A/N: I am so happy this story has been so well received. As always, I must thank my faithful readers, especially those who have taken the time to comment. I'm sure you will be disappointed to hear it, but this is the final chapter of this fic. Frankly, this is about 3 chapters longer than I had intended it. I've contemplated doing a sequel or perhaps an accompanying fic from Sasuke's POV, but at this time those are just ideas. I hope you all enjoyed the wild, somewhat kinky ride. I know I did.

Warnings: Brief moments of skin on skin contact.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Beta'd by: Itabitaboo. I am honored by her numerous and well executed edits.

The moment I step out of Sasuke's apartment, everything becomes a blur. Somehow, I commandeer a cab and stumble up to my apartment. I make it to my room, collapse on my bed, and promptly pass the fuck out. I sleep like the dead.

The next morning, my groggy brain slowly pieces things together. I'm still wearing the clothes I went out in, Kiba has blown up my phone with texts and voicemails, and my head is spinning.

First things first—I shower. This takes longer than normal, as I can't seem to focus on the task at hand. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around what happened last night. I can remember every detail, but I can't seem to figure out how it happened.

"What was I thinking?" I ask myself aloud as I lather my body scrub into my hair. "Shit," I say, realizing what I've done. I rinse off and try again.

Eventually, I move from the shower to the sink where I proceed to brush my teeth three times—once to get the taste of stale booze out of my mouth, again to actually clean and then a third time when I remember tasting my cum.

I diligently ignore my phone as it goes off again while I'm getting dressed. I go to throw my towel in the hamper, then realize it's overflowing. Grumbling, I take the heaping bin to the washing machine. While I don't bother sorting anything, I do go through my pockets and find some change, a few wadded up bills and folded up receipts. After starting the washer, I take my fistful of dirty laundry booty back to my bedroom. I drop the money in a mason jaw on my dresser and sort through the paper to make sure I don't toss anything important. It's mostly fast food receipts and one bank statement. I toss everything in the trash until there's one slip left. I open it and stare at the contents.

In sharp black ink, underneath a phone number, it reads: You know you liked it. Sasuke.

I can't help but smile. It's just so damn fitting. I move my hand over the trashcan but hesitate. I stand there, debating whether or not to throw the note away, before huffing in frustration.

"Don't be fucking stupid," I tell myself and crumple the paper before flicking it into the trash.

I finally return Kiba's many calls. After a few awkward minutes of conversation, we agree to meet for lunch. Maybe it won't be so weird talking over burgers and fries. We meet at a restaurant halfway between our homes and order double bacon cheeseburgers a piece and split 20 hot wings. At least I know my appetite hasn't changed. We wait until all the food has arrived before bringing up the giant fucking elephant in the room.

"So, just to be clear," Kiba says as he dunks a wing into his cup of blue cheese, "was being with Sakura so bad that she turned you queer?"

I have to close my eyes to keep from rolling them. "No," I say with an exasperated groan. "Sakura did not make me gay."

"Okay," Kiba says between bites, "'cause she's already on my shit list for being a bitch. I just wanna know if she is responsible for this too."

"She's not responsible for anything," I say, picking at my fries. I select one, then stab it in Kiba's direction. "And there's nothing to even be responsible for. This was an isolated incident."

Kiba nods. "Good," he says as he sucks the last morsels of wing meat from some bones and tosses them aside. He's just begun to suck the sauce from his fingers when he pauses. "So, this isn't turning you on right now?"

"Jesus..." I groan up at the ceiling.

The remainder of the meal is spent convincing Kiba that I am, in fact, still a heterosexual male. But as we near the end of our burgers, I'm starting to think I might also be working to convince myself.

"I mean, it's not like I'm attracted to guys," I say, for what has to be the fifth time.

"Right," Kiba answers dutifully, but I can sense his uncertainty.

"It's just sex," I continue defensively. "I like to jack off, that doesn't make me asexual."

Kiba furrows his brow. "I don't think that's quite the same." He takes a thoughtful sip of his soda, then asks, "Who do you think of when you're jerkin' it?"

"Girls," I answer confidently. This is true. My spank bank is filled entirely with images of women.

"See?" Kiba says encouragingly. "Honestly, I don't even understand how you got it up for him."

I'm suddenly inundated with very fresh, very sensual memories—the slip of his tongue stud past my lips, the heat of his body against mine and the hardness he pressed against my thigh. I'm staring vacantly at the table as I remember slipping my hands around his slim hips and grabbing his ass. Oh... that ass...

"Naruto?" Kiba says, sounding a little concerned.

"Huh?" I snap my attention back to him.

"Uh... you need a minute?" he asks, sounding a little uncomfortable.

Shit! Recover. Recover! "What?" I ask, then with a chuckle add, "No. I was just thinking of... um... something else." Smooth, Naruto. Real fucking smooth.

Kiba doesn't look convinced. He just blinks at me, his expression growing more confused by the second. "It was that good, huh?" he asks out of nowhere.

"What?" I nearly choke.

"Dude..." Kiba says incredulously, "you're blushing and... um..." He points across the table. "You're about to make that glass come."

My brow twitches and I look down to my Coke. I've got the glass in a firm grip and I realize I've been stroking it subconsciously. I quickly pull away and wipe the condensation off on my pants.

I bury my face in my hands and sigh. "What's wrong with me?"

When I look back up, I can see Kiba frowning. "You said you knew what you were doing. You said it would be fine."

Ah, shit. So not only have I pulled Kiba into this incredibly awkward situation, but I've made him feel guilty to boot. Fucking shoot me now.

"I know, Kiba. I'm sorry, man. Please don't feel like this is your fault. You tried to stop me, and I ignored you."

His frown falters and his lips purse into a thin line. He appears to contemplate his fries rather deeply. He even plucks one from his plate and taps it steadily for a few seconds before tossing it away.

"No," he says adamantly, "as your wingman, it was my job to make sure you didn't go home with any skanks, uggos or fatties... I'm pretty sure letting you leave with a dude is some sort of felony in the bro code." He looks at me with undeniable resolution. "I fucked up last night. But I promise I will make it up to you."

"Make it up to me?" I repeat dubiously.

"We'll hit up another club tonight," he answers, rather enthusiastically. "And I promise, I won't let you leave until you got the hottest, wettest girl hanging off your arm."

My lips pull into a small smile. Leave it to Kiba to try to solve a problem with pussy. "I appreciate the offer, but I really don't feel like going out tonight."

"Come on. I'll pay for everything," he prods with a bright smile. "Consider this an all expense paid trip to Fucktown... Straight Fucktown, not the Queerville that you visited last night."

I huff a laugh and roll my eyes. "Thanks... but not tonight. I'm just gonna hang out at home, have a few beers and watch some TV."

"Fine," he says, dismissively. "Stay home tonight. We'll go out next weekend."

"Sounds good," I say, relieved he backed off.

Kiba paid for lunch. He didn't say anything, but I know he's worried about me losing my job. I'm not concerned. They gave me a nice severance. And with what I have saved, I have enough to live off of for the next couple months if I need to. I'll be okay. Financially, anyway. I'm still feeling a little off kilter mentally and emotionally.

It's fine though... It hasn't even been a full 24 hours yet since all this shit went down. I'll take a couple days to get my head on straight, then start looking for new job. This is good. It's like a fresh start.

Or, at least this is what I keep telling myself as I lounge about my apartment, passively watching a Law and Order marathon. I'm trying really hard to ignore the voice in my head that insists I'm actually quite pathetic. Loser. Goddamn that voice... Sakura's fucking voice.

I've just opened my third beer when I hear my doorbell ring. I stop mid-stride in my kitchen and furrow my brow. Nobody said anything about coming over and it's too late to be somebody selling cookies or Jesus. Maybe it's a neighbor?

I put my drink down and go to the door. Looking through the peephole, I see a woman on the other side. She's young and blonde. She doesn't look familiar... but I don't know all my neighbors. I watch her for a few seconds as she twirls the end of her hair around her finger.

I pull open the door and greet her dubiously. "Hello?"

The woman, who was closely examining the wooden apartment number nailed into my door frame, snaps her attention to me and smiles. "Hi!"

I wait for her to say something, but she just stands there grinning absently. I look around her but see nothing and no one that would give me any clue as to who she is or what she's doing at my doorstep. "Can I help you?" I finally ask.

"I'm Ino," she says, like that's any sort of answer to my question.

I squint a little, searching my memory for the name or an image that matches this girl, but I'm coming up blank. She's quite pretty—long, platinum hair; bright, blue eyes; and a pair of perky tits... I'd think I'd remember her.

"I'm sorry... Ino? Have we met before?"

"Huh-uh," she answers with a shake of her head that sends her long flaxen ponytail swishing. She pulls a slip of paper out of her pocket. "You're... Naruto?"

Oh God. I'm almost afraid to answer. "Yes?"

"Your friend Kevin sent me."

"Kevin?" I ask. This is going from weird to weirder.

"Uh, yeah," she answers. "He sent me to keep you company tonight."

My grip on the door tightens and I deadpan. "What?"

She blinks innocently, then shivers a second later. "I forgot a jacket... Can I come in?"

My expression remains vapid and unimpressed. It has to be at least 80 degrees out there, but I suppose she isn't getting much insolation out of her sleeveless, purple blouse and mini skirt. I sigh and open the door wider for her.

She steps in and looks around appraisingly. "Nice place."

I have a feeling she's just being polite, as my apartment is a mess right now. "Thanks," I say as I pick up some empty bottles and cup-o-noodle containers. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting anybody or I would've picked up a little."

She shrugs. "I've seen worse."

"Um, have a seat... I guess. I'll be right back."

I toss the trash and pull out my phone. My thumbs nearly crush the screen as I send Kiba a text. "Who's Ino?"

I grab my beer off the counter and take a swig as I peer around the corner. Ino has sat down on the couch and taken this moment to adjust her bra. I watch her as she looks down at her cleavage and shimmies.

My phone vibrates in my hand and I glare down at the response. "A sure thing," it says.

I tap furiously. "Kiba. Did you hire me a prostitute?"

"Hahahaha! I mean, uh... No."

"I'm going to kill you," I respond.

"Telling you. I wouldn't do that, man."

"Slowly."

A few seconds later, I receive, "Musta been your friend Kevin. He's always doing that kind of shit."

My eye twitches. "Keep it up. I'll cut you into pieces and feed you to your dogs."

"Fucking harsh dude. Just enjoy her."

I hang my head and clench my eyes. "Goddamn you Kiba," I murmur tightly. I take a breath and walk to the living room. I try to make my voice polite but firm as I speak. "I'm sorry, Ino. I think there's been a mista—"

"Look," she interjects, her voice having lost its saccharine sweetness, "the night is paid for whether you fuck me or not, but I'd rather not go back to my tweaking roommate. So, if it's not too much trouble, can we just figure something out?"

I stand there, slack-jawed. "Like what? You wanna order pizza and play board games?"

Two hours later and we're sprawled out on the floor polishing off a large pepperoni while Ino deals cards for a fourth round of Gin. I take my turn and discard a three of hearts, which she happily picks up, much to my chagrin. I haven't won a round yet.

"So," she says as she arranges her hand and discards, "why'd your friend hire me?"

I sigh heavily as I draw. "Guilt," I answer simply.

She looks at me quizzically. "That doesn't make much sense."

"Nope," I respond dryly and discard. "But the whole situation is a little complicated."

"So... Kevin did something and feels bad about it, so he hired you a hooker," she states, obviously fishing for more information.

"Pretty much."

She draws another card and arranges this in her hand. I cringe at the smile I can see pulling at the corner of her mouth. "What'd he do? Fuck your girlfriend?"

I laugh mirthlessly. "I wish. That'd be a lot simpler."

"So what was it?" Ino asks as I draw.

There's nothing in her tone that would imply her curiosity is anything but innocent. I think for a moment as I play out my turn. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell her. She doesn't know me and, as a prostitute, she really has no room to judge me. Fuck it, I decide. I start with getting fired and by the time I've finished, detailing right up to the moment I answered my door this evening, we've abandoned the card game.

When describing the events of last night, it all seems so surreal. A few times I had to stop in order to get over my own sense of shock. But, strangely, none of it was repulsive and I never once felt a twinge of regret. That has to mean something... right?

"Wow," she says once I've finished. She's been watching me, completely enthralled throughout the entire tale.

"I know," I reply, shaking my head. "Pretty fucked up, huh?"

"A little," she answers and I snort a laugh at her. She continues undaunted, "But, you know, it makes sense now."

"Oh yeah?"

"Sure," Ino says, simply yet confidently. "You're going through some tough shit and your guy Kiba feels responsible for making it worse. So he hired me to help you, you know... straighten some things out."

"Oh. Ha ha," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "But it's like I said. I'm not all of the sudden into dudes."

She stares at me for a moment, seemingly unconvinced. "So why don't you want to fuck me?"

I lower my eyes, feeling oddly embarrassed. "Out of principle," I say, then look back up apologetically. "No offense."

She shrugs. "None taken." A moment later she asks, "Wanna see my tits?"

My eyes automatically drop to her breasts. From what is spilling out over the top of her shirt, I'd bet they're pretty fantastic. I struggle with my moral dilemma for all of five seconds before I nod. She smiles and moves to sit up straight, right in front of me. As she unbuttons her blouse, I get this weird sense of nostalgia, like I'm 15 all over again. I wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my thighs and watch intently as the fabric slips off her shoulders. It's a front-clasp bra and her breasts heave as she works it open. Slowly, teasingly, Ino peels the fabric away.

They're outstanding—full, pert and perky. Her rosy pink nipples are pebbled and hard, perfect for flicking your tongue against.

"You wanna touch them?" she asks, leaning towards me and causing her tits to sway forward invitingly.

I don't even bother answering. I just reach out with both hands and gently cup her. They're soft, supple and most definitely real. I'm barely even conscious of my actions as I squeeze and knead her breasts. I watch absently as I brush my thumbs over the stiff peaks of each nipple.

I learn two things as I palm Ino's tits. First, my opinion of breasts is unchanged—they are fucking awesome. Second, I wanted to suckle Sasuke's nipples much more than hers. I think about how he bowed his back and moaned when I pinched those sensitive nubs, and I know touching Ino in the same way won't stir me nearly as deeply.

I feel confident that this conclusion has nothing to do with emotional attachment, as I know Ino about as well as I know Sasuke—that is to say, hardly at all. It's also not an issue of attraction—Ino is gorgeous, voluptuous and definitely my type. Or, at least, what I thought was my type.

I won't deny an inkling of desire—I am a man after all—but it's nothing compared to what I felt for Sasuke. There's none of the passion, none of the raw need. And I'm miles away from hard.

"You still don't want to fuck me?" She asks, leaning into my touch.

I pull my hands back, but continue to stare as I quietly answer, "No."

"No?" she asks, obviously disbelieving.

My eyes move to hers and I shake my head. "No. I don't."

Ino sits back, looking a little offended. I can't think of anything to say that might dissuade this awkwardness.

"They're perfect," I find myself saying, trying to assuage her.

"Sure. Thanks," Ino says as she puts her bra back on.

"No, really," I insist. "My head's just not... right, right now."

"I'll say," she murmurs, fastening the last button on her shirt.

"Hey!"

She puts her hands up defensively. "I'm just saying... it sounds like your head and your heart are in two different places."

"My heart has nothing to do with this," I mumble back.

"Fine," she says, then amends her statement sardonically. "Your head and your dick are in two different places."

I open my mouth to retort, but find that her words are too true to refute. This may not be a matter of the heart, but it is definitely causing some internal dysfunction. I mean, before last night, I would have jumped at the chance to motorboat Ino's glorious rack. But now, I look at her sweet double-D's and feel practically nothing. How can that be?

"I just don't get it," I say despairingly.

Her eyes soften empathetically. "When I was younger, my family used to go out to Mexican every Friday. And every Friday, for years, I would order cheese enchiladas." Ino stops at the incredulous look I'm giving her. "Just hear me out. I have a point. Anyway, I never tried anything else, because I was afraid I wouldn't like it. Then, one day, my mom ordered me a chimichanga instead. It came smothered in sour cream and guac and I was sure I'd hate it, but she insisted I had to at least try it before I could order my enchiladas. Can you guess what happened?"

"You liked it," I answer blandly.

Throwing her arms out, she exclaims, "I loved it! It was an explosion of flavor and so, so much better than those shitty cheese enchiladas."

"So... what?" I ask. "You kept ordering the chimichanga after that."

"No," she says, suddenly void of emotion. "A few days later, my dad skipped out on us and my mom started drinking. We never went out for Mexican again." She quickly shakes her head, like she's clearing it of the memory. "But I think my point is made."

"I guess..." I say, not entirely sure her analogy has helped me.

"All I'm saying is that if you've only ever had cheese enchiladas, you'll never know what else you might like better." Ino says this so sagaciously, as if imparting some deep wisdom, that I can't help but crack a smile. She continues her strange pontification. "It doesn't make the way you feel about cheese enchiladas wrong. Just like it doesn't make the way you feel about chimichangas wrong. You can like both. Maybe some days you'll be in a chimi mood and other days you'll want an enchilada. It's okay. And maybe you'll only ever like one special chimi from one restaurant and never anywhere else. That's okay too."

I study her for a moment, lending an additional weight to the air around us, then I don a serious expression as I ask, "What if I like menudo?"

Her brow furrows in disgust. "That's gross, Naruto. Do you know what they put in that?"

My pokerface cracks and I begin to laugh. Ino joins in shortly after. The sound of our shared guffaw fills my apartment. It takes a few minutes for us to regain our composure and when we do, we're having to wipe tears from our eyes.

Ino doesn't stay much longer after that. I walk her to the door and give her a hug before she leaves. I don't imagine I'll ever see her again, but I don't think I'll be forgetting her any time soon. I hate to give Kiba credit, considering how horrifically ill-conceived his plan was, but he actually might have helped me tonight.

I pull out my phone and send him a quick message before heading to bed. "Murder threat retracted. You may live another day."

I spend Sunday updating my resume and checking out job listings online. I find a few promising leads on Monster. Kiba calls and I give him an earful. I don't care if last night turned out to be alright. I still don't let him off the hook for hiring me a fucking prostitute.

On Monday, I clean out my apartment, tossing everything that reminds me of Sakura and making the space mine again. I dig through my closet and find all the things she insisted I get rid of, like my posters and kick ass samurai sword. With my sword on display and walls adequately adorned, I hit the store to buy a cartful of beer and chips and a variety of processed meats—all things Sakura tried to keep out of my kitchen.

By Wednesday, I've forgiven Kiba, more or less, and invite him over to drink and play Halo. I don't think we've done that on a weeknight since I graduated. It feels good, like I'm my own man again. I even have an interview on Thursday that goes pretty well.

Friday, I sleep in late, then spend a good portion of the afternoon exercising. I visit the complex gym and pool and then end the day in the sauna. I finally go back to my apartment when a portly, middle aged man takes a seat across from me in the steam room and removes his towel.

I'm standing in the shower, letting the spray wash away the last suds from my body, when I realize I haven't jerked off in months. Sakura always made me feel so guilty about it, so I promised her I wouldn't. But now, as water runs down my body in hot rivulets, I feel the urge.

I take my time, drawing it out into a leisurely affair. Making the most of this time, I use both hands to squeeze and tug, stroke and fondle. I close my eyes and lean against the cool tile wall as I beat off. At first, the image behind my eyelids is a generic female body—just curves and breasts. Then she's on her knees, bobbing her head in time to my pumping hand. I pull on my sac as my climax approaches and I fist my tip vigorously, throwing myself headlong towards orgasm. On the verge of pleasure, the image in my mind changes. The head between my legs now has short, black hair and equally dark eyes that peer up at me to watch as I come. My hips jerk, my fist stutters and I holler up at the ceiling as I release.

Dazedly, I rinse off my hand and turn off the water. I wrap myself up in a thick towel and stumble out of the bathroom. I collapse on my bed and nearly melt into the mattress. God, I missed jacking off. Eventually, my pulse calms and I take a deep, relaxed breath. I can't get the image out of my mind—Sasuke's eyes smoldering with lust, his cheeks hollowed as his mouth slides up and down my length.

I roll over and sigh heavily. My eyes fall to the wastebasket in the corner of the room. I stare at it challengingly for several minutes. It taunts me in return, sitting there all smug as it holds the object of my conflict. I growl at it and toss my head in the opposite direction. Approximately seven seconds later, I lunge across the room and lose my towel in the process. Naked, I flip the wastebasket upside down and spill its contents all over my floor. I rummage through used tissues, pocket lint and receipts until I find the crumpled up piece of paper. I stand up, victorious, and open it. For a moment I just stare at the note, the crisp lines of ink that form the letters and numbers.

I walk to my dresser and set the slip down on top. I continue to stare at it as I rummage through the drawers, pulling out boxers, jeans and a shirt. Am I really considering this? I ask myself repeatedly as I slide on my underwear. I can feel in my gut that I want to, but I'm still so uncertain. I remember Ino's advice and tell myself I won't know until I try.

Once I'm dressed, I take the paper in my left hand and grab my phone with my right. I dial each number slowly, then stop and stare at the call button. I hesitate, flex my thumb and then chicken out. Just do it! My finger reacts, hitting the button and sending the call. Shit! I stare at the phone, listening to the faint ringing.

A few seconds pass and I hear a soft, "Hello?" I'm frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at the screen. "Hello?" I hear again.

Finally, I snap out of my stupor and put the phone to my ear. "Hi," I answer, my voice wavering with nerves.

"Hi..." he responds. He waits a few seconds before asking, "Who is this?"

"Oh... uh, it's Naruto. Sorry." I pause to see if he says anything but the line remains silent. "We uh... met last week."

I hear a quiet laugh on the other end. "Oh, I remember you, Naruto. I'm just surprised you actually called." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "Happy, but surprised."

"Well..." I start, still searching for words. "I've been thinking about... you know. And I was just wondering if you'd like to go get some dinner or something."

"Dinner, huh?" he asks. His tone is light, just shy of teasing.

"Yeah," I answer, finally starting to feel a little more confident. "You wanna get some Mexican? I'm feeling like a chimichanga."

The End