silver brow dipped, and his mismatched eyes widened in a slow-budding sort of fear.
His navy blue pants were pooled around his bony knees, his underwear tangled with them. His shirt, already rolled up to his chin, was swiftly tugged over his head in one slippery motion. Kakashi whimpered. Struggled to breathe around the sudden burst of dismantling fear and shame clogging his chest. This isn't what he wanted.
"So fucking," the older man grunted, and Kakashis cheek was scraped roughly against the brick wall, "Soft..."
He'd wanted the thoughtful glimmer of his sensei's azure stare and the gentle rhythm of the man's laughter ringing pleasantly in his ears. One more time. Kakashi cried out once, stifled and broken. He'd just... wanted...
The iron frame of the side-alley door swung open before him with a loud, dry clang. Kakashi looked up from where he was, crushed against the opposite corner of the narrow passageway less than an arms-length away. And stared straight into a pair of startled, honey-brown eyes.