for Aviss

In Fire and Blood (by waltzingstar)

SIX

The first time Iruka met the scrawny ninja with the explosion of white hair, he was six, nursing a nasty cut on his knee with snot and tears. It was during the dog days of summer, when the heat of the sun kissed the salty sweat of an arm, only to dissipate with a vaporous sigh. The trees appeared to droop beneath the weight of the air, their branches reaching finger-like for errant travelers. Or, in Iruka’s case, kneecaps.

He’d been inspecting the edges of his cut when he heard the snap of a twig. Quickly, he glanced up from the stump on which he perched to meet a pair of dark eyes, peering out from the foliage of a nearby shrub.

“You suck at hiding,” he’d announced, swiping at his nose with the back of his hand.

“Oh yeah?” countered the bush, its voice high and reedy. It seemed to quiver angrily. “Well, you’re a big fat baby!”

“Why don’t you come out here and say that to my face?” Iruka had bellowed, his cheeks heating furiously. He started to stand to his feet, but the movement made the tight, itchy cut throb in accusation, which started a wave of fresh tears.

For a long time, he heard nothing but the sound of his own sniffles, and was beginning to feel hopeful that maybe whoever had been concealed by the shrubbery had lost interest and wandered away, when he felt the soft pressure of fingertips on his leg.

“What happened?”

Through watery eyes, Iruka glanced up, blinking rapidly until he could see clearly. The boy who stood in front of him, dark eyes shining with concern, wasn’t anyone Iruka had ever seen. Pallid skin stretched over a body still shedding its infantry, and his face was so lovely that it was almost girlish. Iruka stared at his lips, which were a perfect mimicry of the hina dolls Iruka’s aunt set out early each spring to bring his cousins luck.

“I fell,” he answered, using the palms of his hands to scrub at his cheeks.

The boy knelt down, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he examined Iruka’s injury, his fingertips barely brushing over the angry red mark. The black gloves he wore looked to be about two sizes too big - as though he’d borrowed them from someone much larger than himself. Still, something about the way those fingers danced over Iruka’s skin – spectral white over sun-kissed brown – made his cheeks feel warm.

“That’s deep,” the boy said, solemn. His hair flounced with the bob of his head as he nodded to emphasize his diagnosis.

“What’s your name?” Iruka asked, scrape forgotten. It was very rare that Iruka not recognize someone in his village, and certainly Iruka had never met anyone so young who travelled without the supervision of his parents.

The boy blinked owlishly at him. He suddenly became very interested in his own sandal, his gaze locked on the frayed ends. “I’m not supposed to tell.”

“Because you’re a ninja,” Iruka stated, reaching up to tap the silver plate of the hitae-ate that held the boy’s hair together like a bale of hay. With his fingertips, he traced Konoha’s insignia scrawled over the metal before dropping his arm back to his side.

The pale boy nodded, offering nothing more.

“Well, do you have, like, a code name or something?”

“I do, but...” the boy’s attention darted everywhere - the trees, the sky, Iruka’s ear - before finally settling on the ground. “I’m on a mission, so I’m not sure I should tell you.”

They both stood in silence, Iruka shifting nervously, bouncing his leg while the other boy regarded him with dark, unreadable eyes. Iruka’s heart beat faster and his head felt funny, as if he were being held underwater. Then, it came to him.

“I know!” Iruka said, unable to keep from grinning at his great idea. “I’ll call you Yuki! Then you won’t have to tell me your name at all!”

The boy smiled, a slow, uncertain thing that had Iruka’s stomach in inexplicable knots. “Okay, but I get to call you something, too.”

“Like what?”

The boy - Yuki - thought for a moment, his brow furrowed. Then, he said, “You can be my Himitsu.”

EIGHT

“Come inside!”

It was the third time his mother had called for him to come home, and though as a general rule Iruka knew better than to test her patience, he was simply too distracted to heed the undercurrent warning in her voice. In the distance, the sun sagged on the horizon, steadily slumping toward nightfall, casting the forest into silhouette.

“And then we were diving down after them,” Yuki was saying, his hands arcing through the air as if they were herons in flight. His mouth seemed to be moving faster than his words would come; his dark eyes sparkled with excitement. “Himitsu, it was so cool! My sensei took his kunai and pinned one of them to a tree! And then! Then! We were running through the forest when- “

“I said, ‘come inside!’”

Both boys froze, staring at each other for a few seconds before bursting into giggles. Iruka had to grab the trunk of the tree they sat in to keep from falling. It scratched against his palms, the bark scraping like teeth against his cheek. Above him, Yuki was hanging upside down, his knees hooked over a limb while the tips of his hair tickled the crown of Iruka’s head.

“I have to go.”

“I know,” Yuki agreed, stifling a snort of laughter with the back of his hand. With more grace than was fair for someone his age, he clambered down to perch beside Iruka, reaching out to grab Iruka’s knee, their sides touching.

“I have something for you,” Iruka said quickly, his mouth feeling suddenly very dry. Dropping his head to hide the blush searing his cheeks, Iruka fished in his pocket until he found what he was looking for. He couldn’t look Yuki in the eye as he shoved out his gift with both hands, nervousness fluttering like hummingbird wings in his stomach when Yuki took it from him.

“Himitsu, what…”

“I made it,” Iruka cut in, desperate to buy a few seconds before Yuki decided he hated it. What kind of boy made a necklace for his friend, anyway? Iruka almost hoped he would fall from the tree, the grass below swallowing him up to spare him any further embarrassment.

He glanced up to see Yuki inspecting the little burlap sack tied to a small length of twine, the kanji for “snow” etched onto the fabric by a shaky hand. Yuki’s eyes widened when he peeked into the tiny bag, and Iruka battled the urge to snatch back the gift, to pretend it was all a joke.

“Cherry blossoms?”

“They fell,” Iruka blurted from behind his hands, which he’d brought up to cover his mortification. Really, what had he been thinking? Still, he couldn’t keep quiet, the next words spilling from his mouth in a rush. “They fell and it looked like snow and I thought of you.”

For a long moment there was only silence, which stretched out for so long that Iruka had to lower his hands. Yuki was just gazing at him, a goofy little smile dancing over his lips.

“You thought of me?” he asked, and Iruka nodded, sure that his cheeks were going to melt right off of his face. Yuki reached back to tie the string around his neck before tucking the little sack of petals beneath his shirt. “Thank you.”

“I really have to go,” Iruka murmured, cringing at the sound of his mother screaming from somewhere below them. He could picture her face, red with anger, and the vein that throbbed in her forehead. “She’s going to kill me.”

“Okay,” Yuki said, his voice barely above a whisper. And then, he reached for Iruka, wrapping his arms around him.

It was tentative at first, as though he were trying out something completely foreign to him, but soon Iruka was hugging him back, his fingers digging into the other boy’s back as though they could slip beneath the folds of fabric and skin, ever hungry for more of something he couldn’t understand. His heart felt funny against Yuki’s, running so fast that it tripped over itself clumsily before taking off again.

It was only when his mother called again, this time with a threat to Iruka’s well-being should he refuse to come home right then that Yuki released him, his dark eyes wide.

“I’ll see you soon,” said Iruka, leaping to the branch below him. He scrambled the rest of the way down the trunk, feet slipping and arms flailing occasionally. His feet barely touched the ground before he bounded away, racing along the path to his house.

Not even the certainty of his mother’s wrath could wipe the smile off of his face.

TEN

“Why do you wear that?” Iruka asked, jutting his chin in the direction of Yuki’s face, which was covered to his eyes by a black mask.

He hadn’t asked immediately, his heart drumming in his chest like it wanted to break free and run away every time Yuki had touched him.

Yuki was stretched out in the grass catnapping while Iruka sat cross legged, braiding two stems of wildflowers. He never understood how Yuki could stay so still for hours; if Iruka wasn’t running or jumping or otherwise keeping his extremities preoccupied, he felt like he’d explode.

And now, it seemed as though Yuki had dozed off again. Iruka nudged Yuki’s sandaled foot with his big toe. “Yuki?”

Yuki merely shrugged, lazily stretching out his hand instead of answering. Giggling, Iruka dropped his decimated bouquet, reaching out to place his bare palm against Yuki’s gloved one. For a moment, Yuki’s eyes went wide, so rounded that the thinnest strips of white could be seen around the coal lumps that were his irises. Iruka’s breath caught in his throat, heat spreading through his chest and belly like wildfire.

Yuki jerked his hand away, clutching the hand Iruka had touched to his chest.

“Sorry.” Iruka felt his skin heat, and he scratched at his cheek nervously.

“Don’t be sorry,” said Yuki, his gaze hovering over the scar that dissected Iruka’s nose. His eyelids were drooping again, and he pillowed his head in the cradle of his joined hands. “Where’d you get that scar?”

Iruka tittered, deciding to study the hemline of his pants. He didn’t want to tell Yuki the whole story; it was just too damn embarrassing. “Um. Shuriken.”

“Ah.”

“It’s not a cool battle scar or anything, just so you know.”

“Oh?”

“Nah,” Iruka plucked a rock from the ground, rolling it between his fingers. “This stupid kid in my class, Mizuki, told me I wouldn’t know what to do with a shuriken if it flung itself from my hand. I wanted to prove him wrong, so I stole some of my dad’s to take to school the next day, but when I went to throw them, I cut myself in the face.”

Iruka knew from the way Yuki sat up, his eyebrows scrambling to his hairline, that his mouth would be slack in horror. Something about that made him feel smug.

Yuki scooted into Iruka until they were side by side, his gaze intent on Iruka’s face. He brought his hands to rest on Iruka’s cheeks. “Are you okay?”

“No, Yuki,” Iruka snorted, though his insides felt like jelly. His heart beat a wild tap dance in his chest. “I’m dead.”

Yuki dropped his hands, giggling as he bumped his hip against Iruka’s. They lapsed into silence, Yuki ripping up a few blades of grass to hand to Iruka. After a moment, he sighed, peeking at Iruka from beneath his dark lashes.

“My dad gets on my nerves,” he said. Iruka’s head popped up, alert; something about the way Yuki spoke unsettled him. It was flat and lifeless; limp. “I look like him. That’s what everyone says anyway. But I don’t want to look like a coward!”

Iruka watched Yuki - whose chest heaved while his breath came fast – and after a moment, he reached over to take Yuki’s hand, weaving his fingers through rigid, trembling ones. He was pretty sure that Yuki didn’t even realize he was crying, his lashes spiking together and his mask glued to his tear-stained cheeks.

“You’re the bravest boy I know,” said Iruka.

There was nothing but the sound of their breathing for a moment, interrupted occasionally by the thrumming of cicadas as they stirred from their slumber. And then, so slowly that Iruka feared at first that he was imagining it, Yuki tightened his fingers around Iruka’s.

TWELVE

Iruka glanced up from his spot on the soft grass, not entirely sure why he’d even come back to this spot. It had been over a year since Yuki’s last appearance, and though they’d never really spoken it aloud, Iruka felt sure that their summertime meetings were supposed to be an annual thing. Still, last summer had slipped into fall, winter, spring, and Yuki had not shown.

Sighing, Iruka surveyed the clearing. He wondered if maybe he should return home; the invading dusk was a pretty good indicator that he was not going to be seeing Yuki tonight.

He clambered to his feet, turning to leave, when the snap of a twig echoed through the depths of the forest. Smiling to himself, he spun around. “Ninja are to be silent as the serpent; stealthy as the cat.”

Yuki slipped from where he’d been hidden among the trees, his hands tucked deep into the recesses of his pockets. “Is that what they’re teaching nowadays?”

“Something like that,” Iruka said, grinning so hard he feared his cheeks would burst. Then, he ran, legs eating up the distance between them. He stopped short in front of Yuki, desperately wanting to touch the other boy, but completely unable to bring himself to. “I missed you.”

There was something different about Yuki, something that flitted about, trying to find a place in Iruka’s mind but couldn’t quite land.

“I missed you, too.”

The words made Iruka feel shy, and his cheeks burned. He looked up into Yuki’s face, and the pieces clicked. “Why is your eye covered?” Iruka suddenly felt sick with worry. “Did you get hurt?”

“Yes,” answered Yuki, his gaze drawn to the ground. “But I’m better now. I’ll be fine.”

There was something about Yuki's tone that made Iruka frown. “Let me see it.”

“Himitsu, I-”

“I want to see.” Iruka put his hands on his hips, glaring at Yuki until his pale fingers reached uncertainly for his hitae-ate, which he’d tugged down over his left eye.

Carefully, Yuki pulled at it, wincing when Iruka was unable to hold back a gasp. A long, thin scar dissected Yuki’s eye; it was so long that it dipped beneath his mask, and stretched up beneath the fringe of his hair.

But that wasn’t what shocked Iruka.

Where once a dark eye had been, there was now a new eye, the the blood red iris flecked with tomoe that spun and whirled hypnotically.

“W-what happened to you?” Iruka asked, his voice full of fear.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does!”

“Himitsu,” Yuki whispered fervently. He leaned forward, pulling down his mask so that Iruka could see his face. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about doing.”

“Yuki, what happened to you?”

“Just listen,” Yuki said, his face so close that Iruka could see tiny scratches over his face, the smudges of dirt beneath his nose. “I just...I lost something, and I just wanted you...I wanted to tell you how I feel.”

“Um, okay?”

Yuki nodded, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth set in a thin, determined line. Iruka’s heart jumped into his throat when Yuki cupped his cheek, tilting his head so that he could chastely press his lips against Iruka’s.

“Oh,” Iruka said faintly when Yuki pulled away, his pulse a crashing cymbal in his ears.

“Now you know.”

THIRTEEN

Yuki was kissing him again.

His lips were soft at times, and other times persistent, his tongue sliding into Iruka’s mouth to lick along the roof of his mouth as if Iruka were a sweet that he could taste. It made Iruka’s head spin, his body tighten up as if it were a twig - stiff and yet easily broken.

Because that’s what it felt like Yuki was doing: breaking him. Like maybe he was cracking something inside of Iruka to fill with himself, and Iruka couldn’t care less if it meant that he could kiss Yuki for just a while longer.

The bed creaked beneath their bodies as Iruka dragged his fingertips down Yuki’s sides, squeezing at hips he was quickly becoming obsessed with. There wasn’t a spot on Yuki’s body that he hadn’t wanted to touch. It was a thought that kept him up at night, breathless with want and something he couldn’t quite name that caused his blood to boil, his skin tingling in the darkness.

“Himitsu,” Yuki rasped when he finally pulled away, a blush blooming on his cheeks. The lamplight on the nightstand licked over Yuki’s face, glinting off his kiss-bruised lips. “I want to…I want…”

But what he wanted he couldn’t say, because Iruka was too busy grabbing handfuls of Yuki’s shirt, sliding his fingers beneath the fabric. He shuddered when Yuki gasped, his eyes hooded and dark. Under his hands Yuki’s skin was like velvet, soft and warm.

Yuki leaned down, his tongue tracing a path from Iruka’s neck to his ear, where he bit down gently. A sound Iruka had never heard himself make before rumbled through his lips, and his stomach clenched violently in response.

“Gods,” Yuki breathed, his breath hot against the side of Iruka’s face. “You make me feel crazy.”

Iruka leaned up to bite Yuki’s bottom lip, tugging with his teeth until the other boy groaned softly. The sound made him restless, itchy everywhere and he trembled, but he wasn’t afraid.

A rap at the door had them both freeze, eyes wide and hearts lurching. Frantic, Iruka shoved Yuki off of him.

“Just a minute!” he called in the direction of his door, batting away Yuki’s hands as they reached for him again. Another knock. “Hang on!”

Iruka pushed at Yuki, steering him toward the window and dodging his kisses as they went.

“Go,” he whispered, laughing when Yuki pecked his lips. “You have to go.”

He turned in time to see the door open, his mother stepping through. His breath seemed to lodge itself in his lungs as she looked past him to the window.

“Iruka, what are you doing?”

“Um,” he said, turning back to his windowsill, the empty space where Yuki had been both elating and disappointing at once.

With a sigh, his mother crossed the room, bumping Iruka’s hip playfully as she tugged shut the window. “Bedtime, Iruka-chan.”

Iruka grinned as he climbed into bed, his mother hauling the covers over him. “Goodnight, Mama.”

“Goodnight.”

He waited until she left, listening for her steps to fade as she padded down the hallway before leaping out of bed, bounding to the window.

“Yuki!” he called once he’d won the battle with the window. He popped his head out and into the warm night air. “Yuki!”

“Yes?” came a voice from behind him, quavering with laughter. Iruka spun around to see Yuki sprawled out on his bed, his hands crossed behind his head, his long legs crossed at the ankles.

“Asshole!” Iruka said with a grin. He hurried back to the bed, pouncing onto Yuki, who laughed breathlessly. Wriggling against the long frame beside him, Iruka pulled the covers over them both, unable to hold back his grin when Yuki’s arms wrapped around him. “Stay ‘til I fall asleep?”

“Only if you promise not to drool on me.”

THIRTEEN</u>

The day Iruka’s world came to a grinding halt, he woke to the smell of smoke.

It was thick in his nostrils, coating his throat and voice with a layer of grit that he couldn’t expunge, even with the wettest cough. Confused, he glanced around him, his room feeling strangely void.

Yuki.

He’d fallen asleep to the soft, rhythmic sound of Yuki’s heartbeat, their fingers entwined on the pillow beneath Iruka’s cheek. But now Yuki was gone, his side of the bed cold, as if it had been empty for some time.

A scream from outside made him jolt upward. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Iruka stood to his feet. The house was quiet, tatami mats cold as he crept into the hallway on his tiptoes.

“Mama?”

A sudden rumble of the ground knocked him to the floor, the house seeming to shudder around him. Voices - wailing, shrieks and screams - poured in through the windows, and a wave of heat washed over him. Something was wrong.

“Mama!” he called, tiny tendrils of panic worming their way into his chest.Where was she?

Scrambling to stand again, Iruka hurried through the kitchen, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw the front door was ajar. Through the sliver of the frame, he could see into the night, and his body went rigid with terror. Flames licked through the village, plumes of smoke engulfing trees and huts.

Terror wrapped itself around Iruka’s legs like a weighted stone, making every step he took feel difficult. The closer he came to the door, the harder it was to breathe.

“Iruka!”

The sound of his mother’s voice made him start, tears of relief pricking his eyes when he turned to find her safe. “Mama, where were you?”

“Iruka-chan,” she said, stretching out her arms to catch Iruka as he ran to her. “Listen to me. The village is under attack.”

“Okay.” Iruka shrugged out of the circle of his mother’s arms, wondering which weapons would work best in combat and where he’d put his uniform. He was a bit nervous; he’d never been a part of defending the village, but this was what he was raised for - his duty.

His mother grabbed his arms, her fingers like shackles around him. When he looked back, he felt as if he’d been punched. “Mama, you’re hurt!”

Blood trickled in lines from the corners of her mouth, and a frighteningly large circle of red stained the front of her shirt.

“I’m fine, Iruka.”

“You’re not fine! Mama, I’ll take care of you. Let me gather my things and -”

“Iruka, you are not fighting,” she said firmly, shaking her head to deflect her son’s arguments. “The battle is with the kyuubi, and we’ve been called into the village proper. You must stay here.”

“No! I’m going to protect you, Mama, I know how!”

“Iruka.” His dad stepped into their house from the open front door. He looked ragged; the side of his face shined slickly, blood trickling from a cut that Iruka couldn’t see. He was panting, and clutching his side as he leaned heavily on the doorframe. “You will stay here.”

“No! I won’t do it! I can take care of her!”

His words were cut short with a slash of his father’s hand through the air; a signal to be silent. “It is the job of the parents to protect their child,” his father said, “not the other way around. I will watch over her.”

“But-”

“Namiko-san is here to sit with you, Iruka.” His father moved to the side as best he could, making way for a stooped old woman to pass. Her feet dragged across the floor of their house, her movements jerky as she ambled toward Iruka.

“That won’t be necessary,” Iruka said, determined. He hoped that the woman would hear the warning beneath his words; he would hate to have to harm her if she tried to hold him back. “I’m going with you, and I’ll do whatever it takes to defend my family.”

Faster than Iruka could have ever fathomed, the old woman’s gnarled fingers flashed through seals. She lifted her hands to her face to blow over her knobbed knuckles, and when the soft wind that came from her lips hit Iruka, he fell to the ground.

“Sleep, little one,” he heard from behind him, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye as he surrendered to the powerful jutsu.

When the smoke cleared from his slumbering mind, Iruka felt that he was not alone.

“I’m sorry, Iruka-chan,” said Namiko from where she sat across from him. Her eyes shone in the morning light, full of sadness. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He didn’t even realize he was screaming until he’d clamped his hands over his own mouth, the sound leaking between his fingertips until he finally ran out of air, the world around him fading to black.

TWENTY THREE

If that Naruto kid so much as looked at him sideways again, Iruka was going to lose it.

And not in the graceful, polite way of most teachers, who requested that their students remain after class and then assigned them extra homework. No, Iruka was going to tear the entire damn classroom down. He’d start with Uzumaki Naruto, move on to teaching in general (for continuity, of course), and end up somewhere in the past, harping on a lover’s lack of prowess in bed.

Sure, he’d lose his job, along with everything he’d worked for, but maybe (just maybe) it’d be worth it.

Really, Iruka was no stranger to the pranks played on helpless new sensei, but there was something about Naruto’s tricks that held a ring of desperation (and ingenuity, holy shit) to them. Like maybe this was more than just a joke; maybe it was a cry for something. He made a mental note to revisit the issue later as he wiped the residue of glue and goose feathers from his pants, pointedly ignoring the brown smear on his kneecap.

He’d deal with the senbon in the wall later.

For about the billionth time since he’d walked in the door this morning, Iruka questioned his life choices. His return to Konoha after nearly a decade’s absence, his decision to leave the ranks of Mist shinobi to take on a teaching position (of pre-genin, no less), and abandoning the comfort of his cozy little house in Kirigakure for a shoddy apartment not much larger than his old kitchen had been. But, out of everything, perhaps the most baffling of all were his reasons for making the long trek back into Fire Country.

When the stone memorializing fallen ninja had been erected, Iruka had fled, his mother and father’s name carved into the glossy onyx surface too much for him to bear.

The reminder of his failures - his complete lack of ability to save his own parents, his naiveté in believing that no harm could come to anyone close to him - was now a tangible thing on display for the entire village to behold. He found himself unable to shake the guilt he felt whenever he let his mind wander to the night of his parents’ death, which was often.

The smallest things would conjure up memories that taunted him. The scrape of a knee, the shriek of children at play, his empty table – it baffled Iruka how many mundane things would send him sprinting home, tears stinging his eyes and his hand clutched to his aching chest.

Running away had worked for him when he was thirteen, and believed that the best way to ward off lingering ghosts was to start over someplace new. The endless potential for recreating himself had been more than enough of an incentive for moving. He could shed the skin of “tragic orphan” for good; he could be whatever it was that people who weren’t defined by an unfortunate past were.

What he hadn’t counted on was the nearly crippling desire to be near his family again, no matter the circumstances. He hadn’t anticipated the gnawing emptiness inside of him, or the nights when he lay awake, longing for some semblance of home. Home, he had started to realize, was where the family rested.

It came as a surprise to no one but himself when he’d finally approached the Mizukage, heart pounding in his throat while he asked for a transfer to the Konoha Academy.

A tap on Iruka’s shoulder brought him back to the present, to the crap-covered senbon and a room full of raucous mini nin. He really was a masochist.

“Now remember, Iruka-sensei,” said the very pregnant Riko, whose place he would be taking. Her flushed cheeks and sweaty hairline gave her that proverbial glow as she waddled past him, her rotund stomach seeming to drop lower with every sway of her hips. “Shishu is allergic to rice, but his grandmother packs his lunch, so as long as you remember that, there shouldn’t be a problem. Please don’t let him have anything red, either.”

“Um,” Iruka said, barely catching the scroll she tossed at him. “What happens if he has something red?”

“You really don’t want to know. Now, in that scroll are the names of all the children who will need a little extra help in their studies. Also, at the bottom, you’ll see a list of names of the students who have special home situations.”

“Home? Situations?”

“Mmmhmm,” Riko stopped to reach into the depths of her desk, smacking her lips happily as she retrieved a stick of dango. Iruka looked at the floor when she spoke with her mouth full, the dumplings making her cheeks as round as her stomach. “There are two who live with their grandparents: Souta and Yui. Oh, and if Hiroto’s father shows up, you’ll need to contact ANBU.”

“ANBU?”

Riko grinned, her teeth glinting. “Welcome to the best days of your life, Sensei.”

--

The rest of the afternoon seemed to drag, with only a few disruptions to break up the monotony. By the time the children filed out, though, Iruka was covered in chalk dust; his hair was stiff and crunchy due to the bucket of something sugary that had been dumped on his head, and his temper was frayed around the edges.

Still, it had seemed successful: everyone left the classroom alive and with all extremities intact, Iruka had not gone on an ill-advised rampage, and at least five students were able to create clones by the time class was dismissed. All in all, it could be counted as a successful first day.

Too tired to make the trek to his apartment, Iruka had lifted his hands, fingers poised to make the signs that would teleport him home, when a voice stopped him.

“Iruka-sensei, is it?”

Iruka spun around, taking in the man who addressed him. Feathery strands of dark hair fanned out like a peacock’s tail, the fringes spilling over his hitae-ate to frame his eyes. He wore a bandage over his cheeks and nose that crinkled when he smiled, and there was a wide marking that covered the space of his chin.

“Yes,” Iruka answered, “Yes, I am.”

“I’m Kotetsu,” said the ninja, giving Iruka a slight bow. “I just wanted to say hi; see how your first day went.”

Iruka spread his arms as if to indicate himself as evidence of how his day went.

“I’ve been a proctor for the genin exams a few times,” Kotetsu said with a shudder. “I couldn’t teach those brats on a daily basis.”

“I keep telling myself that I’m not insane, but I don’t believe me.”

Kotetsu chuckled at that. “Say, would you want to get a drink? Swap horror stories?”

“Alcohol sounds amazing,” Iruka nearly moaned, ignoring the way Kotetsu’s mouth quirked. “Point me to the nearest bar.”

Not even remotely concerned about his appearance, Iruka traipsed after Kotetsu, who turned to him and said, “First round’s on you, sensei.”

--

“I think,” Iruka said a month later, his gaze trained on the little black speck that floated on the amber surface of his bourbon, “that I need to find another job.”

Kotetsu started, leg flying up to hit the table from where he’d been reclined in his chair. “What, like, quit the Academy? But you’re doing so well, there! Everyone has been so happy with your teaching, even Hyuuga Hiashi -”

“No, no, no! Nothing like that,” said Iruka, not in any hurry to hear anything that the head of the Hyuuga clan had to say about him, kind or otherwise.

“Then what?”

Iruka met Kotetsu’s gaze, then; noted his lifted eyebrow. “Sometimes, I just want to talk to someone over four feet tall, you know?”

Kotetsu grinned. “That’s what you have me for.”

“Someone intelligent, then.”

“Iruka-sensei! I’m offended!” Kotetsu put a fist to his chest, his eyes wide in mock horror. “To think that all this time, I’ve been wasting scintillating conversation on the ungrateful!”

Iruka snorted. He trapped his glass between the palms of his hands, rolling it back and forth restlessly, watching as it scraped heavily against the wooden bar top.

Kotetsu went on, but Iruka wasn’t listening. His attention wandered over the bar, all dark corners and shadowed spaces. He thought that perhaps this was why the place was so popular - it was innocuously bland. Even the sign, weathered and dented, flashed “Drinks” in red lights, as though a real name might make it less authentic somehow.

From somewhere behind him, a raucous laugh pierced the considerable din.

Iruka glanced back at Kotetsu, who was shaking his head. “You’re not listening to me, now, are you?”

“Sorry.” There was a pause, and Iruka watched as Kotetsu finished the rest of his drink, raised two fingers to signal the bartender for another round. Iruka sighed heavily. “I just think that getting out more would be good for me.”

What he didn’t say was that it had been harder to adjust than he’d imagined. That at night his mind spun wildly in all directions, thoughts like leaves buffeted by a merciless wind. Was it better to be near his family, after all? Or was the relentless sense of loss brought on by his proximity more than he could bear? Even worse: what if he wasn’t as professional as he liked to think himself? What if his personal life was derailing his teaching?

“You know,” Kotetsu’s voice broke into Iruka’s musings, and when he glanced up, it was to meet a shrewd gaze. “There’s an opening at the mission desk. Let me ask around for you, I might be able to work something out.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! You get to talk to a lot of people, and work with some fucking hot ninjas,” Kotetsu’s face had gone soft, a light flush on his cheeks.

“Um,” said Iruka, trying his damnedest not to laugh and failing, “I won’t be using it as a dating service.”

“Yeah, well. I wasn’t either until Izumo showed up.”

“Izumo, huh?” Iruka prodded, thankful for the change in topic.

“Yeah,” Kotetsu drawled, eyes softening. “Best ass this side of Fire Country, too.”

“Uh huh.”

“Yeah, but don’t you go looking at it,” Kotetsu warned, jabbing a finger at Iruka. “I mean, I don’t know if men are your thing, but I plan on asking Izumo out.”

Iruka blushed, memories of a white-haired ninja popping into his thoughts unbidden. Shaking his head, he asked, “Why don’t you tell me how you plan to do that? I mean, I’ve only known you a month, but so far your game is pretty unimpressive…”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve got plenty of moves you haven’t even heard of, sensei.”

“Alright, alright,” Iruka held up his hands, placating. It was then that their drinks finally appeared, the bartender smiling apologetically. Clinking his glass to Kotetsu’s, Iruka raised it in salute. “I’ll drink to your animal magnetism no jutsu, then.”

“Damn right, you will,” huffed Kotetsu, face flushing red when Iruka burst into laughter.

--

Iruka rubbed the back of his eyelids, trying to clear away the film of exhaustion that covered him like a thick blanket. It had been such a long day, with so many faces and names to remember, that by midday he’d had to duck into a closet to try and stave off a panic attack. Really, what had he been thinking, asking to work at the mission desk? His first day at the academy had been less stressful.

He’d dropped at least three armfuls of scrolls, tripped over absolutely nothing more times than he’d cared to admit, and became so turned around while searching for the restroom that he’d ended up in the Hokage’s office.

The Sandaime had been more than gracious, inviting Iruka for a cup of tea while regaling him with tales of awkward scenes he’d happened upon when his previous assistant had thought he’d gone home for the day. His gentleness and throaty laugh had put Iruka at ease, and he’d truly regretted having to run out on Sarutobi-sama after only one cup of tea. He absolutely refused to be the guy who peed on the Third Hokage’s furniture for the rest of his life.

Things hadn’t slowed down in the afternoon either. Iruka hardly knew how to handle the rowdy jōnin that lined up in front of his desk to receive their next mission. Kids, he could deal with; loud, perverted, and peculiarly idiosyncratic ninja, however, he wanted to bash over the head with the nearest heavy object.

Nevertheless, Iruka had worked quickly, relishing the decrease in volume as each ninja went. He was nearing the end of his line, gaze flickering to the clock to watch the second hand - which seemed to mock him in its slowness - when the sound of something hitting the floor with a loud thwap made him glance up.

It felt as if the very air had been kicked from Iruka’s lungs, or that he’d been doused with a bucket of ice, his skin tingling and his heart pounding so loudly that he could swear he heard blood sloshing in his ears. The scroll he’d been holding clattered to the floor.

Standing in front of him, his single eye widened in shock, was Yuki.

“Himitsu?” he murmured, sounding utterly lost.

Iruka’s hand flew to his mouth, a sob threatening to punch through his surprise. He barely noticed the way the room had fallen silent, or how Kotetsu and Izumo stared at him, mouths agape.

Time had been kind to what little of Yuki Iruka could see. He’d kept the mask, and added a bigger hitae-ate that was pulled down over his left eye. He was taller, thinner somehow, and slouched with an air of indifference that was foreign to Iruka – Yuki had always been so animated when they were together. And even when he wasn’t, he was completely attentive; he seemed to listen to Iruka with his whole body. The only thing that seemed unchanged was his hair, which shot up from his scalp to poke the air with pointed tips.

“Himitsu?” Yuki asked again, snapping Iruka out of his trance.

Iruka’s eyes brimmed with tears as he nodded. He didn’t know what to do - his entire body seemed rooted to the floor, though his hands ached to touch Yuki, to reassure himself that this was not, in fact, a dream. Absurdly, he thought back to the first time he’d met Yuki, and the way he’d cried then.

With a sniff, he scrubbed his cheeks with his palms, hoping the roughness would keep him from weeping. It didn’t help at all.

“Yuki,” he said, his voice cracking beneath the weight of his emotions. So many questions flew through his mind like tiny daggers flung from a fist, all of them hitting their marks with a sting. Why hadn’t Yuki searched for him? What had happened? Didn’t Yuki know that he had waited, hoping that he was wrong and that the boy was still alive? Had he meant nothing at all to Yuki?

Tears spilled onto his cheeks, and Iruka swiped them away before straightening his shoulders. Determined, he let his gaze settle on Yuki’s face.

Yuki was studying the ground, and though the years had faded some of Iruka’s memories around the edges, he knew the furrow of that brow, and could picture the blush beneath the mask that covered Yuki’s straight nose and full lips. Lips that he had kissed, lips that had covered every inch of his skin, lips whose equal could not be found. And, perhaps worst of all, lips that stayed utterly silent as the moments dragged out, marked only by the ticking of the clock behind Iruka’s head.

“I thought you were dead,” Iruka blurted out suddenly, feeling the need to explain himself to the man in front of him. Or maybe it was more that he was terrified that if he didn’t break the quiet, he would lose everything again. “You never came back, and I waited for you, Yuki, I -”

“Hatake!”

Both of them jumped at the loud voice, and Iruka looked up to see another man storm in, his face flushed as he stomped toward Yuki. The senbon he held between his teeth bobbed dangerously in the air.

“You asshole! Next time Sandaime asks you to select a partner, don’t you dare ask me. Of all the fucking things, Kakashi!”

Kakashi. His name was Kakashi. Iruka felt a heaviness in his chest, his eyes pricking again.

“Maa, Genma,” Kakashi said, his eye curving into something very unlike the smile that Iruka once knew. His voice sounded strangled, and he reached slender fingers back to scratch at the nape of his neck. “It was only a joke.”

“A joke? I almost died, you insufferable dick!”

Iruka watched as Kakashi was dragged away, the man’s eyes never leaving Iruka’s face until he was out of sight.

--

If he had imagined coming home to be hard, it was nothing compared to the torment Iruka felt at seeing Yuki - no, Kakashi - again. Relief that the boy he’d known so long ago hadn’t perished in some god forsaken battle swelled until he was lightheaded from it. But the relief would only last a moment before the avalanche of questions would come crashing down around him, burying him beneath their weight.

He’d barely slept at all, the boiling of his thoughts keeping him wide awake until morning crept up on him, his alarm clock screeching the beginning of his day.

It was the first time since he’d taken the position that Iruka felt immeasurably grateful for the distractions that came with teaching. Breaking up fights, cleaning skinned knees, and repeating himself for the thousandth time seemed much less troubling compared to the thoughts that waited to assail him once he was alone.

He was considering the merits of adopting a cat as he slid into bed after a particularly trying day, the remnants of sunlight clinging to the sky outside his window. It was still too early for sleep, so Iruka reached for his nightstand, plucking up the book he’d started reading a week ago.

Opening to the page where he’d left off, he stared at the words, trying to comprehend what he was reading and failing. His mind was simply too full to concentrate, and the words blurred on the pages.

Once more he found himself circling thoughts of Yuki. How many times had he grieved for the little boy he’d lost? How many men had he walked away from because they couldn’t even begin to compare to the boy he’d met in the forest?

A tap at his window made him leap in his bed, startled. Hanging upside down, his hair making Iruka think of a mop in motion, was Kakashi, his fingers curled and poised to rap against the glass again.

When Iruka made no move to let him in, Kakashi shrugged, his fingers flipping through seals. A flash, and then he was in Iruka’s room, his hair mussed, and visible eye tight with what seemed to be exasperation.

“You broke through my wards,” Iruka said, his body on edge at Kakashi’s sudden nearness.

“You weren’t at the desk,” groused Kakashi. He crossed his arms, his stance much like that of a toddler denied his favorite toy. Iruka could see the shadow beneath Kakashi’s lip, which was presumably jutted out.

“I only work there three nights a week, Hatake-san.”

“Kakashi,” he corrected before stepping further into the room, his face swallowed by shadows. “I looked for you, you know.”

Iruka scooted backward on the bed, his heart thumping treacherously against his breastbone; as if it could fling itself at Kakashi’s steadily advancing feet. “Well, um, it’s like I said. I work at the desk three nights a week.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I meant that I looked for you, Himitsu.” The bed dipped beneath Kakashi’s weight, creaking as he crawled over the mattress toward Iruka. “For years, I searched.”

Iruka scrambled farther back, desperately wishing that he could see Kakashi’s face, that he could quell the tiny tremors of hope that rippled through his body. All too quickly he backed into the wall, his head hitting the surface with a dull thud.

“I asked everywhere I went,” Kakashi went on, raising up onto his knees. He stretched out his arms to place a hand on the wall on either side of Iruka’s head. “No one had ever heard of a little boy with a scar across his nose. I’d started to think that maybe I’d made you up, after all.”

“Hatake-san, I-“

“And then, to find you after all of these years! To finally learn your name,” Kakashi leaned in, the cloth mask sliding over Iruka’s jaw. Kakashi whispered, “Iruka.”

It made Iruka shiver to hear his name spoken like that: low and reverent. Without thinking, he leaned forward, staggering into the suddenly empty air. Kakashi was at the window, his visible eye wide as he climbed onto the ledge.

“I won’t lose you again,” he said fiercely. “Remember that, Himitsu.”

Speechless, Iruka moved a hand to his lips, watching as Kakashi slid out the window and disappeared into the night.

--

“Tell me about Hatake-san,” Iruka said over lunch the next day.

Izumo froze, a lump of umeboshi halfway to his lips while Kotetsu coughed on his mouthful of tea. In hindsight, Iruka figured he could have been a better friend, maybe given Kotetsu the lunch break alone with Izumo. But, he reasoned with himself, he’d make it up to Kotetsu, somehow.

“You mean Kakashi-sensei?” Izumo asked, clapping the sputtering Kotetsu on the back.

“Yes. Please,” Iruka amended. He opened his bento box, frowning at the contents. Really, he should have just gone for ramen; gathering information about a first love was beyond ridiculous. It wasn’t like he was some five-year-old kid anymore. Still, Iruka found himself poised on the edge of his seat, desperate for anything that would give him some kind of insight to the man Yuki had become.

“Well,” Izumo started, his hand absently rubbing circles onto the space between Kotetsu’s shoulder blades. When Kotetsu coughed again, Iruka suspected it wasn’t quite as authentic as the first one. “That’s a pretty open-ended question, Iruka-sensei.”

“I just mean, why is he called the Copynin? What has he been doing all these years? Is there a reason he’s alone?”

“Whoa, slow down!” Izumo laughed, his hands back on the table. If he noticed the look of utter despondence on Kotetsu’s face, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he furrowed his brow, considering for a few moments before answering. “He’s called the Copynin because of his Sharingan, which has allowed him to copy so many jutsu. He’s the ‘Man of a Thousand Jutsus,’ you know.”

“How did he get the Sharingan?” Iruka asked around a mouthful of onigiri. He couldn’t resist opening his mouth as he chewed when he caught the look of disgust on Kotetsu’s face.

“No one really knows. Although, there were some rumors a while back.”

“Rumors?”

“Someone said that he stole it off of a Uchiha,” Kotetsu cut in. “Cut it out of the man’s skull while he screamed for mercy.”

Iruka’s horror must have shown on his face, because Izumo was quick to add, “There’s not really any evidence to support that.”

Iruka’s skin prickled at the thought, gooseflesh crawling like ants over his forearms. That wasn’t like the Yuki he’d known at all.Idiot, he thought, how much did you truly know the boy? Even his name was made up. “And he’s…you know, single right?”

Kotetsu and Izumo shared a knowing look, Izumo stretching his hand out to pat Iruka’s arm sympathetically. “Don’t even go there.”

Iruka must have looked as crestfallen as he felt, because Kotetsu reached for his other arm, concern pinching his features.

“What I think Izumo means,” Kotetsu said, shooting a look at Izumo. When Izumo smiled, he went on. “What I think he means is that Kakashi… he’s not like most people, Iruka. “

“What do you mean?” Iruka’s voice sounded small, even to his own ears.

“I just mean that he’s different.”

“Aren’t all shinobi different?” asked Iruka, kicking himself under the table at his own defensiveness.

“Iruka,” Izumo said softly, his thumb tracing soothing trails over Iruka’s forearm. “Kakashi-san was in ANBU for years. It’s a well-known fact that he stayed twice as long in the ANBU ranks as the normal shinobi, and a decision like that couldn’t have been motivated solely by love of his country.” He paused to let the implications of his words sink in. “Plus, think of the psychological ramifications. I’ve heard that he has single-handedly destroyed entire villages. I can’t imagine living a life so full of death and being unaffected.”

All three of them fell silent, Iruka swallowed by his thoughts while Kotetsu picked at his lunch and Izumo watched Iruka like he was a kunai wrapped in an explosive tag. Ignoring the worried glances from his friends, Iruka excused himself and stepped out into the hallway.

The man they had been talking about was a cold, calculated ninja - nothing at all like the boy who’d giggled as he pressed quick kisses to Iruka’s skin so long ago. Yuki had been caring, funny, and kind, not a psychotic killer with an obvious death wish.

So then, who the hell was Hatake Kakashi?

--

When asked about personal issues, most of the Konoha residents shied away.

At first, Iruka made the assumption that perhaps it was simply the civilians, thinking he would try his luck a few days later at the mission desk. After three jonin and Kotetsu pried Mitarashi Anko’s fingers from Iruka’s neck, he decided that maybe he was simply asking the wrong questions. Perhaps it wasn’t necessary to try and forge a friendship with someone before asking them about specific Leaf ninja.

So the next time he was safely tucked behind his desk, a few shuriken shoved into his vest just in case, he waited until Genma ambled up before flashing what he hoped was his best smile.

“Something in your teeth, sensei?” Genma asked by way of greeting, his senbon doing a slow slide from one corner of his lips to the other.

“N-no, Genma-san,” stammered Iruka, already feeling the heat of a blush on his face. It only deepened when Genma’s grin widened, a cat who’d spotted a mouse.

“You have a scroll for me, then?”

Iruka squared his shoulders - this was it. He could either try the lines he’d practiced a billion times in the safety of his apartment, or give up altogether. “You know, Genma-san, I heard something odd about Kakashi-san the other day.”

Genma looked at Iruka as if he’d grown a third eye. “Only one something? Obviously, you haven’t been talking to the right people, Iruka-sensei.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.” Genma agreed as he leaned down, resting his elbows on the desk. “Did you know that Kakashi likes it up the ass while on all fours?”

Iruka jumped back, his body feeling hot all over. “Th-that’s a bit too much information.”

“Is it? Well, damn. I thought everyone knew that.” He scratched at his head, baffled. “Maybe you heard that he likes to wear women’s underwear sometimes? Was that it?”

“Here’s your scroll, Genma-san. Thank you for your hard work.” Flustered, Iruka waved the next ninja forward.

He finally found the perfect method for prying, quite by accident, one day in the teacher’s lounge. It seemed that the trick of it was to act well intentioned, so as to silence any sudden bouts of conscience.

It was with this in mind that he had leaned over to Kiyomi, who was taking a break from her grading.

“I have to tell you,” he said, concern threading itself into his voice, “I’ve heard some terrible things about our Hatake-san.”

At this, Kiyomi glanced up from the scroll she’d been perusing. “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s nothing too bad,” Iruka reassured, feeling a twinge of guilt at the obvious relief on Kiyomi’s face. “It’s just that he seems so down lately. I’m concerned about him, you know? A great shinobi like Kakashi-san shouldn’t have to battle sadness in his own village.”

“Oh dear,” Kiyomi said. She worried her thin bottom lip with her teeth. “You know, I think you’re right! I overheard someone saying the other day how different Hatake-san’s been acting these days. I just bet it has to do with Sandaime assigning him a team of genin.”

After that, it had been shockingly easy to wheedle information about Kakashi from nearly anyone Iruka met. It was as if he’d opened Pandora’s box, and all of Kakashi’s secrets were revealing themselves to him.

Only, as it turned out, Kakashi kept pretty much to himself, and most of the things people had to say were either well-known facts or else awkward confessions.

“He’s a bit too into those smutty novels, if you know what I mean,” muttered the old lady at the fruit stand in the market. “Isn’t right for such a fine young man to be filling his head with such filth.”

“A true hero,” swooned Ayame at Ichiraku’s, her eyes distant as she set a steaming bowl of ramen in front of Iruka. “Thanks to Kakashi-san, Konoha feels safe.”

“My mom says she feels like a bitch in heat whenever Kakashi-sensei is around,” declared Inuzuka Kiba during class. Iruka had been lecturing on Konoha heroes, calling on Kiba to ask about the villagers’ thoughts on specific shinobi.

It had taken him a good hour to calm the students down after that outburst, but as he sat at his desk later that evening, Iruka felt as though he had a better picture of Hatake Kakashi.

A man who kept mostly to himself, Kakashi had no family, and very few friends. Though he held the attention and admiration of quite a few women (not to mention the two or three men Iruka had spoken to), Kakashi was never seen with a partner of any kind, nor had he ever been married. He served his village efficiently, rising in the ranks of ANBU before becoming a jonin at a young age.

Iruka sighed, twirling his red pen between his fingers. Really, he hadn’t found out much more about Kakashi than before; the only difference was that he could now list the Copynin’s achievements as well as any textbook.

Bending back to his papers, Iruka started his corrections. It dawned on him some time later, as he listened to the hush of the room around him, that he was not alone. It was as if a curtain had parted from in front of his eyes, blocking his view one minute and clearing it the next - the hum of another person’s chakra simply took up a space that had been empty before.

“Can I help you?” Iruka asked, hardly daring to look up from his work.

“I don’t think you can,” said Kakashi, Iruka’s stomach doing a little flip inside him at the sound of his voice. “When I was in school, sensei marked our mistakes, they didn’t decorate them.”

Iruka looked down at the essay in his hands, noting the cluster of question marks he’d absentmindedly doodled in the margin. “Shit.”

“Language, sensei.”

Iruka glanced up to see Kakashi standing against the wall next to a desk, a brightly-colored book open in one hand. The other was shoved into his pocket.

“My apologies, Hatake-san.”

“I hear you’ve been asking about me,” Kakashi said, never looking up from his reading. The sound of a page being turned sliced through the stillness.

“Yes, well, um...”

“Have you ever heard of a little thing called ‘invasion of privacy’?”

“I assure you, Hatake-san, it was never my intent to-”

“Luckily for you,” Kakashi continued, “I don’t mind so much.”

A mixture of relief and irritation swept through Iruka. If Kakashi didn’t mind Iruka asking around, then what was the point of him being here?

“In fact, I imagine that if you’re interested enough in asking about me, you’ll be interested enough to accept when I ask you out.”

“Ask me out?”

“Yes,” Kakashi answered, his eye curving upward.

“The answer will be no, Hatake-san,” Iruka ground out, aggravated. How dare Kakashi assume that simply because someone was asking if he was single that meant they wanted to be with him.

“Why?”

Flummoxed, Iruka said, “Because, I’m not interested.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Kakashi asked, voice dripping with apathy though his eye seemed bright.

“No, but-”

“Boyfriend?”

“Not anymore, but-”

“So you’re unattached?”

“Clearly, but that doesn’t mean that I -”

Kakashi sighed loudly, tossed his book on the desk. “Then I see no reason why I shouldn’t pursue you.”

“I don’t want to be pursued, Hatake-san!”

“Semantics, sensei,” Kakashi waved his hand dismissively.

“Try ‘harassment,’ Kakashi-san,” Iruka spat, annoyance curdling the words on his tongue.

Faster than he could’ve imagined, Kakashi was in front of him, his eye glinting dangerously. “Last time I checked, you were the one asking everyone about me.”

Iruka did not - could not - answer. He was too busy fighting the need to touch Kakashi, to run his fingers over the planes of his skin and memorize the changes he’d missed.

“Honestly, sensei,” Kakashi said lowly, the words crowding against Iruka’s lips. “If you had questions about me, all you had to do was ask.”

“I’m not interested in finding out about you,” Iruka said, but it sounded like a lie - even to himself.

“I’ll tell you something about myself now,” Kakashi moved in closer, trailing a finger over Iruka’s jaw before cupping it with his hand, “I’m not a patient man, it’s one of my many flaws. But I can wait until you tell me that you love me again.”

“No,” said Iruka, hands weakly pushing at Kakashi’s chest. “I don’t want to...”

But Kakashi was already leaning in, his mask cowled around his neck and eyes half-lidded. His kiss was soft and sweet, so different from anything Iruka could have imagined that his knees seemed to go liquid beneath him; the only support he had was that of Kakashi’s hand pressing firmly against the small of his back.

“I can’t,” he gasped, turning his face away. “Kakashi, I can’t give you what you want. I’m not that boy anymore.”

“You do love me,” Kakashi whispered fervently, pressing his forehead against Iruka’s own. “I know that you do. You just need to remember.”

A swirl of leaves and smoke left Iruka alone in the moonlight, clutching his chest. For reasons he would never understand, his arms ached with the sense of loss, which ratcheted through his body until he could hardly breathe.

He didn’t even try to stop the tears from falling.

--

His nose was running.

It was running like a fountain and it wouldn’t quit and he could swear that bastard Kakashi did something to him. Granted, it had been a few weeks since he last saw the man – Kotetsu had mentioned the mission he’d personally handed the Copynin would take at least three, not that Iruka particularly cared. Still, Iruka wouldn’t put it past Kakashi to somehow find a way to infect him, even while away on mission.

Or maybe he’d caught something when Kakashi had kissed him, he reasoned before immediately recoiling at the thought. He would not allow himself to think about that again - he’d spent too many hours tasting the ghost of Kakashi’s tongue already. He sniffled, miserable.

“Maybe you should go home,” suggested Izumo, either completely oblivious to the way Kotetsu was openly ogling his ass as he bent over a pile of scrolls, or else not caring. “You look like hell.”

“I’m tempted to,” said Iruka, a cough nearly knocking him out of his seat. He heaved a wet sigh. “I’ll just have to find someone to sub for me at the academy tomorrow.”

“How about Kotetsu?” Izumo asked brightly, tossing a grin over his shoulder at the man in question. “He’s helped with a few genin exams, you know. Kids really seem to like him.”

“What?” Kotetsu sat up in his seat. “No, no, no! I was only-”

“Plus,” Izumo went on as if Kotetsu hadn’t spoken, “I’ve always had a thing for teachers.”

“Iruka,” Kotetsu said, his face solemn, “I think you should take tomorrow off. I can definitely handle your classes for a day.”

If he hadn’t felt like his head would explode from sinus pressure, Iruka would have laughed at Izumo’s wink.

--

Iruka climbed into bed, sighing in relief as he tugged the covers up to his chin. He was looking forward to falling into the deep, black abyss of sleep for a few days; just him, a pillow, and some drool. Maybe he’d get up tomorrow, run to the store for tea and lemon, but after that it was going to be nothing but the bed.

Smiling, he plopped onto the mattress, letting his eyes fall shut. Before long, he was drifting in and out of consciousness, the first rush of dreams tumbling over him in technicolor waves. He was somewhere bright, the sun warm on his upturned face. Beneath his feet stretched a carpet of grass, and when he started to walk, a forest sprouted from the earth around him.

It all seemed so familiar, right down to a dilapidated stump, the rotting bark falling off in chunks that floated to the ground like so much ash. A sudden pain had Iruka gasping, and when he glanced down, his knee was red with blood. From somewhere behind him, a twig snapped, and he whirled to find a young boy on the edge of the glade.

“Yuki?”

The little boy nodded, Iruka’s heart swelling with joy. He tried to run to Yuki, but his feet were heavy, as if he were trying to move through a sea of glue.

“Yuki, come to me!”

Slowly, Yuki stepped out, his lips stretching in a smile. The landscape shifted, a flickering of light that melted into night, and Yuki seemed to grow taller the closer he got to Iruka. When he was only a few yards away, Iruka noticed the knife in his hand, the darkened splotches that shined wetly on his vest.

A mask wrapped itself around the face that Iruka loved, and one of Yuki’s eyes red in the darkness. Fear skimmed over Iruka’s skin, leaving coldness in its wake, because Yuki was different; Iruka didn’t know the person moving toward him.

“Stop,” he whispered, watching as Yuki halted. Squeezing his eyes shut, Iruka wished that this man would go away, that he could have Yuki back and return to their forest.

When he opened his eyes he was alone, darkness stretching in both directions as far as he could see.

He woke with a start to the sound of voices, his limbs feeling heavy and his throat achingly raw.

“I don’t know, boss,” someone was saying in a deep, scratchy voice that Iruka hadn’t heard before. “I’m not keen on breaking and entering.”

It was odd how, after so many hours of training and so many assigned missions, all knowledge of self-preservation was sucked into a black vortex in the center of his brain when Iruka was faced with someone clattering around in his kitchen. Everything seemed to shrink down to the fact that someone was in his kitchen, and that someone had not been invited.

“Stop bitching, Pakkun,” said a new voice, the sound so familiar that Iruka felt quite sure he’d be able to identify if his mind wasn’t so addled with fever. “Here, make yourself useful and see if you can sniff out the tea cups.”

“Why can’t you just ask the man out like a normal person?” asked the first voice, and a long silence followed. A loud, beleaguered sigh, and then: “Humans are so weird.”

“Right,” Kakashi said dryly. “And randomly mounting someone would make me completely normal.”

“At least he’d know how you felt about him.”

Quietly, Iruka reached for his nightstand, scrambling to pull open the drawer so he could draw out the dagger he kept tucked inside. He was wrapping his fingers around the hilt when he was seized by a fit of coughing. The weapon clattered to the floor.

“Should have had an ANBU tail you, sensei,” someone said from the doorway. Iruka looked up to see Kakashi, arms crossed over his chest and his eye drooping in boredom. “You’re shit with weapons when you’re sick.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” croaked Iruka, clutching his throat with a groan. It felt as though his voice had grown claws - viciously sharp little sons of bitches that lacerated his insides every time he tried to speak.

“I’m taking care of you,” Kakashi said, his eye crinkling in a grin. He turned and called for Pakkun, and Iruka scrambled to yank the sheets up to his nose.

“Why the hell would you bring someone to my house?” Iruka hissed from behind his blankets.

“Just recruiting some help. Pakkun!”

A little dog padded into the room only adding to Iruka’s confusion. Why would Kakashi bring his friend and a dog? And weirder, why would he dress it in a vest and hitae-ate? The poor thing already looked like he’d run face first into a wall, his nose refusing to pop back out.

The dog hopped onto the bed and walked up Iruka’s legs, coming to a stop at his lap.

“You’re a friendly little thing, aren’t you?” Iruka asked, reaching out to pat the dog’s head. From the doorway, Kakashi choked on what sounded like a laugh.

“Please don’t touch me,” said the dog, diving to the floor with a yelp when Iruka screeched in shock.

The sound of Kakashi’s laughter, somehow both full and lighthearted, echoed through the room. If it hadn’t been such a lovely surprise, Iruka might have been more successful in glaring at Kakashi.

“Iruka-sensei,” Kakashi said around a mouthful of giggles, “meet Pakkun. He’s one of my ninken.”

From his place on the floor, Pakkun glowered at Iruka. “Nice to meet you.”

“A ninken?” Iruka said, unable to mask the awe (and snot) in his voice. “I’ve heard of summons, but I’ve never met one outside of battle.”

“Does that impress you, sensei?” asked Kakashi, raising an eyebrow. “I have seven more. Perhaps when you’re well, I could introduce you?”

The shrilling of a kettle interrupted, Kakashi excusing himself to take care of it. Not wanting to be left alone while his cabinets were being rummaged through, Iruka rolled out of bed. He trudged to the main room, blanket wrapped around him like a shroud, where he flopped down onto his futon unceremoniously.

Kakashi wasn’t far behind, carrying a steaming cup of tea and settling on the futon beside him.

“My mom always made me tea with lemon and honey when I was sick,” he explained, pressing the cup into Iruka’s hand. “I can always add more sugar, if you’d like.”

“No, I think this will be just fine.” Iruka blew the wisps of steam, took a tentative sip. It was sweet, but not sickeningly so; the warmth flooding through his chest and belly made him sigh happily. “Your mom is a smart woman.”

“Was.”

“Hmm?”

“She was,” Kakashi said, eyes trained on some spot above Iruka’s hair. “Or at least, she seemed to be. What I remember of her, anyway.”

“Oh.” Iruka suddenly felt very intrusive; as if he’d stumbled upon something sacred and private. “I’m sorry.”

Kakashi merely waved him off. “The other thing I remember about sick days was watching movies.”

“Movies?”

“Mmmmhmmm,” Kakashi hummed, his eyes closing in a smile. “We’d pile up on the futon and watch scary movies until I fell asleep.”

Iruka grinned at the mental image of Kakashi and his mother huddled under blankets together. He wondered how old Kakashi had been when she died, if she had been anything like her son.

“Boss,” Pakkun growled, his voice cutting into Iruka’s thoughts. He’d waddled into the room, a basket full of little jars of medicine, tubes of salve, and various packages dropped at Kakashi’s feet. “Can I leave now?”

“Oh, right!” Kakashi grabbed the basket off the floor, presenting it to Iruka with a quick bow. “I didn’t know if you liked pills or powders, so I got both! There’s also some kind of cough syrup in there, but the only flavor I could find was cherry.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Iruka said softly, genuinely touched at the other man’s concern. His chest felt tight as Kakashi looked at him, a little blush glowing on the skin above his mask.

“Boss? Leaving?”

“Yeah,” Kakashi answered the dog, never looking away from Iruka’s face. “Yeah, thanks, Pakkun.”

“Fuck’s sake,” muttered Pakkun, disappearing from sight.

Iruka laughed nervously, swiping at his runny nose with the back of his hand.

“You should take something,” Kakashi said gravely.

Rifling through the basket, Iruka found a package of pills that seemed to match his symptoms. Once Iruka had taken the medicine, Kakashi started a movie he’d brought - something about a curse and a haunted well.

During the film, they kept a polite distance on the futon, though Iruka found himself sliding closer to Kakashi, a few scenes too scary for his liking. If it bothered Kakashi, he didn’t complain. The credits were rolling when Iruka noticed Kakashi leaning against him heavily, snoring softly.

He glanced over at the other man, his heart thundering in his chest.

At some point, Kakashi had tugged down his mask, the fabric gathering at his neck. His lips were slightly opened while his lashes - dark and thick - lay against his cheek. He looked so much like the boy Iruka had known that he ached, fingertips itching to run over every feature of Kakashi’s face.

Instead, he did something that surprised even him: he leaned into the other man, letting his cheek fall against the riot of Kakashi’s soft hair on his shoulder. He’d blame it on the drugs later, he reasoned, letting his own eyes close.

He didn’t open them again until in the morning, when he woke in his bed, the covers wrapped tight around him. Wiping at the line of spittle running from his lips, he blushed at the thought of Kakashi carrying him to his room from the futon.

Kakashi.

Closing his eyes, Iruka concentrated, reaching out with his chakra to test his surroundings. Empty.

The realization made him absurdly disappointed, though he’d never admit it to anyone. He felt slightly better than the night before, and wondered about the medicine that Kakashi had given him. Whatever it had been, Iruka’s throat seemed less mutinous, even if his body was still weak.

Settling back into the mattress, a piece of paper on his bedside table caught his attention. He hadn’t taken Kakashi to be a note leaver, he mused as he grabbed the paper.

Sensei, it read, and Iruka nearly rolled his eyes. He had a bit of trouble navigating his way through Kakashi’s scrawl, and bit back a smile when he found a few misplaced commas. I hope that you’re feeling better. Some soup’s in the fridge, and Pakkun will be by later to check on you. Would come myself, but duty calls. It was signed with a henohenomoheji.

Iruka shook his head, a tiny smile tickling his lips. Placing the paper on his pillow, he lay back, letting his eyes drift shut.

This time as he slept, his dreams were full of strangely soft hands on his skin and warm, buoyant laughter.

--

“Your writing is atrocious, Hatake-san,” Iruka complained as he glanced over Kakashi’s mess of a report. “What is that? Is that an ‘S’?”

“J,” Kakashi deadpanned, eyes never leaving the book in his hand. “I wrote it upside down.”

Exasperated, Iruka tossed the report back at him. “I’m not taking this. It’s illegible and I’m not going to accept it.”

It had been three days since Kakashi had come back from his week-long mission, and in that time, he had popped in on Iruka on several random occasions. Once to turn in a report, and the rest of the time, to ask incredibly personal questions or else check Iruka’s temperature.

In a word, Iruka was confused.

It was infinitely strange how Kakashi could so openly profess his love, stick his tongue in Iruka’s mouth, and then pretend like they were simply friends. It was enough to make a man’s head spin.

“No need to be so rude, Iruka-sensei,” Kakashi said, “I was homeschooled, you know.”

“Homeschooled?”

Kakashi hummed. “No time for proper school when you’re a prodigy. Training to complete, people to maim.”

“Oh, well, I...um,” Iruka stammered, feeling like a complete asshole. “My apologies, Hatake-san.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, sensei. I’m sure you didn’t know.”

“All the same, I am sorry.”

“You know,” Kakashi said, a gleam in his eye, “if you’re really sorry, I’d be open to-”

“Iruka-sensei!” someone sang out, saving Iruka from what he was sure was a completely thorough and highly inappropriate suggestion as to how he could earn Kakashi’s forgiveness. A very small and very treacherous part of Iruka wondered what it would have been.

He looked up, and dread dropped his stomach like a stone.

Anko was practically skipping up to the mission desk, her teeth bared in what Iruka was sure was supposed to be a grin, but vaguely reminded him of a hungry shark.

“Hello, Anko-san.” Iruka said politely, ignoring Kakashi’s raised brow.

“Iruka-sensei,” Anko said again, shoving Kakashi aside. “So, I was thinking about the other day, when you’d asked me how many of the jonin I’d fucked, when it hit me!”

“That’s not what I said!” Iruka yelped, feeling his face heat. “I didn’t ask you that!”

Anko waved her hand in a circle. “It’s what you meant, I’m sure. No one really asks how well I know my peers unless they mean sexually!”

“I didn’t mean it sexually!”

“What hit you, Anko-san?” Kakashi cut in calmly, his book pressed to his lips as though he were hiding laughter.

Iruka wanted to die. He prayed for a heart attack, or maybe an errant kunai – anything to get him out of this absurd situation where he’d been so gravely misunderstood. He glanced up to see Anko grin at Kakashi, and it sent chills of dread down Iruka’s spine.

“Only that Iruka-sensei wants to fuck me! I mean, it’s the only logical explanation.”

“I most certainly do not!”

“It’s okay, Iruka-sensei! There’s no need to feel shy. Why else would you be asking me who I’d been with and what they were like?”

“You misunderstood me! I never asked those questions and-”

Anko leaned into Iruka’s face, oblivious to the way he scooted his chair back. “Pick me up tonight and I’ll show you.”

“Anko-san,” Iruka said firmly, though he felt the burn of embarrassment all the way to the tips of his ears, “I thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid that I can’t go out tonight, because-”

“Because,” Kakashi drawled, no longer laughing, “he has plans this evening.”

“He does?” Anko asked at the same time that Iruka said, “I do?”

“Remember, sensei? You were just offering me private lessons.”

The way Kakashi lowered his voice sent a shudder through Iruka that Anko did not miss.

“Ohhhh,” she said knowingly, a smile curling her lips. “I see.”

“No, you do not see!” Iruka said quickly. “There’s nothing to see! I was only saying that-”

“My handwriting is atrocious, and Iruka-sensei was kind enough to say he’d tutor me.”

“How generous,” Anko said, turning on her heel to leave. “You two have fun!”

Iruka watched, speechless, as she walked away, shaking her head as she went. On the one hand, he was grateful that Kakashi helped him out of a date he wasn’t looking forward to, but on the other...

“Be at my apartment at eight. I’ll send Biscuit to pick you up.”

“Wait, what?”

“Be ready, sensei.”

“Wait just a minute!” Iruka yelled, but Kakashi was gone, the air displaced by the jutsu he’d used to escape.

“Looks like you have a date,” Kotetsu said, apparently having gotten back from lunch and overhearing entirely too much of the conversation.

Iruka threw a scroll at his head.

--

Fever - it was the only thing Iruka felt whenever Kakashi was near.

His skin was warm despite the chill outside, his palms slick with sweat, leaving blotches of condensation on the glass he’d wrapped his fingers around. He didn’t need the added alcohol to fuel the flames of heat that licked from his belly to chest, but he drank it for an alibi. It was something he could blame his flushed cheeks on later.

Because there was nothing about Kakashi that Iruka found appealing. He wasn’t charmed by Kakashi’s kamikaze dating tactics, wasn’t unaware of what a complete and total jackass he was to agree to Kakashi’s suggestion that they postpone lessons because he was “tired.” Iruka was on to Kakashi, and his heated skin was just a symptom of a sickness that had nothing to do with the man or his stupid attempts at seduction.

Probably. Maybe.

In any case, it didn’t change the fact that here he was, sitting on the floor in front of Kakashi’s kotatsu while Kakashi himself lounged on the other side, his back against the futon and his legs splayed under the table. Iruka scooted away from Kakashi’s bare feet.

“Drink up,” said Kakashi, his eye curving. He lifted his own glass in salute.

A million catty retorts bubbled up Iruka’s throat, only to fizz into nothingness as he watched Kakashi roll down the slinky fabric of his mask. And there it was, the face that had haunted his sleep until he was nearly mad with longing, right in front of him. The scar that sliced through Kakashi’s eye was alarming, as was the way he held that eye shut, but everything else was the same right down to his lips, which were full and shining red, as though he’d been biting them beneath his mask.

“It’s rude to stare, sensei.”

Iruka’s face burned, and he tossed back his own drink awkwardly to cover his having been caught. He’d barely set his cup on the kotatsu before Kakashi was pouring more sake into it, a grin curving the edges of his mouth. Kakashi sat back, tilting his head back on the futon he leaned against and closing his eyes.

It was so like the boy who’d stretched out in the grass at Iruka’s feet so long ago that Iruka felt as though he could close his eyes and reopen them to find them both back in the forest, the summer sun heavy on their skin, their worlds untainted by loss. He reached for his drink again, his stomach fluttering as he watched the shadows play at the hollows of Kakashi’s neck.

Iruka shook his head. “Shit.”

“What was that?”

Iruka swallowed his sake, wiping away stray droplets with the back of his arm. “I said ‘this is good shit.’”

“Are you drunk?” Kakashi asked, looking slightly perplexed.

“Nope.” Iruka slid his cup back to Kakashi’s open palm.

“I’m cutting you off after this, sensei. I’m not smitten enough to volunteer to substitute for you if you’re hung over tomorrow.” He filled Iruka’s glass, and smiled wickedly before adding, “Unless you’re willing to put out. I’d be more than happy to wrangle brats if it means I get laid.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Iruka hissed, the words only slightly slurred. The room seemed to tilt in response to Kakashi’s smile.

“Exactly.”

At that, Iruka snorted, spitting a little. Maybe he was slightly drunk. He grabbed his glass from Kakashi’s outstretched arm, drained the contents in one go. When he glanced back up, Kakashi looked disapproving.

“Tell me something,” Kakashi said then, suddenly close. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and Iruka heard himself let out a shaky breath, eyes chasing the movement. Kakashi grinned. “Why did you leave? I could’ve found you so much sooner if you’d stayed.”

The room felt stifling; Iruka’s face and chest were tingling. “I…I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t?”

“No,” Iruka whispered. Kakashi was so close and he smelled so good, the damp, loamy scent of the forest clinging to him like a second skin. His head felt like so much mush, muddled and sticky.

Without giving it much thought, Iruka lifted his face to Kakashi’s, the tiny gasp he heard scattering flutters throughout his belly. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting – maybe nothing at all – but he was surprised all the same when Kakashi kissed him.

It was light at first, a ghost of pressure that Iruka found himself chasing, his body leaning into the space between their faces when Kakashi pulled away. He groaned when Kakashi returned, his mouth firm and sure against Iruka’s. Opening up to Kakashi, Iruka shivered at the tongue that traced the seam of his lower lip, sighed when it tangled with his own. By the time Kakashi released him, they were both panting.

“Iruka,” Kakashi said, his voice thick. “I want you.”

He didn’t stop to hear Iruka’s reply, but bent forward to suck and nibble at the skin of Iruka’s throat. Unable to find a reason to fight against Kakashi, Iruka surrendered, reaching up to grip Kakashi’s vest and drag him closer.

Kakashi let Iruka lead, responding to the way Iruka licked into his mouth with moans and sighs that felt as though they were worming beneath Iruka’s skin, setting him aflame. He couldn’t find the will to care when Kakashi leaned back, tugging Iruka’s shirt up and over his head.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and if Iruka hadn’t been so intoxicated - though whether it was from alcohol or Kakashi himself, he couldn’t say - he might have felt embarrassed.

As it was, he let himself be hauled into Kakashi’s arms, let the other man lift him as he stood. He wrapped his legs around Kakashi’s waist, nibbling on the man’s lower lip as he was carried into the darkness of Kakashi’s room.

Kakashi set him on his feet, walking them backward until the back of Iruka’s legs hit the mattress and he toppled down. Iruka could only stare as Kakashi stripped off his own clothes, every inch of pale, scarred skin nearly incandescent in the moonlight.

Finally, he was naked, his cock full and flush between his legs as he crawled onto Iruka. Iruka moaned when Kakashi kissed him again, sliding his hands into the band of Iruka’s trousers to palm his ass.

Thoughtlessly, Iruka pushed his erection against Kakashi’s, his stomach clenching at the groan that the other man breathed out. The slow slide of their bodies against each other was so perfect, so incredibly erotic, yet somehow not enough.

“My pants,” Iruka whispered, his voice ragged. “Take off my pants.”

He lifted his hips as Kakashi did as he had asked, taking both of their pricks into his fist once he’d kicked the clothes to the floor.

“Ka-ah... Kakashi!” Iruka tossed back his head, Kakashi biting at the exposed skin as he dragged his fingers over their combined lengths. “Shit!”

“So good,” Kakashi said softly, rolling his hips, Iruka gasping.

Abruptly, the movements stopped, Kakashi releasing his cock to focus on Iruka alone. The fingers of his free hand trailed over Iruka’s thighs, slowly sliding between his cheeks to circle the puckered skin of his hole.

Iruka opened his mouth to complain, only to have Kakashi swallow whatever words he wanted to say with his lips. He bit Kakashi’s lower lip, tugging at it as a finger slipped inside of him, working him into a frenzy.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited,” Kakashi said softly, his voice thick. He leaned forward to suck hard at the side of Iruka’s neck, nipping at the spot over and over until Iruka whined piteously. Kakashi’s lips trailed upward, his teeth catching the lobe of Iruka’s ear as he added another finger. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about fucking you?”

Iruka gasped, his mind muddled by the words whispered into his ear. He felt hot – so hot – as if his very skin was on fire, his insides heating up exponentially with every word uttered against his neck. And Kakashi, the bastard, just kept talking, his breath falling against Iruka’s overheated skin while his hand kept its steady, torturous pace. Iruka nearly wept when Kakashi twisted his wrist on an upstroke, his thumb digging into Iruka’s leaking slit while the long fingers inside teasingly brushed over a spot that sent pleasure crackling through his body like an electric current.

It wasn’t until he was mindlessly pushing up into the hand wrapped around him, his body taut and balls drawn tight because it was too much – too fucking much – that Kakashi went silent, abruptly releasing Iruka and withdrawing his fingers from his body. Iruka shot Kakashi a look, only to have his anger melt into lust when Kakashi grinned, using his teeth to tear open the condom wrapper.

There were things that Iruka had always dealt with but never quite enjoyed when it came to sex. The weird, squishy sounds of bodies being pressed together, the odd lulls between safe sex and reckless stupidity, and the all-too-common idiot who thought his cock was the main attraction that Iruka was lucky to have witnessed.

But Kakashi? Kakashi moved like he was preparing for battle, his eyes watching Iruka’s face as he rolled on the condom - as if he were plotting the best way to tear down Iruka’s defenses and ravage him. It should have been annoying, yet Iruka’s skin thrummed in anticipation, his body clenching, painfully aware of its own emptiness.

Iruka felt rather than saw his ankles being gripped, Kakashi tugging him down on the mattress, prompting him to hook his legs around Kakashi’s waist. He gasped when he felt the head of Kakashi’s cock pressing against his hole, searingly hot.

Kakashi went slow, pressing in a little before pulling back and going deeper. By the time Iruka felt the soft thatch of Kakashi’s pubic hair brush against his skin, he was trembling, his body buzzing with desire.

Every thrust was stronger, steadier, and soon Iruka found himself panting against Kakashi’s shoulder, his fingers digging into the muscles of the other man’s back.

“I want,” he heard himself moan, Kakashi going completely still. “Kakashi, I want on top.”

With a grin, Kakashi rolled them over, slipping out of Iruka in the process. His long fingers tangled in Iruka’s hair as he towed him down for a quick kiss. “Anything you like, Iruka.”

Iruka blushed, hating the way Kakashi’s words made him feel a thrill that crackled at the base of his spine. Gripping Kakashi’s cock, he lined it up and bore down, both of them groaning when he was finally seated on the other man’s lap. Iruka rose, glancing down and moaning helplessly at what he saw.

I did that, he thought, taking in Kakashi’s flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes, the way he bit his bottom lip and twisted his fingers in the sheets. I did that.

The simmering heat in the pit of his groin began to boil, and he moved in earnest, his whole body seeming to pulse as he rode Kakashi’s prick. Pressing into the mattress with his feet, Kakashi pushed up, his cock brushing over the spot he’d so deftly played at with his fingers.

“Kakashi,” he keened, whispering the name again and again until he came; his body jerked as he spurted hot come over Kakashi’s chest.

There must have been something about that that tipped Kakashi over the edge, Iruka feeling the twitching of his prick inside.

Iruka collapsed onto Kakashi, both of them groaning as the other man slid out of Iruka. For a moment they lay in silence, the sound of their heavy panting ringing in their ears. Then Kakashi rolled them over, kissing Iruka’s lips before he stood off the bed and made his way into the bathroom.

He returned a few minutes later with a damp cloth, his own body wiped clean before he set about scrubbing Iruka. Then he tossed the towel to the floor and climbed back into bed, covering them both with the blankets.

It didn’t take long for Kakashi’s breathing to even out, his chest to rise and fall in rhythmic waves.

“Kakashi?” Iruka whispered when he was sure the other man was asleep. After a few moments of silence, Iruka slipped from the bed, gathering his clothes as he tiptoed from the room.

Kakashi never stirred, even after Iruka closed the front door behind him.

--

The next morning found Iruka irritable.

He snapped at his students whether they deserved it or not, completely lost his train of thought during lectures, and sent Shikamaru home for dozing off in class. By the time the final bell rang and the students filed out, Iruka was ready to kick small animals.

He didn’t want or need Kakashi around, his touch and smell muddling Iruka’s brain until it was as useless as wet paper. He’d gotten along just fine by himself since he’d lost Yuki, and he had no intentions of slipping back into the mire of a relationship.

Angrily, he tore through his grading, not stopping to check over his corrections. Everything was wrong; he hadn’t come here for this, hadn’t wanted it. And yet, here he was, with his heart throbbing in his chest like a teenage boy in the heady grip of first love, unable to wait for the next time he saw his object of affection.

“Iruka.”

He jumped in his seat, his heart immediately taking off into a gallop when he recognized the voice. Refusing to look up, he answered, “Kakashi.”

He heard the scrape of Kakashi’s sandals over the classroom floor as he moved closer. “You left.”

“Yes.” Iruka’s voice sounded clipped, even to his own ears.

“Ah, I see.”

That got Iruka’s attention. Looking up into Kakashi’s face, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for the wounded shine in the singular, dark eye.

“I told you I didn’t want to be pursued, Kakashi. It’s not my fault that you misunderstood.”

“I’m sorry that I’ve bothered you, then, Iruka-sensei.”

Iruka watched in silence as Kakashi left, wondering why, if this is what he wanted, his heart felt so heavy.

--

It had been two months, four days, and five hours since Iruka had last seen Kakashi.

Not that he was counting. He kept telling himself that it was simply that he hadn’t expected Kakashi to give up so easily, and now that he had, the empty spaces he used to fill glared at Iruka like an incrimination.

The mission desk felt quiet, the distinct lack of Kakashi and his hideous handwriting seemed almost a physical thing; a presence that stalked Iruka. Somehow, even Iruka’s classroom was affected, the possibility of Kakashi dropping in to aggravate Iruka was a door slammed in his face, not to be reopened. It wasn’t until two months rolled into three that Iruka became restless.

“Has Kakashi-san reported lately?” he asked one evening while planning a quiz at the mission desk. It had been rather slow, and he was nothing if not a multitasker.

“Um,” said Kotetsu, glancing to Izumo for help. When Izumo merely shrugged, he went on. “Well, I’m not supposed to know this, but Kakashi-sensei...er, well he... he requested a long mission.”

“Oh.” Iruka wasn’t prepared for how hard the news hit him, the knowledge that Kakashi’s reasons for being gone had more to do with him than he’d realized.

Even so, he tried to carry on as though he was unperturbed, smiling though his lips felt tight, and working diligently though his thoughts wandered.

And then, it happened.

Iruka was returning from the market, clutching his full basket to his chest as he tried to navigate the roads without tripping over his own feet. He was nearing his apartment building when he noticed Kakashi, leaning against a streetlamp, a swath of light pouring over his shoulders as he read his book.

Iruka stopped dead in his tracks, his stomach rolling in on itself and his mouth falling open stupidly. He shut it with an audible click. Kakashi didn’t look up, merely turned the page and continued reading as if he had no knowledge of Iruka’s staring.

But Iruka knew better; even a genin could have detected his unbridled chakra from a mile away.

He lifted his chin, determined to make amends when another man strolled up to Kakashi. He was someone Iruka had never seen before - all long, lean lines with bushy, brown hair that poked over the edges of the happuri that he used as a hitae-ate.

His feet rooted to the ground, Iruka could only stare as Kakashi patted the man on the back, laughing loudly when his companion pouted. Watching them walk away, Iruka felt like a hole had been ripped in his chest.

--

His name was Yamato.

It was Yamato, and that was just about the only thing Iruka knew for sure. When he’d asked about the man, no one could seem to tell him much of anything, other than his name and that he was a Leaf shinobi. Iruka surmised that maybe his previous job had been ANBU; it seemed too coincidental that he was both unknown and yet known to be a shinobi.

Then there was the fact that Kakashi and Yamato seemed inseparable; Iruka ran into them on several occasions, each more confusing than the last. No one could really put their finger on how, exactly, the two men knew each other, though it was obvious from the way they interacted that theirs had been a longstanding friendship. That wasn’t including the whole “Kakashi-senpai” bit, which Iruka refused to think about because if he did, he’d start contemplating diving out the window.

He’d crossed the street to walk on the other side when he noticed them coming his way, ignored them when they reported for mission scrolls (thankfully avoiding his line), and he’d sat in his chair at Ichiraku’s, seething silently while Yamato poured Kakashi’s tea and politely waited as Kakashi ordered before requesting the same dish.

It wasn’t that Iruka expected Kakashi to be in mourning, but the realization that he’d moved on so quickly was like a slap to the face.

“Alright.” Kotetsu boomed, shattering Iruka’s thoughts. “We’re going out tonight.”

“Why?” Iruka didn’t look up from his lesson plans, even as he watched Kotetsu move in his peripherals.

Crossing the room, Kotetsu schlepped into the genkan, bending down to tug on his sandals. “Because I am tired of watching you mope, Iruka. So Kakashi-sensei has a friend, so what?”

“I don’t care about that.” Iruka could taste the lie in the words, and looking into Kotetsu’s face, he could plainly see he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Either you can finish helping us lug Izumo’s bed over to my place,” Kotetsu said, ignoring Iruka’s groan, “or we can call him and have him meet us at the bar. Your call.”

--

Iruka hunched over his drained glass, scowling into its depths. Around him, the din of the bar had reached a feverish pitch; two ninjas with too much alcohol and not enough self-restraint in their blood had started throwing shuriken, and the bar owner was knocking their heads together with his bare hands.

“I want to go home,” Iruka said to Kotetsu, slurring his words.

“But the fun has just begun!” Kotetsu argued, his eyes glittering with glee as he took in the melee. “That guy is really going to be feeling it in the morning.”

Izumo cuffed Kotetsu on the back of the head. He turned to Iruka. “Do you think you can get home? Maybe I should take you...”

“No, m’fine,” Iruka started, his voice dying on the tip of his tongue as the door to the bar opened.

Kakashi stepped into the room, followed closely by Yamato. He let his single eye scan the crowd, and Iruka’s heart seemed to stop when that gaze landed on him and stopped. They stared for a moment, Iruka’s cheeks flushing and Kakashi’s face unreadable, before Yamato leaned over to Kakashi and whispered something that made him laugh.

Iruka felt murderous, everything drawn tight and ready to snap at a moment’s notice. How dare they just show the fuck up wherever they wanted to like it was allowed? Iruka wanted nothing more than to stab something repeatedly before breaking down into gross, ugly sobs.

“Well, shit,” Izumo said softly after he realized what Iruka had been staring at. Looping his arm through Iruka’s, he stood. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“But-” Kotetsu started, only to stop short at the look on Izumo’s face. “Right. Home.”

It took both Kotetsu and Izumo holding him up to get him out of the bar and to his apartment. They waited patiently while he fumbled through the seals, fingers tripping over each other several times before he got it right and the wards rolled away like stones.

He didn’t bother to turn on the light, staggering to this futon instead, where he fell face first on it. Distantly, he heard someone clattering about in his kitchen, felt the soft blanket that was draped over him. He just wanted to close his eyes and fall asleep - to forget this hell of a night.

“Iruka,” Izumo said softly, “I left some water and aspirin on your kotatsu. We’ll be by to check on you in the morning.”

Unable to do more than grunt his thanks, Iruka dropped off to sleep. But before the wave of unconsciousness could drag him down in its merciful depths, he wondered: if Iruka had been so desperate to be rid of Kakashi, then why the hell did it hurt so much to see him with someone else?

--

Morning came too quickly, the rays of sunlight that poured through his window pummeling Iruka into cognizance. Gratefully, he grabbed the pills and water that Izumo had left for him, gulping them down as fast as he could, only to run for the bathroom, heaving it back into the bowl of his toilet.

And this was why he shouldn’t drink, he reminded himself before leaning back over his toilet again. Glancing at the clock, Iruka thought about going back to sleep. He was off from the academy for the day, and wasn’t due at the mission desk until later in the afternoon.

He was just snuggling down into his bed when a different thought struck him: it had been too long since he’d last visited the memorial stone.

He’d planned on being more consistent with his trips, had wanted to bring something to the graves that marched along the field beside the monument in rows. Really, he berated himself, it was a shame that he had been in Konoha for so long and only visited his parents’ graves once or twice. The whole point had been to be closer to them, hadn’t it?

With a sigh, Iruka threw the covers away from himself, throwing his legs over the edge of the mattress. It took him all of five minutes to get ready, shoving his hair into a messy ponytail and tugging on pants and a shirt after scrubbing his teeth.

He grabbed his cloak on the way out, the morning chilly but lovely as he made his way through the streets of the city. It took him very little time to reach the memorial stone, a fact that exacerbated his feelings of guilt to no end.

Pulling his cloak tighter around him, Iruka stepped onto the flagstone path that wound its way around the monument. He paused a moment to take in the stone, which seemed somehow less imposing than when he was a child. After offering a few quick prayers for the ninja whose names were scrawled over the black surface, he stepped out onto the grass beyond, eyes searching for the trail that wound through the headstones.

He was just rounding the corner to the knoll where the Uminos rested when he saw him.

Kakashi was bent over the graves of Iruka’s parents, his head bowed and eyes closed. On the small stones that bore his parents’ names, Kakashi had placed a bundle of small, white flowers.

There was a tightness in Iruka’s chest that he could not name, a lump of emotion in his throat that he couldn’t identify. He could only stand there, watching Kakashi until the Copynin disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

--

It was an image that haunted him through the day, following him from the graveyard to his apartment and into work.

How did Kakashi know his parents? It wasn’t like Iruka had been open about the reason for his return to Konoha, but then again, Kakashi hadn’t asked, either. He wondered if it was coincidence; if maybe Kakashi visited many of the fallen ninja. If that were the case, then Iruka didn’t have to worry at all - it was merely Kakashi making his own, guilt-ridden rounds.

But if he had somehow found out about Iruka’s mom and dad...

Iruka shook his head, trying to concentrate on the scrolls in front of him. The fact was that if Kakashi knew about Iruka’s parents, it wouldn’t matter. There was nothing to hide, and no reason for him to be more than mildly interested. Plus, there was always the possibility that his reason for going to the graves was something benign; something completely unrelated to Iruka.

Try as he might, Iruka couldn’t shake the mystery, possibilities and motives swirling around in his brain like a whirlpool. It wasn’t until hours later, as he was cleaning off his desk to leave for the day, that he ran into Kakashi again.

“I saw you,” he whispered, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. Kakashi glanced around the mission room uncomfortably, while Iruka spoke. “I went to the Memorial stone, and I saw you at my parents’ graves.”

He watched as Kakashi’s eye widened, the patch of skin visible above his mask positively glowing with embarrassment. Iruka waited, Kakashi’s attention suddenly glued to the floor beneath their feet.

When Kakashi said nothing, Iruka asked, “How did you…why did you? I don’t…”

“It’s stupid,” muttered Kakashi, turning his back. “I meant you no harm, Iruka-sensei.”

“No,” Iruka said, walking around to stand in front of the other man. “No, I want to see your face.”

“Maybe this isn’t the place for this conversation,” Kakashi said, nodding to Kotetsu and Izumo, who weren’t even trying to hide their eavesdropping.

“Oh, I think it’s the perfect place,” said Iruka, a tiny twinge of hysteria in his voice. “So please, Hatake-san, please tell me why the fuck you were at my parents’ graves.”

“I didn’t know,” Kakashi said quietly, the tips of his ears burning an interesting shade of red. “I just assumed that...that you’d moved here because of a transfer, I had no idea that your parents had died here.”

“When did you find out?”

“Yesterday.” He watched as Iruka turned to leave before hastily adding, “Iruka, I only wanted to pay them respect. I fought the night of the kyuubi attack, too, you know.”

Iruka froze, listening to the heavy footfalls as Kakashi walked around to stand in front of him.

“I don’t know if you know this, but I lost my sensei that night.” Kakashi’s eyes seemed soft, sad. “He was like a second father to me, but I couldn’t...I didn’t save him.”

“Were you allowed to fight?”

“Pardon?” Kakashi asked, confused. From somewhere behind them, a door clicked shut, and Iruka was thankful that his friends had given them some privacy.

“Were you allowed to fight against the kyuubi?” Iruka couldn’t stop the tears then, didn’t try to wipe them away. “Because I wasn’t. I wasn’t strong enough, Kakashi, and to keep me from getting in the way, I was detained and placed under a jutsu. When I woke up, everything I’d known - my mother, my father, my home - was gone. “

“Iruka, I-”

“And then I lost you, too.”

Kakashi jolted as if he’d been slapped. “Iruka...”

“I came back one summer, after I’d left. I waited on the stump and I...you never came,” swiping at his nose with his forearm, Iruka went on as best he could, his voice shot through with tears. “I thought you must have died in battle, and I couldn’t...And then I saw you again. I thought that I could move on, I thought I was safe, but you fucked up everything. I can’t be near you without wanting to touch you... and now I’ve lost you all over again, because I realized how much I wanted you too late.”

And there it was, the truth plain and simple.

It seemed so obvious now that Iruka had so gracelessly blurted it out, his feelings thrown like rags at Kakashi’s feet. All of the fear that plagued him, all of the hesitance and inability to let himself go around Kakashi uncovered and hanging in the air between them. Yet somehow, even with all of this, Iruka was paralyzed, unable to do the thing he wanted most; give in.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” came a voice from the front of the room. Genma was standing in the doorway, rolling his eyes. “Kakashi, if this isn’t leading to making out or wild, gorilla makeup sex, then can we go already?”

Kakashi turned to Genma, and although Iruka couldn’t see Kakashi’s face, he watched the way Genma paled, holding up his hands placatingly.

“Sorry, man. I’ll just go on without you.” Without waiting for Kakashi’s reply, Genma backed out of the room.

Whenever Kakashi turned back to Iruka, the moment had passed. Somehow, he’d stopped the tears; all he was left with was stinging eyes and chagrin crawling over his skin.

“I’m sorry, I need to go,” he whispered, slipping past Kakashi and practically running for the door. He ignored Kakashi calling for him, his hands rapidly forming seals as he concentrated on home, on the safety of darkness and solitude.

--

If Iruka had imagined himself to be unburdened by his confession, then he was a complete idiot.

The problem came when he ran into Kakashi in the most mundane of places - the market, Ichiraku’s, the bookstore. His heart would flop like a dying fish in its last throes while his skin seemed to shrink two sizes too small, and often he would be forced to flee like a five-year-old girl in the face of her latest crush. It was beyond ridiculous.

Still, after playing this game of “run from the man you’re in love with” for weeks on end, Iruka was never prepared for the times when he saw Kakashi in the mission room. He really couldn’t run out on his job, now could he?

So he found himself one afternoon passing out missions and gathering reports while feeling more than a little flustered. His fingers seemed to be made of butter, the scrolls falling from his grasp and reports never making it into his outstretched hand. It was like he had started all over again, and this was his first day on the job.

And there - not helping matters in the slightest - was Kakashi, leaning against the wall, watching Iruka with an expression as decipherable as the face of a stone.

Iruka felt miserable. His cheeks were on fire, and his stomach burbled treacherously. His chest felt so tight he could barely breathe, his emotions like a vice that squeezed his insides. And still Kakashi stared, dark eyes intent. Iruka was barely aware when the next shinobi stepped up for his report.

It was clichéd, Iruka told himself. It was ridiculous to want something just because you’d lost it, to chase after what you’d sent away because someone else showed an interest. And yet, and yet, and yet...

“Iruka-sensei?”

Iruka tore his gaze away from Kakashi, looking up into Kurenai’s confused face. “I apologize, Kurenai-san.”

A flicker of movement had Iruka glancing back to the corner of the room. He sat up straighter, heart like a jackhammer as Kakashi pushed off the wall, folding his book to tuck it into his pocket as he moved toward the mission desk. His skin felt hot, his gaze locked on Kakashi’s as he moved. But when Kakashi reached the desk, he brushed past the ninja standing in Iruka’s line, sauntering into the hallway without looking back.

Maybe it was the sway of Kakashi’s hips, or the way he held himself, broad shoulders straight instead of their usual slouch. Whatever the reason, Iruka pushed out of his seat, a mumbled excuse thrown in Kurenai’s direction as he walked after Kakashi.

The corridor was dark, and eerily quiet save for the sounds of Iruka’s sandals against the floor. His blood thrumming in his veins, Iruka moved through the corridor, peeking into open doors to search for Kakashi. He pivoted on his heel, giving up and heading back to the desk when fingers caught his wrist.

“In here, sensei.”

Iruka let himself be dragged into an office, too frantic to touch Kakashi to argue. He nearly leapt into Kakashi’s arms, fingers yanking at the mask so he could suck and bite at the other man’s lips.

Kakashi’s nails scraped over Iruka’s back, his teeth coming down to nibble at the hollow of Iruka’s neck. Impatiently, he shoved at Iruka’s flak jacket, barely waiting for the heavy thump of it against the floor before pulling Iruka’s shirt over his head.

His hands spread over Iruka’s chest, fingertips skating over a shuddering ribcage, a pebbled nipple, pausing to cradle the sides of Iruka’s neck.

“I love you,” Kakashi whispered, mismatched eyes so focused on Iruka’s face that he had to look away.

He felt the wetness of Kakashi’s tongue against his his skin, skating over the rope of tendon in his neck.

“Yes,” he choked out, his head falling back as fingertips twirled in his hair, tugging gently.

With his free hand, Kakashi reached for Iruka’s trousers, fingers wrapping around the waistband. Iruka scooted off the table, lifting his hips to help Kakashi as he dragged the fabric down to Iruka’s ankles, waiting through the struggle of kicking them off.

Iruka reached for him, desperate to bury his nose in the skin of Kakashi’s neck, to scrape his mark along the pale ridges of his spine.

“Please,” he whispered, his back arching when Kakashi reached beneath him. “Please, Kakashi, please.”

Kakashi groaned, his eyes dark, the lightest stain of a blush on his pale cheeks. “Anything you say, sensei.”

Iruka watched as Kakashi reached into his pack, pulling out a tube of salve. Quickly, he removed one of his gloves, tossing it to the floor next to Iruka’s clothes.

“Hurry,” Iruka rasped, his voice sounding husky in the small room. He grabbed handfuls of Kakashi’s pants, shoving them down to his knees before laying back and wrapping his legs around Kakashi’s waist. “Hurry!”

“Fuck,” Kakashi said, pouring some of the viscid substance into his cupped palm. “Gods, Iruka, you’re so fucking hot.”

Unable to look away, Iruka squirmed on the desk as he watched Kakashi slick himself up, the flushed head of his cock poking in and out of his fist as he worked the salve over his length. Releasing himself, Kakashi squeezed a little more of the ointment onto his fingertips, rubbing it liberally over Iruka’s hole before dipping a finger inside.

Iruka clenched his muscles around the digit, a thrill of pleasure rippling up his spine when Kakashi’s mouth fell open. Another finger breached him; Iruka gritted his teeth and pushed onto it desperately.

“Just fucking fuck me, Kakashi!”

“Yes, sensei,” said Kakashi, pulling out his fingers.

Iruka threw a hand over his face, laughing. “I always knew you had schoolboy fantasies.”

“Does this mean you’ll spank me?” Kakashi said with a grin, one side of his face dimpling.

“I do have a paddle at home...” Iruka glanced up when Kakashi went still, his eyes so wide that Iruka thought they might pop out of his head. “Kakashi?”

“Iruka, if you don’t stop talking I’m going to come all over this desk.”

Ignoring Iruka’s snort, Kakashi hitched Iruka’s legs over his shoulder, lining himself up to slowly press in. Iruka bit his lip, savoring the sharp sting of the plumpness of Kakashi’s cockhead as he shoved inside, making Iruka wish that maybe he had let Kakashi spend a little more time preparing him.

But it was good - this delicious feeling of fullness as Kakashi bottomed out, his balls slapping softly against Iruka’s ass. It was so very different from last time, Iruka marvelled as Kakashi started humping, his hands sliding around Iruka’s back to pull him close as he bent over the desk.

“Oh,” he moaned when Kakashi angled his hips just right, and the sound must have done something to Kakashi because he began to fuck into Iruka with abandon.

Everything seemed to melt away, a kaleidoscope of color and sensation as Kakashi moved, Iruka’s cock trapped between their bodies making the sharp thrusts that much more intense. He fisted his hands in Kakashi’s hair, strangely aware of its softness, even as he was unraveling in the man’s arms.

His orgasm hit him suddenly, nearly debilitating in its force as he cried out, tugging at the strands knotted between his fingers. Kakashi’s movements became erratic; his cock pulsing deep inside of Iruka, flooding him with heat as the other man came, panting against Iruka’s chest.

With a hiss that whistled between his clenched teeth, Kakashi pulled out of Iruka. Still breathing heavily, he grabbed the pile of clothes, turning to gather Iruka in his arms.

And then they were falling, it seemed, rushing through space in a whoosh of sound, only to land in the center of Kakashi’s bed.

“Kakashi, I’m supposed to be working!” Iruka said, panicked. “I can’t be here!”

“Call in,” Kakashi said lazily, pulling Iruka to his chest and pressing the length of his body against Iruka’s back. He wrapped his arms around Iruka, pressing soft kisses to the top of his head. “Tell them you felt sick and went home.”

“But-”

“Calm down, sensei. You’re covered in sweat and bodily fluids; I don’t think you can head back to work like that. Besides, I’m fairly certain that more than a few people gathered you were leaving for the day.”

Blushing, Iruka reached back to smack Kakashi’s head. “Shut up. They probably think that I’m lost in the hallways again.”

“Oh?” Kakashi said, his voice quavering with bit-back laughter. “Then why did no one come to your aid when they heard you screaming?”

Iruka turned in the circle of Kakashi’s arms, feeling more than a little prideful as he gazed at those kiss-wrecked lips, and the two peaks that Iruka had tugged Kakashi’s hair into. He wanted to kiss Kakashi, so he did, moaning softly when the other man’s tongue slid into his mouth, prodding languorously.

“Fuck, I love the sounds you make,” Kakashi sighed when they broke apart, his mouth seeking the skin of Iruka’s shoulder. He nipped softly. “Love the way you taste.”

“Kakashi...”

“Even your smell drives me crazy,” Kakashi whispered, burying his nose in the waves of Iruka’s hair.

“Oh,” Iruka groaned, his cock twitching interestedly. Kakashi captured Iruka’s mouth again with his own, his kisses hungrier now, needy.

He moaned gorgeously when Iruka trailed his thumbs over his soft, pink nipples, arched his back when Iruka let his hands drop to fondle the heft of his balls.

“Iruka,” Kakashi said breathlessly, Iruka’s gut clenching violently at the sound.

Carefully, Iruka let his fingers slide between Kakashi’s cheeks, dragging the tips around the puckered skin of his hole. When Kakashi opened his legs wider, Iruka slipped in a finger, his dick swelling rapidly when the other man pushed back onto it.

Later, when he was deep inside of Kakashi and his thoughts were little more than random pistons haphazardly firing in his brain, the searing grip of the other man’s body dragging him to yet another orgasm, Iruka thought distantly that maybe giving in wasn’t such a bad thing.

“What about Yamato?” Iruka asked the next morning, knuckling his eye sleepily.

“Tenzo?” Kakashi laughed from behind him, a little yip of a sound that made Iruka grin like a dork. Affectionately, Kakashi reached out, wrapping a curl of Iruka’s dark hair around a long, slender finger. “Tenzo and I are just friends. He’s a great shinobi, and I respect him a lot, but that’s really all.”

“Oh.” The answer made Iruka feel ridiculous - of course they were only friends. There had never been any reason to think otherwise. He pressed his face against Kakashi’s neck to hide his embarrassment.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re sexy when you’re jealous?”

“No,” Iruka said, sitting back. He narrowed his eyes at Kakashi. “I might be cute when I’m mildly jealous, but believe me, Kakashi-san: I’m lethal when I’m pissed off.”

Kakashi laughed again, loud and carefree, and Iruka towed his face down to kiss his smiling lips, thinking to himself that he could never get enough of that sound.

TWENTY EIGHT

Iruka stood over his parents’ graves, the flowers he held in his hands trembling in the afternoon breeze. From somewhere behind him, someone was humming, a tuneless song that came and went with the wind.

It had been three years since his last visit, and though he hadn’t made the trek to the memorial stone, Iruka had spent many nights whispering little prayers to his mother and father. He’d unpacked a few of their pictures, ignoring Kakashi’s jibes about “cute little Himitsu.” But today, he had felt the pull of the graveyard more than ever before, his heart full of nostalgia and the aching need to talk to his parents.

Bending down, he separated the peonies he clutched tightly in his fist, placing half of them on his mother’s stone and the other half on his father’s. Squaring his shoulders, he took a shaky breath.

“I met someone,” he whispered to the ground, imagining that somehow the earth could soak up his voice. “He’s...an absolute idiot - certainly not someone you’d have chosen for me, Mama. But he’s also kind and smart, and he makes me laugh so much...I love him.”

Even now, after having said the word more than once to Kakashi himself, it sounded bizarre to his own ears. But then, that was the horror of love - reducing a man to an idiotic mess of proclamations.

“I know you both would have liked him,” Iruka went on, emotion lumping in his throat. “Papa, he’s a warrior, the strongest ninja I’ve ever met. He’s honorable, too.”

Iruka paused, his mind casting back to the night before.

He pictured the papers Kakashi had handed him, his hand trembling lightly as Iruka looked them over, the words “domestic” and “partnership” dancing in front of his eyes like something out of a dream.

“I can’t promise you I’ll be here forever,” Kakashi had said earnestly, “but I can promise you that if I’m not here, it will be because I’m no longer alive.”

“I think,” Iruka said to his parents, feeling his cheeks flush, “I think I’m going to keep him. And Papa,” he added, his voice cracking, “I think I finally understand you.”

He thought of Naruto, the strange little jinchuuriki who had somehow battled his way into Iruka’s affections despite his hesitancies. He thought of how angry he’d been when Kakashi had gone against him, nominating Naruto for the chuunin exams, even when Iruka contested him publicly.

“Iruka,” Kakashi had whispered to Iruka’s back that evening as they lay in bed. “Do you remember what you said to me? About being unable to fight against the kyuubi? Don’t you think Naruto should be given the opportunity you were denied?”

He’d broken down then, wishing more than anything that he could see his own father and apologize for letting his anger get the best of him, for not seeing that it had been love that drove his father’s decision.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t understand you then,” he said to the earth, bowing deeply. Then, he straightened, brushing off his pants. “I just wanted you both to know that I’m happy, and to thank you for protecting me.”

Swiping at his eyes, Iruka glanced back at the headstones one last time before traipsing down the hill to where Kakashi waited for him, his hand outstretched.

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