The Traveling Pussy

Chapter 13: Mikage’s Medical Treatment

I came to because some asshole was spraying cold water in my face and yelling at me.

“Keep those god-damn eyes open, come to now, or I’ll get a medic,” I heard Ibiki shouting at me.

The threat of a medic made me force open my eyes, only to get some cold water in them.

“Stop with the the god-damn cold-water torture if you want me to come to,” I snapped. “What the fuck’s with up with you, Ibiki? How long was I out for?”

“Ten minutes,” he said grimly, frowning at me.

I started to laugh, and he slapped me. I went at him, enraged, claws out, furious, “You rotten, bullying bastard. How dare you slap me? You’re the asshole that used my birthday as a door code. You’re the idiot that has fucking concrete walls and floors just designed to knock someone out. You’re the clueless chump who thinks red stockings go with white-polka dots.” Ibiki had pulled back from me and was staring at me with what looked like shock on his face.

I was just getting started. I took a deep breath, looking around at the black marble bathroom we were in, demanding, “And where’s my god-damn coffee? Where’s my hairbrush? Do you know how foul my breath is from that god-damn pill you gave me last night? Where the fuck is my toothbrush and some toothpaste? I hope Uzuki tells everyone what stupid taste you have in clothes!”

Ibiki blushed. He can deny it all he wants and say he went red with rage, but I know it was a blush and so does he. He turned pink with embarrassment. The great Ibiki blushed like a little boy. It made his scars stand out even more. It was adorable. I melted. He looked so cute, naked and blushing in that scary black marble bathroom. I had to kiss him. I started to climb out of the black tub I was lying in, but my body wasn’t ready for that much movement.

Ibiki pulled me into his arms, “Don’t move so soon after a concussion. And shouting like that is probably not very good for you either. Maybe I should get a medic to check your skull.” His fingers began to push against my skull checking for injuries, and I winced in pain.

“Ok,” I said, “but you’ve got to get me respectable first and put some clothes on. And we got to fix the kitchen, so it looks like it normally does.”

“No one but you has ever been in my kitchen, baka-chan, so I think we can skip that step,” said Ibiki carrying me into a normal-looking bedroom and setting me on the bed.

“Ohh—owww!”

“What’s happening?” demanded Ibiki.

“Am I the first one in this bed?” I asked.

“Oh, cripes, you can’t remember reading my file, can you? You know I haven’t had a date, let alone a lover, for over five years—no one visits me willingly—“

I stopped his mouth with a kiss. The idea of Ibiki being loney and unloved maddened me. He was the best lover I’d ever had; women should be beating down his door to get at him.

He pulled back from the kiss long before I wanted to. “I have to agree, you taste pretty rank there—blood and drug residue isn’t my favorite taste, babe,” said Ibiki.

I don’t remember what I said at this point because I passed out again. Ibiki says I yelled at him for about ten minutes before I blacked out, but I seriously doubt that. I wouldn’t know anything that happened next since I was unconscious again, but I obviously have made friends with someone in ANBU since a copy of the hallway security tape later found its way into my mailbox. I do look ridiculous going into Uzuki’s office in that awful outfit Ibiki picked out. Ridiculous, but pretty fucking sexy too.

But the part of the tape that I liked the best was when Ibiki emerging out into the hallway in only a pair of shorts with blood smeared on his face and chest, and, of course, all over his arm from where I’d bit him. His shout for a medic and some fucking coffee had the hallway jammed with ninjas in milliseconds.

Mikage was evidently the medical ninja working that particular shift, but he didn’t get to go down the stairs until Ibiki was restained from beating the crap out of the first few fools who tried to race down and help me. Unfortunately there were so many people in the hallway, the video didn’t show much of the fight. It’s too bad because I love watching Ibiki fight.

Spliced on the end of the security footage was some video shot by a hand-held camera. Of course, all of Ibiki’s private quarters had to be searched for intruders. My abandoned clothes and the rumpled bed in the cell looked pretty sordid, and the video of the kitchen was pretty appalling. I didn’t remember the chairs getting broken and the smashed dishes, but the video revealed them clearly. Thankfully, the filming ninja didn’t make it into Ibiki’s bedroom. Or if he or she did, whoever shot it had sense enough not to give me that footage.

By the time Mikage had healed my head and I had come to, there were three pots of coffee in the bedroom in the hands of various ANBU warriors who were no doubt snickering behind their stupid masks. I don’t remember which one actually gave me a mug of coffee, but I do know that Ibiki threatened to personally torture anyone still in the room when I finished my drink. I guess he’s good at his work because when I opened my eyes after that first long, blissful swig of coffee, there was no one in the room, but Ibiki.

“Change the door code to something a bit more challenging this time,” I said to Ibiki lifting my mug in a toast to him.

He snorted and made a show of checking the bedroom and bath for stray ANBU nins before shutting the door behind him. It also had a key pad, and from the way the little lights on the key panel on the inside lit up, he was locking me in. I didn’t care. I had two pots of coffee, a pitcher of cream and a basket of assorted sugar and sugar-substitutes on the floor by the bed. My head felt great. I was wearing some silky black kimono that felt good on my body although the sleeves were way too long. I lay back on the pillows and sipped my coffee.

A few minutes later, I was startled to notice blood on the white mug in my hand. Then I realized I must still have Ibiki’s blood on my face. I got up and went into the bathroom. I looked awful. My hair was a knotted mess, my eyes had dark circles under them, and my skin looked sort of greenish. The blood smeared around my mouth was of course the worst part. I look like some sort of demon ghoul who had an eating problem. I groaned and opened the medicine cabinet over the sink to find some toothpaste and a toothbrush. I might not be able to fix the circles under my eyes or color of my skin, but I could at least clean my mouth and take a decent shower.

By the time Ibiki came back into the room, I’d filled the huge black tub with warm water and was on my third cup of coffee. Poor Ibiki was still covered with blood, and no one had bothered to heal the bite on his forearm. “Dammit,” I said, “Why didn’t you get that bite healed while the medic was here?”

Ibiki just started to laugh and climbed into the tub. “Nag, nag, nag,” was all he said.

“Ok, so your girlfriend’s a nagging bitch,” I said, “but at least we now have the perfect excuse not to go to Gaara’s stupid party.”

Ibiki settled back in the tub and pulled me on to his lap. After a long kiss, he said, “What’s our excuse?”

“What?” I said blankly, having completely forgotten everything except how wonderful a kisser Ibiki was.

“What’s this wonderful excuse to not go to the party tonight?”

“Oh, yea, well, I need bedrest to recover from my concussion,” I said.

“My girlfriend is a genius,” said Ibiki kissing me again.

When he broke the kiss, I pushed my face back up to his for another one, saying, “My boyfriend is the best kisser in Konoha.”

“Boyfriend! I’m not your boyfriend,” said Ibiki.

“Yes, you are. If I’m your girlfriend, you’re my boyfriend; that’s how it works,” I insisted.

“How can I terrify anyone if you’re going around telling people I’m your boyfriend?”

“You’re Morino Ibiki,” I said.

“And I’m your lover, your master, your man, but I’m nobody’s boyfriend.”

“You’re shy! Master Ibiki is shy,” I teased. “I saw you blushing earlier today. You’re nothing but a shy little blushing boy.”

“I’m going to have to punish you again, Slave,” said Ibiki with a scowl, “You clearly need to learn respect.”

“Ooohhh! I’m so scared,” I said recklessly, claiming his mouth for a kiss.

But neither of us was really in the mood for scary. We eventually got back to the bedroom and had the most normal sex we’d ever had. We snuggled and fell asleep and then woke up and, for the first time, did something that might be appropriately labeled making love. I never had been fond of the missionary position, but I never had been lying beneath Ibiki before, looking him in the eyes. His eyes are so beautiful, two dark bits of a midnight sky.

It was so beautiful I don’t want to write about it. I couldn’t do it justice anyway. It wasn’t really about anything physically anyway. It was nothing different than what every pair of lovers has been doing since humans evolved from the apes. It was long kisses, soft touches, slow movements, and simple words. My name never sounded so beautiful as it did coming from Ibiki’s lips. I let my love pour over Ibiki, telling him again and again how beautiful he was and how much I loved him. He whispered the sort of things I wanted to hear too—I was beautiful, I was adorable, I was lovely, I was everything wonderful.

But when he whispered he loved me, I burst into tears. He said it over and over again between kissing and licking my tears, and then neither of us did any talking for the longest time. I might know a lot about sex, but I was learning I knew nothing about making love. I never realized how absolutely terrifying falling in love could be. I had the feeling if I lost Ibiki now, I would never recover. I begged him to tell me he would never leave me, never let me go, and I believed him when he promised to stay with me until he died.

Writing this down now, it seems rather silly and stupid, given we’d just started sleeping together the day before. I’m sure we sound like lying fools, so desperate to find love that we were willing to lie about it long before we could possibly feel it. But this is my story, and I say we weren’t lying. I was in love, and I was convinced my lover wasn’t lying to me. And he hasn’t changed his story yet, so there.

I was in love and beloved. Life was grand. Unfortunately, the rest of the world wouldn't leave us alone.

*****
To my readers:
Ok, I've gone romantic. I don't want any threesomes anymore. I'm not sure I even want them to go to Gaara's party at all.

Thanks for the feedback on the apartment vs. house issue--really good points there!

I really do have a lot of work to do this weekend, so I'll probably let this story sit for a while and actually try to earn a living. The story could in fact be considered done too since they are now "in love." And astoundingly, my word count feature is telling me there are over 33,000 words to this thing. Thanks for reading so much and for all the reviews!
Yours,
Hestia