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The lights seem to flicker like little fireflies.
Well. That is, if fireflies came in all the colours of the rainbow. And also had a lighting system attached to them in the centre of the room powered by clever seals and tiny reflecting mirrors.
But anyway, that is very much off-topic. The lights flickered on, and Obito's head felt floaty in the way it could only get when he was four shots deep, the burn of lemon drop lightly warming the back of his throat. Anko had already left the bar—hanging off of both Asuma and Kurenai and wasn't that a combination—meanwhile Rin was engrossed in discussion with… Umino? Both of them had forgotten their drinks on the table in exchange for what looked like sealing paper.
Honestly, for his own safety, Obito decided that he didn't want to know.
He knew he was done for the night; mostly, anyway. He was mildly listening in on whatever discussion Genma had roped Hayate into—about senbon and wazikashi techniques—while Raidou and Yugao looked on with dazed-but-smitten looks, Obito himself nursing the remains of a fruity cocktail that Rin had ordered out of curiosity before deciding that she despised the smell.
Well. Obito didn't care much about what he drank as long as it wasn't bitter (he judgementally stared at Raidou as he ordered yet another drink with goyā).
Tuning out of the conversation because Sage, he really is friends with a bunch of nerds, who talks about kinjutsu techniques when out drinking, Obito slowly gets up from his seat, making his way to the bar. Sitting down on a stool, he motions at the bartender to get a glass of water with lime. The gentle warmth of alcohol was slowly getting into headache-territory and he did not want to deal with that tomorrow morning, thank you very much.
It wasn't rare for all these experienced shinobi to gather at the bar every few weeks or so, with tensions between all the other villages at an all time low, so it wasn't like Obito was awkward around them, nor did he regret coming out to socialise it's just—
A jovial grin is in his vision, a shinobi he doesn't know the name of nearly coming too close into his personal space in the bar. Politely, Obito returns their greeting by raising his glass—noticing how the other’s gaze slid appreciatively down his bare arms because by the sage were summers in Konoha hot, and Obito wouldn't be caught dead wearing the standard-issue full sleeve jonin wear when off duty unlike a certain someone he knew—and was already mentally mapping out how to deal with whatever advance the other would make, regardless of how flattered he was.
Look, Obito knew that he didn't really make a decent—let alone pretty—figure, half his face being covered in deep-set scars, and the other side being covered up due to missing an eye, so chances of someone being genuinely interested in him these days were very low.
(Even if, as shinobi, being scarred was basically a given and Obito certainly didn't find any faults in Raidou’s or Umino’s looks but— well.
He was a prime example of “Do as I say, not as I do.”)
Before he could decide a course of action, however, a hand grabs him by the waist, body maneuvering behind him, a huff coming softly by his ear. Obito's breath catches, his hand trembling gently from where it's holding up the glass of water to his lips. He sees a flash of teeth—canines long enough to be considered fangs—darting out, biting the lime from his drink before disappearing behind a quick flash of navy blue, quickly enough that Obito knows nobody but him witnessed the sight.
The hand was still resting on his waist.
Heat rose to his cheeks, not the result of any lingering alcohol, and his head felt woozier than it had been when still feeling the high of the shots he had downed earlier.
"Maa, Obito-kun. Quite the refreshing treat you've presented me with."
Obito got the distinct feeling that the lime wasn't what was being referenced here. He gulped, knowing his whole face was flushed—too flushed to be written off by alcohol. The edges of his vision blurred, out of focus. The firefly-dazzling lights and gentle hum of other patrons in the bar fading—all he could focus on was the bright point where hands met his waist, and the soft rustle of fabric over his too-warm ear.
He barely noticed the other shinobi huffing in annoyance and turning away, clearly seeing he was dismissed. Obito sighed, leaning back into the warmth presented, relishing in the feeling of those hands tightening around his waist.
“Bakashi. I thought your mission was going to run for a few days more?”
“Well, my cute little students were so-o efficient that we managed to cut the field burning time into less than half of what was expected. The farmers certainly appreciated their efficiency,” came the answer, head still not moving from the spot it occupied.
Obito huffed. “Slave driver. You're really abusing Naruto’s kage bunshin, huh, you bastard?”
Kakashi hummed. The clothed nose nuzzled lightly into his hair, at the back of his ear, inhaling deeply. Doing it so openly in public. Not that anyone but those of beast-clan origin would know the significance of the motion but regardless…
“Possessive freak. That other guy is long gone, don't worry,” Obito said—but even he couldn't help but preen slightly and lean into the touch. Partly to soothe the other, partly because it had been almost two weeks since he last saw the bastard. He didn't even try to hide the flush that rose along his skin, the hair at the back of his neck standing up in anticipation.
“Maa, but clearly I've been gone too long, if such advances are even being made,” Kakashi said, nipping his ear lightly through his Sage-foresaken mask, voice taking on that infuriating-yet-hot rumble that it did when he was jealous.
Obito tried really hard not to preen; he wasn't really sure that it worked anyway, considering how pleased Kakashi’s chakra suddenly became.
The glass that was nearly forgotten in his hand was lightly tipped up by Kakashi, and Obito’s mouth opened instinctively.
“Hmm,” the bastard said appreciatively. “Good.”
Embarrassingly, Obito had a full body shiver at that. One word after two weeks and—
“—You really are such a vision. Blushing like cute Mariko-chan in Icha-Icha: Violence.” Kakashi’s voice had taken that annoying lilt that told that he got exactly what he had been aiming for.
Stupid perfectionist genius bastard—
“You're going to choke, Obito. Swallow.”
He swallowed.
This night had suddenly become all the more interesting.