Time skip.

Back in Konoha...

Seijuro looked like hell.

Not the dramatic, blood-soaked, limb-hanging-off kind of hell. No, this was the slow kind—the kind that settled behind your eyes and wrapped its fingers around your spine. The kind of tired that stretched deeper than muscle.

Three months under Tsunade's direct supervision would do that to a man.

Not that he didn't like her.

But damn.

The woman could drink an ox under the table, heal it back to life, and then punch a crater into it for insulting her sake brand. She snored. Loudly. She slurred when drunk and always—always—tried to drag him into bar brawls she accidentally started.

He admired her.

Respected her.

Wanted to sleep for the next ten years, thanks to her.

But the war was finally winding down. Konoha's forces were making their last push into the Land of Rain. The buzz in the village was victory. Relief. Celebration.

Seijuro, however, wasn't celebrating.

He had plans. And he needed the cover of this post-war transition to pull them off.

But... not yet.

Not tonight.

Because tonight, he would be training with Mikoto. Oh well, training wouldn't be all they would be doing, but oh well.

As he put on his training outfit, Yui entered the room.

"Lord Kurama, where are you going?" the maid asked.

"I am going to Mikoto's house. We will be training," he said calmly.

The maid's eyes widened a bit.

"Lord Kurama, if I may, please bring this with you. We wouldn't want any... unwanted accidents to happen," the maid said, offering him a pair of condoms.

For the first time, Seijuro's eye twitched. Like, come on, he was going to see her, not pipe her. Come on.

"This will be of no use. I simply plan to spar with her," he said calmly.

"I understand, Lord Kurama. However, just in case—we would not wish for your shinobi career to have a pause so early on," the maid said, genuinely worried.

His eye twitched again.

"Don't worry. I will be fine," he said softly.

"Your father said the same thing, my lord... you were born nine months later..."

"You would be surprised how many accidents happen during training. One second, you're doing exercise... and the next, you're doing 'exercises'..."

...

...

So... Seijuro ended up taking the condoms.

He had no choice. This choice was forced upon him.

Sparring with Mikoto always helped. Not because she was weak—hell no, she was fast and smart and frustratingly elegant with a kunai—but because she was grounding. She didn't ask questions. She just fought.

The clash of metal rang once, twice, before Seijuro blocked her last strike with a bit more force than necessary. She stumbled back slightly, and he immediately dropped into a crouch, ready to catch her.

She didn't fall.

"Tired?" she asked, brushing hair behind her ear.

"I've been herding a drunken legendary medic-nin across three battlefields for the last ninety days. What do you think?"

Mikoto gave him a faint, amused smile. "So yes."

He exhaled, letting the tension go. "So yes."

She poured him a cup of water. He accepted it gratefully, nodding in thanks as he sat on the floor near her living room window. The air inside her home was quiet—clean. Cool breeze. Tatami under his palms.

"You've gotten stronger," he said casually.

She raised an eyebrow. "I train."

"You still overextend when you rush. I could've trapped your back leg twice."

She rolled her eyes. "Your eyes tend to get very emotionless when you're thinking of an illusion to place."

He paused. "...Seriously?"

She smirked. "I'm observant."

Hm. He never knew that about himself. So apparently, he had a cold glint in his eyes when doing that.

How fun.

She stepped closer.

He didn't move.

Their eyes met for a heartbeat longer than normal.

And then she leaned in and kissed him.

No warning. No awkward shuffle. Just her lips against his. Soft. Confident. Sure.

He answered without thinking. His hand found her waist. Hers curled behind his neck.

It lasted.

A long moment passed between them as breath mingled and hearts adjusted.

They pulled apart only slightly, noses brushing.

"Stay," she whispered.

He didn't answer.

He just stayed.

Time skip.

Mikoto lay across his chest, legs tangled in the blanket, her fingers idly tracing lines on his collarbone. Seijuro's eyes were half-lidded, one arm draped around her comfortably.

They hadn't gone all the way. But they didn't need to. And Seijuro was regretting how much Yui was almost right.

Damn it.

He almost had to use the condom. Shit. He had good self-control. Why now, with her in his arms, did he just want to—

###### # ## # # # # # # # # ## ## # # # and then # ## # # # # # # # # # # # # ## # # # , before # # # # # # # # # # # # #...

{...pick her up and fold her like an origami crane, have her legs over both his shoulders while using chakra to enhance each thrust, pulling her into a rhythm so dangerous it would make even Jiraiya's erotica look like kids' bedtime stories.}

He never thought he could even utter such words—but here he was, planning to do some shit you only find in one of Jiraiya's sex novels.

She shifted, resting her chin just beneath his throat. "The elders want to talk to you."

"Of course they do." He didn't open his eyes.

"They say it's urgent."

"Isn't it always?"

She nudged his ribs gently with her knuckle. "Behave."

He opened one eye just long enough to kiss her forehead. Then her cheek. Then her lips.

Once more, their lips met, their bodies pressed against each other, the moonlight's illumination giving them all the light they needed.

A/N They didn't fuck, just made out, and Seijuro brick up...so yeah, this is probably the first time he got hard in this life, in general though, don't think so.....in total probably would be in the double digits.