Naruto 1. Chapter 1

**The More Things Change**

**Author's Note: As with all my stories, this one follows an extremely fractured time line. **

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Charred flesh . . . now there's a smell you never get accustomed to; the cloying scent of death muscled its way inside the porcelain mask, forcing him to accept its presence, filling his nostrils and depositing an acrid film on his tongue. Had it not been for his squad leader's decisive actions tonight, Yamato would have been a dead man. Squeezing his eyes shut, he drew another shallow breath and tried not to retch; it just wouldn't do to puke his guts out in front of the Hokage's desk.

Speaking of guts, his once spotless steel gray breastplate was now mottled with the enemy's blood and other grotesque biologic matter that defied description - yeah, that was gonna be loads of fun to scrape off later. Thankfully, his black woolen cloak concealed most of the gore splattered over his uniform; it was heavier and itchier now after they'd run through a torrential downpour, but it was the overabundance of guilt and shame weighing down his soul that almost made his knees buckle. Though the room was warm, he felt himself shiver and as he did so tiny droplets of water slid down the curves of his stylized cat mask to join the growing puddle at his feet. For the briefest of moments, he wanted to sink down in that wet patch on the floor and simply disappear; then again, running away and hiding from difficult things was never his style. So there he stood, like a good little soldier, with his arms by his sides, his bruised and bloodied fists clenched beneath the sodden cloak.

_Damn it . . . this whole thing was my fault._

Theirs had been a simple intelligence gathering mission; all they needed to do was keep track of the enemy's movements near Konoha's border and report that information to the Hokage. But no, he'd been distracted and the enemy happened upon him; caught up in a compromising situation, he was unable to defend himself - his squad leader had no other choice but to engage the enemy in order to spare his life.

Once more he closed his eyes and breathed the sickening scent of failure and death in deeply. Once more his squad leader's voice intruded on his thoughts, and Yamato wanted to flee; but there was nowhere to run from that man's pervasive presence, no hiding place from that libidinous yet monotonous baritone which resonated in the stillness of the cave-like room, and in the depths of his being.

_Damn it . . . this is what drove me to distraction._

Without opening his eyes he knew the man beside him was standing there with his white cloak splayed open, showing off his uniform like a garish trophy. The man to his right, the legend behind the porcelain mask, ANBU's Hound always did have a sadistic streak a mile wide in him; no doubt he was extremely proud of the bloody hand print, the gouge of the enemy's katana and the seared bits of flesh that stuck to his own breastplate.

The voice behind his squad leader's mask was chilling; its tone never varied as he graphically described how they'd stalked and brought down the missing ninja.

_Wait . . . that wasn't how it happened! Why is he lying to the Hokage?_

Yamato opened his eyes just in time to see clotted blood hanging like a spider's web from Hound's claw-fingered glove as he raised his arm to make a point. He also knew without looking, that beneath Hound's bone white mask speckled now with the life force of a man who never stood a chance against him, the man was sneering. With every syllable that slid past the lips of his superior, he again fought back the overpowering urge to get away from the other man's inescapable aura which likewise enthralled and disgusted him.

Scratch that -his lack of restraint when it came to this particular man frightened and disgusted him.

The man behind the masks of porcelain and fabric, Hatake Kakashi stood with an alert, yet relaxed stance, apathetic would better describe his mien. It was completely at odds with the feline grace and unrestrained savagery he'd exhibited hours earlier. Hound was a natural born killer, one who'd singlehandedly disemboweled, decapitated, and incinerated the remains of the enemy as casually as one would bat an eye.

Suddenly, a brilliant white light ripped through the cobalt sky illuminating the slumbering village as if it were midday; seconds later there was an ear shattering explosion and the floor beneath his feet trembled. Windows rattled in their frames and dishes all over town probably shook behind closed cupboard doors.

But as quickly as it came, the curtain of darkness was again drawn tightly over the night sky.

As they stood facing the expanse of windows behind the Hokage's desk, an angry red orange fireball blossomed over the electrical substation east of the village. Plumes of grayish black smoke, like gnarled fingers, greedily reached for the pale white moon as six smaller explosions erupted in rapid succession.

In an instant, darkness thick enough to be felt smothered the land with an ominous silence.

One second … three seconds… five seconds passed before the metallic cadence of an alarm bell summoned shinobi to their emergency stations. Yamato's heart sunk as his sable brown eyes widened in awe behind the narrow slits of his mask. He wanted to join his comrades as they rallied in defense of the village, even though he knew this debriefing took precedence over all else and he would not be dismissed until it was completed.

Though his overtaxed muscles coiled in readiness, Yamato dared not move from his place.

Still, it was difficult to concentrate on the matter at hand, for in the relative quiet outside every sound was magnified tenfold in his ears. There was the distinctive click of gears engaging the hospital's emergency generators a mile away, the frantic voices issuing commands a quarter mile away, and the sounds of sandaled feet sloshing through puddles in the streets beneath the Hokage Tower.

The man standing to his right, however, continued his report, as if nothing unusual had transpired. That nonchalant tone of his rich voice floated through the stagnant air in the room, its timbre soothing, and somehow, aggravating in the same breath. As Yamato's body slowly relaxed, he found himself being transfixed by the slow moving, wispy clouds above the rising smoke; as they painted a kaleidoscope of shadows across the barren office walls, it seemed as if his field dressed wounds were throbbing in time with their movement. Above him, rows of fluorescent lights crackled and hummed to life before banishing the shadows into obscurity. A sense of foreboding enveloped his body.

As the village returned to normalcy, the man beside him wrapped up his report and Yamato heard the Hokage say, "Good job! It's been a while since you two worked together," she said, when she leaned over to retrieve a flask of sake near her desk. "I had some reservations, but you've done well. Now, get the hell out of here and stop stinking up my office."

Of course she had reservations. It was the worst kept secret in Konoha that Yamato had formally requested and was denied a transfer from under Kakashi's command years ago; many assumed it was because Kakashi was difficult to work with, but that wasn't true at all. There was great folly in lusting after a man who only viewed him as a subordinate. He'd deceived himself long enough believing that under Hound's cold exterior, there was a spark of mutual attraction; knowing full well there wasn't. Yamato needed to get away from this man to preserve his mental health; confused by his feelings for his mentor, the last thing he wanted to do was to offend him or be forever ridiculed because of his misdirected affections. He'd spent many lonely hours of far too many nights with the image of that man and the sound of his damnable voice, slowly stirring the cauldron of his arousal.

With the Hokage's dismissal, came a rush of blessed relief; once more Yamato was free to return to the shadows. None however could set him at liberty from his perfidious thoughts; he'd deal with those later, in the privacy of his own apartment. But before he could form the hand signs for a transportation jutsu, a black gloved hand grabbed his wrist.

"Not so fast Tenzou," Hound snapped. "We still need to hash out a few details before I submit our final report."

_Bastard! That was the name he always used to keep me in my place, to remind me of the days of my feckless youth and inexperience._

That name also ignited yearnings, which lay dormant for years, and now they were brought to the forefront when that cold, steel grey eye raked over him, looking right through him, choosing to see that which he could not hide. Their point of physical contact, though small sent a spike of adrenaline rushing through his body; it was familiar, yet alien . . . fight or flight. Better judgment prevailed and he cursed the years spent following orders without question. It was all he could do to mutter, "Yes sir."

Once outside the Hokage's office, Yamato felt the full force of Hound's disapproving glare radiating through the man's mask; the intensity of that solitary gray orb provoked another shudder. Diverting his eyes, Yamato refused to own up to the hold this man still held over him.

"What say we head over to central supply?" Kakashi suggested dryly. "We can get some regular uniforms and then hit the bathhouse in the civilian district." There was a teasing lilt to his voice, one Yamato hadn't heard in years; it instantly set off an alarm bell in his head, even as it sent a jolt of electricity to his groin.

"We can have a hot meal," Kakashi continued, "my treat of course, and we'll have the privacy needed to discuss a 'critical' element of that mission."

_How well Yamato knew that there was no such thing as a free meal with this conniving man. _

A change of uniform would only mute Hound's harshness whenever he decided to cut him to ribbons; with a silver tongue and a crooked smile on his lips, he'd surely devour whatever was left of Yamato's honor and dignity as a solider. A sigh of resignation, for Yamato knew he was deserving of far worse; he'd endure it only because it was unlikely their paths would cross again after tonight. And as they walked in silence down the winding hallway, Yamato let his mind drift in another direction—one which took him to a far away, better left forgotten chapter of his life.

It was almost twelve years ago, when as an awkward, cocksure youth without a lick of experience in covert operations, the legendary Hound was assigned as his squad's leader. The moniker suited the man; he was loyal to a fault, seemingly deriving a sick sense of pleasure in following the orders of his master to the letter. He'd relentlessly track and pursue an enemy for days…weeks if necessary, fueled only by soldier pills and an ungodly blood lust. Rumors of this man's prowess inspired respect and instilled fear, and rightly so.

"Whatever it takes to accomplish the mission, that I will do," was a credo Kakashi lived by.

Whether Hound was an insane genius, or just insane, Yamato wasn't qualified to determine; the one thing he was sure of however, was that Hound was a cold-blooded, mercilessly proficient killing machine, as efficient and as deadly with his words as he was with his katana. His training methods as well, were harsh - some would call them inhuman. Regardless, there was always a well thought out rationale, a method if you will, to his presumed madness. In spite of, or perhaps, because of Hound's barbed words of reproof and sparse words of praise, Yamato soon found himself being spurred on to do things he never thought possible. He endured the rigorous training of his body and mind, without hesitation, awed that such a man would deign to indoctrinate him into the life of an assassin.

Hound, like Kakashi, was quick with a dry quip and brutally honest to the point of stripping away the remnants of a person's self-worth. Unlike Hound, Kakashi would actively seek the young man out, inquiring about his well-being and encouraging his efforts. Perhaps that was why the callow youth he was then, revered the slender, deceptively powerful man. He came to crave those all too rare words of commendation, and the seldom received pat on the back. Determined to emulate his senpai, Yamato always fell short in his own estimation, but that just gave him another reason to push himself.

More often than not, he found himself watching his senpai from the shadows when he was practicing his katas on the training grounds or during spars with fellow shinobi. That lithe body of his moved with a type of fluidity Yamato did not yet possess; he was envious at first, and over time he realized his fascination with Kakashi was breeding a skewered sense of possessiveness. It must have been during those times when he fell under the charismatic sway of that man, for soon thereafter he found himself consumed by an overarching need to please the staid man in whatever way he would have asked. Hero worship in turn became wanton obsession, a compulsion that led Yamato to question his own sexuality and sanity.

That's why he asked for the transfer away from Kakashi.

As it turned out, the Sandaime Hokage wanted Kakashi for a more important long term mission. When word came down the pike that Hound was leaving the ranks of ANBU to become a jounin-sensei, there was a tremendous sense of loss; for his skills of course, but Yamato knew it was for the best and it would provide him with the opportunity to stand on his own two feet.

And on this rainy night, twelve years later, Yamato stood as a battle hardened and confident man in his own right; yet three days and nights spent in the company of this man and he could feel himself reverting to that puerile state of mind, wanting once again to please and earn the respect of his mentor.

And for the first time in twelve years, Yamato was once more locked in battle against the twin demons of lust and self-loathing.

-000-

Kakashi possessed an intimidating aura, even when he was lazing about naked as a jaybird, unarmed and as deadly as a nest of cockatrices. Through the rising steam, Yamato could make out the play of whipcord muscle in an arm casually draped over the bath's edge; sweat glistened enticingly on a broad chest littered with scars that was normally hidden by a bulky breastplate or flak vest. Well-shaped hands and fingers better suited to a piano's keyboard, were equally at home flicking away tiny waves in the bath as they were to ripping the windpipe from an enemy's throat.

It must have been the heat of the bath or perhaps it was the lack of sleep that was making it difficult for Yamato to clamp down on the nervous laughter trying to break free from his parched throat. From the corner of his eye, he'd caught sight of the silvery spikes of Kakashi's hair that defied gravity under normal conditions; apparently it shook its fist at humidity as well.

_Stop it!_ Yamato scolded himself, _thoughts like that are one of the reasons you're facing a dressing down tonight. The last thing I need to do now is piss him off or give him something else to tease me about._

Sinking down into the still, soothing water until his steady breaths made ripples beneath his nose, his proximity to Kakashi inspired a chill deep in his bones. And as Kakashi relaxed beside him with his head resting against the edge of bath, what could be seen of his face was reddened by the heat of the bath. Although he seemed oblivious to Yamato's inner turmoil, it was a sure bet Kakashi knew exactly what he was doing to the other man.

From the other side of the room, a bath attendant made them aware that their food was ready, and as Kakashi hoisted himself from the water, the skimpy cotton towel around his waist slipped down to reveal a sharp hipbone. Yamato's breath caught in his throat and he turned away when Kakashi teased him. "Like what you see, Tenzou?"

The snappy comeback his mind prepared never made it past Yamato's lips; the tense set of his shoulders however, told Kakashi everything he needed to know.

Dinner passed in silence, a mechanical parody of satisfying their bodies need for refueling. After their hostess cleared away their empty plates, the growing knot of anxiety in Yamato's stomach was threatening to present his hastily eaten meal in a most embarrassing manner, but he swallowed hard, wishing to get past the reprimand and slink back to home to lick his wounds.

Fiddling with the rim of his sake cup, Kakashi choose not to look at Yamato when he said, "I saw what you did when you went off to do solo reconnaissance. It was selfish and extremely dangerous."

At last, the other sandal dropped. "Senpai . . . I'm sorry," he said as he bowed his head in contrition. "I . . . I don't know . . ."

"Unfortunately Tenzou," Kakashi drawled, "our enemy had a sense of smell as finely tuned as mine." Raising his cup to his lips, he drained the small amount of sake remaining and slammed his cup down on the table. "It was the scent of your spunk that gave away your location and damn near jeopardized the mission." He was looking directly at the crown of the younger man's head as he continued. "Thank the gods that ass wipe was a missing ninja because his death won't cause a problem for the Leaf village." This time, he leaned closer to the table to share, "Don't get me wrong Tenzou. I enjoy a good yank myself now and again, but there's a time and place for everything."

What was worse? Knowing that Kakashi witnessed his shame, or that his life may have ended because he didn't have the strength to resist his baser instincts? That eerie sense of foreboding he'd felt in the Hokage's office returned with a vengeance; as he stared directly at Kakashi's uncovered face, he murmured a faint, "Yes sir."

There was that off-register lilt in his voice again when he said, "You know me Tenzou. I'm not petty enough to include your stupidity in our official report, so don't trouble yourself about that." In a flash, Yamato lifted his head to see the anger blazing in Kakashi's eye when he issued this promise, "But I'm going to help you remember how to conduct yourself appropriately in the future."

A threat wrapped up in a simple statement; it had been years since Yamato heard that particular tone of voice, yet it still carried the power to knock the wind out of him. _He can't possibly be serious! _"Senpai," he said hurriedly, "that won't be necessary. You have my word, that I'll never …"

"As my kohai, you will accept whatever discipline I deem necessary. End of discussion."

The frostiness of Kakashi's voice lowered the temperature in the room by a few degrees, or perhaps it was the realization of what Kakashi inferred. And once again, Yamato was inwardly transformed into that uncertain youth of the past.

This was a command, one he dared not refuse; it jangled against threadbare nerves, for you see,

Kakashi Hatake wasn't the type of man to issue idle threats.

NOTE: A cockatrice was a legendary monster, part snake and part cock (male rooster), that could kill with a glance. Stumbling upon a nest of them probably wouldn't have been a pleasant experience.


	2. Chapter 2

**The More They Stay The Same**

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"_As my kohai, you will accept whatever discipline I deem necessary. End of discussion."_

Funny how the human mind works; in addition to randomly collecting, recording and filtering data, it also selectively eradicates that which might be harmful upon recollection. Conversely, it also holds fast to extraneous strings of data and accesses them when it's least convenient to make sense of the nonsensical. Funnier still is how one tiny word could obliterate the barrier between the boy Yamato was then and the man Yamato is now.

"_As my kohai, you will accept whatever _discipline_ I deem necessary. End of discussion."_

Discipline – Kakashi's discipline made him strong, sagacious, and decisive on the field of battle. Silence – Kakashi's silence filling the tiny room where they sat made him self-conscious, irrational and uncertain. Locked in such a tense atmosphere Yamato's brain was working overtime to fill the dead space where conversation should have been; supplying him with words his pride would not allow him to say and putting words in Kakashi's mouth that he did not wish to hear. And damn it all to hell, he couldn't shut off the stream of insignificant data flowing through his mind.

Discipline . . . its main objective was to instill compliance.

A code of conduct, a set of rules and regulations . . . discipline . . . these were the building blocks that established a hierarchy, a chain of command, a threefold cord of responsibility that preserved order in the military. Every shinobi worth his salt knew what was expected of them or what they could expect if they failed to adhere to the standards set before them.

"_As my _kohai_**,**__ you will accept whatever discipline I deem necessary. End of discussion."_

Senpai and kohai, master and student; these were the conventions of society which also dictated their behavior. Three years younger than his mentor, Yamato always held out hope that he and Kakashi would become more like brothers, establishing a bond of friendship and respect; for the most part, they did. In Kakashi he found a kindred soul, an unexpected ally; much to the surprise of his peers, Yamato had been granted access into the reclusive world of Hatake Kakashi . . . a major victory, one he didn't take lightly. ANBU's Hound on the other hand, always made certain Yamato understood and stayed in his place.

At last, the scattered pieces of the jigsaw puzzle came together when he realized that whatever happened in the next few hours hinged on which personality manifested to administer his punishment.

If it were, god forbid, Hound, his chastisement would be something ridiculous and extremely embarrassing, like the time he made him dress up as a geisha in full makeup and a flowing pink kimono to serve dinner and drinks to his ANBU teammates just because he'd neglected to pack his own supply of food pills. That was definitely a bought lesson. Kakashi on the other hand, favored a more traditional approach to correction . . . the physical type. Once when Yamato was still a rookie, Kakashi made him run laps around the village with a backpack full of wet cement until he puked, and then ten more laps around the village because he'd puked. Needless to say, he never forgot to carry enough kunai and shuriken with him after that episode. Looking back, he much preferred that sort of punishment versus the other ones Kakashi occasionally fell back on; the ones where he'd find himself draped across the other man's knee as the paddle or hairbrush fell without mercy or bent over a chair as the razor strop or tawse bit into his unprotected thighs and buttocks until hot, silent tears streamed down his face.

_No, those days are long gone_, he thought. _He wouldn't resort to such archaic methods to get his point across._

Knowing Kakashi better than most people did, he realized that the anticipation, the penetrating glances that ended with a lopsided grin – were small, yet powerful aspects of the man's modus operandi. Kakashi, the bastard, always did find it amusing to screw with his mind, drawing things out in order to trigger a reaction.

_I'll be dammed if I give him the satisfaction._

And so there he sat, cross legged, stone faced and tight lipped after having found the boldness to establish intermittent eye contact with his tormentor. Schooling his features into an unmovable façade was child's play; after all, the art of deception was second nature for a shinobi of his caliber. Disguising his body's autonomic responses however, required ingenuity; the sweaty palms he could lightly rest atop his knees, slow measured breaths would counteract his rapidly beating heart and the perspiration dotting his forehead could easily be attributed to stifling heat in the room. Meanwhile his mind was still sifting through random bits of information, readying a verbal defense for the inevitable confrontation.

The sounds of slippers, the rustling of silk in the hallway, and then a soft knock on the rice paper partition of their private dining area finally drew Yamato from his uncomfortable thoughts and it also turned Kakashi's laser focus from him. The smell of cheap perfume and high quality sake made both men turn as the door slid open revealing a rotund, elderly woman.

"Ah, so it is you Kakashi-kun," she said when she poked her head into the room. "No wonder my staff was all atwitter. May I come in?"

Kakashi respectfully nodded his head in acknowledgement, "Greetings Okami-san." With a sweep of his arm toward Yamato he hastened to add, "My kohai and I thank you for hosting us at such a late hour."

To the untrained eye, this was nothing more than a gracious exchange of pleasantries; but Yamato knew something else was going on beneath the surface. For starters, Kakashi never made a move to cover the lower half of his face when the old lady knocked on the door. While the man wasn't shy when it came to showing off his unclothed body, he was very particular, almost paranoid about revealing the entirety of his face; obviously Kakashi knew the woman quite well and more importantly, he trusted her. Something else that bothered him was the fact this old woman was no ordinary civilian; though age slowed her movements, she carried herself with a confidence and no-nonsense air akin to that of a skilled kunoichi; perhaps that's why Kakashi seemed at ease in her presence.

Peering around the old lady's bowed form, Yamato was able to see two younger women kneeling beside the door; these two were definitely civilians. No matter how hard they tried to appear demure, their manner of dress labeled them as prostitutes, and he wanted no part of that action. Though he wasn't a stranger to working off the tension of a mission with whatever whore he could find, he certainly didn't want to get freaky in the presence of his senpai. Embarrassed for their sakes as well as his own, there wasn't a damn thing he could do to hide the warm blush spreading over his cheeks; knowing that Kakashi was eyeing him from across the lacquered table made that warmth a thousand times hotter.

The old woman finally made her way to their table with an uncorked bottle of sake and a slight smile on her lips. "Should you require additional assistance," she said with a wink, "the ladies in the hall would count it a privilege to cater to your . . . 'other' needs."

Yamato almost gave himself whiplash when he turned to gauge Kakashi's reaction to the old woman's proposal. Even without the mask, Kakashi was an extremely difficult man to read; his handsome face was a blank slate and only the gods knew what devious plan he had up his sleeve. There came a soft chuckle from the other side of the table, one that bespoke mischief in the making. "As usual," Kakashi said when he turned to acknowledge the smiling young women, "you've thought of everything, haven't you?"

Setting the sake bottle on the table nearest Kakashi, she laughed and said, "Only the very best for those who keep us safe." With a hitch of her thumb in Yamato's direction she added, "Besides, this one here looks like he could use some additional relaxation." Well, the 'ladies' in the hall seemed to think that was comical as they coyly tittered and pointed at the now furiously blushing man. Kakashi of course, was laughing his ass off and Yamato felt himself bristling when both his senpai and the old lady locked their concerned eyes on him.

Kakashi was smirking at him now though he directed his comments to the smiling old woman. "Not to worry," he said with a smirk. "Tenzou always looks tense. I dare say even the combined skills of these young ladies wouldn't be enough to make him relax; although I wouldn't mind being the recipient of their full attention."

As their hearty laughter slowly died down, what was really going on finally clicked in Yamato's mind. _So that's his game is it? To make me watch while he cavorts around and has sex with these two whores? It would be just like him to twist the knife in my gut . . . bastard._

Wiping at his eye with the back of his hand, Kakashi went on to say, "Thank you for selecting two of your most skilled masseurs to attend to us and though we appreciate your hospitality and discretion, we were just about to call it a night. Isn't that right Tenzou?"

Yamato's eyes flickered between Kakashi and the woman he'd mistakenly thought of as a whorehouse madam. "Thank you for your hospitality ma'am," he mumbled.

With a snap of her fingers, the young women in the hall women dismissed themselves. "As you wish, shinobi-san," she said when she turned to leave.

Once the door slid shut, Kakashi stretched himself like a contented cat lying in a beam of sunshine. "Well," he said with a yawn, "we'd better get moving, it's getting late."

-000-

It was short walk from their dining area to the communal changing room but Yamato felt like a condemned man walking a ten mile road to the gallows. Though he knew the bathhouse had no other customers, it seemed as if a million people were hiding in the woodwork, laughing and jeering as he followed behind his senpai.

_Post mission jitters_, Yamato thought, _you're imagining things,_ as the hairs on his neck stood at attention.

Outside, the pitter patter of fat raindrops sounded like tiny detonations against the tile roof of the building; inside the spacious changing room, the backlit clock on the wall counted down the seconds until whatever 'discipline' his superior officer had devised would be carried out. Tick . . . Tock . . . Tick. His light blue yukata, so soft against his skin earlier, chafed at him now like a twilled cotton straightjacket. Tick . . . Tock . . . Tick. Standing with his back to the other man, he determined to put an end to this childish game of cat and mouse; he'd had it up to his back teeth being torn between the need for his guilt to be expunged and the greater need to stand up to his senpai. Tick . . . Tock . . . Boom!

Wheeling around to confront his mentor, his face flushed with anger, and his breathing sharp, he was momentarily taken aback to discover Kakashi was already dressed and leaning against his own locker with his arms folded across his chest. It was that relaxed, 'devil-may-care' pose that really pissed him off.

"Damn it Kakashi," he heard himself roar, "I'm not some wet behind the ears little punk you can just –"

Between one breath and the next, Yamato found himself pressed against the cold steel of the locker behind him; Kakashi, or was that . . . Hound's uncovered face was a hairsbreadth from his own. "Ah, there's the fire I've been waiting to see," he whispered. When a slender hand reached out to chuckle under his chin, the back of Yamato's head collided with unyielding metal as he attempted to move away.

"I'll caution you this but once Tenzou," he warned. "It's a bad idea to let your emotions write a check your ass can't cash." That sinewy body pressed against his and Kakashi dipped his head to nuzzle against his neck; the warm breath ghosting over his exposed skin, the hardness brushing across his thigh unleashed a full body shudder. It wasn't fear that made him suck in a deep breath without a second thought, inhaling the clean, musky scent of the man pressed up against him; oh hell no, this raw carnality, with a double portion of craven, wanton, lust. It didn't help matters much when Kakashi palmed his erection through the thin cotton fabric either.

"Let's finish this . . ." that low, sultry voice whispered, "somewhere more . . . private, shall we?"

Yamato couldn't bring himself to speak, too incoherent to even nod his head as his mind presented and discarded a plethora of evasive maneuvers. And knowing Kakashi as he did, he would have already figured out fifty two ways to thwart any feeble escape attempts.

_Damn it all to hell, Yamato most definitely didn't want to flee this time._

-000-

He scarcely remembered how or when they arrived at Kakashi's home. All he knew was that he was standing in the middle of Kakashi's dimly lit living room, while the other man slowly undressed him. Kakashi had never before done something this intimate and it confused him greatly, even as it fiercely turned him on. The rough cotton material of his new uniform scratched at his sensitized skin as it was gently pulled from his arms and familiar, warm chakra tickled him as his wounds from earlier were gently healed. He felt Kakashi slide down his body and all he could see was a mop of silver hair and broad shoulders covered in navy blue fabric as warm hands removed the bindings on his legs; his pants disappeared without his knowledge and thin lips were kissing their way upward . . . one leg and then the other.

Of course, Kakashi completely ignored the hardness pressing against suddenly too tight standard issue cotton briefs.

Those warm hands were moving again, cupping and squeezing his buttocks as he kept those lips of his moving ever upward, searching out and finding the sensitive area around his navel; in a flash, his underwear vanished, likely joining the pile where his pants and shirt lay. The wet tip of Kakashi's tongue flicked over a nipple, as calloused finger pads tweaked and rolled the other one. Once more warm breath tickled at his neck, and those roving hands stopped to rest on smooth nether cheeks.

"Close your eyes Tenzou," Kakashi finally said, rubbing the tip of his nose against Yamato's earlobe. "I've got a surprise for you."

He did as he was instructed, and the warmth of Kakashi's body was gone; he stretched out his senses to feel where Kakashi had run off to, but it was of no avail. Then came the sound of something heavy being dragged across the hardwood floor; Yamato didn't need to open his eyes to know that it was the dreaded straight backed chair being moved into place.

And then, there was silence.

TBC . . .

NOTE:

'Okami-san' is a formal way of addressing women who own such businesses.


	3. Bubble Bubble Toil and So Much Trouble

What need was there for words when one action spoke volumes?

With the appearance of the old wooden chair, Yamato's fate was sealed and time stood still. In the silence there came reprieve . . . a time to prepare for what was to follow, a time to hope for a last minute stay of execution he knew would never come. In the silence there also came assurance . . . once Kakashi dealt with him, the slate would be wiped clean, his sins would be forgiven and Yamato could return to his pedestrian life . . . away from Kakashi. One last gift the silence bestowed - justifiable apprehension, for you see, Kakashi was the type of person who lived to defy the expectations of others; always straightforward in his speech yet wildly unpredictable in his actions.

As if the past eighty two hours weren't proof of that.

Four days and three nights spent with 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. And less than an hour ago, it was the concern showed in healing his wounds; while it wasn't unusual for Kakashi to tend to a comrade when necessary, it was the sincerity behind the gentle touches and teasing kisses that rendered Yamato speechless and horny. That was definitely a first; in all the years Yamato worked alongside Kakashi, he'd never laid a hand on him unless it was to push him out of harm's way or to punish him like a willful child.

As a matter of fact, this entire evening felt rather like being 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. On second thought, this was how Kakashi always operated; it was his unconventional way to decompress after a tedious mission. A psyche fragmented into so many pieces like Kakashi's was, needed a single object upon which to project its inner turmoil, it needed something or someone to act as a retaining wall to keep two very powerful personas separate. More often than not, Kakashi would bury his head in a book for hours on end; failing that, he'd seek out a gullible Yamato to tinker with his mind or to scrounge up a free meal. These relatively harmless activities he'd come to understand over the years which made it easier to put up with Kakashi's rare moments of playful silliness or Hound's even rarer displays of genuine remorse. But tonight, Kakashi had obviously 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 vulnerable state.

He should have been scared witless, but minute by agonizing minute Yamato's anxiety transmuted into a sluggish, gurgling resentment.

Gone were the days when everything Kakashi said and did 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 Kakashi's shadow and stood up from under Hound's thumb years ago and Kakashi's blatant refusal to accept that fact was not only irritating, it was downright disrespectful. The fire Kakashi was so pleased to see earlier had returned; the lingering silence intended to intimidate him had become the anvil upon which his anger was forged.

_Let's just get this over with you eccentric bastard!_

Eccentric, humph . . . that was a label applied to those too rich, too powerful or too mysterious to be called crazy to their faces; Kakashi was all these things and as twisted as they came. Still, he 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 you; in truth Kakashi's allure was like an illicit drug which addicted body and soul, sharpening the craving for more and more of his whispered promises and lies.

The longer he stood in the center of Kakashi's home, the harder it was to maintain the edge on this newfound anger; for you see, Yamato was like a junkie, fresh out of rehab and being offered one more fix.

Kakashi's inner sanctum was one of those places everyone wanted to see, but only a few were granted access into this bastion of peace against the clamor of battle and the hushed murmurs of polite society. And for all the privilege access provided, to 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 sitting on the kitchen table and the scent of the woods on a warm summer's day mingled together, undulating in a hypnotic dance which instantly transported him back to the last time he'd stood here.

In his mind's eye, Yamato could see 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 could feel the warmth from the other man's body as he stretched himself across those strong thighs in preparation for punishment . . . he could hear himself softly sobbing as the narrow paddle fell again and again, pitiless wood against tender reddening flesh, bringing him to an embarrassing emotional release. And as those memories wound themselves through his mind, Yamato felt that same itchy, tingling sensation fluttering 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. _Damn it, I can't afford to let myself go back there!_

He came to his senses slowly and what initially felt like a roughhewn chasm a trillion miles wide between him and Kakashi turned out to be approximately ten inches of empty space by his reckoning, but something else had drastically changed. In the moments since his disappearance and return, the very atmosphere around Kakashi was unsettled and brittle in its coldness.

_By the gods, this is exactly the way Hound approaches a mission; deadly silent, emotionally detached and barbarous._

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 scrutinizing 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 escaped 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 . . . and then there came a blast of hot air, like that from a furnace; it seemed to push him forward, though knew he hadn't moved an inch.

"_You're trapped in an illusion," _his mind pointed out. "_This isn't real!_ _Snap out of it!"_

_That's right, direct eye contact with a Sharingan user was necessary to invoke a genjutsu and the only time it was uncovered was when I confronted Kakashi in the changing room of the bathhouse. _

Muddled as his thoughts were back then, what with Kakashi's body pressed against his, Yamato couldn't remember whether he'd looked directly into the damn thing or not. Still, it was a reckless waste of energy to use such powerful tool against a comrade for something this trivial, especially since he'd been cooperative up until now. Then again, this might have been Kakashi's 'bass ackward' way of acknowledging Yamato's growth; a warped way of amplifying the anticipation. Regardless of the motive, the most important thing right now was shutting off the flow of his chakra to circumvent the jutsu.

And 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, 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 were still bound with crisp white bandages and his navy blue uniform pants and shirt looked as if they'd been tailored to accentuate his willowy frame. As expected, Kakashi's broad hands and slender fingers were free of the leather gloves he usually wore and 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 hold me in a genjutsu. _

Refusing to believe that the disjointed thoughts and phantom sensations he'd felt earlier were byproducts of his own imagination, Yamato 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; one 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.

_Damn you Kakashi!_

"Ah, I see you remember our little box . . . and its purpose," Kakashi said. "Shall I assume you know what comes next, Tenzou?"

If he lived for a thousand years he'd never forget what those four scraps of wood held, or the ritual it came to represent. You see, for every year spent under Kakashi's command a new implement was added to mark the occasion, after it had been properly 'broken in,' of course. All total, 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 could hear the swish of starched fabric as one leg brushed against the other when Kakashi moved to take his seat and then there was the sound of heavy wood settling against wood when Kakashi set the box beside him on the floor.

A slow, guilty nod was all Yamato had the capacity to give; it was as if the sight of that innocuous brown box sapped his remaining strength.

The time for absolution was upon him; the pain of atonement was nigh.

"You already know _how_ I'm going to punish you," Kakashi said as he settled into the chair. Yamato lifted his head just as Kakashi leaned to his left; the sound of metal scraping against metal filled the quiet space when the clasps holding the lid of the box were 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," Kakashi said, "Tell me _why_ I need to punish you Tenzou."

Damn, this was the part he hated worse than the sting of any implement contained in that stupid box. His throat felt like the desert during a violent sandstorm, and he simply could not bring himself to speak. Yamato wasn't purposely being rebellious mind you, nor was he was afraid to confess his wrongdoing. No . . . his reticence had more to do with a presence slowly approaching behind him.

Another rush of heat accompanied by the sound of footsteps, heavy and ominous; whatever this thing was, it was huge, sinister and electrically charged. The fine hairs from the back of his legs to the nape of his neck reached out like metal filings to a magnet: suddenly, something firm, warm and leathery pressed itself between his shoulder blades to trace a heated path down his spine. His eyes flew to Kakashi sitting there nonplussed on his throne of judgment; of course, there was no indication that something out of the ordinary was occurring. 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 to stand beside him; untamed silver hair spilled over the left side of the mask, the white cloak, Hound's mantle of authority, was draped over his broad shoulders, and the gray breastplate he wore was meticulously clean. Brushed silver gauntlets on his forearms, elbow length black leather gloves, the skintight black uniform, and the general aura of hostility he wore like a second skin, were making Yamato lightheaded with fear when the man stepped closer to growl, "Yes . . . tell us why you should be punished."

If Hound said anything else after that, Yamato 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 you, trying to freak you out for his own amusement."_ Just then, the very first thing he learned when joined ANBU popped into his head:

"**There is no greater fool than one who believes what his eyes see, what his ears hear, and how his body reacts."**

It suddenly dawned on him that 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 beside him, Yamato's body reacted faster than his mind could and he took a half step backward; in hindsight, that was probably the wrong course of action as Hound grabbed his right arm in a vise like grip and jerked him toward Kakashi.

"Kaka . . . Hound-san," he breathed while trying to regain his footing. "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 Tenzou. He 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 of Kakashi; his chilly breastplate pressed against a bare chest before he roughly slapped away the hands hiding Yamato's erection. "And if I feel Kakashi's holding back this time," he whispered as he lightly wrapped gloved fingers around Yamato's neck, "I'll step in to make sure this is one lesson you won't soon forget."

_Holy crap!_

All right, this was another first; a decidedly unpleasant one. Never before had Hound made a physical appearance during one of their ritualized punishment sessions, so why would Kakashi allow it to happen now? As Hound dragged his fingers down Yamato's quivering chest, past his navel, all coherent thought left him; when a smooth calfskin leather palm cupped his balls, there was a manly gasp of surprise right before Yamato's mind went blank.

"Well, well," he said when he gently applied pressure against his hefty handful. "It looks like your little kohai's finally grown a pair Kakashi." A final squeeze, not enough to cause pain, but one clearly designed to tantalize, and then Hound abruptly released him before he turned to walk away. The hem of his cloak brushed against Yamato's midsection, the scratch of soft wool was more like sharp claws glancing across the shaft of his cock; Yamato's eyes fluttered closed and his entire body violently shuddered.

Striding over to take his place near the unopened box, Hound folded his arms over his breastplate. "Let's get this over with," he snapped.

When next Yamato opened his eyes, there sat a clearly bemused Kakashi with a look of expectancy in his eye and the masked man beside him stood ramrod straight, clearly primed to swoop down on him should he bat an eyelash. All of a sudden, one of the craziest ideas ever began to take shape in Yamato's mind; teamwork, it was concept both Kakashi and Hound firmly believed in, both personalities had zero tolerance for those who could not or would not work well together. And 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 stroke Hound's ego, and hopefully 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 Kakashi's voice, the one that normally triggered an exaggerated eye roll, but this time it was met with a glimmer of optimism. The longer he could keep Kakashi talking, the better his chances of muzzling Hound. "No sir," he meekly replied, "that won't be necessary. I'm sorry, I made a stupid mistake that compromised our position and could have gotten us killed." The joints in the floorboards sharply met his kneecaps, 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 allowed myself to get distracted," he hurriedly said. The tips of his brown hair agitated the 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 sir."

Again, there was silence.

Though he couldn't see what was going on around him, he could tell Kakashi and Hound were exchanging heated looks; Kakashi's eye was likely filling with compassion, while Hound was darkly glaring at Kakashi, silently egging him on to finish what they'd started. Through the floorboards, Yamato could feel the heat of rising impatience but from whom, he could not tell.

It was Hound who spoke this time. "Forgiveness," he snarled, "only comes 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 it aloud it would be his ticket to freedom, it would sever once and for all the bond he'd built with Kakashi. Truth, were he to whisper it, would repulse Kakashi as surely as it would infuriate Hound. _No . . . that's not a chance I'm not willing to take! _

"Please Kaka . . . sir," he said. "I screwed up and for my mistake, I'll gladly accept the consequences–"

"Oh, yes," Kakashi coldly said, "you will accept the consequences, Tenzou . . . gladly or otherwise." The old chair creaked when Kakashi leaned forward to rest 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."

Heavy sandaled feet moved toward him again and then that ominous presence, Hound was standing behind him; a hand grabbed hold of his hair pulling him upright. "You're testing my limited patience boy! Answer the damn question!"

Through the pain, all he could see was Kakashi, his forearms resting on his thighs as he leaned forward in the chair. "You're making this harder than it needs to be Tenzou," he said. The fingers in his hair tightened their grip, jerking him 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 running for cover and he reached up to free himself from Hound's grasp. "Let go of me, you bastard!" Jerking his head backward as hard as his position allowed him to, Yamato glared directly through the narrow slits of his captor's mask as he spat out these last words, "I've had enough of your games for one night!"

He was stunned when Hound let him go, and therefore completely unprepared to brace himself when Hound's knee forced itself between his shoulder blades and pressed him down until his forehead touched the floor.

"Foolish little boy," he heard him say. "You're in no position to make demands."

Before Yamato could catch his breath, Hound's weight shifted; the hand that once painfully tugged his hair, now wrapped itself around the back of Yamato's neck as he was crudely hefted to his feet. Pushed forward until he stood at Kakashi's right side, it was hard to miss that look of pity in Kakashi's dark gray eye right before he felt himself being lowered across the waiting lap.

The next thing Yamato saw was a pair of sandaled feet standing on either side of the open box of implements.

"We'll get the truth out of you," Hound said, "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 of his thigh. "I'm truly 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 send chills down Yamato's spine; Yamato knew that laugh, it was one Hound favored as he stood over a vanquished enemy. "I' gave an opportunity to tell the truth," he finally said.

And as a leather gloved hand reached down to pick up the hairbrush, right under Yamato's nose, the man behind the porcelain mask laughed once again and said:

"You squandered your chance. And now . . . it's my turn."

NOTE:

Title lifted from act one, scene one of William Shakespeare's Macbeth; not to worry, he and I go way back and he's cool with it.


End file.
