Naruto. Kakashi/Asuma. NC-17. ~1100 words.
Kakashi’s first thought is always a cigarette.
Hard to Break
In through the window and never the door, Kakashi ends up here so often it’s becoming a habit. Asuma’s waiting for him, stretched out nude on the bed, arms behind his head and smoking lazily. His cock is thick between his legs; not hard yet, just heavy, laying long against the inside of his thigh. It’d stiffen up quick if Kakashi got his mouth around it, but Kakashi’s first thought is always a cigarette.
He never wants one after, he just wants one before, when the sheets are still smooth and cool, and the air is alive and prickling his skin.
“Asuma,” he says, and it’s hello, how are you, and are you ready for a good fuck all in one simple word. Kakashi presses a knee on the bed as he nicks the cig off Asuma’s lip.
Asuma grunts and rolls over, reaching over himself to grab his vest up off the floor. He digs a battered pack out of one of the pockets, mutters, “I should just start smoking two at once.”
It’s dark, but not dark enough that Kakashi can’t see the amusement etched on Asuma’s face.
“I want you on your back tonight,” Kakashi says, conversationally. He tugs his mask down and takes a long drag.
Shaking out a fresh cig, Asuma pauses. If he wants to say something, he doesn’t. Kakashi holds the smoke purring in his lungs. It’s not often he asks for Asuma like this. It’s usually face down, ass high, on hands, on knees, bent over desk or chair or bed. When the smoke starts to curl out his nose, Kakashi breathes the remainder out in a long, steady stream.
Asuma tucks the cigarette behind his ear. “Whatever you want,” he says. He pushes himself up halfway to sitting, props an arm on a bent knee.
Hunger and desire tightens in Kakashi’s stomach; Asuma’s always so easy, willing to do just about anything and not lift a brow. Kakashi strips to his skin, clothes thrown or kicked away, and settles on his heels between Asuma’s legs. There are nights when all he wants to do is claw and bite, leave marks and welts on Asuma’s skin, muffle screams of frustration into the strength of Asuma’s back.
Tonight he just wants skin on skin, arms and legs wrapping tight around him. “Are you ever going to lock that window?” Kakashi asks. The cig on his lip bounces with every word, and hair tickles against his palms as he runs his hands up muscular thighs. Asuma’s dick twitches and his balls shift as Kakashi’s thumbs draw near.
“Probably,” Asuma says.
Asuma isn’t smiling, but Kakashi suspects it’s a lie. As much of one if Asuma had asked if Kakashi would stop checking the latch and Kakashi had answered the same.
“Want to get off first?” Kakashi runs his hands up higher, purposefully avoiding where Asuma’s cock now lies flat and hard against his belly.
“Only if it’s going to be hard enough that you finish fast,” Asuma says. He sinks back on the pillows, finds the bottle lost in the sheets beside him and passes it to Kakashi.
Kakashi sets it within reach, and continues to run his hands over Asuma’s body. A bit of ash falls free when he leans forward, flakes of grey scattering in the dusting of hair in the centre of Asuma’s chest.
“Sorry,” Kakashi says, brushing it to nothing with his fingertips. He pauses, fingers hovering. Beneath the steady beat of Asuma’s heart, there is the flow of Asuma’s chakra.
Maybe that’s what it is that he longs to feel. Lives had bled out in the dirt today. More than a fuck, he wants someone whole, balanced, whose scars are worn only on flesh alone. With a frown pressing his lips together, Kakashi stretches, weight on one wrist as he grinds out the cig in an already overflowing ashtray.
“You’re thinking too much,” Asuma says.
Fingers slide into Kakashi’s hair, curl over the back of his skull and pull him down until their lips touch. Kissing isn’t usually on the menu, either. He doesn’t quite kiss back, but he doesn’t draw away either when Asuma’s tongue runs wet against his lip.
The grip in Kakashi’s hair tightens. “Don’t think too much about this, either,” Asuma says.
Kakashi struggles not to, always has. And Asuma’s lips are insistent, catching and tugging on his own, light sucking kisses before there’s tongue again. The scratch of Asuma’s beard against his chin fades to the background as the crush of their lips turns harder. It’s all tongue and teeth that’s important now, and the moan that hums like an electric current along Kakashi’s jawbone and skips straight to his spine.
There’s only silence when Kakashi finally pushes Asuma’s legs to his chest. He holds them back, holds his breath, holds still for that fragile moment before everything goes slickhot and tight.
They slide together, a perfect union of flesh and sweat and a thousand things better left unsaid. And when rhythm is lost, well before he is ready for it, Kakashi groans his defeat into the curve of Asuma’s neck.
Asuma kisses him before his lips can form another apology. Still buried deep, Kakashi finishes the job with his hand. He breathes in each shuddering moan that Asuma gives him, and when the spill of come is hot on his knuckles, slick on his belly, the echo of Asuma’s orgasm makes him feel lightheaded all over again.
It’s long minutes before they move again. Peel apart. Roll away. Stare at the ceiling as heartbeats slow.
Their arrangement isn’t a bad one. Best he’s had so far. But the ceiling is starting to look too familiar. Kakashi can see all the cracks and lines if he closes his eyes. Still, he knows he’ll be back. Tomorrow, or the day after, or in a week if things get in the way. He’ll come drifting back all the same.
There’s the sulphur scratch of a match and Asuma is lighting up again.
From the corner of his good eye, Kakashi watches the flare and fade, holds to the orange-red glow that remains.