DISCLAIMER: Full rights to 'Naruto' go to Misashi Kishimoto and other parties involved with the licensing process. Mizu (OC), is my own, as is Genichi (OC).

The Perverted Hermit's Drafting Adventure

'Icha Icha… (Hm, insert title when appropriate idea comes to mind)'

"I'm fairly sure we're lost!" She cried furiously, breasts bouncing/heaving as she flung one accusing finger to his face. "You were supposed to be leading the way, so why are you behind me?"

He thought it best not to answer, the excellent view of her lusciously long legs and supple rounded rear was succulent/tantalising- he couldn't resist dropping his pace to catch a look.

Only, she had caught him. Now his Kunoichi companion wasn't all too pleased. In fact, she was fuming/incensed/livid/furious.

He gulped; trying not to think about how fury brought out the spark of silver in her eyes.'

– Draft taken from unpublished notebooks of Jiraiya

"Age"

/eɪdʒ/ (n.)

noun: age; plural noun: ages

1.the length of time that a person has lived or a thing has existed

The legendary Jiraiya had writers' block.

Unfortunately for the small civilian village where his travels had taken him, this was indeed poor timing; for writer's block and Jiraiya were about as good a combination as fish out of water, or Kiri-nin with fire Jutsus. Mei Terumi was a freak of nature swimming against the flow of conformity, and she damn well knew it. Not that that had anything to do with Jiraiya's struggle.

Writer's block caused the Sannin to do perverse things that others around him perceived to be worse than his normal everyday actions; because of course, most fledgling men had to have at least once peeked over, or through gaps in the divide whilst at the Sentō successfully… or have been caught trying. Yet Jiraiya took the peeping game to another level, specifying it was purely 'research' for his latest novel. Not many believed him of course, and the pervert pariah would be kicked between bath house to bath house, just in search of quick flash of inspiration.

Naturally, his attempts were not seen as searching for a muse, and it created a stigma that would stick with him for years as he travelled. Men would watch him with deliberating eyes. Some women would blush… Others would hide their children. It turned out to be a fairly useful piece of camouflage, even if he wasn't taken as seriously at face-value by his peers.

After being forcefully removed five times during various periods of the day at the communal Sentō, Jiraiya had decided enough was enough, and trudged back on miserable geta sandals to his rented room at the inn to sulk. This little civilian village was proving to be more of a drain on his inspiration than Tsunade sucking on a saucer of sake; he needed to do something, and fast, before he lost the will to write forever, or the Hatake brat attacked him whence returning to Konoha.

Little village though it may be, every place has its flaws. Visually it was a splendid place, with busy buzzing streets full of joy and organised-abandon, and markets filled with the bright daylight. Though where daylight falls shadows are cast, and he winced, noting that he hadn't really put much mind into the shaded alleyways around him- for he was far too involved in finding the communal baths to think about potential threats.

It was only logical, he thought, that such a nice place as this would have its pitfalls; there were inns and markets, so obviously the town brought tourists and trade. Men and women who both respectively did and did not travel had urges, and what better place to release said urges than a brothel?

Slipping his geta back on, Jiraiya wandered through the dusk lit streets; his head idly tilted skywards to appreciate the fading light, and also the red paper lanterns strung between the houses. Some of the strands were lit and others not, and the Sannin looked on as a young boy darted around with some stepladders and a flame to bring the other lanterns to life.

After a few more minutes of wandering and people watching, Jirayia finally found what he was looking for:

Out of the corner of his eye he saw it- or rather her, with the ostentatious kimono, coiffed hair and a falsely painted face. She walked with surety and ignorance; skilfully gliding down the busy streets and through the throngs of people with measured grace and a plastered smile- managing to deflect the lecherous glances and wandering hands as though they were merely falling leaves that had landed on her kimono, which could be easily brushed away. But although she exuded confidence and utilised the saccharine smile on her face to its full potential, her hands trembled ever so slightly as she walked.

It seemed Jiraiya was in luck, as her trail led him to the place he so wished to discover:

Hidden between the facades of two perfect buildings on the main street, there was an alleyway. It was dimly lit and dirty, and the woman in the kimono illuminated the pathway as she walked with her swaying gait- the luminosity of the patterns on her attire seemingly glowing and casting abstract shapes on the dingy walls and leering faces she left in her wake.

Jiraiya followed cautiously, shooting a dubiously look at some of the people lining the walls of this obscure place. They stared back with hollow eyes so wide and dark that the Sannin forced himself to remove his gaze out of respect. He had seen that look before; it was the same as many who were desperate and broken wore. The citizens of Konoha, both Civilian and Shinobi alike, had adopted it after the Third Shinobi War and the Kyuubi attack. Some still wore it today, to his knowledge.

The girl rounded a corner, slipping behind a curtained door- which as it flapped, released a thick wall of smoke.

Opium, Jiraiya mused, having inhaled a heavy lungful of the intoxicating fumes. It turned out his luck had doubled; this would no doubt be a more… 'classy' establishment. The Sannin rubbed his palms together gleefully, then began to neaten his appearance. The red vest he wore was smoothed against his chest, and the long spikey locks smoothed. Taking his sleeve, he hastily polished his Hitai-ate, using the same hand to simultaneously hide a cheeky check for bad breath. He didn't want the curry from the last town over resurfacing and scaring away any of the beauties.

When he felt ready, lips curling into a complacent smile, he stepped through the threshold the pleasantly dressed woman had passed through moments prior, and discreetly pulled a small notebook and pencil from his pocket. He meandered skilfully on his traditional style sandals, weaving out of the way of the promiscuous and their victims, those inhaling the opium smoke, and the decidedly drunk. Soon, he found the bar and the lovely lady he'd followed halfway across the town.

The man- Civilian!, Jiraiya's mind screamed- tending to the bar rose his head and grunted at the Toad Sannin as the latter seated himself on a tall stool.

"Junmai-shu," Jiraiya told him with a grin.

A tinkling laugh sounded by his shoulder, "My my, you're going all out aren't you?"

His grin stiffens slightly at the sight of her, the woman whose trail he'd followed down lantern-lined streets and through throngs of people. With the opium smoke thickening the air, parts of her features are fogged in his view. The black hair and slender pale features make him still; what business would an Uchiha have in a brothel? No, what business would an Uchiha have laughing?

The woman inhales some of the smoke, and she releases a heavy sputter.

The fog clears.

Blue eyes. Not an Uchiha, or indeed a Kunoichi.

Discreetly, the Sannin finds himself relaxing. "My my," he mimics, "Aren't you a little young to be in this kind of place?"

Her face hardens, the mirth that crinkled around her eyes becoming as smooth as fine china. He has time to admire her features now that the opium smoke has cleared; two sharply arching brows, a slender long nose, small pouting mouth with rosy pink lips, and a pair of bright blue eyes so clear and soulful they may as well be the glass panes in a window.

"I'm old enough," she finally replies tartly, and her face constricts; momentarily mournful. "What about you though," she gestures to his long silvered hair, "Are you sure you're not too old for a place like this? Wouldn't want you to throw a hip, Jii-san."

'… she hadn't talked to him for a while, choosing to sniff and turn her cheek on any of his attempts to apologise for his lewd behaviour. She had been the one to suggest sharing a sleeping bag- it was only natural that- [the pages here are smudged and watermarked, most likely from being dropped in the hot springs while peeping]'

– Draft taken from unpublished notebooks of Jiraiya

"Windows"

/ˈwɪndəʊ/ (n.)

noun: window; plural noun: windows

1. an opening in the wall or roof of a building or vehicle, fitted with glass in a frame to admit light or air and allow people to see out […]

4. an interval or opportunity for action

"The eyes are the window of the soul..."

– An English Proverb

Jiraiya grumbles and takes a sip of his Sake. Gathering intel in this manner wouldn't be his go-to method the next time peeping failed. He'd just have to face the Hatake brat head on or disappear from the Elemental Nations altogether, if he failed to write another book before the return journey to Konoha.

He and the woman were now seated at a small intimate table, in the darkest corner of the room where he could see everything happening around them.

The bartender threw him shifty looks, and the woman shifted uncomfortably on the cracking patent seat- a smooth surface wisely chosen, Jiraiya noted; very easy to remove… stains… from, should there be any mishaps.

Beneath the woman, the seat groans dully as she shifts her weight around, and Jiraiya seems to question whether he should take back his prior statement about this place being 'classy'. Under all of the mystique, smoke, and mirrors, the establishment was falling apart at the seams- and the staff, well, the less said about their ugly mugs the better. He'd never seen such an array of… interesting women. The one sat beside him not included, mind you. No, she was easy on the eyes, but it was obvious she hadn't been in this kind of work for long. Jiraiya had landed himself a rookie; one that didn't dare make eye contact with him, even after all of the displayed bravado from earlier.

"So, how old did you say you were again?" He asked politely, initiating small talk and ogling the very sheer kimono slipping from her slender shoulders.

"Old enough," she replied lightly, wafting a dainty hand around her face to clear a puff of opium smoke from the next table over.

"Oh? Here I was thinking you were underage and desperate for work- never mind then, I best be off!" Jiraiya tipped the saucer of sake down his throat, packed away the note book and pencil, and made to leave.

A small hand gripping the top of his leg- sensitive place sensitive place, his mind shrieked- caused him to sit down again.

"What do you know?" The only-just woman snarled, "You have no clue as to what my life is like-"

He leant close to her ear, breath lifting the wispy strands of hair arranged around it like a snake's coiled body; "You're right, I don't know what you've been through. But I can go off of assumption considering the state of this dump." He jerks a thumb at their surrounding and she gulps.

"I could help you," he continued, trying not to focus on how that kimono of hers was tantalisingly revealing more and more supple flesh, and that her pulse was racing from his proximity. He put it down to opium exposure, and not that he was dangerously close to the erogenous zone beneath her ear.

"That's what they all said," she whispered hoarsely. "Then they paid and left."

Jiraiya's head snapped up, and he watched as those twin panes of glass that so painfully served as her blue eyes streaked with tears and the misty hue of hurt.

He tapped his Hitai-ate knowingly; the glassy eyes widened in recognition. "This time, I mean it."

A plan formulates between two steely blue eyes; the mercurial shades that brighten and gleam in humour and fog in depression is overwrought with hardened glee and precision. A military blue. The fragile panes of glass in this window have become iron plated.

Timidly, she leans forward, gentle hands brushing aside his silvery-white mane. She nips his neck half-heartedly; "Follow me."

Then she leads him upstairs.

Problem? Para- wait, no, used that one already. Mission? Dilemma. 'Icha Icha Dilemma.'

– List of names for the draft taken from unpublished notebooks of Jiraiya

"Intimate"

(a.)

/ˈɪntɪmət/

1. closely acquainted; familiar.

2. private and personal:

[…] euphemistic; having a sexual relationship.

"You do know what this looks like?" Jiraiya inquires as she pulls him up the stairs where the other (questionable) women drag their victims. He makes quick and awkward eye contact with the bartender and regrets it; the man levels him with an impressive glare that would be downright scary if he'd put any Ki behind the action.

"I do," she answers, "Play along will you?"

'With pleasure' he wants to reply, but restrains his ready-and-waiting remark and wandering hands. She slides open a miscellaneous door among many others, and pushes him within. The thin material barely masks the cacophony of pleasure surrounding them. It is unlikely their talk may also be kept secret unless they whisper.

Inside waits a clean if somewhat worn futon, and a small vanity; holding one chipped, flower-embellished comb, and a torn photograph. Finally, left in the corner by the excessively large window sits a weathered rucksack.

"You said that you could help me?" She prompts, dropping his hand as though it burnt her, "But who are you exactly?"

Jiraiya grins widely, "I'm glad you asked! I am Jiraiya-"

"Oh Kami-"

"-of the Sannin, Toad Sage, author of the critically acclaimed 'Icha Icha' series-"

"That was what I was afraid of-"

"-and a Super Pervert!"

Their moment of silence is interrupted by one vivacious crow of pleasure, and Jiraiya muses if he had in fact come to the right place after all in order to conduct his research. People certainly sounded like they were having a good time.

"So you know me already?" He asks eventually, when the panting, the groans, the screams of joy subside.

The girl crosses her arms, and he tries not to notice how her smaller-than-Tsunade's-but-still-fairly-ample chest is pushed skywards. "I know of your reputation, and my mother used to read your sordid books."

"I take great offence to that, my books are excellent works of mature literature-" he ignores the scoff of 'smut' from her general direction, "-but if you don't want my help after all…?"

"Oh no," she waves her arms frantically, "I do, I do."

"Why don't you tell me your name first sweetheart, then your story. I'll see what I can do after that."

Unimpressed, her fingers clench tighter around her upper-arms; "First of all, don't call me 'sweetheart'- I have a name, use it- call me Mizu."

Knowing her name, surveying the scant few possessions scattered around the room (a well-loved pair of leather shoes peek out by the vanity), it provides a sense of intimacy not usually found within a brothel. Perhaps if he frequented this same establishment he would learn these sacred trivial things about her; but he does not, and she really only wants to escape.

"My father died when I was young, I barely remember him. My mother brought me up- we had enough to live off comfortably, so long as the crops didn't fail each year on our farm."

"I'm presuming something did go wrong?"

"… it wasn't proven, but our fields and the house were set alight. I got out, but my mother was trapped inside. I was twelve and couldn't manage to move the beam crushing her, and it was too late by the time someone else got there. I watched my home burn to the ground, and if I go off of my gut instinct, I'd say our neighbour who run another crop farm- hey! Will you stop taking notes!"

Jiraiya whips away the small notebook, rubbing the back of his head and grinning sheepishly. "Go on," he prods.

"My mother turned down his marriage proposal and ideas to unite the farmland, and he didn't take it too well. I guess he burned the place to the ground to get rid of the competition if he couldn't have the land all to himself," Mizu finished solemnly, eyes glazed.

"I'm sorry to hear that, but how did you end up-"

"Here? Spreading my legs for dirty old men and greenhorns alike?" She spits.

Jiraiya flusters; "I wasn't going to put it like that, but well… ahem, I presume you had no other option?"

She laughs humorously, "You'd be right in thinking that. There was nothing left for me to salvage, nor anyone I could turn to. I sold the land for what little money I could acquire; it was enough to get me here. Got snapped up when I was fourteen, but Genichi down there wouldn't let me work until I was older."

"And how old is that?"

"Old enou-"

A knock sounds on the door.

"Mizu, are you alright?" Arrives the muffled speech.

Panic ensues:

"Who is that?" Jiraiya hisses hunkering down over her tiny frame.

"Genichi! Oh no-" Mizu frantically whispers back, "Quick! Do something before he comes in!"

"Like what?"

"I don't know!" She stills, and then her hands fumble to loosen both his red vest and her kimono, and equally ruffle their hair. "Kiss me," she commands.

"I don't know-"

"I'm getting worried here- Mizu? I'm coming in-" Genichi's voice sounds, and the door begins to slide.

"Do it!" Mizu growls, grabbing Jiraiya's vest and pulling him closer.

'"Kouki" she breathed, face flushed and wanton with a heady voice, "Please."

He gulped, pinned beneath her form. He shouldn't be doing this; it could put the mission in jeopardy. His loyalty lay with completing the mission and his village, and not with the beautiful Kunoichi writhing on top of his pinned body.

"Kouki," she said again, full of need. He whimpered inaudibly as she panted. "Make love to me, please."

He doesn't answer, and she grows impatient and more and more beautiful as her desire blooms. She releases one of her slender hands from its role of manacling his; pounding her fist into the ground near his head and raising a curtain of earthy dust which makes his eyes water. She leans close, nose touching his own, and snarls: "Fuck me already!"-'

– Draft taken from unpublished notebooks of Jiraiya

"Quandary"

/ˈkwɒnd(ə)ri/ (n.)

noun: quandary; plural noun: quandaries

1. a state of perplexity or uncertainty over what to do in a difficult situation.

2. a difficult situation; a practical dilemma.

Genichi left after finding them partially dressed and heatedly fumbling atop the futon.

-fingers curling into his collar- lips and teeth and gasping- falling backwards gently, futon, soft, grasping hands- closerclosercloser-

He didn't come back, much to Mizu's relief and Jiraiya's distress.

The Sannin had only gone to the brothel on a whim and because of writer's block; he didn't expect to find himself embroiled in one woman's backlog of emotional turmoil, and manning the façade of an ever-ready punter. Not that he minded being atop a beautiful young lady- whose hands were tangled in his hair- no he didn't mind that at all.

Jiraiya buried his nose closer to her slender neck and the cosy futon; both of which smelt faintly floral and comforting to him. Thick waves of her hair dusted his face, having slipped from her ornate hairdo in their enthusiasm to curb the intruder. It tickled his face like flowing water.

"He's gone. You can get off of me now."

He inhaled deeply, memorising the simple heady scent.

"Hello? You're squishing me, Jii-San."

Reluctantly, he rolls off of her and stands. Then he helps Mizu to her feet. They idly tidy their appearances; smoothing the rustled clothes and bed-swept hair. Mizu swipes a finger down his jaw, wiping away a smudge of deep red lipstick she'd placed there. He tries not to flinch, or groan at her light touch.

"So, this Genichi…"

"He thinks you'll be wriggling around inside of me for a good twenty minutes. So long as you don't throw out your hip, that is, and get yourself stuck."

Jiraiya deflates; "What is it with this 'Grandpa' thing? I'm not that old- and I've been told the ladies like a man with silver hair."

"Yours is white. You've missed the boat on that one."

"Well," he states, stomping one sandaled foot and regretting it as the floorboards creak. Hopefully Genichi mistakes it as his enthusiasm, and not a miniature temper tantrum. "I guess you don't want me to help you, considering I'm old and decrepit?"

"Oh no, don't mistake me, you're my best bet of getting out of her," Mizu placates, and looks at her glum little room which has entertained far too many men. "I'm only joking, Jiraiya-Sama," she says, batting her eyelashes.

"That's more like it," he nods to the vanity, "Pack any items you need, quickly. We'll leave through the window."

She does as he asks, but idly questions why he'd visited the establishment- then, approaching why he decided to help her.

"Mah, you seem like a good girl," he shrugs, after quietly opening the window. He's surprised it didn't shatter, it's that fragile. "How long have you… no, how many?"

"More than I would like, and that's already too many," Mizu says flatly.

He doesn't ask further about the men she's had to invite upstairs, trying to earn a crust, hoping for freedom. He knew she would only bottle her true opinions behind two beautiful blue eyes; her painted mouth firmly clamped on the matter, but those windows to her soul expressing more than he can comprehend.

"Well, I came here tonight because I got kicked out of the baths," he coughs, "I need some inspiration for…"

"Your sordid books?" Mizu pulls the drawstring on her rucksack. He takes it from her, and seals it within a scroll for safe keeping.

"Is that everything?" Jiraiya enquires. She nods. "Well then."

Mizu hesitates, "Before we go, can I set some ground rules?"

Jiraiya takes a deep breath; "Sure, as long as I can set one of my own. No leaving any last-goodbye notes for Genichi-San down there. I don't want to create a paper trail; once we drop out of that window, Mizu, the… 'Lady of the Night' stint is completely erased. Forgotten. Gone. Yeah?"

"Certainly. On my part, I demand: no groping, peaking, fondling, cuddling, etcetera, unless I initiate it. I'm more than happy to help you out with 'Icha Icha- whatever' so long as I'm not treated as a human experiment. I've gone through too much to be degraded once more."

Jiraiya notes the dangerous gleam in her eyes; a spark of electric blue. "I understand. But if I ask nicely-?"

"We'll see."

He coughs, "So, where are you heading to."

"I don't know… wherever I get to before your book is finished, I suppose," Mizu shrugs.

With that settled, he gathers her in his arms and steps up onto the window ledge, stooping to miss hitting his head on the top of the rickety frame. One chakra-enhanced leap later leaves them bounding through the treetops. Mizu gasps and clings closer; the intoxicating smell of flowers and safety his nose had identified before enraptures him once more. It fills his senses; his mind grows hazy, his arms curling round her body just a little tighter.

Jiraiya's writers block had landed him in some unusual situations during his time; such as the incident with Tsunade (which he recalled from time to time with equal parts of fondness and revulsion), but this was ridiculous. He'd ended up in one hell of a dilemma in the pursuit of inspiration- and he wasn't sure if it wasn't all that bad of a thing to happen.

Glossary

Kunoichi – A term pertaining to female Ninja; Shinobi being the male equivalent.

Civilian – Kishimoto-sensei often divides the classes in Naruto between those who are Shinobi and Kunoichi, and those who are not; basically, Ninja and Civilians.

Kiri-nin – Ninja from the Kirigakure no Sato (Village hidden by mist) in the Land of Water. They mainly specialise in water-style techniques.

Fire Jutsus – Jutsus are mystical arts Ninjas can deploy in battle that are utilised by releasing Chakra. Fire Jutsus are techniques that involve fire, which in Konohagakure no Sato were favoured by the Uchiha clan.

Mei Terumi – She cray cray…

Sentō – Japanese communal bathhouses.

Geta – traditional Japanese wooden sandals.

Sake – Rice Wine.

Konoha – The village hidden in the leaves, located in Hi no Kuni.

Third Shinobi War – Started more than ten years prior to canon 'Naruto'.

Hitai-ate – The forehead protectors worn by all Ninja who graduate from their respective Academies.

Junmai-Shu – Pure Sake (Rice Wine), known for not having distilled alcohol added to it.

Jii-San - An informal way of saying 'Grandfather'.

Elemental Nations – The different countries that exist in the Narutoverse

Ki- Killing intent; used for intimidation.

Futon- Traditional Japanese bedding, consisting of a quilted mattress usually laid on the floor.

Mizu- Meaning 'water'.

Kouki - Meaning 'Light'/'Happiness, good luck' and 'Hope'/'Brightness'.

Genichi- Masculine Japanese given name

Chakra- A mixture of spiritual and physical energy Ninja's can manipulate to create effects such as Jutsu's, and so forth.

Author's Note

I did state that 'Windows' would get a rewrite at some point, and here it is. A bit more mature, which is throwing me off, because is this T or M rated? I don't know, but it's definitely raunchier than what I've written before. (I'm going with M...)

The fabricated excerpts of 'Icha Icha' taken from Jiraiya's notebook made me cringe to write. I went really over the top, which I though suited the Sannin very well; Kouki and the mysterious Kunoichi created a dilemma- village or pleasure?, which mimicked Mizu and Jiraiya quite well, I think.

As always, feel free to drop me a PM, and reviews are welcome and widely appreciated. I've proofread this myself, but if you do find some mistakes please let me know!

Playlist

"So What" – P!nk

"I'm writing a Novel" – Father John Misty

"I'm in love with a German film star" – The Passions

"Roof jump" – Marius de Vries, Ilan Eshkeri, from 'Kick-Ass: The Score'

"Wonderman" – Tinie Tempah ft. Ellie Goulding and Timothy Mckenzie