Light filters in through the horizontal blinds, casting a textured shadow across the floor, the bed, and the wealth of tanned skin sprawled over white bedsheets. It's not his bedmate that alarms Dan, it's the brightness of that light.
They've overslept, and Dan is fairly certain that he's late now. A heavily muscled arm falls across his middle and he can't help but give a deep sigh. The prospect of a lying-in is very, very nice, and Jiraiya is incredibly warm. It would be simple to just turn over and fall prey to the masterful cuddles possible here, but depending on what time is really is, Dan likely has genin waiting.
"Raiya, we forgot the alarm again," he says softly, and Jiraiya stirs, stretching slowly, giving a soft groan as he sits up. Dan moves to dress, pants easily acquired, until "I've got to go... um, where is my shirt?"
Horror dawns on him at the realization that all the buttons on his shirt were sacrificed to impulse the night before. It's bad enough that he's likely carrying marks... among other things. He can't show up like that, and Jiraiya's clothes are definitely not an option. He'd swim in them.
They know this to be a certainty as Dan has slept in his lover's shirts before.
Something black is pressed into his hands by a casually nude Jiraiya who somehow managed to slip from the bed when Dan was too busy stuck in his own head, working out a solution.
"You left this here, remember?"
Dan has the grace to smile, as it's one of his black uniform shirts, but he doesn't remember leaving it here. Jiraiya fluffs it open, as if guiding him to dress, and it also becomes clear that the shirt was laundered recently.
He slips his arms through the sleeves, unable to wipe the surprise from his face as his lover guides the fabric over his head and fluffs his silvery hair loose for good measure.
"You know, you're only making it harder to leave." Dan fixes Jiraiya with a look, stepping closer. "Being sweet like this."
[from this list of nonverbal prompts - still accepting]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
With the prospect of a snowstorm looming, Dan plans a small surprise for a lover's return home.
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Jiraiya/Kato Dan, Jiraiya/Kato Dan/Orochimaru/Tsunade, The latter is implied and mentioned
Warnings: Light Dom/sub, but mostly sweet fluff fit to give you a cavity
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For @naruto-smut-monday ‘s January Prompts - Snowed In/Body Heat
(From this list of prompts - requests are still open!)
A reminder that all Kinktober fills should be considered explicit unless I say otherwise.
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His lover is an evil angel, if such a thing is possible - and some of the outlandish tales from other lands insist that it is. Jiraiya has certainly read enough of them to declare it probable, and the more he considers it, the more he takes to this particular flight of fancy. With his icy hair and viridian eyes, Dan looks like an innocent creature hewn from all that is pure and bright, but if tonight’s surprises are any indication, what lies underneath is pure devilry, and no one would ever know it from his appearance, or from his stellar reputation.
It’s not that Jiraiya is complaining, not at all; the predicament just calls for creativity… or another answering predicament that cuts in the opposite direction.
Which is why they now find themselves alone in his flat, with one fallen angel bound in tasteful blue jute rope, knee to ankle, each wrist to the opposite elbow, secure on his bed. By his own choice, he remains completely at Jiraiya’s mercy as the sage drowns Dan in sensation that cannot be controlled nor returned.
“You know what you did, don’t you, sweet bird?”
“Well… I think maybe I do…” Dan shudders against Jiraiya as the toad sage’s hands drift across the changing textures of his abdomen.
Pure amusement twists his mouth. “Tsk tsk… teasing me all throughout that dinner. Did you really think there would be no consequences?”
Dan’s silvery lashes fall slowly as he wets his lips. “You enjoyed it though, didn’t you?”
A large hand spreads leisurely around the base of Dan’s cock, rubbing maddening patterns up the hollows of each hip, and across the curve of his pelvis. Another hand teases the belled clamps adorning his nipples.
“I’m not so sure that’s the point right now, sweetie.”
Sea green eyes plead almost piteously as skilled fingers take the chance to run the full length of him, taking the momentary distraction as an opportunity to pick up a smaller hank of thin rope. Jiraiya’s touch remains persistent, running along that silken skin as he closes in behind Dan, enveloping him in warmth. His motions never go still, stroking slow and full, his thumb circling the head of his lover’s cock, now rosy red and flushing deeper, almost the same shade as the crimson staining Dan’s cheeks. His hand comes away sticky; wetter still as he strokes again.
“Already, sweetheart? Don’t worry, I’m going to help, promise.” Jiraiya nibbles the nape of his neck, its graceful curve already bared by a hasty knot.
He releases the straining erection in his hand entirely, bringing the rope into Dan’s sight.
“S-so cruel, Rai…” Dan’s breath hisses through his teeth.
“Oh come on now, how many times have you three gotten your jollies in exactly. The same. Way?” Jiraiya punctuates each pause with a kiss across tense shoulders, brushing crystalline wisps of hair out of the way.
“Like I said, this is revenge. You did turn yourself over to me this weekend, didn’t you, bird? And how better to make you sing?”
The answering moan is delectable, something he wants echoing against the walls and ceiling again and again. He’ll have it too.
A few moments of deft concentration have Dan’s arousal tied in cunning bonds, the silk rope laced around his cock and his testes in such a way as to keep him from coming; long enough for Jiraiya to make the most of their time together.
“Can’t you feel what you’ve done to me?” The sage presses his own aching arousal against the curve of Dan’s ass, sighing. “I think there’s something to be given in recompense, my lovely.”
“What would that be… Master?” Dan asks in the most satisfying tone, giving himself over entirely with his change of address. His voice trembles as Jiraiya throbs against him, exhaling against his ear.
“Well, everything. Eventually. And you’ll be begging me, I think.” Jiraiya taps the base of the toy inside his cheeky lover - one of the very catalysts that lead to such teasing tonight.
He draws the little jeweled plug out partway, toying with Dan even more at the moment it flares the widest, then he slips it back home again. With each repetition that follows, the visible tension in Dan’s body notches higher and higher. Sweat beads at his temples and gathers along his spine.
A deep whine finds its way out from between Dan’s otherwise well-disciplined lips, and Jiraiya takes advantage of that desperation, plying at his rising need, then backing off each time it surges too high. After several fruitful rounds of chipping away at his lover’s will, Jiraiya draws the toy away instead of reinserting it. He can feel the slow panic begin to rise within his lover, and without pause, he slicks himself with lubricant using a free hand, and drives inside Dan with a slow, firm rock of his hips.
The echoing cries he wanted at the outset are gifted to him, and multiplied with a second shift of his thighs.
Gods, this could backfire at any moment.
Dan is so hot, and tight, and writhing against him despite the bonds - maybe because of them - Jiraiya has no idea. The sage is too wrapped up in making sure that he can control himself long enough to make good on his promises because Dan, his wicked, wicked-yet-heavenly creature feels too much like paradise.
“Please…” Dan begs beautifully, and Jiraiya’s stomach clenches hard with heat.
Dammit.
This was supposed to be a predicament for Dan - but it seems supernatural desirability must be holding Jiraiya captive yet again. Who is he to argue?
Send ❓ and my muse will answer all questions honestly. (Still Accepting)
@peepingtoad
Does my muse trust yours?
“Once I was apprehensive at best, given the certain... tone that followed our interactions after Tsunade first introduced us. Pretty sure there were threats of bodily injury and more if I didn’t meet certain expectations, and beyond that, I was a fully unwelcome interloper stealing something the depth of which I still only have suspicions about. Sometimes I still wonder what his motivations are, but now it’s impossible not to trust him.”
Does my muse dislike yours?
Laughs. “Not anymore. It was a lot harder in the beginning, breaking through that weaponized shell guarding the little world that is the Densetsu no Sannin. But it cut both ways. I am fairly certain he didn’t like me very much at that point either. Had things not turned out the way they did, I’m not even sure if that would have changed—I might still be on the outside looking in, and questioning everything.”
Would my muse kill someone for yours?
“I doubt he’d need me to unless the situation was dire or specifically requiring my skillset, but if he asked—absolutely.”
Would my muse kill your muse?
“Only by way of little deaths, I suppose. Oh gods, that was terrible... It sounds like something he’d say.”
Would my muse save yours?
“In a heartbeat.”
Does my muse find your muse attractive?
“Unfairly so. He’s literally six and a half feet of pure muscle, with a killer smile and the confidence to match...”
Is my muse disgusted by yours?
“Only by the amount of pickled garlic I’ve seen him consume with his food.”
Would my muse go on a date with your muse?
“I would like that a lot, actually.”
Would my muse kiss yours?
“Yes, and probably more often than is wise.”
Would my muse betray yours?
“I don’t think so. Not on purpose as... whatever we are to each other right now. Definitely not when it comes to working together as comrades.”
My muse’s favorite thing about yours is ____
“The softness beneath the exterior. The near-empathic tenderness he is capable of, the uncanny way he’s known what I needed when he’s seen me at my worst. He may rib me to high heaven over stupid details just to get under my skin, or put me in ridiculous predicaments for amusement’s sake or even petty revenge, but when it really counts... he cares, and he cares genuinely.”
The thing my muse dislikes about yours is_____
“He’s a smartass unparalleled... and too damn good at what he does. But really, sometimes he’s very hard to read, and I suspect that’s entirely by design. I can’t fault him for it though, I play my own version of the same game.”
Pairing: Jiraiya/Dan Kato, Jiraiya/Dan/Orochimaru, Dannin OT4 if you squint
Rating: Gen
Prompt: Cafune - the act of running your fingers through the hair of someone you love (from this list)
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He hasn’t moved for several hours, pinned in place by a hundred and forty-some-odd pounds of distressed lover finally given over to sleep, but Dan’s weight is nothing, and holding him close is a rare joy in times like these. Especially when Jiraiya’s own orders could call him or the others away any day now. This is simply time to be savored - even if it came into being because of pain.
Those with the greatest gifts often pay the highest prices. No one knows exactly the extent to which Dan feels as though he’s losing himself with every new body he takes, with every body he destroys from within.
No one else knows the truth - the toll that it’s exacting upon him with the way he shares the psyche of each of his victims, and thus their experiences, their pain. The way each target’s mindscape is consumed with sheer terror; the way they beg as they rot from the inside out. The way each death feels as though it might last forever and Dan might never break free or return to his own body in the end.
No one else knows the extent of this but Jiraiya, and he’s sworn that Dan will always have a safe place to land when his deployments are through. He supposes he should feel guilty that it feels so good once they are together like this, but… they are in love.
And love is all that the sage can feel when he gazes down upon his sleeping lover, as Dan breathes in the slow cadence of one lost in deep, dreamless slumber, his slender limbs draped heavy and boneless across Jiraiya’s form.
Locks of pale, ice-white hair fall over his chest, and Jiraiya traces them with a finger for the hundredth time, the thousandth time, really he’s lost count. Dan’s hair is nothing like his own, or that of the other two. Orochimaru’s hair is as black as fine Uzushio ink, shining like heavy satin. Tsunade’s, golden like a ripe rice field, tangled and tied because she hates the fuss. His own, ever untamed and wild - Oro always likens it to animal fur of all things.
Dan’s hair is oddly soft, like spidersilk made into a more substantial element, fine and glimmering almost crystalline in the light. That softness should not be congruent with something so reminiscent of icicles on a winter morning in Yugakure. But his cheek is just as soft, rosy with sleep, and crowned with silver-blue lashes still tacky with the salt of tears. Those lashes are fine, almost fae in their beauty. And oh, Dan is beautiful. Once, it was easy to pass him off as a goody-two-shoes because, Jiraiya realizes, he’s nearly celestial.
Perhaps their ghost is not a ghost after all, but an earthbound angel instead, with the mere ability to break free of his illusory mortal shell. Of course this world would weaponize such a thing, and now it is something that harms yet empowers Dan all the same.
More reason to keep him well-rooted to this terrestrial plane, where Jiraiya can mend the broken pieces and see them soldered together with golden joys.
Jiraiya brushes Dan’s hair back, drawing gentle fingertips through the delicate strands. Perhaps one day he really will weave crystals through it and sketch this angel - though his mind’s eye moves right toward the most lurid of poses. Maybe he’ll volunteer himself as a devil to corrupt said angel? Yet knowing Dan as well as he does, the angel sprawled on top of Jiraiya hardly needs tempting in order to be wicked all on his own.
But that is a fantasy for another day.
The door slides open, quiet as a whisper, and a familiar voice interrupts the silence. “Is he sleeping?”
Orochimaru slips into the room, his fluid steps inaudible as Jiraiya looks up. “Yeah. It was a pretty bad go of things this time, but we’ll get him through it.”
Tired golden eyes reflect a somber acknowledgment of dark truths that Orochimaru is well acquainted with. Another moment finds the serpent coiled beneath the covers beside them, a lean arm protectively entwined about their sleeping charge, as he finds a place for his head upon Jiraiya’s shoulder.
It’s supposed to be an ordinary mission - but to be honest, there are no ordinary missions these days. Simple is never quite simple, as with the war effort still not quite concluded, the threats of border skirmishes are often present anytime one steps outside home territory. Even neutral zones are hardly such, as the illusion of safety is tenuous and only in name, if at all. Hostile factions might lie in wait almost anywhere.
Their assignments weren’t supposed to align. Dan found himself called in as a substitute at last minute, for his skills at reconnaissance - and nobles certainly pay a fortune for property retrieval, if this many jounin are posted at once. Nevertheless the task at hand seems relatively straightforward, but to Dan it always feels as if the most straightforward missions are the ones that always lead to chaos.
It turns out that the upstart in the nobleman’s circle, believed to have smuggled in a small amount of rare goods and artifacts from throughout the Five Great Nations, also has a shinobi security detail of his own. Naturally this information was not provided to Konoha upon completion of the mission contract, and as the scene devolves into blood and fire, there’s a grinding in the pit of Dan’s stomach.
Because Jiraiya’s here. The man can hold his own at a level unlike any of the others, so there is zero concern for that. It’s more the struggle that comes with releasing a - well - lover to a mission… and now literally sharing in it. It’s something they’ve not done before, a powerful thing, and not exactly distracting per se; if anything it hones his awareness and urges him to fight harder, cleaner. To be efficient in the execution of his jutsu, to exit with as few casualties as possible. To avoid being a liability in his use of reika.
Yet there is still a sliver of fear, hiding somewhere at the bottom of his throat.
It flares even moreso when upon returning to his own body, he spies Jiraiya in the midst of dispatching one foe, while another lets loose a scroll of projectiles from some distance away, and yet another detonates a volley of paper bombs close enough to disorient their hearing. Even from where he stands Dan can see that Jiraiya did not sense the armed scroll.
Action happens without conscious thought. It would for any comrade, right?
Dan’s feet move at shunshin speed despite the sharp ache of return, and he throws all his weight against the taller man, knocking him down rather hard.
He’s barely made it in time, as something sharp grazes his cheek, his ear, and several points prick deeply - likely senbon - and Dan looks down at Jiraiya, whose dark eyes are wide and staring up at him, incredulous.
“Be careful!” Is all Dan can say rather breathlessly from his position on top of his... lover. He jumps to his feet and holds out a hand to help Jiraiya up so they can finish the fight.
Whatever little injury he’s incurred is just an annoying sting. What he doesn’t want to think about is how hard his heart is hammering, or how much worse it would be if all that steel had hit home upon its intended target.
