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Once Daichi catches wind of that chakra signature – one that he thinks he should have forgotten years ago but somehow knows he will recognize no matter how much time has passed – his mind works in frightening, singular clarity. He changes directions, once heading east, now heading north, pumping chakra into his legs to the soles of his feet, willing his body to move faster.
This is when he is at his best – when he can shut off his overworking brain and let his abilities take over. That’s why he likes solo missions better than working with a team; when he’s by himself he doesn’t have other lives he needs to worry about – other backs to needs to have and other necks he needs to stick his out for. He’s a shinobi, and a good one, and his first instinct is to survive, survive, survive, and he knows those chances are greater when he’s alone.
Unfortunately for him, as ANBU captain, the solo missions he gets assigned to are few and far between, having been deemed too valuable to have his talents squandered on missions that a lower-ranking shinobi could take. And the missions that were ranked high enough, critical enough, for him to be assigned to were also too dangerous for him to take without a squad backing him up.
But as luck would have it, or perhaps fate, now happens to be one of those rarities.
His target is fast, this Daichi knows from experience, but Daichi is faster. Daichi doesn’t have to worry about teammates slowing him down so Daichi ignores the burn in his legs from his straining muscles, ignores the wave of nausea – the telltale sign of chakra exhaustion – that crashes over him. He follows the trail blindly, knows exactly where he’s headed. He can feel the pattern that warm chakra leaves darting through the trees; but even if he couldn’t, they’ve rendezvoused at this location once before – just months ago.
The distance between them gets smaller and smaller, until his target is only a few hundred meters away and rapidly drawing closer. Daichi’s eyebrows shoot up behind his mask. His target has stopped moving all together; Daichi has to admit that he’d been expecting a much longer chase but he can’t say he doesn’t appreciate it. He’s already running on empty from his latest mission, completed just hours ago. He’d stepped into the weapons shop in the small, unaffiliated village, to stock up on more kunai and scrolls for his two-day journey home, when a few low-level nin at the counter asked if he had heard anything about the rogue-nin spotted near the border.
Immediately he had known. Dangerous as he was, the rogue shinobi was a devious man – had been that way since they were kids. Devious, yes, but usually not so reckless. It might have seemed random to the men at the shop – to any of the villages, really – but Daichi knew better.
The only reason he would have allowed himself to be seen was if that’s what he wanted. He’d chosen to let his presence be known because he wanted Daichi to seek him out.
His calling card of sorts.
His favorite game.
Daichi is right on top of him now, hopping down from the tree onto the mossy earth, a soft cushion underneath his sandals. He runs only a few meters before the thick festive of trees breaks off suddenly, and he’s stepping into a clearing. The surrounding trees still provide a canopy cover above his head, shielding out the faded colors of the sunset. To the west clouds are forming, but he can smell the rain that has yet to come in the air – stale and electric.
He’s just stalling now.
His target – not by assignment but by personal agenda – is still hiding in the cover of trees across the clearing. He’s not making any attempt at concealing himself, not like Daichi had for the first hour of the chase, until he needed to pull chakra from his chakra masking to keep his speed. He doesn’t cloak his chakra, but he’s hiding anyway.
Childish, ridiculous, devious man.
Daichi hears his voice call out like a whistle through the clearing before he sees him. “Took you long enough to catch up with me.” But then he comes into Daichi’s line of sight, slinking down from one of the tall oaks at the edge of the clearing opposite Daichi.
He is all lithe, liquid form and hungry prowl, brown eyes glinting dangerously, skin bathed muted orange by the sun filtering through the trees. He looks the same in most ways – same unruly dove hair, same beauty mark, same kind smile; that disarming smile and those lean muscles pulled taut under his snowy skin – together it made him seem harmless, because no one who looked as pure and ethereal as Sugawara Koushi could ever be a cold-blooded killer.
But Daichi knew better than that.
He also looks different; a little more wild-eyed, a little older. That was to be expected of course, but it always comes as a shock to Daichi, who for some reason – perhaps it was out of sentiment or perhaps Daichi liked to think of the Suga in his memories rather than the stranger before him – always expects Sugawara to look like they did when he was a medic working at the hospital; dressed in a lab coat, hunched over his desk during his breaks, pencil behind his ear with bags under his eyes looking like he hasn’t slept or eaten or seen the sun in days. Honest eyes that crinkled at the corner when Daichi snuck in through his office window, gentle voice that shook at the village gates when he saw Daichi off for a mission, soft lips pressing kisses against his knuckles, telling him to be safe and making him promise to come back home.
Daichi has to remind himself that the man in his memories and the man in front of him weren’t the same person. He doesn’t know this person – and if this side of Suga had been lurking underneath the surface of the Suga Daichi fell in love with, Daichi hadn’t realized.
Or maybe Daichi had been so in love he hadn’t seen Suga for who he really was.
“This is the third time in six months that you’ve been spotted near the Fire border.” Daichi begins conversationally – like they were old friends and not enemies with years of hurt between them. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to get my attention, Sugawara.”
Suga’s smile curls into something smug. His voice is entertained. “This is the third time in six months that you’ve gone after me, alone. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you still had the hots for me, Sawamura.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
Suga shows his teeth with his grin. “How could I not? Surely the village didn’t send their top ANBU captain on a retrieval mission just for little ole me.”
Daichi doesn’t crack a smile, but he does suppress the urge to roll his eyes. “I was in the neighborhood.”
“Going out of your way like that just to say hi?” Suga touches his hand to his chest, right above his heart. “Really Sawamura, I’m touched. But we broke up ages ago.”
Daichi doesn’t even try to hide his eye-roll, this time. “Still got that smart mouth on you, I see.”
“What’s the matter?” He teases. “Sad it’s not on you instead?”
Daichi ignores this, which seems to entertain Sugawara even more. “Are we done with the small talk? We have unfinished business.”
Suga nods, feigning seriousness, but Daichi knows better than that. “Right, right. How could I forget. What did you say, again? ‘Next time I see you, this ends.’” He stifles a giggle with the back of his hand and Daichi feels his blood boiling. “Typical, cryptic ANBU Captain Sawamura.” He smiles. “And yet, no follow through? Also typical Sawamura.”
“I meant it,” Daichi tells him, unsheathing the katana strapped across his back. “I’m finishing this.”
These are the games they play; the never-ending chase to remind each other that no, they haven’t forgotten.
Suga’s hand disappears underneath his cloak to retrieve a kunai – he doesn’t need them, Daichi knows. With his level of chakra control – with his deep reserves – he didn’t need weapons like that. He could shape his chakra outside of his body – scalpels on his fingertips, razors on his arms. It had made him a dependable ally when he was still an established shinobi.
It also made him a challenge to fight as an enemy.
Daichi’s fists tighten around the handle of his blade.
He loved a good challenge.
They meet in the middle of the clearing in seconds, a clash of metal on metal, and Daichi catches Suga’s smirk behind the edge of his blade. The look in his eyes is still playful, and Daichi has only a moment to wonder if Suga was going to go easy on him before Suga pushes off of his katana, dropping back down onto the ground, rearing his fist back before slamming it into the ground.
The earth beneath his feet explodes, Daichi has to jump back to avoid being swallowed into the ground.
That answered that question.
Sugawara flips back, landing on his feet gracefully at the edge of the crater he’s created. Once the dust settles, he cocks his eyebrow challengingly. Daichi can’t help it – he grins. If Suga wasn’t holding back, he sure as hell wasn’t going to either.
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Daichi blinks, head throbbing and he blinks away the tears in his eyes from the impact and realizes that Sugawara is above him, looking down at him like a predator that’s just caught its prey.
Because that’s exactly what this is.
They stare at each other, panting through their open mouths, and Daichi realizes the position he’s in. Rogue shinobi Sugawara Koushi has his arms pinned above his head, using his chakra-enhanced strength to keep him anchored there. Daichi can already feel the bones in his wrists creaking – he knows better than to push against Suga’s hold. They’re face to face, only centimeters away, heaving chests ballooning against the other, Suga’s legs spread in Daichi’s lap, knees digging into his hips. Despite the dirt and sweat and blood caked onto his face, he’s smirking at Daichi like he’s got him exactly where he wants him. And Daichi realizes too late that maybe this was what Sugawara was angling for the whole time.
Maybe this was what Daichi had been angling for, too.
“I could kill you, you know.” Suga breathes, so soft and warm against Daichi’s parted lips. The dark-haired shinobi feels his slowing heartbeat speed up again when he glances down between them at the pale-haired nin’s mouth; he remembers what they feel like against his. It’s been too long since he’s had them on him. He knows Suga has noticed – he was so perceptive he noticed everything, can tell by the way his playful smile curls into something sinister.
Daichi tenses at the first touch of his ex-lovers fingers against the dip of his collarbones, pressing in hard enough to leave bruises. Every instinct in his body – the rational part of his brain - is telling Daichi to run; to do anything to get out from under those brown eyes and run back to his village and never look back and never go searching for him again. Because this was dangerous territory. Conceding defeat was one thing; silently hoping that your ex-lover-turned-rogue-ninja would kiss you senseless was something else entirely.
Daichi knows he should fight out of his hold and run, as dishonorable as it was, but his subconscious is telling him to stay, overriding his brain to keep his body still and heart willing, because he knows that there is absolutely nowhere else he’d rather be than trapped in Suga’s arms, trapped in brown, brilliant eyes and that wide smile.
So he says, “But you won’t,” like a prayer.
And it’s the right answer. Suga’s eyes grow dark, light brows narrowing and it’s the last thing Daichi sees before Suga crashes his mouth down onto his, bruise-hard and Daichi’s eyes slide shut instinctively. This was familiar, what he’d been waiting for – the way Suga’s hands grab at his flak jacket, unzipping it and pushing it off of his shoulders. He doesn’t even notice Suga had let his wrists go at first, but when Suga sits back on Daichi’s hips, Daichi follows blindly, desperate to keep Suga’s mouth rubbing hotly against his, rolling his shoulders back until his vest slips off of his arms and cushions the hard ground beneath him. After a few moments Daichi breaks away from the kiss to suck in a greedy breath of air, Suga already moving to pull Daichi’s thin black uniform undershirt over his head, ruffling his hair and setting his hitai-ate crooked.
Suga doesn’t miss this – in fact, it makes him smirk. His mouth latches onto the stubble rough skin of Daichi’s jaw as his rips his forehead protector off of his head, tearing out a chunk of his close cropped hair with it, Daichi guesses from the stinging of his scalp. Suga sucks a bruise that will be awkward to explain when he gets back to the village, scraping his teeth down the slope of Daichi’s neck to his shoulder where he bites hard.
Daichi curses himself for loving it – loving the way Suga marks him up so well that even after he’s gone Daichi has reminders – broken capillaries at the surface of his skin that tell him that he belongs to Suga before he belongs to his village. He curses himself for being so weak, for doing nothing but moaning brokenly at the feeling of Suga’s tongue smoothing over the bite, licking away his own saliva and a few drops of blood, but not as much as he curses Sugawara; Sugawara, who he could have built a life with – built something great if he had stayed, but instead chose to leave without a reason – vanishing in the night like smoke, leaving Daichi waking up to an empty bed, confused and stunned when the Kage questioned him of Suga’s defection.
But even if he had known anything - and he hadn’t (and maybe that hurt worst of all) – Daichi doesn’t think he would have told them anything, not even for his Kage, not even for his village. And when Daichi thinks back on it – which is probably more often than what was healthy considering Suga left 4 years ago – Daichi wonders if Suga didn’t tell him to save him from the guilt of knowing.
Because Suga knew how strong Daichi’s sense of duty was.
He shouldn’t be thinking about this now – not when he had Suga on top of him again, kissing down his chest while his hands work in between them, unbuckling Daichi’s kunai pouch, tossing it aside and he’s already unbuttoning his jeans. Daichi lifts his hip at the tap Suga gives to his side, letting the medic push his pants down his legs. His underwear follow, bunching at his ankles, leaving Daichi to kick them off the rest of the way because Suga’s already on his mouth again, pumping Daichi to full hardness with one hand, aided by his own dripping want. His other hand works on his own clothes, but Daichi is eager to help, sitting up, pulling Suga into his lap. They break with a kiss, Daichi groaning when Suga’s hand grips him harder, pushes back his foreskin and rubs his thumb against the tip where he’s sensitive.
He gets Suga out of his clothes in record time, and when the pale-haired shinobi slides into his lap again, the feeling of their skin on skin is so intimate Daichi feels raw emotion choking in his throat. Fuck, he missed this. He missed how perfect Suga felt in his arms, the beauty marks dotting his pale skin, the way he had him so close he could hear Suga’s heartbeat. And Suga let him, let Daichi pull him as close as he wanted, didn’t shy away from his kisses or his tender, wandering hands that were less angry and desperate and more worshiping, like they were trying to commit every inch of Suga’s body to memory. Daichi missed the soft, breathy moans Suga pressed against his skin, trying to silence himself like it was a weakness he didn’t want Daichi to hear.
“It’s okay,” Daichi murmurs, pressing a kiss against Suga’s temple. “Let me hear you, it’s me, you’re alright –“
Suga squirms in his lap at Daichi’s voice like permission, all kitten mewls and hiccupy little sighs. “Missed you,” He admits, and Daichi’s heart clenches so tight it’s physically painful.
With Suga tangled up in him like this, it was easy for Daichi to forget what they really were to each other; that when it was over the chase would start again, separated by countries and betrayal and Daichi’s stupid, stupid sense of duty.
Because he knows that if he wasn’t bound by his village and his morals, he would follow Suga to the ends of the earth; would have followed him from day one.
It’s easy to forget like this; when Suga rubs against him so hotly he is just a man, and Daichi is just a man, and they are just men taking what they need from each other. No villages, no chase, no games. They just were.
And Daichi loved him.
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“This never healed properly.” Suga’s propped up on an elbow, on his side against Daichi, other hand trailing circles around one of the scars decorating Daichi’s chest. The sun has long since set, the only light given off from the moon, partially hidden behind the clouds. It bathes them in pale blue, Suga’s skin and hair a stark white contrast against the darkness in the clearing.
The wind has picked up, prickling Daichi’s skin with goose flesh. He shivers, and Suga snuggles closer against his side. Daichi looks down at the scar Suga is talking about; this one is particularly nasty and recent, the puckered flesh pink and spongy.
“Poisoned blade.” Daichi tells him, even though he knows Suga already knows. He was a medic nin, after all, with a specialty in poisons. “Partner did a patch job on the field.”
“Still afraid of hospitals?” The pale haired nin teases, smile knowing, eyes sparkling in amusement. He doesn’t wait for Daichi’s answer because he knows the answer already. Daichi’s avoided hospitals since day one – albeit less so when there was a particular medic working there – but still enough to call a patch up from the shinobi he’d been assigned with on the field good enough. Suga’s fingers are already searching for the next scar – an L-shaped laceration, old and faded now, from his Genin days. A fond smile pulls at Suga’s lips. “I remember this one,” he says softly. “Land of snow, right?”
Daichi nods. “You cried.” He smiles at the memory of Sugawara, thirteen and shaking, holding Daichi’s bloody hand in his while Ukai-sensei fought off the rest of the enemy alongside Kiyoko.
Suga snorts, but he’s smiling regardless. “It was our first mission out of the village and you looked like you were dying. I was allowed to cry.”
“Ninja shouldn’t show their emotions.” Daichi reminds him jokingly reciting the lessons Tadeka-sensei had drilled into their heads at the academy before they were on a team together.
Suga’s smile doesn’t falter. “We’re fucked, then.”
Daichi doesn’t answer, because he can’t deny that. Suga looks up towards the skies. There are no stars – covered by the midnight blue billowy clouds gathering above their heads, barely visible through the thick canopy of the tree tops. “It’s going to start raining soon.” He says. He sits up, back popping as he bends backwards. He cracks his neck with a sigh, looking down at Daichi and Daichi can only stare back at him because he is so beautiful and Daichi doesn’t want this moment to end.
Suga’s eyes soften and Daichi reaches up to brush his fingertips against Suga’s beauty mark. It says everything Daichi doesn’t think he could, and he knows Suga understands.
They dress in silence, and Daichi thinks that this was the worst part about every one of their encounters. When they were out of post-orgasm territory just enough to remember that they would go back to being enemies soon, but not quite hardened enough to want the chase to start again.
Daichi almost laughs at his luck; of all the people he could have fallen in love with, it had to be someone he could never have.
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“This won’t happen again.”
Even as his lips are moving, voice pushing the words past his lips, Daichi knows this is a lie. Because Daichi is transparent when it came to Suga, and maybe that wasn’t a bad thing when they were together but now that they’re enemies with a kunai to each other’s throats more often than not, he should be more concerned with the fact that Suga could read him like a book. He picks up his discarded katana, can feel the spike in Sugawara’s chakra. He doesn’t have to look at his face to know that those brown eyes are rapt with attention, guarded. He sheathes it with an audible slice, adjusting his kunai pouch before zipping up his jacket.
When he looks over, Suga’s still got his eyes trained on him – curious but not distrustful. He looks like he’s expecting Daichi to speak, and Daichi knows exactly what it is he’s waiting for.
And he really could never leave Suga waiting, could he?
“Next time I see you –“
Suga cuts him off with a laugh – light like wind chimes in the summer breeze, sharp enough to pierce Daichi’s heart all over again. “I know, I know.” He makes a face and drops his voice down an octave. “’Next time I see you, this ends.’” He waves him off with a dismissive hand. “So predictable.”
“I mean it.” Daichi steels Sugawara with a glare, hoping his face conveys his seriousness despite the fact that just the thought of finishing this – their sick game of cat and mouse, their cliché star-cross lovers bullshit love story, whatever it was – made him feel like something dark in the pit of his stomach was coming alive, sharp black tendrils tearing at his insides, trying to claw its way out by devouring him whole.
Suga smiles, something cat-eyed and secretive. He affirms. “Next time.”
And it was knowing that there was always, always a next time that kept that darkness at bay.
Suga draws his cloak over his head, turning his back to Daichi. “Keep yourself safe until then, yeah? It’s no fun unless I’m the one that gets to kill you.”
“I’m not the one who should be worried,” Daichi snorts. “Stop coming to the border so recklessly.”
Suga looks at him over his shoulder, smug smile in place. It both irritates and thrills Daichi. “Stop meeting me there, then.”
Suga disappears into the trees before Daichi can say another word, leaving Daichi alone in the clearing, feeling for his chakra signature - warm and familiar and one Daichi will always search for - until it vanishes out of the radius Daichi’s abilities can track.
A loud clap of thunder rumbles over Daichi’s head and Daichi looks up instinctively. He sighs when the first drop of water hits his cheek, wishing he had the foresight of packing his own cloak, but he doesn’t dwell on it.
He leaps into the trees, bounding into the darkness in the direction of his home – their home - as the rain picks up from a light sprinkle to a downpour in a matter of seconds. It pours down on him in thick sheets, and he wipes the water from his eyes. He doesn’t mind the rain – not today, anyway. Not with the guilt of his actions already manifesting in his head, heart heavy and aching with the promise of next time.
It seemed fitting; cleansing. It washes away the smell of Suga from his body; the feeling of his calloused fingertips against his skin, mouth against his, kunai at his throat.
Maybe next time his sense of duty would be stronger than the feelings he still had for Suga. Feelings that wouldn’t wash away, no matter how hard it rained.
Maybe next time they would end this for real.
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