Genma woke suddenly and all at once to a flash of light, a horrific cry from Kakashi, and then pitch blackness again. Inky, velvety blackness that strobed with the after-image of that flash. A flash that had held the outlines of Kakashi's hands, the trace of a greenish reflection on Kakashi's unmasked face.

Kakashi was somewhere not close enough. Not on his mattress. He was breathing raggedly, keening with some kind of pain.

"Kakashi?" Genma said sharply. "What happened?"

He got no reply but the continued, awful, pained sounds.

"Fuck. Kakashi!?"

In the dark. In Iwa's prison. What had they done to him? Genma crawled on hands and knees towards the sounds. Was there anyone else in here with them? He waited for the kick in the ribs, the crack of iron, the snare of a jutsu, to tell him the interrogators were back.

There was nothing but the mattresses, the tangled blankets, the too-cold air.

Kakashi gasping for breath. It sounded like he was on the ground, like his head was down.

"Kakashi? It's Genma." Whispered words echoing loud in their masonry cell. He got close enough to touch, and hesitated.

"Listen to me. It's Genma. Answer me. What did they do to you?"

Any minute now the lights would snap on, and there would be the masked faces and heavy boots of Iwa's torturers. Any minute now, and was that moist sound the hideous gurgle of Kakashi's breaths through his own blood?

No jutsu and no chakra to call on, and if he tried to make light he'd kill himself. If he tried to heal Kakashi he'd kill himself. If the interrogators came back; if sudden, blinding light revealed Kakashi's face cleaved in two; Genma would risk suicide to get away.

"Kakashi, please." His whisper quaked in the crushing darkness. He put out a hand to touch. One cautious hand groping blindly. His fingers met cloth and overheated skin. Kakashi's muscles tensed, his arm shot out in a wild attack. Genma grabbed the flailing arm, grabbed for a shoulder. Kakashi's skull connected with Genma's sternum. Genma grunted, curled himself around his frantic teammate, and held grimly on.

Please.

Kakashi had never said please, no matter how bad it'd gotten, and Takajin probably would've carved his own eyes out before admitting to a working knowledge of the word. But this man--

Genma, Genma, Genma, his nose told him, even while the rest of him burned in agony and panic.

--this man said please. And held without hurting. Held like it would kill him to let go, even if Kakashi tried to kill him first. Held like he just didn't care.

Kakashi wasn't so far gone that he couldn't recognize a suicidal teammate, or fail to react accordingly. He jerked back and away, chakra-ripped pathways singing with pain, and cracked his shoulderblades against the wall. Genma came with him, grip just as tight and sure. Solid and scared and not letting go.

For the second time in two minutes, Kakashi found himself crushed between stone and a hard-muscled chest, and made a noise he barely recognized as human.

Don't kill your teammates.

You never killed your teammates, unless the Hokage ordered it and even that barely made it okay. Just necessary and duty-bound and like murdering in cold, heart-broken blood.

The darkness roared in like a thunderclap. Kakashi's hands snapped out of fists and clenched in Genma's shirt, holding what he couldn't shatter. Yanking close what he couldn't shake away. Genma's determined, frightened scent blazed; Genma's heartbeat rattled so loud Kakashi could almost hear it over the terrified counter-beat in his own chest.

Hands in the dark, dreams in his head, pain everywhere.

He'd slept with Genma once. The thought broke past all the others with arctic clarity, bringing a snapshot of memory so sharp it almost hurt. Of staggering back from a mission with blood on his hands and none of it his, and needing someone to bruise every single coherent thought out of him. Of turning himself over to Genma--

If you really want it, then take off the damned mask.

--and stealing sex that felt like dying.

Now his own brain was giving him that, and slapping Takajin's face on top.

Kakashi shuddered, feeling filthy down to the bottom of his red-drowned soul, and stopped moving. Almost stopped breathing. Pain jangled along his nerves and ebbed slowly away; he'd lost chakra, but he hadn't torn anything open. Not like the coils in Genma's head. He was just fucked up and half-screwed and mostly crazy, shaking so hard his teeth rattled.

Genma said something, careful and questioning.

Kakashi bent his back against the wall, pressed his face into the shirt of the man who'd watched Takajin rip him apart, and tried not to feel broken. Or burst into tears. Or even think about sex making this better.

"Sorry," he throttled out, achingly ashamed. "Bad -- bad dream."

"You're sure?" Genma asked shakily. "It was a nightmare?" Kakashi's head nodded against his shoulder. Kakashi's hands were still clenched into tight fists around handfuls of Genma's shirt.

Genma breathed a shuddery prayer of thanks, and held himself and Kakashi as steady as he could. His arms were solid but loose around Kakashi's shoulders. Holding rather than restraining. Shielding Kakashi from the blackness pressing in all around them.

Every uncontrolled shiver that trembled through Kakashi brought an echo from Genma.

They'd managed to tumble away from the mattresses to the cold concrete floor and stone wall. The pitch black void at Genma's back was so oppressive it was forcing the breath right out of him in short, hyperventilating gasps. Dark, dark, black, and the only thing safe in the room was Kakashi, who was falling apart in Genma's arms.

"It's... It's okay. It's... I know," Genma muttered. One hand flattened against Kakashi's spine, not quite rubbing. "It's like that. It's... Look, there's some light. You have to hold on to what you know is real, right? See the window up there, that's real." He stared at the faded navy rectangle near the ceiling. At inaccessible sky.

"And me. I'm real. I probably reek. That's real. Even I can smell how bad I need a shower." His laugh was hollow, and Kakashi's answering chuckle was something almost a sob. Genma found himself rocking, swaying, as if he were soothing a child. Instinct, not training, guiding his action.

There were tricks ANBU's T&I department taught every agent in anti-interrogation training. Theory had become malignant reality two and a half years ago, and taught Genma the true value of those techniques. Think about mundane things. Remember how human you are. When you're in a pitch black cell, chained to the wall -- thank God, they weren't chained to the wall -- aching from one day's resisted interrogation, trying to keep yourself sane enough to face the next one -- but there wasn't going to be another one. Please, some Bodhisattva, intervene! -- there were ways to keep your head together.

Kakashi shifted but didn't let go. Genma didn't let go either. "So I know you know I need a shower, " he said. He let himself shake. "Also a shave. I need a shave. Except I can only grow a crappy beard. How about you?"

Kakashi knew exactly what Genma was doing. He'd done it himself, once or twice, with blood between his teeth and panic in his brain. But that didn't stop it helping now.

"You ever--" His voice cracked silent. He found it again. "You ever seen a teenager with a silver beard? It's just wrong."

"You could dye it," Genma suggested, with a faint inflection that said he'd actually tried this before and found it hilarious, in a hysterical kind of way. His hand swept a long, careful arc down Kakashi's spine; Kakashi tried not to find it comforting, and failed completely.

"Neon green is my colour," Kakashi agreed shakily. "I like that grass-roots look. Goes great with my--" mask. He swallowed the word.

"Eyes?" Genma filled in, breath warm against hair that was too short to ruffle. "Well, eye. The red one probably clashes. Maybe you should try something more subtle."

There was a long moment of silence. The darkness yawned like a hungry mouth.

"You realize," Kakashi said slowly, "that you are absolutely insane, right?"

Genma shook and swallowed hard; Kakashi felt the movement echo through his body. "Yeah," said Genma, and there was a raw seed of truth. "Completely. It's okay, though, the Hokage already knows."

The Hokage recruits for it. Kakashi couldn't get the words past his teeth. Couldn't get his fingers to unclench, or his muscles to quit shaking, or his skin to stop expecting a hand to slide out of the darkness and leave bloodless bruises behind.

You have to hold on to what you know is real.

Good advice, but Takajin was real. And still breathing somewhere within a hundred miles, and just because Kakashi's nightmare wasn't happening right this second didn't mean it never would. Especially with Genma around, an already injured insurance to keep Kakashi silent and still and up against the wall. Kakashi knew Takajin could take whatever he wanted; Kakashi would let him.

Reality, he decided in a cold shower of ice, wasn't helping much.

So Kakashi did what he always did -- breathed deep, reached down inside himself, and embraced every inch of blood-sick, war-hardened crazy. Twisted it around until fear became a knife, became choking, shaking rage. Because Genma was his: his teammate, his responsibility, the only thing around that Kakashi had any right to protect; Iwa couldn't have him. Couldn't break Genma in half, then try to break him again, and use him to stop Kakashi cold. Couldn't take Kakashi's own coping mechanisms and turn them into nightmares inside his own skull.

Couldn't make him fall apart in front of the only man who needed to see him strong.

He shook, felt it tremble and crack into something else, something blind and terrified and furious, and lifted his head. Genma's breath hitched.

"You're real," Kakashi told him savagely, and kissed him hard enough to split Genma's lip.

No competent ninja could have missed that sudden rise of something akin to killing intent. For a heartbeat there was nothing but abyssal terror, with the empty black behind him and Kakashi's detonating fury inches away from Genma's face. He flinched away from sharp teeth and met Kakashi's iron grip. Met strength he hadn't known Kakashi still had in him.

Another jerk wrenched his head away enough to gasp out a panicked, "What the fuck are you doing?" But Kakashi hauled him back and kissed him again. Possessive. Demanding.

Somewhere memory caught fire, sending papery ash into Genma's awareness. An entreaty just as violent, from a man just as broken, in a bunker shower a year ago. Come on, Shiranui. I know you want to. Fuck me like you hate me.

I don't hate you. Genma thought in a panic. But he did, didn't he? He hated Kakashi. Only... only maybe he didn't. And maybe what Kakashi wanted right now wasn't the same thing he'd wanted before, either. Maybe what he wanted was proof he was alive and real, and Genma was alive and real, and whatever else Iwa may have taken from the pair of them, it hadn't taken what was really essential.

Genma grabbed Kakashi's arms hard, clenching fingers into sore muscles deep enough to bruise, and pushed with every bit of strength he could muster, until Kakashi finally broke the kiss.

For a moment Genma just panted, struggling to find words. Struggling to find anything that made sense, when the darkness was trying to eat them alive, and interrogators could come to take even this last bit of humanity away from them at any moment.

Kakashi was alive. Alive and insistent and maybe this was all he needed to remind him to be sane. Maybe they both did.

"I don't hate you," Genma said at last. "So don't ask for that."

Kakashi caught his breath against the wall, licked blood from his lower lip, and stared blindly at a face he couldn't see.

I don't want hate was the only answer he could find, trapped in a thrumming sea of bright, violent adrenaline. Followed swiftly by: And I'm not asking.

The thought brought him up short. He wasn't Takajin -- the Takajin in his mind, whispered a nasty voice, a nightmare twisting the original into something even darker -- he wasn't prepared to take something Genma didn't want to give. Even if he'd done it before. But that had been different, an equal-footing fight between two ninja who could actually defend themselves. And Kakashi had willingly put himself underneath, because that was the only way he could make it work halfway-fair and not despise himself later. Because he'd needed to surrender control, and he'd punched Genma in the teeth afterwards to make up the debt.

This wasn't that. This was...

Words stuttered and failed. He just had need and want and terror underneath, lying in wait if he stopped moving long enough to let it grab him by the throat. The need to prove he was still capable -- strong enough to keep Genma safe. The want to show Iwa they hadn't gotten inside his head and stripped everything away. Terror that if he didn't claim what was his right now -- claim Genma, in the most basic, primal way; in a way that would make Genma believe Kakashi could keep it together and get him out alive -- it'd slip through his grasp and vanish.

Put like that, it was entirely insane.

Doubt drenched him. But in the licking, burning flames of anger, and the endless dying darkness, Kakashi couldn't think of anything better. Right now, his instincts were his only weapons, and his instincts were screaming.

He reached out, felt Genma startle and flinch, and forcibly gentled his hand. Touched Genma along the stubble-blurred edge of his jaw. Tried to explain.

"I--" had a dream Takajin came back and almost raped me, then I yanked half my chakra out. Now I want sex. I may be a little screwed up.

Shame fought a violent war with everything else.

"It's not about hate," he said finally, dry-throated. "I don't want pain. I don't want anything." He leaned forward again, found Genma's startled, bloody mouth in the dark, and kissed a plea against it, as careful as he knew how. "You don't have to touch me -- just -- please."

Genma gathered sufficient wits to reach up and put his hands on either side of Kakashi's slender jaw. To push away, and hold him there. There was just enough moonless skylight to gleam on the white of Kakashi's exposed eye and the silver of his hitai-ate. Just enough to show the outline of Kakashi's unmasked face.

There was as much animal there, as human.

Genma licked his stinging lip and tasted his own blood. That gave him focus, briefly. He was eros-trained, which everyone knew meant he was skilled with seduction, with sex, and when the mission called for it, with surrender.

This wasn't that mission.

"You do want something," he said hoarsely. A fine tremor crawled up his arms and into his clawed hands cradling Kakashi's face. His chest ached where Kakashi had head-butted him. His muscles trembled, sore to the bone. Chakra pathways, joints, and tendons in his hands and feet burned -- flexed and tested and scoured raw by Kumoto and his assistant.

When it was the mission, if the target needed to take, you let him take, no matter how it hurt.

Kakashi wasn't a target.

"I don't know what you want. I don't think you know what you want. But I'm not a... a mannequin. If what you need is this..." He leaned forward and brushed his bruised lips against Kakashi's in an almost chaste kiss. "Then be honest about it."

Another shiver wracked through Genma, and he couldn't tell chill from terror. And who was he afraid of? Iwa? Kakashi?

Himself?

This wasn't sane. Kakashi wasn't sane, and he wasn't sane. Not in the same pitch dark he'd spent twenty-six days barely surviving two and a half years ago. No move was safe, no choice -- to comfort Kakashi or to deny him, to trust in rescue coming or prepare to die under torture -- was safe. No matter what he did, terror was waiting in bones that still ached and medics whose faces he'd never forget, with needles and pliers, to dissect him.

The shivers turned to outright, tooth-chattering shakes.

"I'm c-cold. Can we negotiate this back over where there are blankets?"

Genma had felt cold in that brief, nonsensical kiss, like frost against Kakashi's overheated skin. But he smelled like something much worse. Like ancient rust, sour limes, and stress-bitter sweat; fear, confusion, all-consuming dread.

Like he was trapped in a pitch-black cell, in the middle of the village who'd almost killed him, with a teammate halfway to coming apart at the seams, a head full of knotted chakra pathways, and nothing but uncertainty on the horizon.

Kakashi squeezed his eyes closed -- it made no difference -- and dragged his hands hard over his naked face, trying to find a way back to sense. Trying to think. But if he let go of anger and instinct there was nothing but terror in the dark, and Genma wanted to know what he wanted.

Wanted to negotiate, like they were on equal footing and Genma wasn't body-broken.

"Okay," Kakashi rasped finally, because he couldn't think of anything better -- could barely think of anything beyond keep your back against the wall, and that was a thought he couldn't listen to.

He reached out, gripped Genma's wrist hard, and slid to his feet, pulling Genma with him. Genma flinched badly enough to stagger them both and ripped his arm away, lurching back. "I said not like that," he snapped, harsh and strangled.

Startled, Kakashi jerked back and snarled. The sound bounced around the cell and shattered in the shadows. Genma's scent blackened with fear; Kakashi hit the wall again, biting his tongue. He hadn't meant to do that. Hell, he hadn't meant anything by the grab; he just hadn't wanted to lose Genma in the dark. And he didn't understand what not like that even meant. Was Genma expecting Kakashi to just throw him up against the brickwork and start ripping clothes away?

"I didn't--" he began, and stopped. "I..."

What?

Genma wanted meaning, and Kakashi had none. Wanted reasons Kakashi couldn't articulate. Wanted sense.

And Kakashi wanted--

A long list of things that started, right now, with never being born and ended in going home. But mostly he wanted to tear his own head open, drag out every piece that hurt, and burn them all in the sunshine.

Nothing he was going to get tonight, in short.

"I'm sorry," he said, so quiet it was almost soundless. "Forget it. Just go back to sleep."

There was something so defeated sounding in that voiceless apology it made Genma shiver. He shuffled an unsteady step forward and reached out, carefully, until his hand met Kakashi's shoulder in the dark. Kakashi's breath hitched, then he went still, and Genma slid his arm around the other man's shoulders.

There was another halt in Kakashi's breathing, and then, on his next inhalation, he leaned against Genma's side. Genma steadied his own breath and held on, pulling Kakashi around into a real embrace. Kakashi stiffened again, then slowly, cautiously, accepted the touch. His own arms stayed at his sides, not reaching back.

"I'm scared, too," Genma said quietly. "Okay? And I get needing to... To know where the edges are. But we're on the same side. Look, if we go back over there, we can see the skylight better. And I'm cold."

For a long moment Kakashi didn't move. Didn't answer. Didn't do anything at all. Then slowly, like a man trying not to startle a skittish deer, he reached up and slid his hand under the edge of Genma's sleeve. His fingers tapped out code like they had before. Takajin... Dreamed he came back.

Takajin. The interrogator. Genma knew the name from watching the tape.

Kakashi's fingers hesitated, quivering the fabric of Genma's sleeve. He... Swift scrubbing to wipe out words he hadn't even coded in. Stupid, huh?

"Not that stupid," Genma said softly. He took a step, pulling Kakashi with him. It'll be... better, he tapped back. Because he couldn't promise okay.

"Liar," Kakashi whispered.

He let Genma tug him across the cold stone floor, lean-muscled arm tight around Kakashi's shoulders while Kakashi's hand stayed above the crook of Genma's elbow, until their blind feet found the first mattress and Kakashi realized Genma was right -- there was light coming through the window. A bare film of navy darkness, like a square of velvety cloth pinned high on the wall, bisected by iron bars. If he tilted his head and looked hard, he could just make out the distant sparkle of a single star.

It was enough light, just barely, to make out the dim outline of his teammate. The wild tangle of bed-mussed dark hair, barely contained by a slipping, backwards hitai-ate; the sharp line of Genma's nose, and the even sharper angle of his jaw. The movement of Genma's fingers when he tapped back a quick, shivery message.

Truth. One word, two quick finger flicks, and bedrock certainty in Genma's scent. He put his hand flat on Kakashi's shoulder and pushed him down.

Kakashi let him, folding at the knees until he landed on the hard, thin mattress. Genma sat down next to him, ungraceful with weariness, but his arm stayed around Kakashi's shoulders.

Kakashi fought a long, losing battle not to rest his head against Genma's collarbone.

Genma had been through this before. Kakashi knew the broad strokes, but not the details. Knew that Genma had been in Iwa's hold long enough that people tried very, very carefully not to talk about it. Knew that Genma had lost two teammates, maybe more, along with the willingness to have his hands even looked at. Knew Genma had enough experience of unfriendly enemies and still making it home to call himself an expert.

But Kakashi had, too. And there wasn't any better. There was just not thinking about it and taking the next mission, and putting up with nightmares until they blended in with all the rest and you forgot about the difference.

Suddenly he felt extremely tired. It made anger much harder to hold onto -- like catching a handful of smoke in the middle of an open field. Genma's careful, comforting-cold grip made him want to lie down until even the memory of shaking went away.

He was entirely certain he wasn't going to sleep again tonight.

He turned his head before he lost himself back to the night-black room, sharp and jerky, and pressed close enough to find the flicker-beat pulse thrumming in Genma's throat. Feel the nothing-heat curling away from Genma's skin, turning the... hug into something more understandable. Something that could be forgotten later. Genma stiffened. Kakashi didn't bite, or kiss, or do anything but lean close and still, feeling the too-quick backwash of his own breath.

"What do you want?"

"To go home," Genma said simply. And suddenly the want was crystal clear for him, and terrifying. All he wanted, all he needed was to get home, safe. To survive and for Kakashi to survive, and for this long, barely-lit night to be the last one he ever spent in Iwagakure's captivity. In anyone's captivity.

The want was pure human need. The terror came from knowing how very unlikely it was he'd get even a part of what he wanted.

But Kakashi, bless him, wanted it too. And more than that, right now he wanted comfort. Wanted proof they were still alive enough to keep holding onto hope, even if it was as inaccessible as that lone star winking in Earth Country's thin midnight. Wanted, if nothing else, at least the illusion that they would be all right.

His hot breath against Genma's throat was proof. His hand moving from Genma's arm and across Genma's chest, pressing flat. Insinuating. Suggesting. That was a kind of proof.

"Lie down." Genma's voice was a breathy whisper as full of implication as Kakashi's caress. He lay down himself, sliding onto his mattress -- the one against the wall -- and drawing Kakashi with him. Blankets had fallen in twisted coils, but were easily tugged up, kicked straight, and tucked around them both.

Genma raised one arm for Kakashi to curl himself under. He let the other slide down Kakashi's side, firm and full of gentle intention. Kakashi shivered closer, sliding his own calloused palm under Genma's shirt.

"It will be all right," Genma murmured, and dropped another kiss against Kakashi's unmasked lips. "Just don't touch my hands."

Awash with relief, Kakashi almost managed a laugh against Genma's blood-chapped mouth. It came out cracked and sore, like a bitten breath. "Wasn't thinking about your hands," he said, lifting himself on one elbow to fit inside the circle of Genma's arm and press an urgent, insistent, open-mouthed kiss against that permission.

Genma responded, quick and talented, and Kakashi felt his focus return, sharp as a blade. Felt the darkness melt away, leaving nothing but this and willing skin beneath his touch. Acquiescence, as he pushed and Genma let him. Genma's hand stroked down his flank again, still gentle, but strong enough, and the world narrowed down into blind tunnel-vision. Nothing and everything like the single-mindedness of a mission.

And it didn't matter if Iwa was watching. At least this was a show Kakashi had chosen to give. And if Iwa tried to use it against them, at least they'd know the treaty really was broken.

He ducked his head, tasting sweat and Genma's pulse, and lifted higher, boosting himself up to cover Genma's bruised, aching body with his own. A momentary shield, guarding exactly like he'd wanted to. Genma tipped his head back, and for the flicker of a second Kakashi looked up to see the faintest sheen of light glimmer on half-closed eyes.

Thank you. The thought twisted for a heartbeat, unspoken, then fled. Kakashi licked down Genma's throat, a warm wet stripe against cold flesh, and shivered when Genma's hand clenched against his side.

Then he ducked further, sliding beneath the blankets, feeling the catch in Genma's lean-muscled ribcage as Kakashi moved all the way down, until his fingers caught the loose waistband of thin pyjama pants and his mouth found the warm brown strip of skin between shirt and drawstring. Genma's stomach muscles tremored; Kakashi crushed the urge to leave a mark there, contenting himself with another open-mouthed kiss. Hot-wet on scarred skin.

A little lower, pulling those pyjamas down, and Genma wasn't hard. But that wasn't exactly surprising, given the three days he'd just had, the rude wake up, and the lack of warning. Kakashi didn't care. They had time, he had something to devote his entire mind and mouth and hands to, and already everything hurt less.

He tightened one hand firmly over Genma's sharp hipbone, settled himself down, and devoted his entire self to making his claim. Wiping out thought for both of them.

It wasn't what Genma had expected. He'd expected something more mutual, more curled together, more intrusive, with Kakashi more possessive and demanding, and himself using skills honed on too many eros missions to count.

He hadn't expected a sensual kiss below the navel, and Kakashi's blunt-fingered hands on his thighs and higher, cajoling a response from exhausted flesh. Hadn't expected Kakashi's mouth, hot and insistent, or his own trembling feeling of...

Of nothing.

He hadn't expected to need to concentrate on what Kakashi was doing, to send sluggish chakra to his lower coils, to have to coax his own body to do what should have come naturally.

There was a distant echo of pain, and a memory of the angry, stone-faced nurse with her catheter. There was a faint stir of pleasure when Kakashi's lips moved, when his tongue furled. Genma whimpered, staring up at the tilted rectangle of night sky, and for a moment was afraid he'd fly right out of his body, out of his mind.

Kakashi. That was Kakashi, and this was for both of them. Genma reached under the covers and grabbed for his partner blindly, fingertips flexing through too-short, too-stiff hair, and over tense shoulders. This was Kakashi, and they both needed this, even if the way Kakashi needed it seemed almost alien. Because there was this island of sanity under scratchy wool blankets on mattresses smelling of sweat and fear...

Or there was the dark. And aching hands. Lurking interrogators. Senbon and pliers.

Genma swallowed, stretched his hands down to really touch Kakashi, and tried to pour all his awareness into his groin.

It worked.

He felt Kakashi's chakra, bright blue turquoise, grow stronger. Felt himself harden at last, and the soft throat-noise of gratification Kakashi made at finally getting a response. Felt pleasure sift in, overlapping with pain, and fear finally start to ebb away.

It still went slow after that -- slower than any of Kakashi's previous sexual experiences, including his first at fifteen, which had been hard and bloody and perfect -- but Kakashi didn't mind. The driving need was still there, still digging like a blade into the back of his skull, but leashed now. Turned inwards and careful and tightly controlled, wrapped up in breathing and movement and pure non-thought. He almost called his chakra up to add an extra edge, but remembered the cell's seals at the last minute.

For once, pain had no place here -- other than something to be avoided.

Genma's fingers tightened in his hair, sliding when they couldn't catch a good grip; Genma's other hand clasped the back of Kakashi's neck, fingers and thumb spread out wide, almost catching the duel pulses thrumming either side of Kakashi's throat. A mirror-claim, and Kakashi almost didn't mind that, either.

He didn't mess around with anything fancy, just took Genma in deep and hot and honest. Genma groaned, soft and frayed in the back of his throat, breath stuttering. Kakashi answered with a sliding harmonic of a growl that shifted into a fine-tuned hum, bleeding vibrations through hard, heated flesh until Genma's voice broke. Became something unholy and wordless and not hurting. Genma tightened up like a man with fire in his muscles, back arching, one foot falling off the mattress to press down hard on cold stone. Giving Kakashi all the control and keeping none for himself.

Then it went fast.

Kakashi didn't know what was going on in Genma's head -- who he'd chosen to think of; hopefully someone handsome and safe and not here -- but the important thing was Genma's scent, twisting entirely towards pleasure for a bright, blood-burning moment, and his scarred fingers clenching on Kakashi's skin, just hard enough to leave blanched white marks--

Maybe a little pain was good.

--and it was the work of nothing to relax jaw and throat, catch Genma's hips so they didn't buck Kakashi into an accidental concussion, and finish him off with a long, deep swallow. Kakashi didn't pull away when Genma went over the edge, and Genma didn't ask him to. Bitter saltiness flooded Kakashi's mouth, stinging the cuts where he'd bitten into his lip; he swallowed again, feeling Genma shudder like a lightning strike, and tasted something like repentance.

I almost got you killed, but at least I got you off.

Not a thought he ever planned to share.

He pulled free when Genma collapsed back, liquid-loose and breathless, and Kakashi dragged the back of his hand over his mouth. Genma's hands were still holding tight, like half a collar around the nape of Kakashi's neck, scarred fingertips in too-short hair, and Kakashi suddenly didn't have the energy to move. He did anyway, just enough to pull Genma's pants back up and shift halfway up the mattress, then he lay down, dropped his head and let it rest on Genma's stomach, and inhaled the warm tingle of a slow aftershock.

Briefly, he searched for words -- but found none.

That didn't matter, either; the darkness felt like his now.

Genma rode out the long, slow slide back into calm with his hand gently cupping the curve of Kakashi's skull, all looseness and relaxation now, where before he'd gripped tight. The weight of Kakashi's head on his belly was strangely comforting, almost affectionate. Genma allowed it, in the hollowness they'd carved out for themselves in the dark. Kakashi was an arrogant, half-crazy bastard, but for the moment he was Genma's arrogant, half-crazy bastard. And Genma was Kakashi's. To keep sane. To keep together, if only to get them through one night.

That was the rule Genma'd made for himself two and a half years ago, in a danker cell, with less light and more hurt: every moment was this moment. All he had to do was get through this moment to the next one.

All he and Kakashi had to do was get through this night.

After a long interlude he was aware of motion from Kakashi, of subtle, rhythmic flexing of one shoulder. Genma shifted slightly, reaching for Kakashi, half turning to him. "Let me--"

"No," Kakashi cut him off. But he allowed Genma to pull him further up, so that his head rested against Genma's shoulder once more. When he'd resettled, his hand resumed its pulses, short strokes and long ones, with his breath hitching softly in synchrony.

Genma made one more attempt to help, but Kakashi pushed his offer away, catching Genma's forearm, not his hand, but making it clear: I can take care of myself. Genma took a long, deep breath and relaxed, holding Kakashi in a not-quite embrace, and letting his not-quite-partner's rocking lull him.

Kakashi sped up, breath hitching faster, muscles tensing and relaxing with a stutter now and again to give him away, but he made no other sound. Genma drifted in an echo of pleasure, aware to his bones of Kakashi, but sated already, and sleepy. When Kakashi shuddered and stilled, shuddered again and whispered out a groan, Genma took a deeper breath, tensed his own thighs and relaxed them, then pulled Kakashi closer and listened to the other man's unembarrassed breath subside from panting into silence once more.

It had been almost an afterthought to turn his attention on himself and remember that, yes, he had a body with needs. And that after breathing nothing but pheromones and breaking tension, those needs rather appreciated being taken care of.

Genma's arm tightened firmly around Kakashi's shoulders, one scarred-healed hand wrapping his untattooed arm, and Kakashi relaxed down, finally, feeling like half his bones had melted. The whole thing was wrong, brain-damaged, and verged far too close to fracturing Kakashi's one unbroken rule -- only once, never twice, never with the same person -- but it had and it hadn't been like that. He hadn't turned himself over to someone adrenaline-soaked and uncaring, let himself get fucked mindless and peaceful -- he'd barely let Genma touch him.

And Kakashi had only gone down on his knees for someone four times in his life, even if this time he'd done it lying down. It was different.

And tomorrow he'd never think about it again.

For now, though, Genma's heartbeat thudded a lazy pulse beneath his ear, bracketed by the hard lines of a notched collarbone and the rising (alive, alive, alive) curve of a still-breathing ribcage, and when Kakashi flung an arm across Genma's chest, Genma didn't protest. His head turned instead, breath flushing warm against Kakashi's ragged hair, and his chin settled down on Kakashi's head. Kakashi let it stay.

Genma's side was to the wall, Kakashi was still between his teammate and the door, and if anyone came in the dark to rip Kakashi away, Genma would know.

He wouldn't be able to do anything about it, but at least he'd know.

Kakashi exhaled, long and slow, and felt things click back into place. Still tense, still gut-nauseous and worried underneath, but the full-body panic was gone. He could think again. Might even be able to sleep, with a week's run up and a decent supply of opiates. At least he could breathe.

The hand covering Genma's chest slipped out from under the blankets. He lifted it and flashed a deliberate, highly rude gesture at the invisible cameras, then dropped it back and closed his eyes. Brought his other hand up from beneath his body, and covered his naked face with it.

He'd find his mask in the morning.

Genma felt rather than saw Kakashi's flick of a universally-recognized hand sign at their unseen captors. "I did that, once," he murmured, and patted Kakashi's shoulder in approval. "Bet they have it on tape... Somewhere." His stiff fingers curled against Kakashi's skin, forming the same sign. Two and a half years ago his shattered knuckles had screamed when he had barely lifted one trembling middle finger in defiant answer to an interrogator's question; now the gesture was unmistakable, and the pain a mere aftershock.

Kakashi's head nodded against his shoulder, a subtle movement that might not even have been deliberate. Kakashi's arm tightened across his chest. Definitely deliberate. The air smelled of musk, now, and honest sweat. Genma wondered if Kakashi's nose could appreciate a difference, if the fear taint had diminished.

There had been no point setting a watch, but tired as he was, Genma couldn't bring himself to sleep so easily this time. No point setting a watch, but Kakashi was curled up possessively close -- holding on not with a lover's affection but a warrior's determination. And a child's anxiety.

That's all they were, really, Genma mused. Two terrified boys clinging to each other even though they hated each other, because there was solace to be had in the flare of each other's living chakra and the slow, heavy thudding of two heartbeats. That was why Kakashi had wanted, and Genma had given, and wanted in return, because an orgasm was proof of life.

And fuck Iwagakure. Fuck them trying to take even that away.

He let his thoughts swirl like smoke on dew-heavy air, not following any one thread for long enough to make more than half-sense of it. He hated Kakashi. He loved Kakashi. Right now, right now the little window above them was safe, Kakashi was safe, he was safe. He tucked his free arm under the blankets and rested his fingers against Kakashi's hard-muscled forearm. In the faint light, he could see his breath fogging the air above his face.

Genma drifted in the dark until Kakashi's arm was a limp weight. Until Kakashi's breathing slowed into the shallowness of sleep. He dozed himself, until Kakashi whimpered fretfully, as nightmare tried to stake a new claim. "Shh. S'okay," Genma breathed, rubbing slow circles along slender shoulders until they relaxed, until Kakashi eased once more into quiet stillness.

No point setting a watch against threat from without, but the threat from within, that was something Genma was prepared to guard against at least until daylight came again.