Chapter 107: Sumire [1] (18+)

Sumire’s legs locked around Kael’s waist before he could shift his weight. The motion was sudden, almost instinctive, pulling him flush against her so that the hard line of his body pressed fully between her thighs. Her deep purple braids spilled across the old mattress like twin ropes of silk, the ends brushing the sheets past her waist. For a heartbeat she only stared up at him, eyes wide and uncertain, then she closed the last inch herself and kissed him back.

The kiss was no longer careful.

Kael met it with equal hunger, mouth opening over hers, tongue sliding past her lips in a slow, deliberate stroke. Sumire made a soft, startled sound that melted into a low moan against his tongue. The vibration traveled straight through him. He angled his head and deepened the kiss, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her neck while the other settled at her waist. She tasted faintly of the green tea they had shared earlier, warm and clean. Every time she exhaled into his mouth the sound carried a quiet, helpless note that made his pulse kick harder.

He broke the kiss only long enough to trail his mouth along her cheek, then lower, lips brushing the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. Sumire’s breath hitched. When he licked the shell of her ear in a slow, wet drag she shuddered hard enough that her thighs tightened around him.

"Ah—"

The soft moan slipped out before she could stop it. Kael’s hand moved from her waist to the soft weight of her breast, cupping her through the thin fabric of her top. He squeezed gently at first, then more firmly, feeling the peak of her nipple harden against his palm. Sumire arched into the touch, another muffled sound lost between their mouths as he claimed her lips again. His other hand slid down the curve of her hip and over the full swell of her ass, fingers digging in just enough to pull her tighter against the growing heat between his legs.

He kept kissing her while his fingers worked the ties of her top. The fabric loosened. He pushed it aside, baring one pale breast to the cool air of the unused bedroom. Sumire’s skin was almost startlingly fair; the moment his mouth left hers and closed over the soft peak, the flesh around it flushed a delicate pink. He sucked slowly, tongue circling the nipple before drawing it deeper. She was hypersensitive—every pull of his mouth made her gasp, every scrape of teeth drew a higher, thinner sound from her throat.

"Nngh... Naruto—"

Her hands had found his hair, not quite pulling, not quite pushing him away. Kael switched to the other breast, leaving the first nipple wet and flushed a deeper red against her pale skin. Wherever his mouth or fingers lingered, the same flush followed, as if her body could not help broadcasting every point of contact. He pinched the first nipple lightly between thumb and forefinger while he sucked the second, and the moan that left her was louder, almost desperate.

He reached between them and opened the front of his pants. The sound of the zipper was soft but unmistakable in the quiet room. Sumire’s eyes fluttered open, dark and glassy, watching him as he freed himself and settled more firmly between her thighs. The head of his cock pressed against the thin barrier of her underwear, heat to heat. She was already wet enough that the fabric clung. Kael rolled his hips once, a slow grind that made her head tip back against the mattress and another soft, broken sound escape her throat.

He was a heartbeat from pulling the last scrap of cloth aside when the main door of the apartment slid open.

Both of them froze.

Footsteps crossed the small living space. Himawari’s voice called out, light and ordinary. "Sumire? We brought some cleaning supplies—"

Kael moved first. He rolled off her in one smooth motion, yanking his pants closed and tugging Sumire’s top back into place with practiced speed. Sumire scrambled upright, fingers flying over the ties of her clothing, cheeks scarlet. By the time the bedroom door slid open they were both standing—slightly breathless, slightly disheveled, but covered.

Himawari stood in the doorway, a bundle of cloths and a bucket in her arms. Her gaze moved from Sumire’s flushed face to Kael’s carefully neutral expression and back again. Something flickered behind her eyes—curiosity, a faint unease—but she could not name it.

"You’re already in here," she said after a small pause. "We can start with the living room, then."

"Yeah," Kael answered, voice steady. "Dust is worse than I thought."

They filed out. The moment broke cleanly on the surface, but the air between Kael and Sumire still carried the heat of what had almost happened.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in ordinary labor. Sarada took the windows with efficient, almost military precision. Himawari handled the kitchen shelves, occasionally glancing toward the bedroom door as if the earlier strangeness still tugged at her. Eida claimed a corner of the living room and wiped the same low table with slow, detached motions, her expression as closed and unreadable as ever. In the future Kael half-remembered she had always been difficult to parse—loyal to Kawaki above almost everything, cooperative only when it suited her or when no better option existed. Now that a roof and a measure of safety had been secured, the distance was settling back over her like a familiar coat. She answered when spoken to, contributed the minimum required, and otherwise remained a quiet, watchful presence that gave nothing away.

Sumire worked beside Kael in the bedroom, changing the linens and airing the futons. Every time their hands brushed she flinched as if burned, then forced herself to keep moving. Inside her chest the conflict refused to settle. She had spent years carrying a quiet, one-sided affection for a boy who had never looked at her the same way—Boruto, loud and stubborn and bright. The man whose mouth had been on her skin less than an hour ago wore the same face that boy would one day grow into. Kissing him had felt like betrayal even though Boruto had never claimed her, never even known the depth of what she felt. The guilt sat heavy and confusing beside the lingering heat between her legs.

By late afternoon the apartment was livable. The dust was gone, the windows open to the summer air, the kitchen stocked with the basics the others had brought back. They had just settled around the low table when a knock sounded at the door.

Sakura stood outside with a large cloth-wrapped bundle and a practical expression.

"I figured you wouldn’t have time to cook after moving everything," she said, stepping in without waiting for an invitation. "And four extra people is a lot for one person to manage alone."

She unpacked rice balls, grilled fish, pickled vegetables, and a simple miso. The smell filled the small space and turned the afternoon into something almost domestic. They ate together, conversation carefully steered away from anything that touched the future—training schedules, which market had the best tomatoes, whether the water pressure in the new building was decent. Sarada asked a few pointed questions about Leaf bureaucracy. Himawari smiled at a dry comment from Kael and then looked quickly away. Eida ate in silence. Sumire kept her eyes on her bowl, but every so often her gaze lifted and found Kael’s across the table before darting down again.

Kael listened more than he spoke. Two years. The number still felt both vast and razor-thin, but for the first time since the forest he allowed himself a narrow thread of confidence. The system had removed the old time limits. Multiple quests could run at once. Every reward now pushed pure power. He had an apartment free for the work the system demanded, four dangerous variables housed next door instead of under his roof, and a Hokage who at least half-believed a storm was coming. It was not a complete plan. It was a start.

When the meal ended Sakura helped gather the empty dishes, gave the four women a brisk once-over that said she would be checking on them whether they liked it or not, and left with a final reminder that the hospital was open if anyone needed anything. The door slid shut behind her.

Sumire rose to carry the last of the bowls to the kitchen. As she passed Kael her fingers brushed his wrist—light, deliberate, gone in an instant. She did not look at him. The touch was enough.

Outside, the summer evening settled over Konoha in ordinary gold and long shadows. Inside the newly cleaned apartment, four survivors from a ruined timeline began the slow work of pretending they belonged, and the man who had become the hinge between two futures sat with the taste of Sumire still on his tongue and the next two years stretching out in front of him like an open road.

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Give me power ☺️