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Ah, and now the very drunken round robin. As in, we were drunk when we wrote it.
...or at least, I was drunk enough for everyone. ;)
Written by:
JBMcDragon, WinterOfOurDiscontent, Nezuko, Momo, and Tangerine. Many thanks to Mac, who read it to us when we were done. ;)
“This is really mean,” Genma giggled madly.
“Shhh,” Raidou hissed.
They both stared down intently. Raidou painted, moving from red to yellow and green again.
“He’s going to KILL us,” Genma said.
“Shhhh,” Raidou hissed again. He grinned madly and settled back on his heels.
Kakashi should have KNOWN better than to drink, as far as Raidou was concerned.
So should Asuma.
And maybe Ibiki.
Though Ibiki might REALLY kill them. Or worse. Much, much worse.
Which was why they did him first, before he woke. They’d have to make a quick escape, that was all there was to that.
Genma giggled again and nearly fell into the table of sake bottles.
Raidou finished painting. They slunk up and out, leaving the three ninja in the bar.
The bartender, handsomely paid off, ignored them all.
Iruka, just walking--well, staggering, if truth be told--didn’t.
“What’re you doing?” he asked, grinning cheerfully. His cheeks were bright pink, as were his eyes--though oddly unfocused.
“Nothing!” Raidou said quickly.
Genma elbowed him; he was terrible at lying. Odd, for a ninja, but that was all right. He had other good qualities.
Iruka just kept smiling. And tipping. He hit the door hard, but didn’t seem to notice that, either. “’S’good!” he announced happily, and staggered onto a table, through a chair--difficult, but not impossible for a ninja--and kept moving.
“Guys!” he said, a tone of surprise in his voice that sounded like he’d just found a student-humping squirrel, “These boys have--“ He seemed to notice that the ‘boys’ he was referring too were both far too old to count as boys, and brightly colored. He finished with, “Such pretty colors!” He giggled and moved, tripping and attacking the floor with his face. Except rather attacked Ibiki’s crotch with his face instead.
This wasn’t good in any situation, but considering Ibiki’s pants were around his ankles and his boxers were covered with lime green paint, it was a particularly bad move.
Raidou and Genma stared in shock and awe, half terrified, half delirious.
Iruka was still face down in the one crotch of the one man in the room who wouldn’t appreciate it properly.
Ibiki roused slowly, with a sound reminiscent of an animal in the woods you were really hoping not to run into. A long, low, drawn-out guttural groan that managed to convey equal parts of undifferentiated native menace and astounding drunkenness.
Iruka heard the sound, muffled and far away, and felt the movement of the massive, lightly furred and heavily-scarred thighs next to his face, and somehow his poor, alcohol-soused brain managed to put together a coherent thought. Well, a series of them. They were: My face is in some guy’s crotch and he’s not even hard. He’s really fucking big. And he’s dangerous. Run!
Iruka scrambled to his feet, and in his haste managed to overturn the last table in the place that was not yet on its side.
In point of fact, it had been overturned earlier in the evening, but Raidou and Genma had set it back upright so they had someplace to put the containers of paint and brushes on. So with the inevitability of a Three Stooges film, they could only watch in horror as the cans went flying, splattering in an equal opportunity fashion over their reasonably innocent victims, their rather more guilty selves, and their completely in the wrong place at the wrong time surroundings.
And, of course, on Iruka too, who fell somewhere between all of the above categories. Though his entire face was already Gai-green, courtesy of Ibiki’s crotch and Raidou’s artistic endeavours.
Kakashi stirred suddenly, sitting up slowly, running his hands through his hair. Raidou and Genma exchanged guilty looks, and Iruka, spurred on by some ages old survival instinct that cut through the fog in his brain and assured him, a little drunkenly, “Kakashi good, Ibiki, very, very bad,” scrambled quickly to Kakashi’s side, clutching him wildly.
“Sensei,” Kakashi mumbled, grinning lopsidedly, touching sticky red fingers to Iruka’s green cheek. “Eh, Good morning.”
“Good evening,” Iruka corrected, then lowered his voice and whispered very loudly, “I think I am going to die. I look very guilty. There is paint in my mouth, and paint on . . .”
Iruka stopped talking as Ibiki slowly turned toward him, grabbing at Kakashi’s arm a little more fiercely. “He is a very scary man. Please make him stop looking at me.”
Kakashi considered this a moment then nodded. “Ibiki, I challenge you to a duel.”
“Oh shit,” Genma said, and Raidou nodded meekly.
Then they ran.
It made sense at the time. Really.
They fled the scene of the accident, though, many hours (no, not days, days was much too long for the Ninja Gossip Rag) earlier than they should have.
After all, they didn’t wait to see what Ibiki’s reaction was.
If they had, they might have noticed his look of stunned drunkenness. Kakashi had the obvious advantage, since he at least appeared to realize what was going on (though he didn’t really). Then they might have seen his casual wave of a hand. “Too hard,” he muttered. “Need more beer.”
At that, Asuma woke up. “Beer?” he said, the word so badly mangled that only other drunken ninja would have recognized it, “I need more.”
Then he passed out again.
In Ibiki’s lap.
Ibiki stared down at the brown head. “Huh,” he said eloquently. “That looks dirty.” He drank more beer--after grabbing for his pint too many times. He would, of course, deny it in the morning. (But not the dirty part. In fact, he told that part much worse than it was, but if we went into detail here we’d get a higher rating.)
“It does,” Kakashi agreed, his arm somehow moving around Iruka’s shoulders. He smiled sloppily, but you couldn’t really tell since it he still wore his mask. “I bet I could look dirtier.”
Iruka reached out for a random pint that was still sitting on the table, grabbed the pint on his third try, and took several gulps. “I bet you could,” he said, leaning comfortably against the other man’s shoulder.
He didn’t know Kakashi. In fact, if he remembered correctly--which he wouldn’t, until morning and soberness returned--he kind of didn’t like Kakashi.
LUSTED after him, sure. But like him? Well . . . that was hard to say.
At the moment, though, it didn’t matter all that much. It was a warm body, nice, firm warm body, and it was leaning against him just as hard. And the owner of this nice, warm body was looking him with a nice, hot smouldering look.
“Want me to show you?” Kakashi half purred it, tugging on Iruka earlobe with his fingers.
“I’d like to see it!” Ibiki offered, wondering if it mattered. “Damn, need . . . more.” It was hard to tell if he meant he needed more motion from the head in his lap, or he needed more beer in his cup.
“No, want to fuck instead?” Iruka grinned, broadly, then twisted, and set his hand on Kakashi’s pale blue painted boxers. On a side note, he was quite happy to feel this thinly covered cock swelling quickly.
“Ahh,” Kakashi groaned, tilting his head back. “Fuck yeah!”
“Good for you!” Ibiki half cheered, poking Asuma’s head.
Asuma’s head lolled slightly at the prodding, which, Ibiki found, felt pretty damn good.
“Do tha’ again,” he said, pushing the head again.
The head lolled, the good feeling intensified, and Ibiki grinned at Kakashi and Iruka. “Feels good. S’kinda dirty,” he observed again, in the way the drunk are apt to do.
“I wanna fuck now,” Iruka insisted, tugging at Kakashi’s paint-covered shorts.
Kakashi gyrated his hips, pushing into Iruka’s hands and shimmying out of the sticky underwear.
“Fuck, you got blue hair,” Iruka said, staring not at Kakashi’s lovely erect cock, but the paint-slathered fur surrounding it.
“S’not blue,” Kakashi said. “It’s silver. Like my hair.”
“It’s not blue hair you gotta worry about, Shenshei,” Ibiki said, prodding Asuma’s head again. Asuma lowered his head, getting closer to his destination, while Iruka and Kakashi kept arguing about the difference between paint and naturally silver hair.
Eventually, the thought made its way through Kakashi’s drunken mind that the time they were spending arguing about colours was time they weren’t spending having sex. And that, obviously, was a Bad Thing.
“Iruka,” Kakashi drawled wisely, “a closer inspection is in order.”
Iruka hummed, smiling to himself, warm and happy and drunk, and pointedly not thinking about anything other than Kakashi’s blue-silver hair and, a moment later, the cock arcing tantalisingly from it. Suddenly whether or not he liked Kakashi was no longer a problem. Iruka knew one thing for sure: he really liked Kakashi’s cock.
As much as Asuma liked Ibiki’s, apparently.
Iruka blinked owlishly.
“Iruka,” Kakashi said, combing his fingers through Iruka’s hair, pulling the tie out. With the slightest pressure, Kakashi urged Iruka’s attention back to his cock. “It’s impolite to stare. Don’t you teach your students anything, sensei?”
“Not about this,” Iruka muttered, extending his tongue, cautiously tasting.
Oh, yeah. He really, really liked Kakashi’s cock.
“All right, all right, break that up,” the bartender said, shovelling into the table and jostling the oh-so-important alcohol. Hands that, previously doing terribly important things, were suddenly doing the more important things of catching alcohol.
“Wait--I was--“ Ibiki started, looking longingly at Asuma.
The bartender, though, was sadly an ex-shinobi. He wasn’t afraid of ANYTHING. (except, occasionally, Gai. But that was understandable.)
He glared. Not only glared, but Glared. *Glared*, even. “Out.”
Ibiki whimpered. Kakashi nearly cried. Iruka just hung onto Kakashi, still grinning like a loon (you see, he had ideas as to what could be done when they left).
“OUT!” the bartender bellowed.
They might have argued. Being ninja, they might even have fought. But they were drunken ninja, and none of them were Rock Lee. So, one by one, they filed sadly out of the bar.
Asuma remembered he had Kurenai waiting (though he didn’t remember her threats as to how long it would be until they had sex again, should he come home drunk) and Ibiki had Anko (which might explain why he was so excited about Asuma) and Kakashi, apparently, had Iruka (who, sadly, would pass out as soon as they got back to Kakashi’s).
In fact, the only people to have a good night after the painting episode were, ironically, Raidou and Genma.
Who had lots of sex.
Kinky sex, even.
And if we described it here, it would hit every turn-on you have.
But we aren’t going to describe it here. In fact, we’re just going to leave you wishing we would.
And all the painted Jounin? Well, they went home. Got laughed at. And really, really wished they knew who’d done it.
But Genma and Raidou were home having sex all night, of course. The neighbours could attest to that.
ALL the Jounin checked.
Except Ibiki. He forgot the whole damn thing.
The End.
...or at least, I was drunk enough for everyone. ;)
Written by:
JBMcDragon, WinterOfOurDiscontent, Nezuko, Momo, and Tangerine. Many thanks to Mac, who read it to us when we were done. ;)
“This is really mean,” Genma giggled madly.
“Shhh,” Raidou hissed.
They both stared down intently. Raidou painted, moving from red to yellow and green again.
“He’s going to KILL us,” Genma said.
“Shhhh,” Raidou hissed again. He grinned madly and settled back on his heels.
Kakashi should have KNOWN better than to drink, as far as Raidou was concerned.
So should Asuma.
And maybe Ibiki.
Though Ibiki might REALLY kill them. Or worse. Much, much worse.
Which was why they did him first, before he woke. They’d have to make a quick escape, that was all there was to that.
Genma giggled again and nearly fell into the table of sake bottles.
Raidou finished painting. They slunk up and out, leaving the three ninja in the bar.
The bartender, handsomely paid off, ignored them all.
Iruka, just walking--well, staggering, if truth be told--didn’t.
“What’re you doing?” he asked, grinning cheerfully. His cheeks were bright pink, as were his eyes--though oddly unfocused.
“Nothing!” Raidou said quickly.
Genma elbowed him; he was terrible at lying. Odd, for a ninja, but that was all right. He had other good qualities.
Iruka just kept smiling. And tipping. He hit the door hard, but didn’t seem to notice that, either. “’S’good!” he announced happily, and staggered onto a table, through a chair--difficult, but not impossible for a ninja--and kept moving.
“Guys!” he said, a tone of surprise in his voice that sounded like he’d just found a student-humping squirrel, “These boys have--“ He seemed to notice that the ‘boys’ he was referring too were both far too old to count as boys, and brightly colored. He finished with, “Such pretty colors!” He giggled and moved, tripping and attacking the floor with his face. Except rather attacked Ibiki’s crotch with his face instead.
This wasn’t good in any situation, but considering Ibiki’s pants were around his ankles and his boxers were covered with lime green paint, it was a particularly bad move.
Raidou and Genma stared in shock and awe, half terrified, half delirious.
Iruka was still face down in the one crotch of the one man in the room who wouldn’t appreciate it properly.
Ibiki roused slowly, with a sound reminiscent of an animal in the woods you were really hoping not to run into. A long, low, drawn-out guttural groan that managed to convey equal parts of undifferentiated native menace and astounding drunkenness.
Iruka heard the sound, muffled and far away, and felt the movement of the massive, lightly furred and heavily-scarred thighs next to his face, and somehow his poor, alcohol-soused brain managed to put together a coherent thought. Well, a series of them. They were: My face is in some guy’s crotch and he’s not even hard. He’s really fucking big. And he’s dangerous. Run!
Iruka scrambled to his feet, and in his haste managed to overturn the last table in the place that was not yet on its side.
In point of fact, it had been overturned earlier in the evening, but Raidou and Genma had set it back upright so they had someplace to put the containers of paint and brushes on. So with the inevitability of a Three Stooges film, they could only watch in horror as the cans went flying, splattering in an equal opportunity fashion over their reasonably innocent victims, their rather more guilty selves, and their completely in the wrong place at the wrong time surroundings.
And, of course, on Iruka too, who fell somewhere between all of the above categories. Though his entire face was already Gai-green, courtesy of Ibiki’s crotch and Raidou’s artistic endeavours.
Kakashi stirred suddenly, sitting up slowly, running his hands through his hair. Raidou and Genma exchanged guilty looks, and Iruka, spurred on by some ages old survival instinct that cut through the fog in his brain and assured him, a little drunkenly, “Kakashi good, Ibiki, very, very bad,” scrambled quickly to Kakashi’s side, clutching him wildly.
“Sensei,” Kakashi mumbled, grinning lopsidedly, touching sticky red fingers to Iruka’s green cheek. “Eh, Good morning.”
“Good evening,” Iruka corrected, then lowered his voice and whispered very loudly, “I think I am going to die. I look very guilty. There is paint in my mouth, and paint on . . .”
Iruka stopped talking as Ibiki slowly turned toward him, grabbing at Kakashi’s arm a little more fiercely. “He is a very scary man. Please make him stop looking at me.”
Kakashi considered this a moment then nodded. “Ibiki, I challenge you to a duel.”
“Oh shit,” Genma said, and Raidou nodded meekly.
Then they ran.
It made sense at the time. Really.
They fled the scene of the accident, though, many hours (no, not days, days was much too long for the Ninja Gossip Rag) earlier than they should have.
After all, they didn’t wait to see what Ibiki’s reaction was.
If they had, they might have noticed his look of stunned drunkenness. Kakashi had the obvious advantage, since he at least appeared to realize what was going on (though he didn’t really). Then they might have seen his casual wave of a hand. “Too hard,” he muttered. “Need more beer.”
At that, Asuma woke up. “Beer?” he said, the word so badly mangled that only other drunken ninja would have recognized it, “I need more.”
Then he passed out again.
In Ibiki’s lap.
Ibiki stared down at the brown head. “Huh,” he said eloquently. “That looks dirty.” He drank more beer--after grabbing for his pint too many times. He would, of course, deny it in the morning. (But not the dirty part. In fact, he told that part much worse than it was, but if we went into detail here we’d get a higher rating.)
“It does,” Kakashi agreed, his arm somehow moving around Iruka’s shoulders. He smiled sloppily, but you couldn’t really tell since it he still wore his mask. “I bet I could look dirtier.”
Iruka reached out for a random pint that was still sitting on the table, grabbed the pint on his third try, and took several gulps. “I bet you could,” he said, leaning comfortably against the other man’s shoulder.
He didn’t know Kakashi. In fact, if he remembered correctly--which he wouldn’t, until morning and soberness returned--he kind of didn’t like Kakashi.
LUSTED after him, sure. But like him? Well . . . that was hard to say.
At the moment, though, it didn’t matter all that much. It was a warm body, nice, firm warm body, and it was leaning against him just as hard. And the owner of this nice, warm body was looking him with a nice, hot smouldering look.
“Want me to show you?” Kakashi half purred it, tugging on Iruka earlobe with his fingers.
“I’d like to see it!” Ibiki offered, wondering if it mattered. “Damn, need . . . more.” It was hard to tell if he meant he needed more motion from the head in his lap, or he needed more beer in his cup.
“No, want to fuck instead?” Iruka grinned, broadly, then twisted, and set his hand on Kakashi’s pale blue painted boxers. On a side note, he was quite happy to feel this thinly covered cock swelling quickly.
“Ahh,” Kakashi groaned, tilting his head back. “Fuck yeah!”
“Good for you!” Ibiki half cheered, poking Asuma’s head.
Asuma’s head lolled slightly at the prodding, which, Ibiki found, felt pretty damn good.
“Do tha’ again,” he said, pushing the head again.
The head lolled, the good feeling intensified, and Ibiki grinned at Kakashi and Iruka. “Feels good. S’kinda dirty,” he observed again, in the way the drunk are apt to do.
“I wanna fuck now,” Iruka insisted, tugging at Kakashi’s paint-covered shorts.
Kakashi gyrated his hips, pushing into Iruka’s hands and shimmying out of the sticky underwear.
“Fuck, you got blue hair,” Iruka said, staring not at Kakashi’s lovely erect cock, but the paint-slathered fur surrounding it.
“S’not blue,” Kakashi said. “It’s silver. Like my hair.”
“It’s not blue hair you gotta worry about, Shenshei,” Ibiki said, prodding Asuma’s head again. Asuma lowered his head, getting closer to his destination, while Iruka and Kakashi kept arguing about the difference between paint and naturally silver hair.
Eventually, the thought made its way through Kakashi’s drunken mind that the time they were spending arguing about colours was time they weren’t spending having sex. And that, obviously, was a Bad Thing.
“Iruka,” Kakashi drawled wisely, “a closer inspection is in order.”
Iruka hummed, smiling to himself, warm and happy and drunk, and pointedly not thinking about anything other than Kakashi’s blue-silver hair and, a moment later, the cock arcing tantalisingly from it. Suddenly whether or not he liked Kakashi was no longer a problem. Iruka knew one thing for sure: he really liked Kakashi’s cock.
As much as Asuma liked Ibiki’s, apparently.
Iruka blinked owlishly.
“Iruka,” Kakashi said, combing his fingers through Iruka’s hair, pulling the tie out. With the slightest pressure, Kakashi urged Iruka’s attention back to his cock. “It’s impolite to stare. Don’t you teach your students anything, sensei?”
“Not about this,” Iruka muttered, extending his tongue, cautiously tasting.
Oh, yeah. He really, really liked Kakashi’s cock.
“All right, all right, break that up,” the bartender said, shovelling into the table and jostling the oh-so-important alcohol. Hands that, previously doing terribly important things, were suddenly doing the more important things of catching alcohol.
“Wait--I was--“ Ibiki started, looking longingly at Asuma.
The bartender, though, was sadly an ex-shinobi. He wasn’t afraid of ANYTHING. (except, occasionally, Gai. But that was understandable.)
He glared. Not only glared, but Glared. *Glared*, even. “Out.”
Ibiki whimpered. Kakashi nearly cried. Iruka just hung onto Kakashi, still grinning like a loon (you see, he had ideas as to what could be done when they left).
“OUT!” the bartender bellowed.
They might have argued. Being ninja, they might even have fought. But they were drunken ninja, and none of them were Rock Lee. So, one by one, they filed sadly out of the bar.
Asuma remembered he had Kurenai waiting (though he didn’t remember her threats as to how long it would be until they had sex again, should he come home drunk) and Ibiki had Anko (which might explain why he was so excited about Asuma) and Kakashi, apparently, had Iruka (who, sadly, would pass out as soon as they got back to Kakashi’s).
In fact, the only people to have a good night after the painting episode were, ironically, Raidou and Genma.
Who had lots of sex.
Kinky sex, even.
And if we described it here, it would hit every turn-on you have.
But we aren’t going to describe it here. In fact, we’re just going to leave you wishing we would.
And all the painted Jounin? Well, they went home. Got laughed at. And really, really wished they knew who’d done it.
But Genma and Raidou were home having sex all night, of course. The neighbours could attest to that.
ALL the Jounin checked.
Except Ibiki. He forgot the whole damn thing.
The End.