Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Let us begin with our hero: 

the sort of man who is known to be strong, considered smart(ish), and judged as noble (sometimes)...
a man who is displaying approximately none of these characteristics in the immediate moment.

Goddamn, I feel sorry for all the folks who don't have huge dogs to nap on. They're seriously missing out.

Kiba gazed up through the waving branches above him, eyelids heavy. He felt equally sorry for all the folks currently on away missions. Spring had recently sprung in Konoha, so the whole village was blooming. All the trees were putting out their very best leaves for the occasion, as well they should (leaves were very serious business around these parts). 

Kiba huffed a nose-full of fresh air and rolled over, burying his face in his companion's fur. Akamaru gave a contented grunt and dozed on, long-practiced in the finer aspects of being a pillow.

"KIBA!"

The man cracked an eye open and strained his peripheral vision to see his mother's canine partner Kuromaru bounding towards them. He looked kind of pissed.

Kiba groaned, but otherwise didn't move. Maybe playing dead would work this time.

Not in the mood for shenanigans, the giant wolf-dog barreled straight into Kiba's ribs to bring himself to a stop. He snapped his teeth in the air impatiently as Kiba rolled away swearing. "You infernal whelp, the clan meeting started an hour ago! Get your hind in gear!"

"Fuckin' hell, Kuro..." Kiba groaned, cradling his side as he sat up. "Y'ever heard the phrase 'unnecessary use of force'?"

Kuromaru slammed a paw into the ground. "Don't give me that! Up, boy, UP! It has been weeks since you were designated as the heir, yet you seem oblivious to the most minimal requirements of the position!" He underlined his words with a low growl. 

Kiba turned his head slightly and side-eyed the beast. "...I was born the heir."

The growl rattling Kuromaru's chest kicked up a few decibels, indicating that this pedantry was not well received. 

Kiba studied the hound's lopsided expression for any hint of his orders. There was a solid chance Tsume had granted preemptive clearance for her son to be physically dragged back to the clan compound, as she was not one to pass up any opportunity to humiliate her children (even if that opportunity was linked with official clan business). She knew full well there'd be no love lost between them over a few oozing bite marks—considering they're a regular occurrence in Inuzuka disagreements—besides which, the many memories of his dirty, scowling self being tugged up to the front door like something the dogs had found half-dead in the road still made his mother laugh hard enough to piss herself. 

Kiba glanced at Akamaru, who was busy slowly stretching out his back legs. Akamaru swung his head around, fixing Kiba with a look that spoke volumes—Don't push your luck, buddy—only to yawn and casually gaze into the foliage above them like he hadn't also been playing truant. Kiba glowered back, but got to his feet anyway, rolling his shoulders against the sun-warmed leather of his jacket.

Kuromaru's teeth were showing, but he kept them to himself, sitting back on his sizable haunches to give Kiba the old fish eye. "Why are you so resistant to your duties? If you had no intention to take them seriously, you—"

"Aw, gimme a break, Kuro," Kiba sighed, swiping a hand over his face. "We have the same damn meeting every month. Konoha's in peace time, the clan's doin' fine, and unless something's happened since I've been out here, I can't see what the hell new stuff there is to talk about."

"Surely your mother told you what was to be discussed, as it directly involves you, you fool."

"Uh..." Kiba vaguely recalled his mother talking at him over breakfast. 

Kuromaru snorted disapproval at his blank look. "Additionally, clan elders are attending. Your absence bears reconsideration."

Kiba rolled his eyes, swatting at his backside a few times to knock dirt off. "Yeah, but they show up at, like, every other meeting to bitch about stuff."

"If you ever bothered to listen to your mother, you would know exactly what kind of bitching is on the docket," Kuromaru grumbled, still eyeing Kiba sternly. "Even your heavily pregnant sister is attending, and she was five minutes early."

"Yeah, well, turns out Hana's empty social calendar ain't really a motivating factor for me." Kiba shrugged a shoulder dismissively. "Doubt anybody'll die if I skip out."

Kuromaru snorted again. "You just might, if you make your mother wait long enough." He turned back the way he came, breaking into a casual trot. "I would advise you get moving, pup."

Excellent point, solid advice, but Kiba flicked a middle finger at Kuromaru's shrinking hindquarters anyway. He sighed as a big furry head butted up under his arm, and scritched behind the proffered ear. "Don't suppose you happen to know what I'm walking into here, eh, 'kamaru?"

'Nope, wasn't listening. Breakfast was very distracting today.'

"You eat the same thing every goddamn morning."

Akamaru made a hoarse snickering sound. 'So do you.' 

"Ah, shut it." Kiba shoved his fuzzy partner, who continued to laugh at his problems. "Let's get the fuck home and get this shit over with."

Tsume was tossing the final seating cushion into the corner when she smelled her wildest child coming into the yard. She shared an irritated look with her daughter, who was seated across the large hall on a chair.

Hana raised an eyebrow over the rim of her tea cup.

An assortment of feet tramped down the narrow hallway leading in. The unhurried nature of the sound made Tsume's jaw clench against her best efforts. She ran her tongue over her teeth testily as her son finally entered with his dog entourage. A number of clan members were still scattered around in hushed conversation, but all eyes locked onto the heir immediately. The younger ones tried to act nonchalant (keyword being tried). The older ones grinned as if deranged (very likely). Kiba didn't seem to notice, doing his best to pretend remorse (see also: horseshit). 

Tsume snarled quietly, snapping for Kiba's attention and pointing him towards his sister with an irate claw as she moved to intercept the geezer brigade that was hobbling his way. Dealing with her sometimes stupid offspring was trouble enough without bored old farts stirring the pot.

Kiba slowly changed direction, eyeing the old folks surrounding his mother. One of them gestured at him, barely keeping the false teeth in her mouth, and then the whole group laughed like they were at a comedy show; another one shifted forward to wink and pat Tsume heartily on the arm, though it's possible he was just having a stroke. Given, the clan elders were elder enough to have one foot in Camp Senile on any given day, but the strange tension in every other pair of eyes following his progress across the room set alarm bells clanging in Kiba's head. 

He looked askance at Hana, who set her tea down and smiled at him. "Oh look, my favorite brother's here!"

Kiba rolled his eyes and put his back to the wall beside her. "Neat-o! Maybe he can sub in for me at these goddamn things."

"He'll have to learn how to read a clock first."

"That's a hard ask."

Hana moaned in response, suddenly pressing a hand to the side of her swollen belly, forehead creasing in pain. She breathed deeply for a few moments, then leaned her head back, voice tight. "Based on the way he's trying to murder me, I guarantee this kid is gonna make ANBU... little shit." She stroked her stomach with a tired sort of fondness.

Kiba grunted his assent (those tiny feet were vicious). "Yeah, well, let's put a pin in Baby's career options 'til he actually moves out. What'd I miss? Why do the olds keep looking at me like that?" The group was still in animated conversation with his mother, but the beady eyes peering at him were making the hair on the back of his neck prickle. 

Hana yawned as she scratched Akamaru's head, conveniently placed on her leg. "There was a fascinating debate about how much sluttier you've gotten. Almost everyone agreed you need to show more personal responsibility as the incoming clan head."

"Responsibility?" Kiba snorted. "Sure. Hokage-sama thinks I'll make squad leader within the year, but I need to show more responsibility. Fuckin' obviously."

Hana's expression was mild. "I'd wager our elders consider the prestige of ANBU black ops somewhat diminished by the coexistent reality of you dicking down everything in a skirt when you're not on a mission."

"Like they weren't doin' the same exact thing before their junk turned antique, those old fu—"

"What the hell, boy!" 

Tsume advanced on her children, teeth flashing, eyes fierce. The fogies were still clustered a ways off, muttering amongst themselves and leering. 

"Sorry, Ma." Kiba made an effort to sound contrite, though his sneer ruined it somewhat. "Time really got away from me today."

"Then remind me to staple a planner to your ass," Tsume growled. Her glare made Kiba itch. "Did Hana tell you?"

Kiba scowled. "She told me my healthy sexuality's controversial."

Tsume closed her eyes, likely taking a moment to consider the possibility that her son was karmic payback for her own youthful hell-raising. She sighed away another measure of sanity. "Look, realistically, you can keep fucking around as much as you want, but the fact is we're a matrilineal bunch. So from a legal standpoint, males stepping up to lead means inheritance becomes an issue. Your sister'd be a different matter, but any mother of your children has to agree to become part of this family, which means things need to get a little more official, savvy?"

Hana was absolute shit at summaries. Kiba's spine involuntarily snapped him to attention. "Whoa, whoa, hold up, how the fuck did we jump to the M-of-my-C word all of a sudden?"

His mother's eyes were flat. "Don't tell me you're unaware how gene transmission works."

"'Course I am, and I've been taking active measures to avoid it. Also, what the fuck do you mean by official?" 

"Marriage, Kiba."

"The fuck?" Kiba's jaw dropped. "Ma, come on, I'm too young for that shit!"

Tsume stared him down. "My generation was gettin' married and mated much younger."

"So?" Kiba spat, teeth half-bared. "Times change, and I'm fuckin' busy. And I still don't get why Hana can't just do this inheritance shit. She's oldest, and she's already growing a kid. Why should I have to start busting my nuts over this?"

"Yes, she is the oldest..." His mother exhibited a rare moment of fatigue, massaging her forehead with the heels of her hands, "and following tradition, if the clan head—which is me—has more than one child available to inherit—which I do—the firstborn gets to choose whether they want to inherit—which she did. Choose, that is. And she chose not to. Truly, you have got to stop skipping these goddamn meetings."

"But that's not—"

Hana cut in. "I want to have a kid without clan duties attached. I know I told you."

Kiba glared at her. "But this is such old-fashioned bullshit!"

"Such is life." Hana's gaze floated up toward the ceiling, hand back on her belly. "You want to talk old-fashioned bullshit? Consider yourself lucky you won't be the party responsible for pushing a large fleshy gourd out of your nether regions." 

"But—"

"Shut it." Tsume looked dangerously close to cuffing him. "As far as your nut-busting is concerned: successful clans grow. We live in prosperous times, and the elders want options."

"Sounds like the elders have too much fucking time on their hands" Kiba growled, upper lip curling. "Maybe they oughta take up water aerobics, or goddamned basket weaving."

Tsume fixed him with her flinty gaze. "Whine all you want. They're demanding their worries get addressed before you become Alpha. I advocated for you, but compromise is part of any negotiation, and the wheels are already in motion. Your primary objectives are to be respectful when called for and show up, for gods sakes."

Kiba bristled. "I'm respectful as shit! And what goddamn things?"

"Some old-school protocols are being revived," Tsume said, tone revealing nothing. "I understand the protest, but it's not completely up to me."

"It definitely fucking is," Kiba grumbled through his teeth. "You just don't want a mutiny of old people on your hands."

"Until the Konoha Community Center steps up its offerings, the old dogs need bones to gnaw. Better yours than mine." Tsume shrugged and started to walk off. When she reached the door, she threw an ominous grin over her shoulder. "Just relax for now. Live your life. You don't have anything to worry about until Elder Hachiko's arrival." Then she disappeared down the corridor.

Kiba glared after her, too riled for shock to set in. "Am I supposed to know who the hell that is?"

His sister sipped her tea. "Wouldn't save you even if you did."

"I gotta call the hospital. See if I can get a scan done." Genma was facedown on the table, a caricature of sadness.

"And why, pray tell, would you need a scan?" Shikamaru spoke to the sky, fingers laced behind his head, utterly unmoved.

"Because that she-devil pulverized my heart! Geez, listen better. Some friend you are."

"Shame she didn't get your voice box too," Kiba groused, nursing a beer on Genma's other side. He was feeling decidedly surly.

He'd headed to the mission center directly after the meeting, thirsty for sanctioned violence, and lucked into a well-paying gig to hand some rogues their own asses. Then he'd stopped by the lounge to check his mailbox and found Genma draped on the couch like sad laundry, with Shikamaru parked beside him looking like he was trying to listen without killing himself. They'd both looked up at him with equal degrees of hope, and Kiba was the worst sucker for puppy eyes. 

Since Genma refused to quit whining, Kiba had insisted that, for everyone's sanity, they retire to a bar. And since Genma was not nearly as sad as he was pretending to be, he'd dragged them to a painfully trendy place that was already playing its music too loud. Shikamaru had been dealing with Genma longer and was impatient for booze, so Kiba figured, what the hell, alcohol is alcohol no matter how many unnatural colors it comes in. Besides, the back patio of the place was deserted and almost pleasant with the warm breeze blowing through, despite the insistent muted pulse of techno permeating the air.

"You guys are both dicks," Genma said, propping himself up enough to tongue the straw of his neon blue hurricane into his mouth.

Shikamaru stood and stretched long arms above his head. "Call it inborn response to drama queens." He grabbed his empty glass and waved it at Kiba. "You want another?"

Kiba gave a casual salute, adding, "Whiskey this time, rocks," and Shikamaru braved the portal to the bass-drop dungeon once more.

Kiba turned his near-empty bottle in his hands, reflecting on the fact that he'd been having a great day until one short conversation had derailed probably his entire life going forward. He chewed on the inside of his lip. Ain't that just the way... What a fucking racket. If I didn't love Hana so much, I'd fucking hate her right now. 

The heir bullshit wouldn't stick in his craw so badly if he'd been given any options for deferring until things were more settled in his life. He'd been working so goddamn hard the last few years to attain an upper rank in the black ops, but apparently nobody in his stupid family gave a shit about shinobi prestige... No, no, the mundane skill of squirting babies into somebody—some wife—was obviously way more impressive, and he should just shove his opinions up his ass. 

Genma heaved a morose sigh, rousing Kiba from his dark thoughts. He inspected the other jounin critically. All highly skilled ninjas had some go-to de-stressor, and for Genma, love was the answer, or so he claimed; whether he was ever truly in love was debatable. Either way, his relationship addiction had gotten out of hand a long time ago. 

Kiba jabbed his bottle at him. "To echo Shikamaru: 'this happens every month, you consummate sad-sack.'"

Genma affected a wounded expression, forehead wrinkling. "Uh, more like every other month, thank you very little." He slurped his drink obnoxiously.

"Yeah, yeah." Kiba rolled his eyes. "You just wanna get wasted at three in the afternoon."

"I'm drowning my sorrows. Straight-up assassinating the fuckers. I should get mission pay for this." Genma pulled his straw and chugged the last of the blue slush as he got to his feet. "Besides, I don't recall having to twist your arm any."

Kiba's jaw tensed. He downed the rest of his beer and lobbed the bottle into the trashcan across the patio with more vehemence than necessary. He wondered why Shikamaru was taking so long.

Genma headed for the patio door, but it opened before he got there. A tired-looking Naruto slipped out in a cloud of dubstep. Shikamaru brought up the rear, drinks in hand, and kicked the door shut behind him. Kiba raised his eyebrows, surprise lifting his mood a little. "Okay, I know why we're here, but why're you here?"

Shikamaru passed him his whiskey while Naruto sank into Genma's seat, expression turning sour.

"Because Konohamaru's a traitor. Just came off a mission with them, and Moegi was like 'let's get a drink', so I'm like 'why not', and he was all 'hell yeah', but the fucker bailed as soon as my order came." The blond glared vaguely at the table. "He left me in a circle of Moegi's gal pals. And this place has Cosmos on tap, so they just go off."

Shikamaru was struggling to keep a straight face as he lounged back in his chair. "Did they try to get you to take your shirt off again?"

Naruto looked very glum. "No, but one of 'em groped me so hard I'm gonna have divots in my ass." 

Kiba sniggered into his drink. Naruto'd had an upsurge in popularity in recent years, which continued to be a source of entertainment to those close to him (entirely at his expense, of course).

"Laugh it up, dog breath. See how you like it when they're tweaking your nipples…" Naruto trailed off like he was having war flashbacks.

Kiba started laughing outright, and their future hokage came out of his trauma enough to flip him off. 

Genma, still standing behind them, gave a low whistle. "Gal pals, nipple tweaks, and grab-ass. Knew I came here for a reason."

Naruto sighed miserably. "I don't get no respect, no respect at all."

Genma blasted them with bass on his way back inside. "Who needs respect when you can have muthafuckin' TEQUILA SHOTS?!"

The door slammed on this portentous announcement. Naruto leaned back with an "ugh" and tipped the rest of his drink down his throat. Shikamaru met Kiba's gaze with a resigned look and clinked their glasses together. "We are so getting alcohol poisoning."

Genma was deep in the crying stage of drunkenness. "But she, she had sucha nice ass."

Naruto, following the time-honored customs of the severely wasted friend, was nodding slowly and petting his hair. " 'm sure.. 'nother nice ass'll come along t'morrow."

Kiba observed this tender tableau, weaving a little in his seat, and mused over when exactly the night had gone to hell. Probably the fifth round of tequila.

Initially, the addition of shots to everyone's chosen social lubricants had been a good thing, with Shikamaru turning more liquid in his seat and Naruto losing his dead-eyed stare (Genma remained annoying, but they were drinking alcohol, not miracle juice). By and by, the tension Kiba had been carrying all day seeped out of his muscles; around the time Shikamaru was drunk enough to shove a finger in his face with a don't-think-I-haven't-noticed-something-crawled-up-your-ass-today-buddy, he was loose enough to spill what was bugging him. His revelation had surprised everyone into silence, as no one present had had any real experience with their entire family ordering them to cease their harlotry and make with the babies already. But before things could slant moody again, Genma (ever the reliable agent of chaos) started moaning a lot and calling Kiba 'Mr. Big Dick' in an unsettling cutesy voice; needless to say, it was kind of hard to be serious after that.

Unfortunately, chaos flows both ways. On Genma's third venture for tequila, he'd engaged in some unlawful mingling with Moegi's brood, returning with both a tray of mezcal and a giggly train of drunk ladies traipsing behind him. Subsequently, things took a turn.

It hadn't seemed like a bad thing at first, since the girls were cute and booze made Kiba foolish for pretty faces; he'd had some laughs, engaged in some heavy flirting, took a body shot off a curvy brunette with gusto... But then she'd turned to her friends and screamed that she'd just been licked by the Big Dick guy—voice a near-perfect replica of Genma's "sexy babydoll" impression—and then they'd all started squealing, which sucked all the fun out of it (figuratively speaking). So by the time the next gulp of tequila floated his way, Kiba had lodged himself back in the mode of Drinking to Forget.

Now he was leaning heavily on the table, pressing his hands against his temples. Someone had propped the door open at some point as the bar crowd swelled outward, and the patio's dim lights seemed to be throbbing in time with the speakers inside. Kiba was trying to get his brain to stop doing the same thing, with little success. 

Body-shot Brunette had been glued to his side the whole time, yammering away. She'd been downing strawberry daiquiris all night, and seemed to be working off the extra sugar by never shutting up. "…so I just told that no-good butthole to get out of my life, and that I never wanted to see him again! And he never came back! And I said, 'Good riddance, if I ever see your cheating butt again, I'm going to have my new boyfriend kick it!'. It's pretty lucky he hasn't come back, though, because I haven't got a new boyfriend yet..."

Giving up on his pulsing brain, Kiba sat back and took a long pull of his whiskey, pondering the relative merits of euthanasia.

"So anyway... are you single? A big, strong man like you probably beats the girls off with a stick.. a big, big stick..."

Kiba turned, brows flat over his eyes in inebriate contemplation, to see Body-shot fluttering her lashes at him. Her lip-licking indicated a deep hunger for sausage; her eyes on his crotch made it clear she was yearning for Kiba's brand of gourmet wiener in particular. 

"Uhhhh..." Stalling, Kiba swiveled his head around, squinting into the pandemonium on the impromptu dance floor that had emerged on the other side of the patio. A number of people were bumping around under the swinging lights, including Moegi, whose hair had long since fluffed out of her pigtails, making her look like some kind of rave lion. Bewilderingly, Shikamaru was next to her doing a slow cabbage patch, smoothing his hands all over his body like he was on ecstasy; this was problematic for a few reasons, mainly that Kiba had been counting on his comradeship in this conflict.

He swung his head back to check on the other two. Naruto was falling asleep sitting up, face in his hands, elbows propped on Genma's back as the idiot sobbed into his lap. Fucking useless.

Kiba felt a sticky finger trace up the outer edge of his clan tattoo. "Hey, Mr. Big," Body-shot giggle-whispered next to his ear, "what's your answer, huh? I'm so curious... Like, big curious..." A hand crept up his thigh with pointed determination, destination clear. 

It was some kind of sick luck on his part that the one night he wasn't in the mood at all, he'd managed to attract the horniest woman in Konoha. Kiba considered straight-up lying to her to protect his bygone virtue, but his macho pride wouldn't allow it (we all have our crosses to bear). This was all Genma's fault; his stupid nickname had sunk Kiba into this quagmire, and he was too sad-drunk for Kiba to punch him about it. But there was always time for punching later. Right now, he needed an exit strategy; just because he had a reputation for sleeping around didn't mean he had an obligation to. 

His brain wasn't in great shape, what with the pulsing and all, but he had enough presence of mind to trap Body-shot's hand before it got too close to the goods. She giggled louder, like this was part of the game, and he felt a sticky mouth smearing against the curve of his ear.

His Plan A (arrest the hand, deter the horny) was already in shambles. The gears in his head ground out Plan B: booze, way more booze. He knocked back the rest of his drink and stood up—so far so good—swayed for a moment, then lurched bar-ward, reaching the sanctuary of the pounding speakers in time to miss Body-shot's pouty interjection.

He let the crowd flow rock him up to the bar and flapped a hand at the bartender, who ignored him. 

"Hey, Mr. Big!" That voice shrilled somewhere behind him (because of course she'd followed him). 

Kiba stared blearily at the bartender, who continued studiously drying a glass, the bastard. The hourglass was short on sand, and thus far, Plan B was a hot pile of failure, so he tried to use words. "Heyyy, hey, buddy, I need some'fin—"

Abruptly, Body-shot slid in next to him, pressing herself into his side, voice loud in his ear. "Wanna get out of here? I've got vodka at my place. A biiiiig bottle."

Kiba swallowed reflexively. Fuck. Usually he gave zero shits about the concept of personal space, but was beginning to think he should start, because her perfume had been a lot more tolerable when they were outside with the breeze. Inside, the accumulation of body heat and sweat lacing the air conspired to drown him in a thick cloud of dizzying fake florals, and his stomach was churning. Uh oh. 

The bartender—who, it turns out, was very good at his job—took note of the color shift happening on Kiba's face and filled a pint glass with cold water, pushing it into his hands with warning look before walking off to deal with another patron. Kiba chugged it gratefully, praising whichever small gods were in charge of all things cool and refreshing. The hot tightening in his throat calmed. Breathing through his mouth now, he set down his glass and leaned forward, hoping he could catch the bartender's eye now that they were in agreement about what libation he really needed.

But while he'd been busy trying not to puke all over the bar, Body-shot had been furthering her plans; the nausea had distracted him from the rogue hand that had slithered across his stomach, but now Kiba was aware of fingers worming their way into his waistband. He lurched upright and tried to back away on instinct, but the other drunks had him boxed in, so he only succeeded in giving Body-shot room to slide between him and the bar—which she did, since she clearly wanted every inch he could give her.

Now Kiba was face-to-face with the too-fragrant—and clinically horny—demon in charge of his personalized square-foot of Hell. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a (not) hard place... he owed Genma a second punch for his trouble. 

It was past time for Plan C, but Kiba was too bombed to formulate anything complex. So he opted for his default: toss some charm like confetti and get the fuck out. He grabbed the exploratory hand that was tickling his pubes and extracted it from his pants. "Yeahhh. So." 

Body-shot peered up at him, lashes fluttering again, daiquiri-pink lips parted in anticipation.

"Um..." Kiba strained his brain for better words to no avail. Goddamn, being charming was so much harder when he was shit-faced. 

Body-shot weaseled her wrist out of his grip and pushed forward, squishing her ample chest up against his while her hands snuck under the hem of his shirt. "Yeah?..."

"Uhhhh..." Kiba's already-underperforming brain stalled temporarily, on account of his gaze dropping directly into cleavage. "Got.. gotta get out now, 'cuz, uh... girl..friend? Mm, girlfriend'sh waitin' fer me, an' I, uh… I'ma go."

He didn't wait to see if she believed him before pushing into the sea of bodies surrounding them, swimming against the human undertow until he finally stumbled out a door into fresh air. He took a minute to breathe and gather his bearings, then focused on his surroundings and found himself at the front of the club. The boys were still on the patio. It might be a dick move to leave without telling them. Kiba's brain pan simmered this thought for a moment, and he shuffled back around before it was fully cooked—only for his brain pan to slosh itself in horror as Body Shot cut right through all the crowd-as-water metaphor like a shark (toothy smile included), making straight for him.

Slapped with an overwhelming wave of fuck it, Kiba reversed his shuffle and broke into a sloppy sprint.

A giggle floated after him, and the sound of a second pair of unstable feet; she seemed determined to trail him home.

Dimly, Kiba realized he had no interest in this woman knowing where he lived. Time for some slick ninja maneuvers! He turned a random corner and tried to remember literally any of those.

His eyes drifted left, discovering an apartment building. A decent amount of buzzers glowed faintly at him. Something about buzzers struck Kiba as a very good thing. He dashed up the steps, punched a button, and prayed to any gods listening that whoever answered was feeling charitable.

The speaker crackled, then grouchily croaked, "Someone better be dying."

Kiba cleared his throat and wrestled his brain into gear. "Uh, 's me. Lemme up. Forgot my key."

The line was silent for a long moment. Then: "Who is this?"

Kiba leaned his forehead against the door, willing it to buzz open. He could smell Body-shot nauseatingly close behind him.

Time to take a gamble.

"ANBU, yer under arrest haha… no, uh, come on baby, it's yer, uh…" He swallowed, breathing shallowly, "…lil' love muffin."

The line was silent again, then, with a frustrated huff on the other end, went dead. Kiba pondered whether Body-shot would leave him alone if he followed through with throwing up on her this time.

The door buzzed. Kiba gave a weak fist pump and got it open just in time. He turned to his pursuer, dizzy with victory, and booped her on the nose. "Sorry babe, gotta go have lotsa girlfrien' sex. See you neverrrr." He shut the door in her surprised face and slumped back against it, sliding down to his butt.

He sent quiet thanks to whoever let him in and lay his spinning head back. Now he could regroup, take a breather, let the sickening smell-bearer vacate the area...

Kiba collapsed onto his side, snoring loudly.

And the gods laughed.

Kiba rose up from the bliss of unconsciousness on an elevator made of pain. Someone must have put an axe through his head sometime during the night... or maybe this was simply the result of following beer with three too many tequila-whiskey chasers. He groaned pitifully into the pillow his face was stuffed in, then carefully turned his head and opened his eyes.

He had no idea where he was. A slow pan of the room revealed unfamiliar furniture. It was impossible to tell what time it was other than "day", as whoever lived here had very competent blinds.

Kiba considered his suffering a reasonable excuse for not giving a shit, and tried to go back to sleep. He was starting to doze off again when the blinds were pulled up with a loud thrrrrrrunk and the sun stabbed him directly in the eyelids. He threw an arm over his face, spewing profanity.

"Morning, Big Dick."

Kiba's blood froze, those words recalling the portion of last night he'd been hoping would end up in his memory's trash bin. He'd escaped, right? Surely if he'd ended up at her place, he'd be tied to a bed spread-eagle, gagging on cheap perfume and...

Oh gods. Kiba's scent-memory betrayed him like a motherfucker, and he made a pathetic little ulp sound as he held down a heave.

"Uh-uh, don't even think about puking on my goddamned couch." Firm hands wedged under his armpits and hauled him up before steering him a short way down a hall into a bathroom.

Kiba stumbled over his own feet as he lunged for the toilet, banging his knees on the tile in reverent misery. There wasn't much in his stomach, but it still took a minute for the retching to calm, and as the queasiness receded, the pounding in his head doubled. He whimpered, squeezing his head between his hands. "Kill meee."

"Sure. Strangulation, decapitation, a really sharp spoon... you name it, I'm game."

Kiba dug his fingers into his temples. "Use the spoon. Scoop my brain out."

"Or I could just pop your head like a little grape." Knuckles were cracked. "Less complicated."

Kiba squinted at the rumpled shape in the doorway: she was sporting a serious case of bedhead, which would have been cute if she hadn't been radiating murder from every pore. Her green eyes spat poison at him, and he wondered why the fates couldn't take a dump on someone else today.

"Well, we're over tile. At least clean up'd be easy," he said, attempting some charm for the second time in 24 hours. Metaphorical mountains had been moved by this charm in the past (when he could get it to stick). Unfortunately for him, the seething volcano known as Haruno Sakura was not so easily appeased; it was blood sacrifice or bust.

Kiba swallowed, more from sudden nerves than latent nausea. His long-dead virginity was likely a nonissue for this particular rage goddess. Maybe she's the one who hit me with the axe.

"It will certainly be easier than your little projectile episode on the stairs," Sakura said, folding her arms with slow menace, "since it would seem the carpets in my building are surprisingly absorbent."

Kiba dragged himself up to perch on the side of the tub, head too sore for shame. "Guess your landlord's gonna feel real dumb he splashed out for the fancy shit, huh?"

Sakura growled, eyes narrowing to slits.

Kiba did his best to demonstrate abject misery.

They watched each other for a few more moments.

Sakura looked away first, shaking her head. "I can't believe how many idiots I have the direct privilege of knowing. Rinse your mouth. I'll get the goddamn Tylenol."