One of the best things about the war was the bunkers left behind. This one was at a strategic point near the border with Wind Country, so even though the war was long over, Konoha continued to maintain and man it. It had stores and sleeping quarters for fifty, was inhabited by a solid twenty-five or thirty year-round, and played host to countless ninja making stop-overs while on missions in the region. There was a medic bay, a rec room, a weight room, and best of all, as far as Genma was concerned, there were hot showers.

He had them to himself, which wasn't surprising, considering the hour. A separate set of showers and sleeping quarters just for ANBU--they'd been the commander's quarters in wartime--ensured privacy for Konoha's masked spooks.

Genma stripped off soaking wet, ice cold clothes, and cursed the fickle weather in the high desert. He winced and twisted around himself to catch a glimpse of sand-sore skin where a jutsued weapon of tiny grains had scraped his shoulder. Nothing serious. He locked his weapons in a chakra-sealed locker, and put his stinking clothing in a shallow tub of soapy water to soak. Then he activated a scroll to disgorge its contents: clean uniform, dry underwear, a pair of socks. He laid the fresh things on one of the three beds in the ANBU quarters, picked up a towel from a stack near the door, and headed for the showers.

The water was scalding, driving away the chill. He stood under it for a long moment before he pressed the lever on the wall to dispense a soapy gel. Hair first, then body, he lathered himself and let the grime wash down the drain.

He didn't relax.

Soldier pills he'd taken as he fled his mission still sent their surge of false-life through him, driving muscles to tense, heart to race. Mind to race.

His handler sending an urgent warning: get out now. The corpse of his target falling onto its back. The smile still on the young man's face.

When Genma'd gotten a look at his target for the first time, he'd thought himself lucky. The guy was hot. It would be an easy seduction, because the target was someone he wanted to fuck. Amari-sensei would have disagreed, of course. Any time you actually wanted your target, you were at risk of compromise. You were at risk of forgetting your craft.

He soaped his chest, running scarred hands over slick skin.

The target's hands caressing his hips, sliding over his belly, teasing lower. His smiling eyes, looking up from under heavy lids.

It was better not to think about that. Even the strongest Eros agent could develop cracks under the strain of having to kill a person he genuinely liked. Genma told himself he hadn't liked the target. He hadn't. He was just a target who happened to be sexy.

He was a daimyou's second son, and his older brother was a half-wit. He'd stood to become the ruler of this little corner of Fire Country. Someone didn't want it that way, and they'd paid ANBU plenty to be sure that didn't happen. Why the mission was assigned to Eros was beyond the scope of understanding Genma needed. He'd had his orders: catch the eye of Suzuki Idomu at the club, get inside his living quarters, screw him, kill him.

It had all gone fine right up until the end.

His handler's frantic signals. Idomu's puzzled glance up, with his hands still on Genma's bare hips. Genma's senbon gliding into the base of Idomu's brain as gently as a caress.

He'd omitted a step. Omitted the screwing.

Dressing in a hurry, fighting in the moonless dark, with only the weapons he'd been able to carry in his civilian disguise. Not knowing where his handler even was. Jutsu flaring, blood spilled. The heavens opening with a tremendous crack of thunder.

Well, he'd got out. He'd got out, and the mission was accomplished. His handler had made it out fine, and was already gone, streaking back to Konoha with the report. All Genma had to do was get some sleep.

The shower poured over him, pounding steam from his reddened shoulders. Unspent chakra surged through him, and a whisper from his groin about unfinished business. Amari-sensei said never, not ever, should you think about a job once it was done, so Genma wasn't thinking about Idomu's lips on his cock. He wasn't thinking of that at all, as he soaped himself slowly.

Steam dampened scent, but Kakashi still caught the salty bite of overheated skin the moment he stepped through the shower doors. Water rushed, filling the air with white noise. He inhaled deeply, head tipping back, eyes sliding closed.

Metallic poisons, long-faded desert heat, weapons' steel, the aftermath of thunder. The slightest twist of blood. And something deeper, more personal, like ginseng and sweet spices--a scent he recognized.

Shiranui Genma.

Lips skinned back from dangerous teeth, hidden beneath black cloth and rain-slick ceramic. Rising adrenaline burned through already electric veins, twisting back on itself and hitting a place that carried the memory of dead dogs and desperate grief. Body-thrumming rage.

He dropped his pack on a free bench, and grabbed hold of his control with both hands. A year was long enough to get past the instant urge to go for Genma's throat; now he just hated the man in a steady, long-haul kind of way. From a distance, where he would never disgrace himself by accidentally murdering a teammate.

The air smelled like lust, frustrated and raw.

Kakashi swallowed hard, adrenaline-soaked senses picking up every little shift in the world, filtering them through a body tensed enough to snap. He hated Genma--

But the man smelled like something Kakashi needed, and that just made him hate himself.

Half-dried blood squelched when his hands clenched. He took a long breath through his teeth, yanked his mission focus around himself like a cloak, and began to strip off. Amour, gloves, wolf mask, sandals, blood-stained underpinnings, unused bandages. Hitai-ate.

His dogtags and cloth mask stayed on.

He left it all folded on the bench by his pack--he'd clean it later, when he could think--and grabbed a towel from a stack by the door. The showers were slightly around a corner, out of view from the benches, but he could already feel Genma's chakra flickering slightly as he picked up on another presence.

Spine straight, face blank, Kakashi went to join him.

Keyed up senses warned Genma of the approach of someone else, flashing tension over him like the lightning that flickered outside. His eyes snapped open, his hands flew under the shower spout, washing away soap in a hurry. Naked he had no weapons but his ninjutsu and his paranoia, but that was more than enough for most threats. He checked his exit--none easy, with the presence approaching from only doorway in, but there was a high window. There were hard surfaces. There was the water...

Logic told him it wasn't a threat. No one would get into this bunker who didn't belong. No one but another ANBU would know the code to get into these quarters. Mission nerves, soldier pills, and adrenaline told him otherwise.

He backed into the corner, letting the steam hide him. All thoughts of his former target faded into the background of his awareness; his erection faded with it.

Just before the unseen ninja appeared, his chakra hit Genma's senses. Blue-grey, cold, and sharp all over, like a spiky chestnut shell. Every person sensed chakra differently, and every person's chakra was unique. Genma saw color, felt sensation, and knew who it was stepping into the showers, casting shadows over the glistening tiles.

He ground his teeth, jaw flexing. In a year he'd avoided Kakashi with remarkable skill. Even sharing the same hallways, the same showers, the same mess hall in ANBU's HQ, he'd managed to keep away from him. They'd sat together in briefing rooms and lectures, assiduously ignoring each other's presences. He knew how to keep his cool around the man, no matter how he disliked him. No matter how much the ghosts of Ishida Nobuki and Oda Ayako whispered in his ear that they needn't have died on that mission. No matter how much venom Kakashi cast into a single glance. No matter how often Genma dreamed of impossible choices, between a dying friend and a dying dog.

"Kakashi," he said in a voice laced with steel. He bowed his head in the most perfunctory of greetings.

"Asshole," Kakashi returned, trying for a drawl and hitting something much closer to a teeth snap. Genma's eyes narrowed, strange yellow-brown irises blazing in his pale face, though his cheeks were flushed.

He was entirely naked, lean and corded with muscle; not as heavy as a taijutsu user, but you still could have used his chest and stomach for an anatomical chart. Scarred fingers twitched towards shapes that might have been seals, if he'd brought his hands together. Water ran down lightly tanned skin, doing nothing to cut through a scent that blistered somewhere between frozen anger and spiralling lust.

Caught in his crosshairs, Kakashi didn't swallow.

There were three showerheads, one to each wall. Genma had shoved himself into the far corner, making sure the only way to get to him was from the front--a ninja under threat.

Kakashi smirked, feeling the balance of power level out a bit, and tossed his towel onto a hook. He picked the left wall shower, away from Genma's corner, and slapped the water on. It pounded down on his shoulders, stinging like a heavy punch, and did nothing to wash away the tension coiling through his lower belly. Blood streamed away, diluted pale pink.

He lifted his face up to the water, then glanced over his shoulder.

Genma was still watching him.

"Something you want?" Kakashi said, low and edged with a slight growl, watching him back.

"Nice to see you, too," Genma said shortly. He watched a moment more, seeing bloody water sluicing over pale shoulders that bore even paler scars. The field medic in him couldn't help but check for a source of the blood--or be relieved when he found none. Washing a target's blood down the drain was acceptable.

He turned back towards his own shower. Kakashi was a bastard, but he wasn't a traitor.

He tried not to think about broad shoulders--The target had had broad shoulders and a round ass--Kakashi's was flatter, more sculpted... Genma flinched, and turned his water colder. The very last thing he needed to be doing was thinking about that asshole like that. Not when he was still jittery and blue-balled twice over...

The fucker just had to turn up here now? If he'd showed up ten minutes later--five even--maybe Genma wouldn have succeeded in taking the edge off.

If it had been anyone but Kakashi, he might have admitted he'd been on a seduction mission, and asked for a little time to himself.

Not Kakashi, though. Genma pumped more soap into his hand from the wall dispenser. He'd just have to go lift weights or something until he burned the urge away.

Breathing through his mask helped. Breathing water helped. Kakashi splayed a hand over the lower half of his face and inhaled sweat, salt, the scent of his own skin--

The woman's blood.

He jerked his hand down. Lust spiked like a pickaxe through his skull, all from Genma. It dragged over raw nerves, sparking an answering flash of heat, whispering through a brain that definitely wanted a way to not think--

Not with Genma.

He ground his teeth together, ducking his head under the spray. Sex was only one way to ride through the aftershocks of a bloody mission. And even if he felt like picking a fight, flirting with danger, like getting hurt, there were other ways to rip a week's worth of screams out of his head.

It would help if he could remember any of them.

Drenched tile slipped under his fingertips as he pressed a hand against the wall, breathing deeply. Aching shivers crawled down his spine. Dead dogs and dead women and how much more debt could he owe--

Genma's eyes widened as Kakashi blurred and appeared in front of him. Widened a lot more when Kakashi's hands slammed into the wall either side of his head, and a growl tore out of his throat.

"Fuck me."

Genma hated him. That could only help.

"Fuck you," Genma said, after a moment's pause. He brought his hands up defensively, shoving at Kakashi's shoulders. The other man barely moved. Genma flinched back, but kept his hands raised.

"Fuck off, Kakashi. I'm not in the mood for this shit right now."

One grey eye pinned Genma, level with his own. Lips barely concealed by wet black fabric twitched scant centimeters away. In the year since they'd run that mission together, Kakashi had filled out, gained height. He was as tall as Genma now, and easily as strong.

And much, much too close. Genma could feel heat rising from the man's skin, smell sweat through the water. Feel chakra surging like heat lightning around both of them. His nostrils flared as saint elmo's fire played over his groin. Naked man, right on top of him, half-threatening, half demanding to be fucked...

"I said fuck the hell off!" Genma shoved hard.

Kakashi shoved back, as immovable as granite. Chakra came easily when he called it, lending strength to shivering muscles, balance to blood-stained feet.

"No."

Genma's pupils were dilated, the yellow-brown only a thin ring around inky black. His skin was still flushed, fingers of red sliding down that long throat. This close, Kakashi could see the flickering beat of his jugular pulse, drumming out a rythmn that was a long, long way from calm.

He moved closer, dropping his head to the side, closing his eyes as he inhaled. Didn't care that Genma had a clean strike to break his neck, because the air was bright red with lust and confusion and crackling chakra. Anger like a thunderbreak. Genma wasn't hard, but he wasn't soft, either. All he needed was a push...

Kakashi dropped a hand limned with blue-white energy, tilted his mouth next to Genma's ear, and wrapped calloused fingers around his cock.

"C'mon, Shiranui." It was almost a groan. "I know you want to."

Genma had training in the erotic arts. He was practiced, schooled, one of the better skilled of the men who plied the whore's trade in the service of his village. He had control, but no target had ever touched him with a chakra filled caress like that. He was instantly hard, achingly so.

"Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me." He grabbed Kakashi by the wrist, but that put his own hand dangerously close to Kakashi's cock. Kakashi's also hardening cock.

Kakashi's breath was hot on his neck. The desire in his voice was as evident as the threat.

"I don't want this," Genma groaned. "You're insane."

He wanted it. Oh fucking gods he wanted it. He'd wanted it with his target, and he'd been close to getting at least a taste of it before Kakashi had come in and interrupted him. And he wanted this, now, broad shoulders and a muscular chest, narrow hips and a belly dusted with barely darker-than-grey curls. A half-hard cock brushing against both of their wrists.

He took a slow deep breath and tried to remember the urgency he felt was mission after-effects and soldier-pill wattage, not the real thing.

"I can smell when you lie," Kakashi growled, the faintest touch of desperation winding through his voice. A scarred hand tightened around his wrist; Kakashi's grip tightened in return, fingers stopping just shy of inflicting pain. Genma's scent twisted, bright and raw, almost aching.

What was wrong with him? Why didn't he just take--

Water pounded down on them, plastering Genma's long brown hair to slippery skin, flattening Kakashi's own silver spikes down, half-covering his already masked face. The air was thick with steam, though Genma's shower was colder than Kakashi's had been. His heart hammered in his chest, demanding movement.

Screaming tension, run through with hate and adrenaline and the need to stop thinking, the quaking desire to just feel something (painful, hot and hurting, please god), drove his mouth to the side of Genma's throat. He almost bit down, teeth scraping skin through his mask, but stopped himself.

A please broke itself apart before it ever reached air.

"C'mon, bastard. I'm giving it to you free." His jaw clenched, chakra rippled through. "Just fuck me like you hate me."

"Giving me what?" Genma's voice guttered low and dangerous. Every muscle was cord tight, every nerve buzzing with arousal. "You want me? Is that it?" There was something dangerously wrong with every single breath. Something frighteningly off-kilter about the way that hint of a plea in Kakashi's voice sent a thrill racing through Genma's chest.

He turned his head towards Kakashi's, leaning in close to press hot lips to the wet shell of his ear. "If you really want it, then take off the damned mask."

Where was it coming from? Where was this sudden urge to do exactly what Kakashi said, bend him over, and fuck him raw coming from? But if that was what Kakashi wanted, then fuck if Genma was going to give it to him.

He had training. He had arts. Genma's right hand on Kakashi's chest traced a butterfly pattern over hard pecs and tight knotted nipples. His left hand on Kakashi's wrist relaxed just slightly. Giving permission for Kakashi to move.

"Now take your hand off me."

Kakashi's breath hissed between his teeth. His shoulders drew up, carved into marble stillness. Genma's scent lined the back of his throat, confusion washing away, anger taking its place, drenched with lust so thick is smelled like violence. Kakashi's stomach clenched.

Scarred, calloused fingertips brushed lightly over his chest, gentle as a river's summer current. Nothing like he wanted. Genma's voice was the antithesis to his touch; hard and cold, lined with steel, demanding--

Something Kakashi would rather strip his skin off than give.

He loosened his grip, lifting his hand to splay his fingers out over Genma's hip. Touch for touch, grounding himself in a primal way. But it wasn't enough, wasn't nearly enough. Rage coiled through his belly, forced back by desperation.

He could leave.

He didn't want to.

"Son of a bitch," he snarled, ducking until his forehead pressed hard against Genma's collarbone, and yanked his mask down.

Genma hadn't expected that. He'd expected a refusal. He'd expected Kakashi to walk away, finally, because Genma'd crossed the line. He'd known he was crossing the line when he told Kakashi to remove his mask.

He'd expected a fist in the gut, a brawl, blood spilled. Or a stony curse and Kakashi stalking away.

He hadn't expected submission.

And not meek submission, but hard won, cursing, furious submission.

Genma swallowed. He had control. He had training.

He wanted to make this last.

"That's better," he whispered, turning to rub his jaw against Kakashi's. There was stubble there, pale as his hair. A narrow, angular jaw, and a scarred mouth.

"Much better." He put his hand on Kakashi's hip, thumb tracing the iliac crest and down into the hollow, fingers wrapped around with gentle pressure, pulling Kakashi's pelvis closer. His other hand on Kakashi's chest kept him from closing the distance.

"What is it you want? This?" Genma rocked his hips a few scant millimeters, pushing his erection against Kakashi, then pulling away. Kakashi's fingers on his hip tightened threateningly, and his breath hitched on a fierce desperate groan. The sound sent chills through Genma.

Kakashi wanted Genma to fuck him? Well, it would be on Genma's terms. "Turn around," he whispered against that naked jaw. "And put your hands on the wall."

Kakashi felt an enraged liquid shiver course its way down his spine. Much better, like he was a dog himself. Like he would trip all over himself just because Genma grabbed--gently, why was he gentle?--and pressed and whispered against sweat-slick skin. Just because Genma ordered--

Which was exactly what Kakashi wanted, even while he hated himself. Because for once, just for a moment, it was a relief to put his future--his choices--in someone else's hands. To not be alpha.

Especially with someone who hated him. If lightning struck Genma, Kakashi didn't have to care.

Silence stretched for twanging heartbeat, then his lips parted, and wickedly sharp teeth grazed thin scratches over Genma's collarbone, bisecting old scars like claw marks.

"Like you mean it," he said, low and ragged, and peeled his fingers away from that lean hip. Turned to the second wall of Genma's corner, and lifted his hands up, flattening his palms against water-streaked tiles. He didn't look at the blood still trapped beneath broken nails.

Genma took the first deep breath he'd had since Kakashi had flickered in front of him and demanded to be fucked. He felt a sudden relief, as if he'd let go of a heavy weight. But then Kakashi was there, braced against the wall, doing what Genma told him to and...

And Genma had no real understanding, but he liked it. He wanted it.

He pressed himself against Kakashi's back and leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Like I mean it? Oh believe me, I mean it." He reached around the man to pump out more soap, then worked the suds into a froth, smearing them over Kakashi's back. Slowly, gently, delicately working long, twisted fingers over milk-pale skin. Caressing the back of Kakashi's neck, the knots of backbone, the muscled ribs.

Kakashi shivered.

"Don't move," Genma said, voice as thick as the honeyed dates he'd fed his target. He crouched down, soaping Kakashi's left leg, then the right, slowly working his way up from the ankles.

He could see Kakashi's cock twitching, hard now. Eager for the touch Genma denied it. His own throbbed with a rush he didn't quite understand, but couldn't disobey. Every flinch of Kakashi's taut muscles under Genma's delicate fingers ratcheted up his nerves. He had to breathe shallowly, think about tiles and dirt, filing a mission report, the sting of the hot water on his injured shoulder--anything to keep himself from moving too quickly.

If Genma didn't do something soon, Kakashi was going to break his neck. He didn't want gentle hands, sliding soap, careful pressure easing none of the tension from his muscles. Didn't want sensual consideration or a bed-partner (wall-partner) who cared--or just acted like he cared, all the while smelling like mounting arousal and slipping control. Like fierce, disbelieving pleasure. He just wanted Genma to get off and go.

Which Genma knew and wasn't doing.

Kakashi's hands bridged against the tile. His teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached. Solid, aching need scorched his core, desperate and wanting.

Which Genma knew, too. Was he waiting for Kakashi to beg?

Long scarred fingers dragged lightly over his hips, leaving ripples of feeling in their wake. Torture to over-sensitized skin that wanted more. If he freed his mind for more than a second, all he could hear was screaming...

Kakashi pressed his forehead hard against cool tile, closed his eyes against water that wanted to blind him, and sank sharp teeth into his lower lip. Blood welled inside his mouth.

"I'm warning you..." he managed, words breaking out like chips of burnt ice.

Even without training, Genma would have been aware of Kakashi's desperate need. With his training, though, it was like a blaring klaxon. The tension in Kakashi's hamstrings, and the tendons in the tops of his feet, telegraphed his desperation. The head posture, throat bared, though only to the wall, and the taut shivering of his abdominals silently begged for more. And of course, his cock jutting up so hard the foreskin was retracted, exposing a plummy-purple head. Veins stood out snake-like and faintly blue under his pale skin. The nest of ivory-grey curls was almost jarring. Almost.

Seeing Kakashi straining forward like that, dying for Genma's touch, was intoxicating.

"Warning me?" Genma let his fingers trace a hard line down either side of Kakashi's hips, funneling towards his groin. So close, almost touching him where he wanted it, and with enough pressure to hurt. Almost.

He grabbed for the shower hose, yanking the sprayer free, and directed the full force of the water over Kakashi's balls, but only for a moment, before he swept the spray downward, washing away suds.

"What are you warning me?" Another pass with the spray, aimed directly at Kakashi's lower belly.

"What do you want, Kakashi?" His voice was a dangerous rasp. His own breath coming hard. He could have this. He could take this.

The water was like an electric shock. Kakashi jerked back, teeth snapping down on a yelp before it broke free, and felt his shoulders hit Genma's chest. Chakra flickered behind him, fast as a lightning strike--Genma sticking himself to the tile. One hand tightened on Kakashi's hip; the other flinched, sending needle-hot spray across Kakashi's thigh.

Bastard.

Kakashi shoved himself back, shoulders flush against Genma's heaving chest, back molded to his belly, ass grinding into his pelvis. Genma's scent lurched, ripped through with lust like a hammer-strike. Hard touch--finally--sparked a savage kind of relief straight down Kakashi's spine. Skin to skin, muscle against bone. Bruising fingers digging into his hip.

Genma smelled too far gone to back out now.

Kakashi wouldn't beg.

"Want you--" his breath shuddered, he grabbed Genma's wrists, "--to move before I kill you."

Genma dropped the sprayer. It clattered to the tile floor, whipping itself into the corner like a striking snake, showering their ankles and shins. Kakashi's hands squeezed vice-like around his wrists, stopping the air in Genma's chest for a half a heartbeat. It was the sensation of Kakashi's shoulder blades against his torso, Kakashi's ass grinding back, shoving urgently against his hard cock, that kept him grounded.

"Let the fuck go, Kakashi, or you will have to kill me." Genma shuddered and shoved, thrusting against Kakashi, still trapped. He groaned when his cock slid along the water-slicked cleft in Kakashi's ass. Kakashi twitched backwards. He wanted it.

They both wanted it.

He strained against the other man, pushing so hard forward Kakashi had to catch himself against the wall or break his nose against the tiles. As soon as his hands were free, Genma jerked them away.

"Don't fucking touch my hands, asshole!" He was trembling, torn between wanting to beat Kakashi senseless and fuck him blind.

Tile stung his palms like a masochist's kiss. Kakashi jerked his head, clearing wet hair from his eyes, and twisted to look over his shoulder. Even in the midst of the red-storm dance of screaming nerves, a skull filled with white noise that was all want and need and please, he caught the look on Genma's face. Smelled the combination of breaking thunder and leaden rage, sweet spices twisted to rotting fruit.

The tiniest flicker of fear.

A smirk curved his bloody lips.

"Problem, gutter-fuck?" Deliberately, he flicked his gaze down to Genma's scarred hands. Baited the lion. "Or are you just afraid I'm going to re-break your fingers?"

Twin flames roared up through Genma's gut: roasting, dry fury, and icy, shattering fear. He trembled, clenching his hands, flexing aching fingers into seals. Chakra surged in his coils, as hot and urgent as his arousal had been moments before.

As it still was.

He took a ragged breath.

Mission his mind whispered. Rule twenty-five. Rule eighteen. Fear and anger are a ninja's worst enemies.

Blew the flames out with an icy shiver.

Kakashi wanted him to hit him. Wanted him to break bones, shed blood. Wanted a rape.

Genma was damn well not giving him anything like it.

He wrapped his arms around Kakashi's waist, sliding his fingers down his belly to encircle Kakashi's cock. Left hand pushing balls down, right pulling the head up.

"You wouldn't," he whispered. He took Kakashi's earlobe between his teeth and bit just barely hard enough to leave a mark. "You need my hands." He squeezed, lacing the touch with chakra. "Don't you?"

Kakashi arched back, a keening, ragged whine spilling out of his throat. He choked it off, drowned it in a shaken inhale, but it was there, burning in the air between them. Genma's teeth grazed his skin--not nearly hard enough. His grip tightened, bright with chakra, drowning Kakashi in the kind of pressure that was good-good-good--

Wrong.

Genma hadn't snapped, hadn't lost his control. He'd gotten worse. His hands were gentle, almost caressing. His breath flushed warm down the side of Kakashi's bare neck. His scent curled through with something like an artic chill, building solid calm out of arousal-anger-fear. Something like mission-focus.

Kakashi had none.

He shuddered, grabbed Genma's wrist--and jerked his own hand away, slamming his open palm against the wall. Pressed back instead, spine to Genma's chest, back to belly, ass to groin. Genma's hand tightened; Kakashi groaned.

"I don't--" He scrambled for words, ribcage heaving. "Don't want your hands." He didn't want to get off first. Didn't want Genma to get him off. He just wanted-- "Genma."

There was surrender in that gesture. Surrender when Kakashi snatched his hand away and slapped it against the tiles. Surrender in that half-begging way he said Genma's name. Genma smiled.

"You want my hands. You want my cock. You want me to fuck you, Kakashi." The words dropped like beads from a broken rosary, shattering on the tiles. "And I'm going to."

He nudged Kakashi's legs apart with his knees.

"Don't move," he whispered, scraping his teeth along Kakashi's neck. "Don't even breathe." He let go of Kakashi's cock and stepped a half-pace back. His balls ached for release. His belly clenched, thigh muscles shook.

The jutsu was complex, but essential for any Eros agent. Genma formed seals, surged his raging chakra into focus, and brought a small sphere of slick moisture into being between his palms.

"Don't move," he said again. His voice was almost feral. He slicked the watery substance along the seam of Kakashi's ass, curling his fingers against the thick root of his cock. Pushing against a tight asshole that quivered and flinched, and yielded.

There wasn't time to brace himself, but Kakashi didn't care. Lube made the difference between stinging pain--a difference he didn't want--and the bone-deep ache that flared up his spine. Unprepared muscles stretched, accommodating the sudden violation. Genma thrust in one smooth, easy stroke, burying his entire length up to the hilt.

It hurt. Wire-tense muscles loosened across Kakashi's shoulders; he exhaled, long and slow, eyes sliding closed. Relief twining through his core.

But Genma didn't thrust again. Instead, his hand skimmed back around Kakashi's hip, long, scarred fingers circling Kakashi's cock once more, glimmering with the faintest spark of chakra. Liquid fire coursed through Kakashi's lower belly, hot enough to hurt--but it wasn't real pain. Wasn't what he wanted.

Genma began to ease out, tortuously slow. Kakashi shoved his hips back, but Genma's hand tightened, bringing him up short. Tile cracked beneath Kakashi's palms, shattered as chakra raged through sweat-slick skin, breaking away from his control.

"Genma." This time, it was nothing but a groan.

A velvet inferno squeezed Genma's awareness down to three simple things: his cock, Kakashi's desperate need, and the sound of shattering tile. He pushed in again, slow and steady, using ANBU's best training to fuck ANBU's best agent exactly how he needed it. Exactly how he didn't want it. It took control a zen monk would envy to time his thrusts to the peaks of Kakashi's anguished whimpers.

His hand slid up and down Kakashi's shaft--slender like his own, a little longer, curving right instead of left. The foreskin was longer, slipping more easily, and Kakashi's scrotum was looser, balls hanging just a little lower. Genma cupped his fingers under them and let chakra tremble through his fingers at a gravel-slow rumble.

Slow pull out. Pause. Slower thrust back in, and pause again, teeth clenched, breath hissing through a groan. He could keep going--would keep going--until he felt the shiver and lurch of Kakashi coming against the tile. He just had to hang on a half moment longer.

He pressed his full weight against Kakashi's back, lipped at his stubbled jaw, and whispered, "Yes?"

It was like dying.

Tile crunched as Kakashi's hands pressed against the wall, fingers sliced open by porcelain shards. The scent of blood twisted like copper-candy in the air, carrying his own scent, obliterating the woman's. Warm air swept over his skin; sensuous lipscaressed his jaw. The entire length of Genma's body flattened against his back, claiming without taking.

"I hate you," Kakashi forced out, even as his head tilted to the side, stretching out his neck. Genma's teeth grazed at his pulse, but didn't bite down. Kakashi felt himself shudder, racked through muscle and bone and mind. "I hate you."

Man who'd killed his dog--a piece of his family. But deep down, that had never been Genma, and Kakashi knew it. Knew who was really to blame.

Maybe this was penance.

Screams trickled through his brain.

A noise ground out of Genma's throat, wrapped up in a groan. Something like laughter. But his hips kept their rhythm, slow and gentle, giving no relief. His fingers rippled with chakra, arcs of energy that slid through Kakashi's skin and clenched in his lower belly, wrenching heat through him, pushing him towards the edge--

No, no, no.

He yanked his hand away from the wall, wrapped his fingers around Genma's wrist, and tore his grip away. Shoved himself back, hard enough to stagger them both.

Pleasure gave way to pain in a black powder burst. Genma jerked his hand, trying to free it from Kakashi's bone-grinding grip. His hips slammed back, as balance teetered. He gasped, choking out a single curse on a strangled breath.

Kakashi wouldn't let go. Wouldn't give an inch. Demanding, thrusting backwards so hard Genma had to meet the strokes or risk fracturing his cock.

"Let go of my fucking hand." He couldn't focus anymore. Couldn't think past once-healed bones grating under Kakashi's iron grip. Tenderness was lost. Torturer and tortured switched places again.

"Let go!"

No response but a snarl and another violent thrust backwards, another yank forwards, so Genma couldn't pull away.

His free hand curled around Kakashi's shaft dangerously tight. His own cock, buried deep, throbbed at the edge of control.

"Mother--fucking--" Genma gasped. A fluttering deep in his pelvis, moving chakra and liquid heat. "Fu-fuuuuck!"

If he was going, he was taking Kakashi with him.

For eight pounding heartbeats, it was perfect. Kakashi snarled and wrenched and Genma had to meet him, fast and violent, aching and hot, jarring him from the tailbone up. Wiping his mind entirely clean of anything but friction and bright white pain. Vicious movement. The steamy air smelled like a devastated hurricane.

Then Genma did--something.

Chakra gathered and swirled, slamming into Kakashi through the base of his spine, tearing up. A jutsu and nothing like a jutsu; pure energy, sinking fangs into the middle of his broken centre, ripping everything apart.

Genma slammed forwards; Kakashi didn't feel himself hit the wall. The world whited out, scrawling a beautiful nothingness through his brain. If he cried out, he didn't hear himself.

It was like dying.

It was everything he wanted.

Genma barely controlled the jutsu. He set chakra spinning raw through Kakashi's nerves, forcing him to climax now. An Eros trick. He set it in motion and sealed his own fate, connected as they were, as the jutsu acted on them both.

It had already been too late for Genma anyway.

He thrust blindly, panting harshly, shuddering, seeing nothing but blurry smears of red on a cracked tile wall, and a pale, scarred shoulder as broad as his own.

Under him, Kakashi stiffened, voice surging in a raw blend of rage and triumph. His hand on Genma's wrist tightened even more, then abruptly went slack. Genma stuttered out a broken moan, and let the whirlpool suck him under.

When his vision cleared, when breath surged back into his body, he was still curved over Kakashi, barely standing, braced against the wall. Kakashi's face held the blank stupor of someone not altogether conscious.

Genma groaned, pulled out, and shoved himself away, falling back against the corner wall. The shower still hissed, spraying water over their feet.

He let his head knock against the tiles, and shut his eyes.

Kakashi came back to himself just as his knees buckled. He slapped a blood-stained palm against the broken tiles, trying to catch himself with chakra, and staggered against the wall, sliding down. One knee hit the floor. He lurched, kiltering sideways, and threw out his other hand.

His fingers met flesh; he jerked his hand back, plant it on the floor instead, and managed to steady himself.

It was only then that he realized he was panting, trembling faintly, aching from the inside out. Sweat oiled his back, blood lined his throat; his hands stung, fingers and palms embedded with porcelain splinters. Something that felt a lot like a gathering bruise throbbed around his right eyebrow and the arch of his cheekbone--legacy of meeting the wall face first, no doubt. Slickness trickled down the insides of his thighs.

But his head was empty, scraped clean on the inside. Thoughts settling back into ordered lines. The sweet flush of endorphins eased through his blood, taking the edge off guilt and self-disgust.

Relief almost choked him.

He glanced sideways and up, tracking the long line of a well-muscled leg. Genma's head was tilted back, eyes closed against a view of nothing but the ceiling. Kakashi breathed through his teeth, avoiding scent, and freed one hand to slide his mask back up.

Soaked cloth settling against the bridge of his nose snapped a single piece of the world back into place.

He got to his feet, catching the showerhead along the way. It only took a few seconds to sluice himself down, washing sweat and blood and semen off his skin. The bruises stayed. Genma didn't look at him.

What do you want, Kakashi?

He thought about dead women, fallen dogs, the heroes' stone, and a branded list inside his head that only grew with each mission. Genin, chuunin, jounin, ANBU, teammates--

One sensei.

An old lesson on coping any way you found.

Abused skin felt like sin, like retribution and release. Like the growing strength to stand for one more day. He squared his shoulders, back straightening. Face wiping blank as a ceramic wolf mask.

Yellow-brown eyes opened wide when Kakashi flickered and reappeared in front of them.

"Thank you," he said, low and soft, and punched Genma solidly in the jaw.

His shadow darkened the doorway and vanished before the crack finished echoing.

Teeth cracked against teeth, knuckles against jawbone, the back of Genma's skull against unyielding ceramic.

He'd seen it coming.

Wet tile squeaked under his shoulders as he slid down. Lights sparked black with halos. Knees gave way.

He'd seen it coming, but not fast enough.

He was spent, exhausted, numb and buzzing with the remnants of sensation, like the after-effects of a lightning strike.

He'd seen it coming, and should have dodged.

The hot copper taste of blood filled his mouth, tangy and thin, like a trip wire. His feet skidded out from under him, long legs splayed against glistening tile.

It was normal to feel dirty, violated even, after a mission like this. It was part of the process, that was why Eros agents had handlers. It was why they were so carefully trained to separate mind from body.

His head fell back again, bruised and stinging when it knocked into the wall. His mouth hung open, aching and raw. Blood dribbled from a split lip, staining his chin.

It was normal to feel that way, but not from contact with a comrade.

"Ffffuck. You. Kakashi." A whisper, sibilant with loosened teeth and red-stained saliva. Genma closed his eyes. The shower, unheeded, ran from hot to cold.