Rating: Pretty heavy R this chapter, NC-17 later ones. As far as posting the more heavily smutty ones here on FF...I dunno. I'm still debating it. This part and the next won't be too smutty, so they're safe...but...I dunno... XD
Warnings for this chapter: Anonymous sorta sex, spanking. That’s it for this one. :D There will be much more later. Lolz.
A/N: I posted this on my writing livejournal, like, a while ago. And I was all "well, I'm not sure if it's a good idea to post to But seeing as I'm having trouble getting things finished, I figure I would tide you guys over with something I already had done. Well, OH GREAT, another chaptered fic for me never to finish. No, I WILL finish Triptych. It's only going to have four or five more chapters, after all. Cheer me on, guys. I know I can do it. Not that that has anything to do with this fic. Anyway, I'm sure as you're reading, you might be all "yo, Sasuke desires power, why would he be submissive?" Well, I have some theories on his characterization in this fic that will get more described in depth later on. For now, just go along with it and enjoy it. I hope you do, anyway.

Oh, and uhm, by Halo I mean the astronomical meaning, not the religious. And certainly not the video game.

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The club is dark, as it always is. Crowded, too; the dance floor—not really for dancing, though, it’s something more abstract than that, bodies moving and crushing and hands wandering—packed with silhouetted figures, as always. Sasuke skirts the edge of the floor, eyes starting to adjust to the dim light, starting to pick particular faces out of the crowd. Some he recognizes, some not. That’s the thing about this club. Identity loses all meaning, loses all its purpose. It simply does not matter who you are, it matters what you want. And you can probably find it, here in this club. Tonight, though, Sasuke isn’t even sure what he wants. He had just wanted (maybe needed) to get out, out of his quiet apartment, so he’s come here. Here, where he’s been coming to get what he wants, perhaps what he needs, for far too long.

And then there’s a hand straying across his waist, another hand pushing gently at his jaw when he tries to turn and see who it is.

“Hey,” a soft voice speaks to him, barely audible over the music, which isn’t even that loud, more of a low pulse. It can’t be heard in the bedrooms upstairs, and that’s what is important. The slightest thing can distract from the fantasy, and that’s what this club is about. Fulfilling fantasies.

Sasuke returns the greeting quietly, sighing as the hand strokes across his stomach, which is covered by a tight white long sleeved shirt. Maybe a few years ago, the anonymity would have bothered him, but not anymore. Now it’s an added bonus, something that makes him nervous in that oh so good way, a twist in his stomach, a tremor in his hands.

“Come with me,” the voice speaks, and Sasuke is led away from the dance floor in the center of the room, shoved gently (it seems like an oxymoron to Sasuke, but yet, the hand at his back is insistent, forceful, but also very soft, almost caring) towards the furniture that is pushed against the perimeter of the club. Tables, chairs, some armchairs—different things to fulfill different fantasies.

Somehow he’s maneuvered so that the stranger is behind him, settling into a large, plush armchair, pulling Sasuke across his lap. And Sasuke stares at the floor, shivering faintly. This is different, this is interesting—it’s so out of his control, and maybe that’s what he needs, maybe he just—oh, and his train of thought is shattered as those fingers tug at the waistband of his pants, which are long and black and slightly looser than what most people in this club would choose, but that’s just him; his pants end up tugged down under his ass, settling on the back of his thighs.

And then that hand (so warm, the fingertips slightly callused, and Sasuke thinks that maybe this is a ninja, not a civilian, and that’s all right, because maybe then this man understands him better, understand why he needs it) strokes across freshly revealed pale white skin, and Sasuke moans, squirming, his hips creating a soft, slow rhythm against the clothed thigh under him.

And when a heavy palm swings down onto that delicate skin, Sasuke moans harder, rubs harder against that thigh, because it’s embarrassing in a way that’s so good, embarrassing in a way that makes him feel faintly ridiculous, and his cheeks flush crimson red. It seems so stupid, seems like something meant for naughty children, but it feels so good. So good.

“Count,” the quiet voice says, and Sasuke thinks that the voice might just be familiar, but it’s too quiet, and he’s too distracted, and—oh.

“Two,” Sasuke breathes, voice strained, as a second smack hits his skin. He’s done this before. Been spanked before. (Just the word, “spanked”, makes him feel even more ridiculous, but it had felt good when he did it in the past, and it feels good this time, so maybe Sasuke shouldn’t be dwelling on how ashamed he feels, how stupid.) But he’d never been asked to count before, and it’s different, and nice, and—“Th-three.” Did he just stammer?

“So nice, the way your skin turns that certain shade of pink,” comes a whisper that digs deep into Sasuke, makes his stomach even more twisted and queasy and his hips’ motions even more concrete, needing to get something solid, something real.

Four and five are quick slaps, successive, and Sasuke whimpers, before forcing out “Five,” except the word is a slurred, dragged out moan, and oh, it feels so good, the thought that people might just be watching, might be seeing him, squirming and rubbing against the clothed thigh underneath him like a common whore, and that’s—just—“Fuuuck.”

Six is hard, hurts, and that makes it even better, and he stammers out the word, stammers out seven when that comes soon after six. He has to concentrate hard not to lose count, has to concentrate so hard just to figure out what number comes next. Wow.

“Mmm, eight,” and the other hand, the stranger’s free hand, is holding him in place, which is probably good, because otherwise Sasuke just might squirm off that lap. Feels good, though, cloth rubbing harshly against his very needy erection, leaking precome, and oh, it feels even better when nine comes. His skin is probably glowing red now, and it’s going to hurt later, it’s going to hurt tomorrow, but it doesn’t even matter, since he has no mission tomorrow, nothing to do but stay at home, and he will definitely be feeling this. Feeling it as a constant pulse of pain, when he moves, when he sits, and—Sasuke is almost looking forward to it.

Oh, fuck, and Sasuke grinds down on a muscled thigh a bit harder, rhythm becoming erratic and then nonexistent, and his eyelids slam shut hard as ten and eleven and twelve come, but he’s lost count entirely, because he’s coming with a stuttered moan, coming on this stranger’s thigh and the club’s armchair, not that it matters, because the latter has probably been come on many times. And the stranger was coaxing him towards this anyway, so that doesn’t really matter either, though Sasuke feels a bit bad he didn’t last longer. But it felt so good. Fingers are stroking through his hair as Sasuke’s harsh, quick breaths start to slow, Sasuke letting out one last soft moan before his eyelids slip open. He pushes himself up awkwardly, almost falling off the chair, but eventually manages to almost turn over, twisting a lithe frame—and then he freezes.

Freezes utterly and completely, to the point where he’s not even breathing, eyes wide open, and heart probably not even beating, he’s gone so still. He just came on Kakashi’s thigh. Just came, writhing and moaning and needy, from being spanked, on Kakashi’s—fucking—thigh. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Even worse is that this makes it even hotter. Hotter, because he’d thought about it, thought about it when Kakashi was so angry at Sasuke for leaving, even if he did get dragged back, so angry that Kakashi looked like he’d wanted to hurt Sasuke, to punish him, and now he’d fucking spanked Sasuke to orgasm.

“Y-you—” Sasuke chokes out, actually falling off of Kakashi’s lap this time, before pulling himself to his feet and tugging his pants up sharply, hurriedly. Even if he’d fantasized about it, that doesn’t mean he wants it, and oh, fuck, Kakashi’s eye is so damn amused, watching the mortified expression on Sasuke’s face. Sasuke takes a few steps backwards, nearly tripping, suddenly so ungraceful. But he hadn’t been expecting that, not one bit. Kakashi looks about to open his mouth, about to say something, but Sasuke absolutely doesn’t want to hear it, so he turns, leaving the club practically in a full fledged run. He needs to be away, away from how embarrassed he feels, how very ashamed of himself. And maybe there’s a part of him that’s glad it was Kakashi, glad that that hand, that had been so firm and cruel and good, belongs to Kakashi.

So he runs from that, too.