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“I’m telling you, if she answers the door in mismatched socks, it’s a done deal.”
Genma slammed his hands on the table to emphasize his two last words, looking stupendously sure of himself while the rest of the table was stupendously doubtful. Genma fancied himself a bit of a playboy, and while he got a lot of play, more often than not, he played himself. Kakashi could count on one hand the number of women who had wanted a second date with him.
He may have put on the airs of a man who was keen on frivolous hookups, but Kakashi knew that he caught feelings, and he caught them fast.
“Man, that’s bullshit. Girls only wear matching socks on special occasions. Or when they do that thing where they wear socks with sandals,” Obito argued.
“Special occasions?” Genma questioned. “What the fuck kind of special occasion has a sock mandate?”
“According to you, hookups do, because if she isn’t wearing mismatched socks, then you’re not getting any,” Obito argued, shaking his head at Genma’s ridiculousness.
“I didn’t say you wouldn’t, I only said you definitely will if the socks don’t match,” he clarified, because it was of the utmost importance that he drove this message home. Kakashi took a long sip of his beer and prayed for this night to end quickly. “Look, last week I met up with this girl, super hot, super clean cut, always with the coordinated outfits, you know? I get there, and she’s got one fuzzy green ankle sock, and a long white one with grey stripes.”
“Why was the first thing you noticed her socks?” Yamato asked in confusion.
“Genma, if you have a foot fetish, just say that. It’s so much easier,” Kakashi added with a sigh.
“Man—that’s not—the point is, the socks didn’t match. They weren’t remotely alike!”
“So, what?” Yamato asked tiredly.
“So, that was freakiest sex I’ve ever had in my life,” Genma enthused.
“And now you’re in love with her,” Kakashi finished. “Good talk, I’m going home.”
Kakashi tucked a five dollar bill under his glass surreptitiously, using the cover of Obito realizing that sometimes his wife greeted him at the door with mismatched socks and then whisked him away to the bedroom, to leave behind a fraction of what he owed them for his drinks.
It was the perfect condition for a clean getaway, which was why he didn’t point out to Obito that Rin’s socks never matched, and the indicator for “welcome home” sex was the fact that she was greeting him at the door to begin with.
He had just closed his door and kicked his shoes off when the texts started flooding in about how he was a cheap bastard, and they were going to beat his ass and take his money, he should sleep with one eye open, and one particularly kind message from Yamato that said he had covered his bill, and would he mind getting drinks next time.
Kakashi agreed like he always did, Yamato said thank you, and neither of them acknowledged that, next time, Kakashi would likely pull a similar stunt.
Just a typical Thursday evening.
A wild and loud knocking at his door made him reconsider. Maybe Genma really had had enough and was here to make good on his promise. Maybe if Kakashi put some mismatched socks on, he’d rethink his stance…
“It was a simple mistake, I just pulled out the wrong bill,” he said tiredly as he pulled the door open. He blinked at the empty space where he had expected to see Genma’s face. Instead, he was looking at the top of a pink head.
“What?” she asked, face contorted in confusion.
“Uh, nothing,” he dismissed.
“O…kay…” she said slowly, eyeing him warily as if she hadn’t just been violently banging on his door. “My name is Sakura, I just moved in next-door,” she explained. He took a good look at her, realizing that she was familiar. He had seen her huffing and puffing in the hall as she hoisted boxes upon boxes of her belongings into the apartment to the left of his.
She was no less huffy now, even though she was presumably all moved in. Or maybe she wasn’t, judging by her clothes. She hadn’t even bothered to put shoes on to pad over to his door, her shorts were definitely not what one ought to be wearing during Konoha winters, and she had clearly not unpacked her bras yet, because her tiny white shirt left little to the imagination.
He blamed Genma entirely when he noted that her socks did not, in fact, match.
“This is kind of embarrassing, but do you have a plunger I can borrow?” she asked, shifting from one green sock clad foot to her black sock clad foot and back again. “I’ll totally make sure it’s clean before I give it back,” she added quickly.
Kakashi was a simple man with simple tastes, and he wouldn’t stand here and lie to himself, pretending that Sakura wasn’t cute, her body wasn’t nice, and that he hadn’t seen scenes like this play out before in the cheesy porn he watched on nights he couldn’t fall asleep. All of that was true, and then Genma’s idiotic pro-tip about the mismatched socks was echoing in his head, and Kakashi had to question everything he knew to be true in life.
Sakura sighed impatiently.
“Look, I had Korean takeout for dinner, and I need to unclog my toilet. Can you help me or not?” she asked, head cocked to the side, hip out, and looking aggressively non-sexual.
“Yeah, give me a second,” he muttered before disappearing into his apartment to collect his plunger and maybe make an attempt to water board himself in the shower.
When she knocked on his door again the next day, she had managed to find some leggings amidst her boxes. Still, she wore no shoes over her mismatched socks—purple polka dots on her right foot, blue stars on her left—and no bra beneath the skin tight tee. Maybe she didn’t own any. She didn’t really need them, he supposed.
His musings on her perky breasts were interrupted when she thrust a plunger his way. True to her word, it looked clean as a whistle, but she’d taken care to wrap a plastic bag around the end, in any case.
“Thanks,” she chirped. “I owe you one.”
The cheesy porn was making a comeback. He could ask her how she intended to repay him. He could ask her if she had any other holes she needed plunged.
He needed a lobotomy. It was the only way to save him now.
“Uh huh,” he grunted out, probably coming off as a bit rude, but he imagined that was less offensive than “hey, stranger, how would you like to be propositioned with the most horrific pornography dialogue?”
“Are you okay?” she asked, wearing a concerned, mildly terrified expression, and not for the first time. “You just completely zoned out. Hello?” she said, waving a hand in front of his face.
“Uh, I…” I am a despicably horny man, “I’m—I have seizures.”
“Oh!” she said in alarm.
“Little ones,” he added quickly, as if they made it any better. “Okay, bye.”
He wasn’t sure what would stick with him longer, the image of her pert nipples outlined in her shirt, or the look of absolute horror on her face as he slammed the door on her.
One thing he did know, he would never speak to Genma again, about socks or anything else, and he was going to blacklist any service-related pornography from his viewing pleasure.
…Starting tomorrow.
“So, I get there, she opens the door, and she’s got two perfectly pristine, white socks on,” Genma said with a long sigh and a longer sip from his bottle. “Waste of a Friday night,” he lamented.
“And he wonders why he’s single,” Yamato mumbled.
“This sock thing is bullshit,” Obito said heatedly. “Rin had mismatched socks on last night, and when I went to put the moves on her, she elbowed me in the ribs and said don’t bother me while I’m watching my show,” he complained, doing a piss-poor impression of Rin.
“Men are so much easier to understand,” Yamato said with a shake of his head. “It’s all about the dick print.”
“What the fuck is a dick print?” Kakashi blurted out.
“C’mon, man,” Genma groaned. “The dick print. When you can see what a guy is packing through his grey sweatpants.”
“Pinnacle,” Yamato said wistfully.
“You bought me grey sweatpants for my birthday last year,” Kakashi mused.
Yamato had it in him to look dutifully betrayed while Obito and Genma ruthlessly went in on him. Kakashi took the opportunity to order them a round on Genma’s tab. It took two more rounds after that to get them to move on with the conversation. He didn’t have anything to add in the way of dick prints and mismatched socks, at least nothing he could share. He wasn’t sure how his slightly perverted interactions with his new neighbour would go over.
He hadn’t seen her around much, beyond the two interactions they’d had. There had been one run-in in the hallway, in which she’d been running around in her slides and mismatched socks (a benign occasion of mismatched sock wearing, as Obito had confirmed), and Kakashi had done himself the disservice of completely checking her out.
She had noticed, which was the worst part. He could live with his shame. He had plenty of it, and it kept him company on the lonely nights, but Sakura’s one raised eyebrow, and the fist she propped up on her hip while she stood there, all long legs and hard nipples, was not the judgement he needed to face.
And then she’d hit him with, “having another seizure?” before bursting out into a laugh at his expense, because she knew he was absolutely full of shit. And then she’d just gone on about her business, like they were friends and this was normal.
So, no, he had nothing to add to the conversation.
But the less he talked, the more he drank. His usual escape method involved slowly sipping while his friends drank thrice as much, until they were far more drunk than he was, which made sticking them with the bill a breeze, every single time. This time, though, he was too busy thinking about his braless neighbour, her easy quips, and the way her ass jiggled in her shorts when she walked away in a huff.
“It’s not an exact science!” Genma burst out, loudly enough to break Kakashi out of his drunken stupor.
“It’s not even a vague science,” Obito muttered between sips.
“It’s simple, does she have her dick out, yes or no?” Yamato said plainly.
“She didn’t have a dick, man,” Genma whined.
“It’s a metaphor,” Yamato said, rolling his eyes like he could not believe the audacity of the men at the table around him.
“I have one,” Kakashi said, leaning across the table and beckoning them closer to the middle. “What about if she never wears a bra?”
“What, like she’s walking around topless?” Genma asked.
“I’d say that’s a pretty clear indication,” Yamato said dryly.
“No, no, no,” Kakashi dismissed. “Tiny shirts, kind of see-through, and no bra. Ever.”
The men at the table let out a long, collective ooh.
“I don’t know, bras are pretty uncomfortable,” Obito argued. “Or, so I’ve heard,” he added when Genma gave him a look.
“What about those tiny shorts that don’t cover anything?” Kakashi continued, picturing the shorts and the ass that they barely covered.
“Kakashi,” Genma said very seriously, “are you telling me you have a woman who greets you in mismatched socks, little white crop tops, and booty shorts?”
Kakashi considered that. Had she really greeted him? No. More likely, she had just been going about her day in the comfort of her home and hadn’t thought to ward off the creep next door.
“Not exactly,” he answered.
“Then what the fuck are you talking about?” Genma asked, enraged and ready to keep the conversation pushing. “Now, back to the socks…”
So, maybe he was looking too deep into the Sakura thing. Maybe she was flirting with him, and maybe not, but one thing he knew was that she was nice to look at, and he was having a good time looking. At the end of the day, all he could do was hope that was okay with the parties involved.
All this to say, by the time he left the bar, Kakashi was drunk. Not tipsy, or buzzed, or even the funny kind of drunk where people just laugh but can mostly keep their shit together. He was drunk. He was so drunk, he paid, not only his tab, but the tab for the table. So drunk, he told Yamato he was going to go home and see what this dick print business was about.
In all honesty, he didn’t even know how he made it home. He remembered feeling like the world was spinning and seeing a lot of blurry lights, he remembered the panhandler outside his building, and he remembered giving him a ten and complimenting his purple eye shadow (he wasn’t wearing eye shadow).
It seemed like there was a lot going on and what he really needed was to get into his apartment so he could pass out in peace.
His key was in the doorknob but it wouldn’t turn, no matter what he did. He jingled and jangled it around, took the key out and put it back in, he even tried putting his car key in there, until finally, finally, it budged.
He found himself tipping forward as the door opened way more than he’d expected it to, only to find himself landing face-first against something soft and warm. Convinced he’d miraculously found his pillow, he burrowed and sighed into it. It smelled better than he remembered it smelling. Maybe drunk Kakashi had a more acute sense of smell. That seemed anatomically erroneous, considering the delicate state his stomach was currently in.
“Um, Kakashi?” his pillow said. Kakashi frowned. As far as he was aware, his pillow had never spoken to him.
And then it shifted and moved away from his head. He blinked at its retreating form, following it until it was far away enough for his eyes to focus, just so he could find himself staring deeply at a familiar pair of breasts.
“Sakura?” he asked in surprise. “What are you doing in my apartment?”
She laughed. That was nice. He found himself smiling back at her. “This is my apartment, Kakashi.”
“We live in the same apartment?” he asked, trying to make sense of it all. If she did, that boded well for him and her mismatched socks. He looked down at her feet to see that they were, in fact, clad in two very different socks. “Your socks don’t match,” he informed her, as if she didn’t know.
She looked down at her feet in surprise. “Oh, I guess they don’t.”
“Mhm, y’know, one of my f—” he broke off to make way for a burp. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “One of my friends said that if a woman greets you in socks that don’t match…” He gave her what he hoped was a suggestive look. When she didn’t seem to understand, he waggled his eyebrows. “Y’know…”
She stared at him in confusion until his eyebrow wiggles finally registered. “Ohhhh…” she said slowly. “Mismatched socks are a mating call?” she asked.
“Yes,” he confirmed, most emphatically. “And you apparently live with me, so.”
“So, you think we’re having sex?” she asked.
“You are pretty, and your shorts are very little, and I can see that your nipples are pink, which is very cute, but I’m stupidly drunk,” he explained with a long sigh.
“I see.”
“It just wouldn’t be right,” he said.
“I understand. Perhaps another time,” she suggested.
“That would be nice. I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” he said, sighing and slumping against the wall.
“You should tell me more about that when you’re sober,” she said, laughing softly. “But, between you and me, I’ve been thinking about you, too.”
“Really?” he asked in surprise. “Even without my dick print?”
She stared up at him, startled, and then she burst into laughter. Real peals of laughter, pouring out of her. He had no idea what he’d done to make it happen but he was filled with pride, knowing he had been responsible.
“Yes, Kakashi. Even without your dick print,” she confirmed with a sweet smile that had him totally enraptured.
“Y’know my name?” he asked, following her swaying form with his eyes. Why was she moving so much? It was making him nauseous.
“Mhm, Mrs. Tanaka warned me about you when I took over her lease. Said you listen to some very unsavoury things in the middle of the night,” she teased, looping his arm around her shoulders and guiding him to his own apartment.
“Oh. That’s unfortunate.”
“Mrs. Tanaka was wily back in her day, so you must be into some freaky stuff, Hatake,” she continued. The idea of Sakura wondering what “freaky stuff” he was into was enticing, but coupled with the image of old Mrs. Tanaka getting frisky was absolutely not helping him to keep the purely liquid contents of his stomach down.
Sakura managed to get his door unlocked in a much more timely fashion than he ever could have dreamed of doing himself, and even went as far as to deposit him onto his couch and give his sleepy pug a pat on the head before heading back to her own home.
“Goodnight, Kakashi,” she called out.
“I’ll see you and those socks when I’m sober,” he vowed. He could still hear her laughing at his door shut softly behind her.
He looked closely at his reflection following his third puke of the day and came to a stunning realization.
He’d been alone for a long time. Not alone, like he had no one to talk to—in truth, there were too many people in his life he had to talk to—but alone physically. He was backed up. From balls to brain, he was so backed up he couldn’t think straight.
That was the only plausible reason he had gone to Sakura’s apartment, completely shitfaced, and told her to march her mismatched feet back to him when she was ready to get dicked down. There was no other reason.
He was full of cum—shame, regret, and cum.
Maybe he should apologize. He had interrupted her night by trying to break into her apartment, and had undoubtedly made her wildly uncomfortable in her own home.
But she hadn’t seemed upset.
Just as he was ramping himself up to go over there and make a fool of himself all over again, he was distracted by a text message from Yamato, inquiring after the results of his grey sweatpants journey.
Kakashi liked to think he was a man who kept his words, and that was the reason he postponed going to Sakura with his tail between his legs in favour of experiencing the power of the dick print for himself. It was that reason and that reason alone, and not at all because he was terrified of seeing her after what he’d said.
The sweatpants still had the tags on them because Kakashi was a creature of habit, so they had fallen to the very bottom of his drawer, never to be seen until now. He looked at himself in the mirror, feeling more idiotic by the second.
Maybe his dick was broken. He was not seeing any magical sex beacon emanating from his crotch.
“I need new friends,” he told his reflection, who nodded back in agreement.
Pakkun let out a gruff snort of alarm before there was a sharp rap on his door. Kakashi glanced down at his crotch and wondered if there really was a beacon, and if Yamato had come calling.
No such luck.
Sakura was standing in the hall outside his apartment, wearing the brightest smile he’d ever seen. For once, he couldn’t immediately tell if her socks matched, or if she had a bra on, because she was actually dressed appropriately for the winter day, swathed in a hefty parka and trudging around in her big boots.
“I brought you coffee,” she said, extending the tray to him. “Except, I wasn’t sure what you like, so I got a bunch of different ones.”
He took the tray warily. “Thanks?”
There were five coffees on the tray, and he could see that she had probably had a tough time balancing them perfectly, because the tray was a little soggy and the white lids had brown splash marks all over them. When he raised his eyes back to hers, he found her staring at him expectedly.
“Are you going to invite me in?” she prompted. It sounded like a terrible idea, but he supposed this was his opportunity to apologize knocking.
He stepped aside and ushered her in, against his better judgement. He plucked the cup that had “non-dairy” noted on the side and placed the other four coffees in front of her. She was quick to pick the cup with the long acronym scribbled along the side once she’d shed her big coat and boots.
Her socks matched. He tried not to feel disappointed.
She was quick to make herself comfortable, quicker than he thought was appropriate, but after what he’d done the night prior, he didn’t think he had a leg to stand on when it came to lectures on decorum, so he let it slide. Pakkun liked her well enough, but then, she’d bribed him with a finger covered in whipped cream. If she’d wagged those fingers in front of his mouth, he’d have sucked on them too.
He choked on his coffee at that thought, catching her attention.
She was staring at him, but not where he expected her to be staring. He took in her pink cheeks and parted lips, and then dropped his eyes to where hers had landed.
Ah. Dick print.
“I—I should go,” she said suddenly, leaping up and collecting her things in a hurry. “I hope the hangover isn’t too bad,” she mumbled to his feet as she stooped over to pick up her boots, not even bothering to put them back on.
He smirked to himself, watching her pink cheeks turn red as her eyes flicked from his feet to his crotch. He probably should have felt objectified, or embarrassed at sporting such a visible semi, but he was just proud. Proud and happy, because he had been a bumbling fool in the presence of her tiny shorts and t-shirts too many times to not revel in the tables finally being turned.
“Okay, bye,” she squeaked as she tore out of his apartment.
“Hey, Sakura?” he called out before he could stop himself. She paused in front of her own door to stare at him in pure, unadulterated fear. He knew that look well. “Thanks,” he said, lifting his coffee to her.
“Y-you’re welcome.”
He hit her with his most arrogant smirk, once again enjoying the pink-cheeked fright she displayed in response.
“And nice socks.”
With one last, unintelligible squeak, she absconded into her apartment.
Kakashi knew what he needed to do. He needed to ease up on this blockage; whack one out and release the tension. The problem was that it just wasn’t cutting it. Every video he pulled up wasn’t quite right, none of the women had pink hair and green eyes, or their breasts were too big, or they were too tall, or a million of other things that used to be inconsequential.
He wished he hadn’t sworn off cheesy porn. At least he could’ve gotten a laugh out of all this.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Plumber! But…I don’t have any money to pay you.”
Kakashi blinked up at his ceiling. Had he really watched so much bad porn in his life that his brain was just hallucinating it now?
“No money? No problem.”
Cue the corny bass line and aggressive male grunting. Kakashi could feel his sad semi slowly coming to life.
“Oh, Mr. Plumber! Is that your snake?”
“Yeah, baby, I’m gonna clean your pipes.”
“My pipes are way too small for that tool!”
Kakashi frowned as the dialogue and moaning continued. It was a little too cheesy, even for him.
Gods, he really was backed up from balls to brain.
He launched himself out of his bed and made a beeline for the hallway, terrifying Pakkun along the way. He would apologize to his dog later; right now, he had a much bigger bone to pick with his neighbour.
He only knocked once when her door flew open to him.
He tried not to leer, really, he did, but there was the tiny white top again, and those shorts that were riding way, way up, and he followed the hem of those shorts down her long legs, all the way to her feet. One pink striped sock, and one plain blue sock.
“My socks don’t match,” she informed him. He flicked his eyes up to meet hers, wide and bright and so hypnotically green. “And I can see your dick through your pants.”
He opened his mouth to say something stupid, but she saved him the embarrassment. Whatever idiotic thing that had almost tumbled out of his mouth came out as a muffled grunt when she yanked him by the collar of his t-shirt down into a hard kiss.
He wasn’t too stunned to miss this opportunity. He immediately let his hands fall to her ass to see if it was as soft as it looked, and by the grace of all the gods, it was. He cupped it graciously, a cheek in each hand that he had no intention to let go of anytime soon. Sakura seemed to be onboard with that plan, pushing her ass back against his hands and sighing into his mouth.
“We’re gonna fuck,” she said, clasping his face between her hands and looking at him with determination set on her face.
“That works for me,” he agreed.
“Good.”
She tightened her arms around his neck and hopped up so she could wrap her legs around his waist, pressing her body flush to his. He held her up by her ass—no complaints there—and slowly made his way toward the bedroom, where he could still hear the distasteful porn going strong.
He let her drop heavily to the bed, watching her lithe body bounce as she gasped for breath, her shirt ridden up so that he could see the gentle curve of her breasts peeking out from under its hem. Whatever he’d done in a past life to deserve this, he was grateful for it.
“You called for a plumber?” he asked, smirking as he leaned over her, hovering just above her, close enough to feel her warmth, but far enough away that, no matter how hard she arched, her chest wouldn’t reach his.
She rolled her eyes but smiled as she snaked her hands behind his neck and up into his hair.
“I need your help,” she said with doe-eyes and a delicious pout. He slowly sank on top of her, lowering his body, bit by bit over hers, relishing in the sweet sigh she let out as he pressed his lips to the side of her neck.
“How can I help you?” he murmured into her skin, sliding his hands up along the sides of her body, pushing at pulling at her tiny, pointless clothes, and pressing his fingertips into the skin he found between them.
“I have some flooding, you see,” she panted out, taking one of his hands in hers and sliding his palm down to her core so he could feel how damp she was through her shorts. He groaned and pressed his lips to hers while he pushed his hand harder against her until her hips were flexing up into him.
“Do you need me to plunge your hole?” he mumbled. She pulled out of his kiss, her lips curling in disgust.
“Stop talking,” she advised.
“Okay.”
He crawled over her, pressing his lips to the soft, exposed skin of her stomach and sternum, all the way up to the hem of her shirt until he was kissing the supple swell of her breast, his nose slowly pushing the fabric up and out of his way as he continued to explore her.
She was writhing around, half as a response to his kisses and licks, and half to reach over her head and hit the spacebar on her laptop to get that godforsaken video to just stop. The more she moved, the higher her top went. Finally, she reached it, letting out a huff of relief when the room went quiet but for the sound of their breathing.
And then he slipped her pretty, pink nipple between his teeth, grazing and licking until she was mewling softly beneath him. Thank the gods she’d stopped that video, because he didn’t want to miss a single sound she made.
She had her hands buried in his hair, her nails gently scraping against his scalp, her fingers tightening around the strands with each pleasurable moan she let out. He let her tug him around, from one breast to the next, and then up to her lips where she slid her tongue into his mouth so he could taste her toothpaste.
“More,” she gasped.
He kissed her harder, sliding a hand under her neck to lift her head close to his so he could slant his mouth across hers, lips parted for their tongues to meet in a hot, dirty dance. He gave her nipple a hard pinch while he nipped at her bottom lip. She broke the kiss with a startled yip.
He didn’t know her well (or, at all, really), but that sharp look in her eye was making him feel equal parts scared and turned on, and he could only surmise that this was a woman on a mission. He could absolutely get on board with that.
It was obscene, the throaty sound he made when her hand slipped between their bodies to stroke him through his pants. If her hand didn’t feel so incredibly hot wrapped around him, he would have had the good sense to be embarrassed, but as she gripped him, squeezing her hand along his shaft and moaning in appreciation, he thought, fuck it, he was here to let loose, and at the rate she was going, he was going to be running on empty before he knew it.
“Can’t believe the sweatpants thing worked,” he mumbled between small moans, pressing two fingers against her seam through her shorts, because he didn’t think it was fair that he was making more noise than she was.
“Gods, you’re so weird,” she moaned. “And hot.”
He thought it was a little unfair that she was calling him weird when she had played bad porn at top volume to engage him in a booty call, but she was flinging them sideways so that she was on top of him, her hand regretfully relinquishing its hold on him so she could push her hands up under his shirt. She wasn’t terribly gentle in undressing him, but he wasn’t complaining.
“So hot,” she whined, swirling her hips over his in a circle, no doubt darkening the grey of his pants with her arousal. Then, her top was flying across the room to join his on the floor somewhere, and she was climbing off of him to wiggle out of her shorts.
He took back every negative thought he ever had about her clothes being useless. They hadn’t left very much to the imagination, but what they had left was fantastic. He could stare at her all night, just like this; standing between his knees, all gentle curves and smooth skin. She stepped closer, her breasts at perfect eye level, creamy and supple, with a little red mark blooming just on the underside where he’d nibbled at her.
Before he could latch on and sprinkle a matching mark on the other side, she ducked down, kissing along his jaw to his ear while her hands busied themselves with his pants and, more importantly, what was in them. He was quickly losing control of the situation, both the one in his pants and the one in front of him, because Sakura was every bit the minx he had hoped she’d be.
She gave him a hard kiss, sinking her teeth into his bottom lip before tugging on it, pulling him down as she dropped to her knees before releasing him. She watched him from under her lashes while she ducked her head, letting her open mouth hover over the outline of his length. He could feel the heat of her breathing through the pants and his hips twitched upwards in response.
“Eager,” she cooed before sealing her mouth over his head and tonguing at him through the fabric. If he were to purely base enjoyment off noise, he wouldn’t be able to tell which of them was having more fun. She was moaning and whining happily around her mouthful of cock, her hand still gripping him up and down his length, enjoying the feeling of him. He heard a string of curses leave his own mouth while her tongue found the slit in his head, licking and sucking at him until pre-cum was pooling on the pants and making them stick to his skin.
His eyes were halfway to the back of his head when he felt her tug the pants down. He was barely cognizant enough to lift his ass so she could pull the waistband around it, but it didn’t seem like she would have cared one way or another. She was singularly focused on one goal, and the moment his pants fell to his ankles, her mouth was on him and he was seeing stars.
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, leaning back on his hand and trying his best to keep his eyes on her, but fuck, she was making it difficult for him to keep his eyes open. She was something else, bobbing away on his dick, sucking and slurping, moaning like she was the one receiving instead of giving.
He bunched her sheets up under his fist to keep himself from burying his hand in her hair and forcing her further along his length. Gods, she looked good with her mouth wrapped around his and eyes half-lidded as she blinked up at him, daring him to look away. He could see her hand working overtime between her legs, her fingers curling in and out of her, slippery and wet, and getting her entrance ready for him.
If this didn’t stop, he was going to bust, and he was sure she would not take too kindly to that.
“Sakura, please,” he gasped. She hummed, low and sweet around him, her eyes sliding shut in ecstasy as grinded her hips down against her hand.
Fuck, she was too much.
He let go of the sheet, his knuckles sore from clenching so hard, and took her face between his hands so he could gently lift her off his cock. He kept his eyes on her, her heavy-lidded eyes, puffy pink lips, and the little dribble of saliva that left her connected to the very place he was refusing to look. He knew he was coated in her saliva, he could feel it as the air of the room hit his skin and made it cool, but he was hanging on by a thread here.
She was still playing with herself, even as she pouted up at him. “I believe that’s my job,” he said pointedly. With a dramatic roll of her eyes, she pulled her hand from between her thighs and lifted her slick fingers to her swollen lips.
He snatched her wrist and dragged her up off her knees, pulling her fingers into his own mouth instead. Their eyes locked as he flicked his tongue between the two fingers and sucked each one clean, taking in the sour-sweet, slightly bitter taste of her.
If he thought he lacked control, Sakura made him look absolutely unexcitable.
The two of them bounced atop her mattress when she pounced on him, and he meant that literally—hands out for grabbing, knees high to land on either side of him in a straddle, and mouth open for attack. Lucky for him, her attacks involved more tongue than teeth, except when she did sink her teeth into his neck, but even then, he was having the time of his life.
“Fuck me,” she mumbled frantically into his mouth between sloppy kisses. She had clearly directed the demand at him, but she was moving before he could even figure out what was where. He barely had a chance to register his dick in her hand before her tight heat was sinking down around him.
He let out a long, guttural groan in tandem with her high, breathless cry as she stretched around him. If feeling and hearing her wasn’t bad enough, he could see over her shoulder to the full-length mirror hanging on the door across from the foot of the bed. He had to focus to keep himself from going cross-eyed at the feeling of her squeezing rhythmically around him, but when he managed to clearly see again, it was worth it.
He could see her perfectly round ass, and his hands gripping each cheek hard while she slowly grinded down on him, and her pink hair cascading down her smooth back while she tossed her head back to cry for him. Her ankles were tucked under her, resting on his thighs, which he wouldn’t have noticed if not for the fact that it put her stupid, mismatched socks on display, and there was something so ludicrous and sexy about it, he found himself tightening his hold on her ass and working her into a faster pace.
It seemed she didn’t need any guidance; she was just getting warmed up. Before long, she had her hands planted on his shoulders, using him for leverage so she could fuck him as fast and hard she desired.
With her new pace and vigor, he had to lean back. He kept one hand on her thigh, massaging and gripping her in equal measure, while he used the other behind his back to prop himself up. He was remiss to relinquishing her ass, but peeking around her to the mirror brought him unforeseeable rewards.
The new angle allowed him a perfect view of her entrance; her slick, puffy lips, encasing his cock over, and over again, leaving a trail of her juices while she rode him.
She’d been going at this for a total of two minutes and he was already going to fucking lose it. The only way to make that acceptable was to take her with him.
He slid the hand he had on her thigh up to the tip of her seam, gently slipping his thumb between her lips to the little nub, and letting her rocking hips do the rest of the work.
“Oh!” she gasped, her hips stuttering and her nails digging into his shoulders. “Oh, oh gods…” she moaned. “Please, please, please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” she cried brokenly, her body quivering and rocking desperately.
He took that as his cue to finally do some of the work here. He sat up abruptly, nearly sending her careening off his lap, but he caught her before disaster struck, and she was too busy chasing her orgasm to care. With the crisis averted and a woman on the brink of climax sitting on his dick, Kakashi got to work.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, using his grip to help her back into a slow rise-and-fall while he rocked up into her, hitting her hard and deep until her eyes were rolling back and her moans were raw and gritty. His thumb continued to rub quick circles into her clit, pushing her relentlessly to the brink.
He felt her walls clamp rhythmically around him, squeezing and gushing and squeezing some more as she came, sobbing quietly against his shoulder.
“Oh, gods, thank you,” she sighed, pressing a wet, lingering kiss to his lips, looking deeply satisfied and dazed. Just when he thought she couldn’t possibly have anything left in her, she surprised him, yet again.
She arched her back, her pert ass lifting before slamming hard against his thighs, rippling deliciously before it went right back up to do it again. A thick white band of cream continued to smear along his cock with every bounce.
“Cum for me,” she panted, her breath hitting his ear and making him shiver, and his balls tighten. “Don’t I feel good, Kakashi?”
“So fucking good,” he groaned. His knuckles were white with how hard he was gripping her ass, but she was completely unfazed. She pushed him until he fell back against the bed, and then rose up to quickly swirl her hips around his tip until it was too late for him to hold back.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hissed, lifting her hips until he fell out of her and then furiously fisting himself until his cum was splashing up onto her back. She just giggled softly, pressing warm, wet kisses along his jaw and neck until he was spent.
He watched as she sat up on top of him, their skin sticking together with spend and sweat, to peek over her shoulder at the view he’d had the good fortune of enjoying the entire ride. She let out an appreciative hum before gasping softly.
“You got cum on my socks!” she complained with a pout.
He craned his neck to send her a scathing look, shaking his head before plopping it back against the mattress to stare up at the ceiling in disbelief.
“I have some news,” Kakashi announced. His friends seemed less than interested.
“Did you finally let Yamato pop your cherry?” Genma quipped.
Kakashi readied himself to deny it, but Obito objected before he could. “Hey, that’s not fair.”
“Thank you,” Kakashi said in appreciation.
“Yamato could do way better than Kakashi,” he finished.
“Thank you,” Yamato said emphatically. Kakashi glared at both of them.
“It’s about the socks,” Kakashi started, raising his voice over their bickering to get their attention again. They looked at him before Yamato and Obito dissolved into a bout of complaining.
“Not this shit again,” Yamato whined.
“Let the man speak, goddammit!” Genma shouted, slamming his fist on the table and leaning over in excitement. “So?”
“It works,” he said simply, with a shrug.
“Fuck yeah!!! I told you bastards, I know what the fuck I’m talking about,” Genma hollered.
“What do you mean it works?” Obito grumbled. “My wife nearly kicked me out.”
“Maybe you did it wrong,” Yamato suggested.
“You think I’m fucking my wife wrong?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Genma offered.
As they continued to argue, Kakashi turned his attention to the phone buzzing away in his pocket.
Sakura [9:58pm]: u free tonight?
Sakura [9:58pm]: Image Attached
Kakashi glanced at his friends to make sure they were still fully engrossed in their battle of wits (or lack thereof) before opening the image. He started, his knee banging against the table as he jumped in his seat. His three friends turned to stare at him in silence.
He tucked his phone away quickly, but he had seen the picture, and he understood, loud and clear.
“I gotta go,” he said quickly, grabbing his jacket and making haste.
Sakura was sitting in her room with her knees pressed to her chest, legs crossed at the ankle, wearing two knee-length socks, one red, one navy, and not a damn thing else, and there was no way in hell he was missing that.
“What? Where?” Obito called out.
“Wear the sweatpants!” Yamato shouted.
“Hey, the bastard didn’t pay his bill again!” Genma cried out, but Kakashi was already out the door, his fingers flying over the keyboard.
On my way. Keep the socks on.