The heavy doors of the Hokage's Office did not swing open after being knocked, but were instead shoved sideways by a burst of force.
Son Goten was currently lying flat and sprawling across the oversized office chair, resting his head on Tsunade's plump, springy thighs.
He held a massive piece of secret-recipe Chashu in his hand, his mouth stuffed to bursting.
"Wife, your legs really make a peerless pillow, way more comfortable than the wooden stool at old man's shop."
Son Goten chewed on the meat while speaking in a muffled voice.
That small hand, which had originally been dangling a bone, now slipped into the edge of Tsunade's green official haori with extreme naturalness.
His fingertips felt the warmth and undulations of that astonishing curve through the thin lining.
Tsunade had originally been getting a headache from the mountain-like pile of official documents on the desk, and being disturbed by this little brat made the veins on her forehead throb even faster.
"You lecherous brat, behave yourself. This is the Hokage's Office, not your Ramen Shop."
Although Tsunade scolded him verbally, her hand didn't push him away; instead, she casually rubbed his messy Crab Hair a couple of times.
Son Goten rolled over, burying almost his entire face into that expanse of fair cleavage.
"What's to fear? Anyway, you call the shots in this village now, and I'm the man behind the Hokage. What's wrong with touching my own wife?"
Tsunade was amused into a scolding laugh by him. She actually found this overbearing and shameless logic quite pleasant to hear.
Just as this milky, ambiguous atmosphere was gradually heating up,
the office door creaked as someone rudely pushed it open from the outside.
Sakura Haruno stood panting in the doorway, her short pink hair somewhat disheveled and crystal-clear