A paper airplane collided with the front edge of Iruka’s desk, nose impacting with the force of the collision. The hull skidded to a halt near the chuunin’s hand. Normally the attempted dive-bombing would have had him on his feet, staring accusingly into a classroom populated by deceptively innocent faces. The guilty individual would be milked from the populace and sentenced accordingly, subjected to the thorough cleansing of blackboards and the systematic eradication of graffiti from desktops. However, Iruka remained seated, eyes downcast, fingers gathering around the paper flesh, absently smoothing out the creases.

Rigid with expectation, the students awaited the inevitable outburst.

Iruka swept the airplane off his desk, impassively condemning it to the trash, propping his head up with the side of his hand. The explosion never came. Confused, the students shifted uncomfortably in their seats, exams long-since completed, gathered now in a neat pile. They had been assigned to engage in self-study for the remainder of the day, something most credited to the fact that their sensei did not appear to be feeling very well.

With reluctance, they returned to their texts.

The chuunin stared blankly out the window, chin tilted toward his collarbone, thoughts wrenched from more appropriate avenues to occupy decrepit alleyways where Kakashi lurked, back to the wall, beckoning him - the warmth of his invading hands auto-refreshing in his mind. Under normal circumstances there was plenty of time allotted to other things; instances where his thoughts were restricted to less provocative matters – a student who lagged behind the rest; mission reports; ramen with tender sirloin pork, barely clinging to the bone, the broth warm but cool enough to avoid antagonizing the tongue.

These were not normal circumstances.

Tomorrow, after school? Kakashi’s words were a poignant reminder of what was to come, crippling his focus.

Iruka buried his head in his hands.

How shameful. These kids are here to learn and I can’t stop thinking about sex.

His dark eyes focused on the clock. Each jerk of the second-hand felt prolonged in its duration, drawn out in an attempt to aggravate his intentions, mocking in its languid, stilted movement.

This is torture.

Met with blatant refusal to intensify the pace of its shifting gears, Iruka disregarded the time piece.

He placed a hand atop the nearby stack of exams, sliding the first of its occupants toward him.

Focus, Iruka … Concentrate. Get your priorities straight, no matter how …Never been more grateful for the weekend … In fact, the more papers I grade now, the less I’ll have to do later.

Abruptly possessed by a fanatical sense of determination, he set to work immediately. Overall, Iruka was pleased with the amount of information his students appeared to be retaining, though it was always a question of exactly how long the data would remain engraved in their minds. Most responses were at least marginally coherent and displayed some knowledge of the subject.

There was a consistency to one reply which perplexed him at first, for it was something he’d certainly covered but never emphasized to a degree where he expected every student to come to an identical conclusion, including those who routinely employed their textbooks as pillows.

The question asked for a critical component resulting in conducting a successful mission. There were several acceptable responses. However, each student had written the same thing - teamwork.

While contemplating the exact origins of this phenomenon one of the students raised their hand.

“Yes?” Iruka inquired, expecting to field a request for a trip to the bathroom.

“Is Kakashi-sensei ever coming back?”

Suddenly, he understood.

Soles gliding into the flat plains of his slippers, Kakashi rose from the surface of the bed, arms extending outward in a languid stretch. A dull throb resonated between his eyes, accompanied by sudden surges of nausea, knotting his stomach into a series of intricate twists. Overnight something had nested in his chest, invoking a tightening and invariable shortness of breath, as if the arch of his ribcage had collapsed, crushing his lungs, constricting his heart, its wayward shards protruding to summon sharp stabs of pain.

It was an annoyance he attempted to ignore.

Slipper-clad feet scraped across the wooden floor, progressing to the couch, a hand pressing absently to his chest as if to dampen the pain, fingers curling inward. A dog wandered past him, head bowed low to the ground, a dirty shirt purloined from the basket in the laundry room draped over its back in imitation of the ninken who hung around occasionally.

Pocketing his hands, Kakashi fixed the canine with a stare of vague amusement, “You’re not going out like that, are you?”

You’re not …

As the dog emitted a low whine, shaking free from the garment in order to collect it and retreat

back to the laundry room, Kakashi found his words oddly resonant, recycling through his mind.

You’re not …

Not an …

“You’re not an Uchiha.”

The sound of his own voice repeated back to him, the line instantly recognisable, procured from a conversation conducted long ago. A familiar voice sounded in response, its defensiveness preserved, as ardent as it had been on that day.

“What did you say?”

“You’re nothing like them. You have no talent. You’re always late, and your emotions routinely get the better of you. You’re a liability. You’d be better off dead.”

“Leave my family out of this!”

“Family, you say. I wouldn’t be surprised if they fished you out of a dumpster and attempted to pass you off as one of their own. Even you might project the illusion of potential when surrounded by trash.”

“Shut the hell up!”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll … I’ll …You’re a heartless bastard, Kakashi. No wonder you haven’t got any friends!”

“I don’t need friends. I don’t need anyone.”

“You’re wrong!

Seeking to deafen the onslaught of angry voices, Kakashi cupped his hands over his ears, visible eye squeezing shut to reinforce the effort, only to find the darkness replaced with sudden flare of colour, followed by the gradual manifestation of clarity.

It was then that he seized Obito by the throat, forcing him back, the Uchiha’s balance forsaking him, enabling the other’s slightly larger frame to be easily tipped over the rim of the nearby garbage can. “There. Now you’re back where you belong. Do yourself a favour - make no protests when they come to collect you.”

Kakashi stared at the floor, wounded by the unexpected memory - a chilling reminder of the way he’d harassed and mistreated Obito during their time as members of the same team. It was a theme he revisited daily; constantly repenting. His own strict adherence to the rules had been founded on false principles and implemented for all the wrong reasons.

Had it not been for Obito, Kakashi strongly suspected he never would have realised the mistake he was making. His conversion to a protective, adaptable shinobi required not only the persistent view-point of someone who saw beyond the shinobi code of conduct, but the spectre of his father. Obito’s assertion that Kakashi’s father was a hero whose actions were not to be construed as negligent or criminal was exactly what he needed – a fresh perspective on the subject.

Sakumo Hatake, Konoha’s White Fang, had been a highly-regarded shinobi, ranking among the Legendary Sannin in terms of his abilities. He was known to emphasize teamwork and trust in one’s comrades, behaving in a manner supportive of his stringent beliefs, even under enormous pressure. When faced with a decision between accomplishing a mission of vital importance to Konoha and preserving the lives of his teammates, Sakumo chose in accordance with his principles. He was reprimanded severely for his failure. Even those whose lives he had spared publicly reviled and belittled him. The backlash gradually took a psychological toll on the shinobi, resulting in a state of depression – a condition which crippled his ability to concentrate, drained his energy and eviscerated his motivation for performing the simplest of tasks. Consequently, Sakumo’s reputation declined in accordance with a notable drop in his capabilities.

Growing increasingly consumed by the indignity of his repeated failures, Sakumo began to contemplate the only discernable means of restoring honour to his small family.

At the age of seven, Kakashi found his father dead by his own hand, having engaged in the act of seppuku – ritual suicide.

Witnessing the steady decline of an elite shinobi had a profound effect on Kakashi. He had worshipped and adored his father, but in the man’s absence he grew bitter and condescending toward everything Sakumo tried to accomplish, scorning the path which lead to the once great shinobi’s downfall. Adopting a policy of unwavering allegiance to the rules, Kakashi endeavored to think only of the successful completion of each mission, working diligently toward this goal - until Obito.

Obito changed everything.

As for why the excruciating memory had appeared so suddenly, in such wrenching clarity, Kakashi did not know.

There was no time to contemplate its origins.

Someone was at the door.

Barely able to contain his enthusiasm, Iruka stood with a fist poised over Kakashi’s front door, ready and anxious to resume pounding if its previous call went unanswered. When the door was drawn back a fraction he launched himself forward, inadvertently knocking the jounin to the floor. Kakashi stared at him, looking sickly and stunned.

The images which had tormented Iruka throughout the course of the day filtered directly to his groin and he pressed hard against the older male, exposing Kakashi’s lips with an abrupt tug of the dark fabric masking his target. He kissed the jounin without hesitation, striking outward with his tongue to invade the slick warmth of his mouth. Kakashi shifted underneath him, neither unresponsive, nor wholly receptive - willing, but disoriented.

Expressing a determined willingness to minimize the distance between them, Iruka dug his legs into Kakashi’s sides, breathing harder now. He bit down on the curve of Kakashi’s neck, grasping his mask firmly between the rows of his teeth, tugging the material upward with the assistance of a hand on the opposing side, stripping it free. Parting his lips, Iruka promptly relinquished his hold on the former barrier, following the line of Kakashi’s neck back down, halting at the hollow of his throat - driving his teeth into the pale flesh and sucking hungrily.

Kakashi’s fingers coiled around the base of the chuunin’s ponytail, removing the elastic holding it in position, the slender digits arching gracefully as they settled in the loose strands of the younger male’s hair, weaving through the inky tendrils. Curving an arm around the other, he sat-up, drawing Iruka into his lap.

The chuunin straddled him, thighs gravitating to Kakashi’s hips, squeezing inward. He leaned in to kiss him, enclosing his lips around the warmth of Kakashi’s tongue, a low moan building at the back of his throat.

Iruka snaked a hand inside the jounin’s pajama top, fingers gliding over the scarred surface of the other’s skin, raking down the length of his spine. He seized the sleeveless garment, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over Kakashi’s head, casting it aside for the dogs to find. Kakashi withdrew his feet from his slippers, drawing his legs back to plant the soles of his feet on the ground, the elevated state of his knees sliding Iruka forward. Iruka hugged the jounin’s lower torso with his thighs, grinding down against him.

Kakashi brushed Iruka’s hair aside, kissing the flesh beneath Iruka’s ear. A tingling in his feet drew his attention to his bare toes, the digits cold against the surface of the wooden floor. He curled them inward, toward the bottoms of his feet, and his vision began to blur.

A dense cloud settled over his eye, obscuring his sight with a brief explosion of colour. The colours swirled slowly, then dissipated, leaving behind a familiar collection of images and sounds – a memory. It was neither dreamlike nor visceral, infused instead with stark realism, depicting things exactly as they had been.

Kakashi wondered if his feet would ever grow as large as his father’s. He stared downward, shifting the position of his bare feet until they ran parallel to that of their much larger counterparts. Observing this, Sakumo Hatake began to wiggle his toes. Grinning widely, Kakashi duplicated the movement, tiny toes squirming furiously.

Laughing, Sakumo collected the boy in his arms, escorting him to the kitchen where Kakashi was placed on the counter. Nearby the elder of the two set to work preparing a variety of vegetables for the juicer - slicing beets and green peppers until they were small enough to pass through the narrow tube feeding into the machine; setting aside stalks of celery, half a cucumber, several carrots, and a small piece of ginger.

Before the juicing could commence, Kakashi crept down from the counter, dangling in mid-air before hitting the floor with a soft thud. Picking himself up, he toddled away from his father, still marginally unsteady on his feet, yet fighting the urge to crawl. An excited bark had attracted his attention and he was now determined to explore its origins.

“Where are you going, monkey man?”

Doubling back, Kakashi lapsed into an amused giggle, wrapping his arms around the older male’s leg, drawing the limb into an affectionate hug. “Doggies,” he replied, resuming his mission. Making for the back door, he slid easily through the flap designed to grant the dogs access to and from the house. He found the canines gathered in a circular formation, squeezing between them to examine the source of interest.

Imprinted in the damp soil he found a peculiar footprint, contrasting it immediately with his own. The toes were spiked and wide-set, connected by a membrane of webbing. Squatting over the impression, Kakashi gave a thorough inspection of its characteristics before making his way back inside.

Running up to Sakumo, he grasped at his father’s pant leg, tugging lightly, “Funny feet!”

“Who’s got funny feet?” Sakumo inquired, turning his attention to the boy, his freshly-pressed juice residing in a pitcher on the counter.

“Outside.”

“Let’s go take a look.”

Lifting Kakashi from the floor, the Konoha shinobi carried his son into the garden, where he found things in a state of disarray. Various plants had been up-rooted, their produce strewn about carelessly. A half-eaten cucumber was found not far from the door.

Kakashi glanced down to see a mutilated eggplant and struggled free from his father, plopping on the ground, tucking the eggplant under one arm as he set about the task of digging a shallow grave, “Oh, no … Eggplant-san.”

Once the eggplant was tucked neatly in the earth, Kakashi covered it with soil, head bowing, hands coming together in a brief instance of prayer. He turned to pounce the footprint with a growl, now regarding it in a suspicious manner. As he had seen the dogs do previously, he lowered his head to sniff the track, promptly wrinkling his nose in disgust, “Dead fish.”

Sakumo swept Kakashi off the ground, dusting the dirt from the young boy’s hands, “Smells fishy, does it? This looks to me like the work of a kappa.”

“Fishy cucumber hurt Eggplant-san?!”

“No, not a cucumber,” his father replied, laughing softly. “Kappas are water demons. Bet it came from the river. They’re said to be fond of cucumbers. I think if we make an offering, it will leave us alone. Should we try?”

Back inside they got the juicer fired up again, extracting a pitcher of cucumber juice which Kakashi proudly escorted to the sight of the strange markings, taking careful steps.

“Kappa-sama! I have juice! Please don’t wreck stuff.”

Leaving the pitcher on the ground, he turned to the dogs, giving them firm instructions, “Don’t touch.”

In the morning he came back to check the status of the container and its contents; it was empty.

Iruka was confused as to why Kakashi stopped so suddenly. He became further perplexed when the jounin drew back from him, pressing a hand to his forehead, eye downcast. The plug dislodged from the pool of warmth gathering his groin; the warmth drained out. “What’s the matter?” he inquired, placing a hand on the other’s shoulder.

There were a number of things Kakashi could not explain, even if he wanted to. This was one of them. He could not discuss the past – not now, not like this – nor was he about to admit the fact that his memory was regurgitating everything from page numbers of books he’d read four years ago to his dead father. Fighting for an excuse, he cleared his throat, lowering his hand from his head, “I was just thinking – what if the dogs came in and saw us like this? Are we really setting a good example? I don’t really want them to think they’re free to go rutting all over the place. They’ve been really good lately; no stains of dubious origins on the couch. Not to my knowledge, at least.”

Iruka stared intently at the light-haired male, pressing a hand to the other’s forehead as if to check his temperature. “Kakashi … how will I know when you start to lose your mind?”

“You won’t.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Sorry,” Kakashi replied faintly, grinning sheepishly.

Leaning in, Iruka kissed the corners of the other’s mouth, passing a hand along the length of Kakashi’s back. He dug his fingers into the flesh just beneath Kakashi’s shoulder, finding an excess of tensely knotted muscle. The action had Kakashi recoiling from the sudden contact, painfully tender.

They moved to the bedroom.

The stress of recent months had manifested itself in the jounin’s muscles, tangling the thin cords, making him cringe every time Iruka applied pressure to the dense lumps. With Kakashi seated on the edge of the bed, Iruka sat behind him, rotating the tips of his fingers steadily to warm the knots, rubbing steadily to disentangle and disintegrate the masses.

For the most part Kakashi was very still, refraining from vocalising his displeasure when Iruka encountered a particularly stubborn knot. Gradually the chuunin was able to make his way down the length of the light-haired male’s back, tracing the numerous scars he encountered along the way, contemplating the circumstances surrounding the acts of violence which fueled their birth.

Iruka wondered what was running through the jounin’s mind, wishing he could miraculously extract it, or coerce Kakashi into divulging whatever it was that occupied his thoughts; both were equal impossibilities.

What are you thinking about, Kakashi?

Kakashi raised a hand, rubbing the back of his head absently, “Did you know massage is considered the most primitive form of foreplay?”

“Kakashi!”

“What? It’s true.”

“Your mind is in the gutter!”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Iruka dug his fingers in hard. Kakashi grunted faintly and went silent.

Being careful to avoid applying any pressure to Kakashi’s spine, Iruka eventually worked his way down to the small indents situated on the jounin’s lower back. He smiled slightly at the sight of the dimples, bringing the undersides of his thumbs to their hollows, rotating languidly. Kakashi’s back went rigid almost immediately.

Taking this as a sign that clusters of knotted muscle continued to elude him, Iruka began to seek out other problematic areas present in the vicinity of Kakashi’s waistline. He followed the distinct ridges of Kakashi’s hipbones in a downward slant, rubbing intently, altering the position of his hands when his progress was halted by the band of Kakashi’s pants.

A thin layer of sweat broke out over Kakashi’s back accompanied by a faint flush which started at his shoulders and spread over his throat. Iruka frowned, “You’re awfully warm. It worries me. Maybe you should lie down now.” He kissed the back of Kakashi’s neck, waiting for the older male to respond. “I think you might be getting sick. I hope you don’t honestly think I believe that about the dogs. I listen to bad excuses all day.”

No response.

“Kakashi …” Lowering his head to Kakashi’s shoulder, Iruka curved his arms around the older male, resting his hands on the other’s chest, “Say something …”

Kakashi still made no sound. Instead, he reached for one of Iruka’s hands, guiding it lower until Iruka felt his cheeks glow aflame, finding his fingers nestled against the rigid outline of the jounin’s cock as it strained against his sweatpants.

Inhaling sharply, Iruka spread his fingers, ring and index splaying over the notable contours of Kakashi’s arousal, framing it from the sides as the centre digit pressed down, following the engorged length back to the band of the jounin’s pants. He hesitated a moment before driving his hand beneath the fabric, giving Kakashi’s cock a light squeeze. Iruka pulled the fabric downward until his companion’s erection was guided free, enabling him to grasp the organ attentively.

“Told you,” Kakashi murmured.

Iruka hid behind him, lips grazing the warm tint lingering on Kakashi’s shoulder, “Shut up …” He gripped the shaft of Kakashi’s cock, following it upward until he reached the jounin’s crown, its swollen head already slick with sticky secretions. Thumb striking out over the soft skin, he seized a pearl of pre-come as it oozed from the thin slit at the centre of its apex, smearing it along the ridge of its underside. Kakashi gasped audibly, and Iruka felt the heat return to the base of his spine.

Twisting his fingers beneath the tip of Kakashi’s cock, Iruka urged the digits downward in a swift, fluid motion, rotating around its hilt before jerking upward again. Kakashi began to shift his hips, imparting faint, pleasured vocalisations which Iruka worked to increase in frequency and volume.

Kakashi tipped his head back, groaning as Iruka’s mouth settled on the junction between his neck and shoulder, teeth lowering from his mouth to mark the flesh with pale imprints. The markings darkened and swelled as he bit down harder; skin imprisoned firmly between the rows of his teeth, flattening and expanding as he sucked fervently. Kakashi’s rhythmic panting incited Iruka’s hand to tighten around his cock, stroking faster now, the flesh of the jounin’s erection like damp velvet beneath curved fingers, his blood beating beneath the digits in a fervent throb.

The jounin broke into a low, feral moan and the hot coals in the lower regions of Iruka’s abdomen flared with newfound intensity.

Iruka could tell that Kakashi was struggling – torn between release and stubborn resistance, but it wasn’t long before the jounin developed an obvious inclination toward the former, lapsing into a needful, receptive state. Kakashi relaxed against him, running a hand over the Iruka’s thigh, only to tense abruptly, shuddering as a series of spasms drove bolts of pleasure through his groin, his cock venting milky globules on the bedspread.

Kakashi was still normalizing his breathing when he reached back, contouring a hand to the notable bulge between Iruka’s thighs.

“You’re hard.”

“Yes …” Iruka drew his lips away from Kakashi’s neck, having produced a formidable welt for all his emphatic sucking. He turned his head to stare in the direction of the wall, embarrassed by the ease at which the older male was able to discuss such things.

“Allow me to correct that.”

The chuunin yelped softly as the jounin moved in on him – much too quickly to provide ample reaction time, or even garner some awareness of what was to come. Last thing he knew he was draped over the elder shinobi from behind – now he was sprawled out beneath him, pinned to the surface of the bed. Kakashi wasted no time in stripping the clothing from Iruka’s upper and lower torso, passing it off to the floor, spreading the younger male’s legs in a manner which added greatly to Iruka’s embarrassment. Iruka attempted to draw his thighs nearer together, only to be forcefully rebuffed. The jounin’s fingers adhered quickly to his arousal, touching him desperately, as if to quell invisible flames, but serving only to fuel their glow.

“Did it turn you on that much, seeing me like that?” Kakashi asked, breathing hotly against Iruka’s ear, his tone husky; tinted with prurient intentions.

The violent swarm of colour overtaking Iruka’s cheeks was the product of both his increasing embarrassment and the state of arousal in which he found himself. He ignored the jounin’s words, and for a while he thought Kakashi would let it go – move on from the fact that he was so easily disarmed and made to feel powerless with only a few carefully-chosen words. The ease with which Kakashi dealt with such words was identified by Iruka as holding a disarming, hypnotic quality. It seemed ludicrous for his humiliation to have a potent aphrodisiacal effect, but it did.

He felt the heat of Kakashi’s mouth on his throat, then his shoulder; along the ridge of his collarbone, down to the erect points of his nipples, all the while his hand working rapidly to make Iruka’s cock dribble – the trickle of precum thinning and spreading beneath Kakashi’s fingertips, smearing down the length of his erection. Iruka jerked his hips, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensation, on the verge of climax, only to find the hand at the root of his pleasure revoked suddenly from its perch.

Kakashi shifted suddenly, catching hold of Iruka’s wrists, pinning his arms above his head, knees pressing down on the chuunin’s parted thighs, cementing them in place.

Iruka wiggled a bit in protest, “Why did you stop?” He could have made a valiant, potentially successful, attempt to break free, had that been what he really wanted; it wasn’t, so he stared hard at Kakashi, fighting to find words which would not aggravate his discomfort. “Why don’t you finish what you started?” he managed with some effort.

“You started this,” Kakashi reminded him.

“Kakashi … please,” Iruka begged.

“Please what?” the jounin inquired, lowering his head to graze the line of Iruka’s jaw with parted lips.

Iruka shuddered. His neglected erection pulsed madly, generating a distinct sense of agitation and general annoyance; a need to be caressed and handled so profound that it bordered on painful, “Touch me.”

“Touch you where, Iruka-sensei? You need to be more specific.”

Grunting, Iruka tipped his head back, sealing Kakashi’s lips in a fervent kiss, drawing the tip of his tongue over the jounin’s bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth, teeth traversing its outskirts, sucking long and hard before releasing it, “You know where,” he groaned. “Don’t make me say it.”

Kakashi released one of Iruka’s wrists to rub the inside of his thigh, following the warm line back and forth slowly, “Here?”

“Up,” Iruka groaned.

Kakashi moved his hand up; fingertips tracing Iruka’s navel in a lazy circle, “How’s that?”

A frustrated groan parted the chuunin’s lips, trying to shift beneath Kakashi in order to get some friction where it currently mattered the most, but the jounin held him firmly in place. He squirmed fruitlessly. “Nh, you bastard. You know exactly what I want.”

“Do I?”

“Yes!”

“What does Iruka-sensei want?”

“Kakashi, come oooon! I don’t tease you like this!”

“I don’t enjoy it.”

“And I do?!”

“Yes. That much is obvious.”

Iruka inhaled deeply, gritting his teeth. He closed his eyes, dampening his own lips with the swipe of his tongue. His heart beat frantically as he forced the words out, one at a time, “Ngh … I – want … your-hand … on-my-cock.”

Kakashi had always had abnormally perfect hearing, “What was that?”

“Stroke my cock!” Iruka growled, the deep flush rooted in his cheeks spreading over his neck. “Or there will be no more perverted little games for you, Hatake Kakashi!”

“Is that all you wanted?” Kakashi inquired calmly. “Should have said so in the first place.”

Iruka balled his hands into tightly-compacted fists, thrusting his hips. He was rewarded by the prompt attention of Kakashi’s fingers, the long digits careening over the length of his cock, his grip firm.

The chuunin came with a low cry, a spurt of semen striking him just below the collarbone, another landing mid-way down his chest, rolling back from his navel. He regarded this with displeasure, turning his head away, panting softly, eyes closing.

Kakashi, however, was transfixed by the sight of the creamy droplets. The tip of his tongue was drawn to the warm ribbon of viscous fluid extending along Iruka’s chest, following it toward the dark-haired male’s throat, lapping at the stagnant pools to rob the surface of his lover’s skin of their traces.

Iruka wasn’t sure what to think about this. It seemed equal parts arousing and indecent. Kakashi began to maneuver down the length of his lithe torso, an eye focused on the chuunin to carefully observe his reactions. Iruka’s lips were parted on the verge of protest, but the intense flush still staining his cheeks betrayed his curiosity.

“What do you think you’re – Aah!” Kakashi’s tongue slid over the tip of Iruka’s cock, licking it clean. Iruka watched with all the fascination of a fatal accident. Kakashi slipped between his legs, forcing his thighs wide apart, temporarily flooding Iruka with all the unease which came from a position of such profound vulnerability.

There were few situations a shinobi could get himself into which contrasted harder with an innate sense of self-preservation. It took an enormous degree of trust in one’s companion to submit to this – the underlying destructive potential was simply too strong. There was ways to kill or injure a man which extended far beyond facing him on the battlefield. Not everyone made their intentions so obvious. Iruka trusted Kakashi, but his unease remained – not out of self-defense or protection, but the embarrassment of being so closely scrutinized; exposed in a way he was unaccustomed to. At the hot spring he frequented, everyone tended to keep their distance; they didn’t pry his legs apart, settle between them, and proceed to stare at him the way Kakashi was looking at him now. They didn’t make him hard. They didn’t put their mouths where Kakashi was so intent on putting his.

Iruka wished there was a way to drive the incessant blush from his cheeks, his thighs pressing against Kakashi’s hands as they strained inward. It wasn’t until Kakashi took the crown of his arousal between his lips and sucked that he began to relax.

Kakashi’s books made this sound easy. There was no mention of the effort involved in curving his lips inward to constantly shield his teeth, nor the fact that this somehow augmented the urge to choke, as if gagging on something disagreeable. They failed to mention the dull ache in his jaw which arose early on and the strangeness of forcing something rigid and unyielding toward the back of his throat. Kakashi felt momentarily betrayed – a conviction which faded only when overwhelmed by the distraction of observing Iruka biting at his knuckles, the muscles in the chuunin’s toned thighs flexing and trembling.

Drawing in a long, deep breath, Kakashi fought to relax the muscles in his throat, swallowing slowly, letting his tongue wander over the swollen tip of Iruka’s cock, employing a hand in the task of stroking its lower proportions. Privately he asserted that he should have been able to do more, but Iruka certainly wasn’t complaining.

Iruka drew his hand away from his mouth, the rounds of his knuckles slick with glistening saliva, fingers extending outward and delving into the wild strands of his partner’s hair. The damp heat of Kakashi’s mouth encompassing the apex of his arousal was a unique sensation, and every time the jounin flicked his tongue he felt a swell of pleasure anchor in his groin.

Kakashi began to hum faintly, causing Iruka to gasp audibly, hips arching toward the jounin’s affections. The combined attention of Kakashi’s mouth and swift work of his hand already had Iruka on edge and he strained to prolong the sensation, yet over-excitement was quickly getting the best of him.

“Kakashi … I …”

A look of vague surprise overtook the jounin’s flushed features and he stared up at him from between Iruka’s twitching legs, tongue travelling the length of the chuunin’s cock, licking his shaft in an eager, seductive manner, “Mmm?”

Iruka bit down harshly on the inside of his bottom lip, struggling to word his predicament appropriately.

“I …”

“Mmmmmmm?”

“Damnit … Kakashi …”

“Gonna come?”

Iruka swallowed thickly and nodded.

“Go ahead,” Kakashi replied.

Expecting to see Kakashi switch to the exclusive use of his hand, Iruka was surprised to witness the older male wrap his lips tightly around the head of his cock, sucking wildly. Iruka gripped Kakashi’s hair with both hands, tugging upward as he came.

Kakashi swallowed eagerly, leaving Iruka feeling both awkward and aroused.

“Does it taste funny?”

“No. Tastes like Iruka-sensei.”

The jounin licked the crown of the spent organ tenderly, then crept along the length of Iruka’s torso to bring their lips together. They kissed heatedly, tongues colliding.

Iruka shifted beneath him, hooking a leg around the older male, urging the fabric of Kakashi’s pants past his hips and beyond. Kakashi kicked free from the dark material. All clothing discarded, Iruka locked both legs around the jounin’s mid-section, arms encircling his neck, ravaging his mouth with the constant crush of his lips and the exploratory probing of his tongue. He groaned faintly as Kakashi tilted his head, sinking his teeth into the flesh of his shoulder, the man’s cock rigid and rubbing against the inside of his thigh.

The action drove Iruka into a state of renewed arousal, and Kakashi manipulated his hips to meet the dark-haired male’s erection with his own. The tip of Kakashi’s cock followed the shaft of its target to its crown, rubbing intently against the swollen organ, prompting Iruka to seek his mouth out again, feeding the jounin’s parted lips with low, pleasured groans. Kakashi echoed the intonations.

The friction alone was enough to eventually set Kakashi off, ejaculating on Iruka’s chest.

Iruka arched his back sharply, guiding his own erection against the flesh of Kakashi’s sweaty, muscled abdomen, climaxing abruptly. He laid there panting softly, regarding the older male with vague suspicion as the other leaned toward the edge of the bed, digging beneath the mattress.

“What are you looking for?”

Kakashi unearthed a tube of lubricant, adeptly uncapping it with a flick of his thumb. Iruka eyed him apprehensively.

“Just because I’ve never done this before …doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing,” Kakashi stated matter-of-factly.

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“We’ll start out slow,” True to his word, Kakashi squeezed a generous amount of the frigid gel onto his hand, liberally lubricating his long fingers, “Just relax.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who – nh …” Iruka trailed off as Kakashi gingerly worked a finger inside him, gradually urging it deeper, wriggling the digit.

“How does that feel?”

“Strange …”

“Hn. And this?” Slowly adding a second finger, Kakashi overlapped the slender digits, uncrossing them in a fluid, languid movement.

It was a foreign sensation, neither painful nor alarmingly pleasurable, leaving it stranded somewhere in-between - a place of sexual limbo. Iruka figured Kakashi would tire of this eventually, when the desired result appeared to be lacking, then the older male began to jerk his hand, driving the digits deeper only to reel them back again quickly, repeating the motion. The gesture felt surprisingly pleasant, all things considered, and Iruka began to relax with the expectation that this was as much as he was going to get out of it. He was about to vocalize a response when Kakashi suddenly withdrew a finger, urging the lone digit to uncharted depths, its tip motioning toward Iruka’s navel.

What ensued felt like a volcanic eruption of sensation – a powerful explosion that took root in his groin and blasted throughout his body, ejecting a trickle of milky fluid from his cock, followed by several spurts of semen.

“Hmn … I guess it does work,” Kakashi murmured.

Iruka was still shuddering, speechless, when Kakashi moved into position, guiding the chuunin’s legs up over his shoulders, the tube of lubricant once again being put to good use, coating the jounin’s erection thoroughly. The temperature of the gel made Kakashi cringe, but it warmed quickly against the surface of his skin.

Bringing the tip of his erection to the chuunin’s entrance, he eased his hips forward, piercing the outer ring of muscle, invoking a sudden spasm. He halted briefly, head bowing to seal Iruka’s lips in a kiss, chakra flaring over his fingers as he reached out to stroke the younger male’s cock, quickly resurrecting its spirit.

Bit by bit, Kakashi worked his length deeper into the narrow channel, its walls tight, enveloping his erection in an ardent embrace. “All right?” he questioned, pressing his lips to the curve of the chuunin’s neck, sucking at the hollow of his throat.

Iruka arched his neck, tipping his chin up, groaning softly, his cock stiff and anxious in Kakashi’s hand. The constant tingle of the jounin’s fingers alone was enough to get him off, making the sensations generated by the older male beginning to move inside him all the more difficult to withstand, “I’m fine. Keep going.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stop?” That teasing tone was back again, and Kakashi caught the lobe of Iruka’s ear between the tiers of his lips, batting at the flesh with the tip of his tongue, applying a hint of pressure with the rows of his teeth.

“You bastard … it feels good.”

Kakashi rocked against him steadily, igniting deeper, undiscovered levels of bliss in the chuunin each time his companion’s sensitive prostate was nudged. “Does it?” the older male inquired, breathing hot against his neck.

Iruka rolled his hips toward the older male, then back again, trying to meet his thrusts with some degree of regularity, “Aaah … yes, yes, it does … it does …”

“Then come for me.”

Executing Kakashi’s demand required little effort on Iruka’s part, and with his climax came the clenching of his inner muscles, accompanied by a deep, throaty moan. The sudden increase in pressure surrounding Kakashi’s throbbing erection incited the jounin’s own release, pumping the product of their efforts into the chuunin.

Panting softly, Kakashi followed the line of Iruka’s neck with the heat of his mouth, gracing its surface with contented nips. Iruka drove his fingers into the other’s hair, stroking the damp flesh at the back of the older male’s neck, murmuring into his ear, “Again.”

They altered their position a bit. Iruka drew his legs down from the heights of Kakashi’s broad shoulders and wrapped them tightly around the other’s lithe frame, holding him tightly between them.

The desire swelling uninhibited through Iruka through the duration of the day had yet to be satiated, persisting even now as an impassioned, animalistic need. He caught hold of Kakashi’s bottom lip between his teeth and bit down, kissing him roughly, the jounin’s lips crushing forcefully against his own in response. With Kakashi still positioned appropriately, Iruka waited until he felt the swollen organ begin to shift inside him, then grabbed hold of the jounin’s backside, digging his fingers inward, shoving his hips forward to drive him deeper. He was unsure exactly what he did to make Kakashi groan the way he did, but he took as much pleasure from the sound as the action.

Iruka grazed the length of Kakashi’s back with his short nails, clawing at the moist flesh, arching wantonly as the other drove repeatedly into his depths. He eagerly fed the jounin’s mouth with hungry moans, and received sustenance in return.

When it was over, Iruka turned his head to the side, prompting Kakashi to kiss his neck, the jounin’s voice husky and demanding, “Once more.”

Leaving Kakashi sprawled out in bed with the covers drawn up around his face in the customary fashion, Iruka dressed in a light kimono and entered the kitchen, brewing a pot of green tea. Rays of the morning sun invaded the room, slating across the counter. He was equal parts anxious and excited, and a little bit sore. His anxiety stemmed mainly from not knowing what to expect from Kakashi. It was obvious that there was something wrong with the older male – something he could neither classify nor define, yet, typically, the jounin insisted on acting as if nothing was wrong. It would not have surprised him if Kakashi elected to act as if they had not spent the night together, distancing himself. Being the opposite of what he wanted, the thought plagued him from the moment he awoke.

He sipped the warm, soothing fluid, losing himself in thought until feeling the light pressure of a hand on his shoulder. Tipping his head back, he stared at Kakashi, who bent forward to kiss his lips. Iruka relaxed a little.

Kakashi kissed the corners of his mouth, then his chin, followed by his ear, making the chuunin shudder visibly. The jounin’s hand invaded the fabric of Iruka’s borrowed kimono, loosening it, rubbing the inside of his thigh.

Cheeks burning, Iruka uttered a faint gasp. “Didn’t you get enough last night?” he teased.

Shaking his head slowly, Kakashi began to stroke the length of the dark-haired male’s cock, “No.”

“Kakashi …” Iruka groaned softly, his cock hardening and lengthening against the warmth and friction of his lover’s hand, “Not here … We’ll make a mess …”

“How about a shower?”

Iruka nodded quickly in assent, bringing their lips together again as he was tugged in the direction of the bathroom.

As Kakashi reached over to adjust the tap, Iruka deprived the jounin of his sweatpants, shedding his own clothing before being drawn beneath the heated torrent of water, loose hair spilling over his face.

Kakashi lapped at the water spilling over the curve of Iruka’s neck, sucking softly at the surface of the other’s skin, one hand guiding the chuunin’s dark hair back from his face while the other stroked the younger male’s erection attentively, his own cock pressing hard against his companion’s torso, calling the attention of Iruka’s fingers.

They jerked each other off heatedly, tongues locking in combat, the water drizzling from their torso, rinsing away the pearly traces of their inevitable release.

Catching Iruka’s ear between his teeth, Kakashi flicked the tanned lobe with the tip of his tongue, “How do you feel about going back to bed?”

________________

As he dressed for work, Iruka fought to ignore the steadiness of Kakashi’s gaze adhering to his naked back. He pulled his shirt on, reluctantly glancing at the other male. Kakashi was turned toward him, sprawled languidly across the surface of the bed, watching him in silence. The blankets had slid down to rest precariously over the jounin’s bare torso, exposing everything above his abdomen.

Iruka found himself developing a new level of dislike for Mondays.

Reaching over, Kakashi inserted a hand up the back of Iruka’s shirt, stroking the length of his spine.

Sighing heavily, Iruka wriggled against the invading hand, “You’re not helping.”

“You’re going to be late,” Kakashi scolded. “People will think I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Literally or figuratively?”

Kakashi grinned slightly, flicking his tongue over his lips, sliding the blankets down past his hips, “Iruka-sensei has such a dirty mind.”

“Me?!” Iruka replied, aghast.

“Even now, he’s thinking about it,” Kakashi continued in a low, husky drawl, “It will be on his mind all day. At first he’ll convince himself that he’s able to ignore it, but he won’t be able to move without feeling the stiffness in his joints, well-earned from the weekends activities, the prick of a bite mark on the inside of his thigh, the welt on his shoulder. Every movement becomes a reminder. He frequently loses track of what he was talking about; forgets what he was going to say. The portion of his memory dedicated to shuriken throwing techniques shuts down, reverting his focus. He starts to over-heat, plagued by the incessant gnawing of graphic images. He sits down, now engrossed by unrelenting torrents of pornography. At the end of the day, the children return home no wiser – all because you couldn’t stop thinking about my cock in your a – ”

“Kakashi! Enough!”

“Calling in sick, then?”

___________________

It was already starting to get dark when Iruka decided to pay Kakashi a visit after long hours of catching up on some work. Having grown accustomed to letting himself into Kakashi’s house in much the same way the jounin elected to use the chuunin’s window, Iruka opened the front door, stepping inside, proceeding to conduct a thorough search for the light-haired male.

He found the jounin in bed. The older-male did not look well-rested, or as if he’d slept at all during the last few days, augmenting Iruka’s growing unease about Kakashi’s condition. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he passed a hand through his lover’s wild hair, “Are you going to get up?”

“Get up.” His attempts to force his father out of bed had failed all afternoon. Kakashi settled for giving the older male a stern glare, arms folding across the expanse of his chest in a scolding manner, reprimanding the man with a simple gesture.

“What time is it?” With what appeared to be considerable effort, Sakumo poked his head out from beneath the blankets, gazing wearily in the direction of the window.

“Late!” Kakashi cried, exasperated.

“Don’t be stupid; I’m sure it’s still early. Now let me sleep, boy.” Sakumo ducked back beneath the covers, pulling them taut over his head.

Frustrated, Kakashi leapt on top of him. “It’s not early, I know that much!” he cried, beating wildly at the larger male with his fists, determined to bring about a result which differed from the usual - his father spending yet another day in bed, getting up only to relieve himself or feign interest in eating something. “Get up, right now!”

“Quit it, Kakashi. You’re getting on my nerves again.”

Provoked by concern, Kakashi persisted, “I won’t! You’re scaring me! Get up!”

A strong arm rose from beneath the covers. With sudden ferocity Kakashi was thrown back from his position, hitting the wall. He heard something snap, followed by a shrill pain spreading from his shoulder to his elbow. Despite the voracity of the sting and its gradual encroachment over the embattled limb, he registered a sense of pervasive detachment, finding precedence in staring blankly at the elder shinobi.

Sakumo sat up slowly, planting his feet on the floor; expression overwhelmed by a profound projection of sorrow and regret, “Kakashi-kun … I’m sorry … I’m so sorry. Don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. I’ll die if you hate me.”

It was the only time he ever saw his father cry.

Iruka watched Kakashi’s expression grow vacant. The colour fled from the jounin’s face and he lapsed into a fit of silence. Iruka shook Kakashi’s shoulder gently, failing to initiate a response. Bowing his head, he pressed a kiss to the other’s temple, “Kakashi …”

“ …. Huh?” Kakashi turned to look at him, his expression overwhelmed by obvious confusion.

“Stay with me,” Iruka whispered, lying beside him.

Kakashi sat on the back steps, legs drawn toward his chest, arms folded atop his knees, where his head nested. He heard his father approach and said nothing, unmoving. A light thrust of the older male’s elbow dug into his side, frame teetering in the second previous to the restoration of balance.

“There’s someone here to see you,” Sakumo stated, taking a seat beside the boy.

Staring at the planks beneath his feet, Kakashi remained still as the weight of a third individual settled alongside him. Over time the smell of this man had become familiar, even welcome. An arm curved around his shoulders; the blond male to whom it belonged attempting to draw him near, initial resistance fading into compliance. Situated on Minato’s lap, Kakashi remained silent and reflective, mourning the loss of opportunity to become one step closer to his dream, all on account of his age, having been denied entrance to the ninja academy.

“It’s only a year,” Minato declared reassuringly, “Time will pass quickly. Once you’re there, you’ll be in and out like that. You’ll be a chuunin by the time you’re six. Until then, cheer up and don’t worry so much. Keep frowning like that and you’ll end up looking like your old man!” Shifting in protest in response to the ruffling of his hair, Kakashi’s attempt at avoidance did little to deter his elder companion, causing him to lapse into a bout of emphatic wiggling.

Sakumo placed the blond in a temporary headlock before shifting his attention to Kakashi, grabbing his arms. “Don’t let him get away!” Sakumo cried, fingertips encroaching forward in a tickling motion, poised to strike.

Kakashi began to laugh. Iruka listened from the kitchen, surprised by the unexpected sound, unable to discern any plausible reason for it, save one.

Damn that book.

_____________

It had been a long day at the academy. Unruly students, a heat wave, and an episode of projectile vomiting, perpetrated by someone who clearly should have spent the day in bed, made for an environment inconducive to learning. The relief which accompanied Iruka’s arrival at Kakashi’s doorstep was enormous, enveloping him in a rush of tranquility.

He let himself in, removing his shoes at the door, listening for any sign of Kakashi’s presence. It wasn’t long before he detected the sound of water dripping in the bathroom and he knocked lightly, enjoying the thought of joining the jounin in a long, cool bath.

When the knocking went unanswered, he pushed the door open slowly, peering inside.

Kakashi sat in the midst of the tub, the bloody water around him stagnant save for the tiny ripples which rolled over the surface when a bead of water fell from the faucet. His legs were drawn toward his chest, his head nestled against his knees. Iruka grabbed his shoulders, shaking him in a panic, “Kakashi!”

The jounin opened his eyes wearily, staring tiredly at the younger male, “Hmn?”

Iruka was aghast, “What the hell happened?”

“Fell asleep, I guess.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about!”

“Oh,” Kakashi replied calmly, pulling the plug before rising out of the water, grabbing a nearby towel, “It’s not my blood.”

Iruka braced himself against the doorframe as Kakashi brushed past him. He yelped when the jounin’s hand met with his backside in a firm swat and stalked after him.

Iruka was unsure of how much distance to keep from the Kakashi when they walked together. He tried to remember how it had been, before their relationship evolved to this point, and couldn’t. What could he do in order to avoid invoking the suspicion of anyone who passed by? Would they notice if they stood a little closer together – if their hands came close to touching? If so, would they even care? Would Kakashi mind if they did? Would any of his students come in one morning accompanied by a note – unaware of its contents, and unsure of why their mother or father had looked so strange when they wrote it?

For all the trouble it caused, worrying was too easy.

Iruka’s stomach rumbled faintly, distracting him momentarily. Hearing this, Kakashi looked over, smiling behind his mask. Iruka began to think of Ichiraku instead – the superior quality of their broth, those memorable noodles, all that juicy meat.

They were getting close to the ramen shop - he could smell it already, but Kakashi began to seem preoccupied, glancing around as if searching for something.

A block away from Ichiraku, Kakashi held out his arm, prompting Iruka to stop in front of a narrow alley.

“Hold on,” Kakashi stated, heading for the dimly-lit opening, disappearing between the walls.

Kakashi progressed down the dark lane, drawn by a familiar scent.

The smell was getting stronger now.

Blood - its odour penetrated the exterior of the building. For those with a sense of smell equivalent to or greater than his own, its presence was easily detected from anywhere in Konoha, but here dwelt its origins. His first stop was the room used to perform autopsies. Despite the rows of body bags lined up outside, there was no one inside; there was no reason for anyone to be here. Cause of death would read the same for everyone. Lowering his mask, Kakashi applied a thick layer of pungent ointment beneath his nose, the scent of which would provide a refreshing alternative to the unrelenting stench emanating from the wounded and the dead. Inhaling deeply, he readjusted his mask and set off.

The halls of the hospital were crowded with patients; people with blood-soaked bandages, their faces twisted with agony and grief, herded against the walls to make room for the medic nin who rushed ceaselessly through the corridors. Each room was filled beyond its intended capacity, crammed with gurneys and cots - even tables, to attend to those who were in need of immediate and often constant attention.

Kakashi was among the many who hadn’t slept since the sudden attack of the Nine-Tailed Demon Fox. He felt useless surrounded by those qualified to treat the injured and save the dying. Determined to assist in whatever way possible, the young jounin slipped into one of the nearby rooms, staring at the familiar faces.

Rin stood at the end of the row of patients, near to the window. She was hunched over an elderly woman, applying a constant flow of chakra to her chest. Her hitai-ate was tied across the top of her head, keeping her hair out of her face. Sweaty and fatigued, she worked diligently to revive the woman. Her efforts were rewarded by the presence of a faint pulse. Rin smiled and wavered a bit, ready to hit the floor, only to find Kakashi at her side, supporting her weight with his own.

“Easy,” he stated.

She nodded slowly, reaching into her pocket to obtain a soldier pill, dry-swallowing it. The young medic nin wasted no time getting back to work, valiantly contending with the bane of internal bleeding. Kakashi knew she would sooner succumb to exhaustion than abandon those in need.

That was the way he would always remember her.

When his vision cleared, Kakashi knelt in front of the stray dog. It struggled to stand and dipped its head, licking his hand. A wooden board clung to the side of its rib cage, nailed into place. The blood was still fresh and the twin puncture wounds did not appear to be infected. He smoothed his fingers over the canine’s muzzle, stroking it beneath the chin. He wondered how long he’d been gone for, because he heard Iruka approaching behind him.

The dog began to growl.

Iruka halted abruptly.

“He’s hurt,” Kakashi explained, stroking the dog’s fur back to calm it.

“Will they treat him at the hospital?”

“You can’t bring him in here.”

“What’s the big deal”?

“He’s not human. Hospitals are for humans.”

“Anthropocentrism.”

“Don’t even start!”

“Start what?”

“Look. I’ll do it, but I’ll need something from you first.”

“What?”

“A kiss.”

“Rin …”

“Don’t whine like that! You’d think I was asking you to drive metal spikes through your eyes.”

Kakashi smiled weakly, “No, I don’t think they will.”

They took the dog home, treating him with a sedative and a tetanus shot. The short nails came out easily, as the wounds had not yet had the opportunity to heal. Kakashi disinfected the holes and looked for signs of internal bleeding, finding none. He wrapped the canine in bandages and set him on the couch to sleep.

“What are you going to do with him?” Iruka asked, helping the jounin clean up the small mess he’d made.

“I’m not sure yet. Why don’t you keep him?”

“Me? I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“You’d be in a bad mood too, if you had a board nailed to your side. Wait until he wakes up and we’ll see what he does.”

“All right,” Iruka’s stomach growled noisily.

“Ah, you didn’t get your ramen. Sorry about that … ”

“It’s not your fault,” Iruka replied, linking his arms around the older male, resting against him.

“I’ll make you some,” Kakashi responded, passing a hand down the length of Iruka’s back, pressing a kiss to the younger male’s forehead.

Iruka stroked the pale hair at the back of Kakashi’s neck, “Just don’t put any eggplant in it.”

“I’ll attempt to restrain myself.”

When the dog awoke his temperament was much improved. Iruka remained dubious as to whether or not their relationship would prove amicable over an extended period of time, but Kakashi assured him that if any difficulties arose he would take the dog off his hands. Having never cared for a dog before, Kakashi gave him a long list of things to be mindful of and ample supplies.

They named the dog Soreya – stray arrow.

Kakashi saw no sign of Iruka in the living room or the kitchen. He was beginning to wonder if the chuunin had gone home when a faint noise rose from the bedroom. Curiosity instantly piqued, he crept toward the source of the disturbance, finding the bedroom door open. Muting the sound of his breathing, the jounin peered into the darkened room.

He could make out the outline of Iruka sprawled across the bed, one of the dark-haired male’s cheeks pressed to the surface of his pillow. From this distance he could hear the rapid movement of Iruka’s hand against the flesh of his cock.

His cheeks warmed as he crept nearer, staying low to the floor. He reached the bed and peered up at the chuunin, who was, much to his dismay, facing away from him.

“That’s no good,” Kakashi voiced quietly, “You need to turn this way.”

“Kakashi! How long have you been – “ Iruka choked on his own words. The chuunin curled away from him, grabbing for the blankets.

Kakashi fought valiantly to prevent this, tugging the blankets away from him as he settled next to Iruka on the bed. “Don’t stop on account of me,” he pleaded. “Pretend like I’m not even here.”

Iruka shoved him forcefully and sat up, his cheeks redder than Kakashi had ever seen, shifting to the edge of the bed. Kakashi persisted, exceedingly aroused by the thought of watching the other pleasure himself. He sat behind Iruka, kissing the back of his neck, “Please … You’re still hard.”

“How did you get to be such a pervert?” Iruka groaned.

“I was told that I needed a hobby.”

“You could have collected stamps.”

“I could have done a lot of things.”

Still not entirely convinced, Iruka hesitated. Kakashi had effectively embarrassed him before, but this was a whole new level of mortification.

“Would it help if you knew how much you’re turning me on?” Kakashi inquired.

“How do you propose to do that?”

Kakashi resumed kissing the back of Iruka’s neck, lowering the band of his pants to release his obvious arousal, rubbing the swollen organ against the slick warmth of the younger male’s lower back.

“Kakashi … you bring new meaning to ‘indecent’ …”

“I won’t argue with that. Just touch yourself.”

With considerable reluctance, Iruka proceeding to do as Kakashi requested, restoring his long, tanned fingers to the length of his own cock, stroking intently. If pressed hard enough, he would have begrudgingly admitted that Kakashi panting in his ear and grinding against him like a dog in heat served to accentuate his arousal. It wasn’t long before his hand was working in a frenzy, his erection pulsing frantically, on the verge of release. He came with a satisfied groan and Kakashi jerked against him one last time before ejecting a pearly ribbon of semen along the length of his spine.

Iruka sighed heavily, turning to look at his companion, “What am I going to do with you?”

“I don’t know, but I’m open to suggestions.”

Kakashi watched the stars.

He felt sheltered and protected, the warmth of his father wrapping around him, driving off the cold. The hour was late and his eyes were weighted with sleep. It was past his usual bedtime. Kakashi’s father had never given him a formal bedtime - an inflexible point at which he must be confined to the comfort of his bed. Sakumo disliked making rules. Instead, Kakashi had been told early on that it was up to him to decide a proper time when he should sleep. It was not a freedom he abused, for it was not without its consequences. If he was up too late only to be forced out of bed early, the groggy aftermath was typically enough to deter him from repeating such ill-informed decisions.

This was a special night. His father had returned from an extended mission and even though he didn’t like to admit it, putting on his bravest face, he always missed Sakumo when he was gone. His father the unbeatable. His father the hero.

He heard the people of the village talk, and swelled with pride to hear them compliment his father, praising his quick-thinking and indomitable strength. There was no doubt that he wanted to be just like him, to have people speak of his unfaltering courage and intelligence as valuable commodities. Sakumo made everything look easy; effortless. Kakashi too proved naturally inclined to master skills others could not perfect over the course of a lifetime. He was four-years-old and already developing a degree of disdain for those who reacted slower or were forced to work at something repeatedly in order to get it right. He was a boy of little patience for anyone inferior to his father.

The position Sakumo was in kept the wind off him. Kakashi adhered to his father, listening to the sound of his heart beating beneath his flak jacket. The steady drone of his father’s voice comforted and relaxed him. Falling asleep would be easy, but he struggled to listen, relishing each word. On this night the stars were very bright and Sakumo easily identified the various constellations, explaining to Kakashi how one might use their position in the sky in order to prevent disorientation in the dark. As far away as the stars looked, it surprised him to learn how far away they really were. In some cases their light took hundreds of years to reach them. Any of the stars they were looking at may actually have already died. It was through this analogy that he learned things were sometimes not as they appeared to be.

When it was time to go home, Sakumo carried him. He grew heavy in his father’s arms and squirmed a bit, wanting to walk instead, but the futility of his actions was eventually accepted. Kakashi curved an arm around his father’s neck, clutching the tail of hair at his back. A hand patted his back and he listened to his father say how happy he was to see him, how much he’d missed him while he was gone, and Kakashi felt no shame in sleepily admitting he’d missed him, too.

He was asleep by the time they reached the house.

Iruka watched Kakashi.

___________________

“Iruka-sensei! Kakashi-sensei!”

Naruto’s shouting caught their attention. In the short time since Kakashi had last seen him the blond shinobi appeared to have gained another inch in height, his shoulders broadening, voice deepening, possessing a faintly familiar tone.

“Sakumo-sama! Hiya, Kakashi-kun! Remember me?”

Kakashi recoiled, taking refuge behind his father’s leg, gripping it tightly, his face partially obscured by the dark fabric.

“Of course he does,” Sakumo replied, laughing softly. “Come on, Kakashi-kun. Say hello to Mi-chan.”

Kakashi shook his head furiously, clutching the material on his father’s leg nearer to his face.

Minato grinned widely, “Still shy, I see.”

“He’s not very good with other people.”

“Huh. Well, we’re not so bad. Just takes some getting used to, is all.” Placing his hands on his knees, Minato stopped nearer to Kakashi’s level, peering at him curiously, “Think you can let go of ‘tousan for a minute? I’d like to be friends.”

The boy was unresponsive.

Sakumo placed a hand on Kakashi’s shoulder, “See, he wants to be friends. Give him a chance, hn? Everyone deserves a chance.”

Lifting his head, Kakashi puffed out his cheeks, staring at his father in annoyance.

“Aha! You’re like a prickly pufferfish! That’s neat.” Minato swooped in, seizing the boy before he had the opportunity to protest, placing him on his shoulders, little hands gripped securely in his own. “You think your dad is fast? Wait until you see me!”

Kakashi looked down in disbelief, unconvinced that anyone could be faster than his father. Minato grinned up at him, displaying rows of perfect teeth. He took off running.

It wasn’t long before Kakashi believed him.

“What’s the matter with him? Don’t you think he’s acting kinda funny?” Naruto whispered, elbowing Iruka’s side.

“Naruto, he can hear you.”

“… Shit.”

The dog was always sitting there, staring expectedly at the door. He would creep into the kitchen to eat and drink, ears always alert - seeking approaching footsteps - then dart outside to do his business. Once back inside the canine would dutifully position himself to occupy his former spot, ready for the sandal-clad feet, the turning handle.

Kakashi hated him for this.

“Get away from the door!” he growled, frustrated with trying to coax the animal over to the couch. He wanted to sit with him - to stroke his fur and rub beneath his chin, but as long as the dog stubbornly retained its vigil, Kakashi remained sickened by its preference in companions – a penchant for a coward over himself.

Fists clenching at his sides, he stood up and stalked toward the canine, glaring down at him with contempt, “What the hell are you waiting for? He’s not coming back.”

Briefly turning his head, the dog regarded him with large brown eyes, tail thumping against the ground once. Its focus quickly returned to the door.

Kakashi was furious. “He’s dead, don’t you understand? He’s fucking dead! Couldn’t live with himself any more! Thought he could get away with breaking the rules! How could he be so stupid? How?! Stupid! Didn’t know anything! Nothing!”

Stalking off in a petulant fit, Kakashi paused only to glance over his shoulder, dark eyes narrowing fiendishly at the animal, “He left you. You’re alone now. Get used to it.”

The dog ignored him.

His temper flaring with seldom-seen ferocity, Kakashi seized a nearby kunai, pitching it at the door. It struck just above the canine’s head – exactly where he intended - despite the intensity of the temptation to target elsewhere. Even now, the animal couldn’t be bothered to look at him.

Quivering with anger, Kakashi began to scream, “You’re not the only one he abandoned!”

“Kakashi, why are you yelling at him?” Iruka inquired, alarmed by the blatant level of infuriation he’d detected in the jounin’s tone.

“Hmn?” Kakashi stared at him, seemingly unaware.

“The dog. What did he do?”

Thinking a moment before answering, Kakashi stared down to see the animal staring up at him intently, its head cocked to the side. “Oh … Ah, nothing.” Had he been yelling? He certainly hadn’t meant to. Offering Iruka a brief, apologetic smile, Kakashi brushed his fingers through the canine’s freshly-groomed coat, and the dog – still confused as to what he’d done wrong – wagged its tail briskly, easily contented. The tone the man had taken with him was not repeated and quickly forgotten.

Iruka did not so easily forget.

Immersed in a copy of Ichaicha Tactics, Kakashi strolled leisurely through the streets of Konoha. His morning assignment had turned out to be a lecture from Tsunade with firm instructions to return home and get some rest. Her tone had been dismissive and defeatist, as if they both knew a good rest was a poor prescription for resolving his condition. She appeared to be holding something back, but he departed before granting her the opportunity to consider it for too long.

The way home was ingrained in his feet, requiring no visual cues or other directions. He was nearly half-way there when a sudden sense of elation struck. The need to cover the remaining distance home in a hurry was incessant, not out of some sense of impending doom, but rather genuine excitement – a raw, unrelenting desire to burst through the front door with the expectation of finding something astonishing.

He began to run, reaching his destination quickly, his heart pounding exultantly as he stepped inside.

Kakashi was excited to be home. His father had been uncharacteristically active and awake long before he was. The man had smiled at him, even given him a hug, patted his hair, and best of all given him a present – a peculiar white chakra blade his father favoured using. When Sakumo laid down to rest, Kakashi went out to get a few groceries.

Infused with a foreign sense of hope, Kakashi couldn’t resist constructing elaborate plans for the future. His father would get better. People would stop dismissing him. They would work together as a team, and no one would be able to stop them.

Over the space of an hour this hope had grown to fill his chest and invade his thoughts. He felt relieved of all his usual burdens and, for the first time in a long while, happy.

The groceries were put away, each item tucked into its designated area. A rusty odour lingered at the back of his nose, but Kakashi was unalarmed. Possibly one of the dogs had been in a fight or dragged in something dead from the backyard. It would not be the first time. When he finished he followed the hall down to his father’s room. The scent was more pronounced here, less easy to ignore. Kakashi opened the door.

Sakumo was sprawled on the floor, turned away from him. Kakashi was forced to move closer in order to get a clear look. His father’s abdomen was slit across, spilling his intestines. The slippery coils spilled through frozen fingers, splaying out across the wooden planks.

Kakashi stood there for a long time.

Guess you won’t have to go to the trouble of waking up any more. Guess they’ll never make fun of you again. Guess I wasn’t good enough to keep you here.

He backed away slowly, closing the door. The young chuunin crumpled into a heap in the hall.

Looks like we both failed.

Contrary to how badly he’d wanted in the house, the urge to suddenly remove himself from the premises was frantic and profound. Kakashi backtracked and stumbled outside, relying on the fresh air to make some degree of difference, to alleviate the pain and nausea; it didn’t.

It began to rain.

_____________

Iruka returned home to find Kakashi gone. Having found the door open, he considering this unusual. After hanging his wet clothes up to dry, he paced around the living room, waiting. When it began to grow dark he put on some clean clothes and collected an umbrella. Soreya was eager to go for a walk, not minding the rain, pouncing the leaves of small plants to watch the droplets scatter and fall.

There was only one place Iruka could think to look.

They were nearing the monument when the dog bounded off, barking. Iruka followed in close pursuit, halting at the base of the stone memorial. He found Kakashi on the ground, propped up against the structure, one hand on his forehead, the other on his chest, moving only in response to repeated jabs of the dog’s muzzle. The jounin patted the dog’s head, but looked away when Iruka knelt beside him.

The dripping man flinched as Iruka placed a hand on his leg, and the chuunin retracted it slowly.

Iruka searched his lover’s expression for some indication of the culprit causing him such heartache, finding only pain and distress, which did little to narrow down the suspects. “Come home,” he stated softly, “You can come back in the morning.”

Bracing himself against the stone, Kakashi rose unsteadily to his feet, pocketing his hands as he started off in the direction of home. The dread he’d experienced early was gone, replaced by grief and a constant ache in his chest.

Iruka followed several steps behind, but once they were inside he placed his hands on Kakashi’s shoulders, herding him in the direction of the bathroom. The jounin was thoroughly drenched and shivering, prompting Iruka to quickly relieve him of his clothes and run a warm shower. He stripped down hurried, stepped into the shower, and reached for Kakashi, drawing him toward him. Kakashi barely budged, rooted firmly in the ground, but after several tried Iruka managed to position the older male beneath the torrent of running water.

Kakashi fixated on the floor, still shivering.

Placing a hand beneath Kakashi’s chin, Iruka attempted to direct the jounin’s focus elsewhere, “Kakashi, look at me.”

“Kakashi.”

“Kakashi.”

Barely able to shift his weight, Kakashi slid across the floor, setting his head against Mae’s leg, blinking back blood and sweat, fueling their burn in the struggle to deplete it, “Too heavy?”

“Nope. Not heavy.”

An eye drooped to a close at regular intervals only to be forced open again, his vision polluted by a constant haze. The shallowness and irregularity of his breathing matched the pace of tiny fingers as they swept through his hair, oblivious to how badly it needed to be washed.

Mae’s free hand settled upon Kakashi’s cheek, tracing the line of his scar over the sharingan, “Everything is all right now. It works good.”

She smiled warmly, holding his gaze as the jounin blinked wearily, scarcely perceptive enough to register the sound of her voice. “They don’t know, Kakashi-kun. They don’t know.”

Confused, he parted his lips, gasping mutely, unable to give volume to his words.

“It’s all right,” she stated softly, biting down harshly on the underside of her thumb, drawing blood, “They’ve failed.” Anointing the jounin’s forehead with a drop of blood, Mae took hold of his hand, guiding his fingers to her throat, pressing inward, “Don’t be sad; it’s the only way. Won’t be for very long.”

Kakashi found himself in a clearing, turning abruptly at the sound of Obito struggling behind him.

“Can’t get it,” the Uchiha growled. “Little help here.” His efforts were directed at the metal jaws of a trap, seeking to pry them free from the brown rabbit shivering in their grasp - crushed between the teeth. Its eyes and mouth were sewn shut, leaking tufts of cream-coloured stuffing.

They combined their efforts, tugging fiercely at opposing sides of the trap, yet the mechanism refused to release its occupant. Their hands bloodied from the endeavor, Kakashi and Obito knelt beside the petrified rabbit.

“We have to do something,” Obito declared, “It’s just going to suffer.” The boy drew his knees toward his chest, raising his goggles to rub irritably at his damp eyes before finally asserting, “There’s more than one way to set it free.”

“I’ll do it,” Kakashi responded, clutching the rabbit’s neck. He smoothed a thumb over the fur before squeezing forcefully. As the rabbit thrashed in an airless frenzy, the jounin steadily increased the application of pressure; fingertips digging inward sharply, burrowing into the flesh. A deft wrench of the throat, and it was over. The rabbit did not go stiff. Instead, it relaxed, toppling like a boneless toy. Stuffing evacuated the ragged gap, fleeing in short spurts, soon lapsing into a lazy trickle.

When Obito tried again to force apart the clenched jaws of the trap they slid easily away from the animal, allowing him to collect the rabbit by the ears. “Hey, Kakashi,” he exclaimed in a quiet tone, “There’s something I want you to remember. Won’t be easy, but it’s important, okay?”

“What’s that?”

“Butterflies are unfit to rule kingdoms.”

“Those insects are messing with your mind, Obito.” Kakashi replied.

“No, Kakashi. They’re messing with yours.” Obito walked toward his friend, squeezing his shoulder before reaching up, covering Kakashi’s visible eye, inciting a riot of darkness.

The light returned gradually, bringing the jounin back to the white room he shared with Mae. She was hunched over him, silent and still. When he was finally able to move her he saw that her throat had been torn open, exposing a wire-like collection of sinewy fibers, jutting outward in tattered clumps. Her blood was everywhere – drying in his hair and beneath his fingernails.

His fingers trembled as they flexed.

Mindless to the rebellious howling of his muscles, he gathered her lifeless frame against his own, brushing the hair back from her eyes. Her expression was serene, reflecting no indication of pain or distress - only peace.

Anguished and shaking, Kakashi hugged the corpse, rocking it, observing the transformation which took place with a vacant eye. Dark hair shortened in length and a light kimono replaced the tattered dress, its design distinctly male.

The body in his arms belonged to a young boy.

At the time he was sure that nothing could erase the memory of the scream that followed. It was not his own, originating instead from beyond the stone walls, inhuman in pitch and frequency, like an underwater siren, shrieking until his ears were riddled with static.

In the silence which languished in its wake, Kakashi began to maneuver the deceased toward the bed, eventually managing to position him atop the blankets. He knelt on the floor, patting the inert figure’s back, speaking to him softly, “It’s all right. You’re tired. Go ahead and sleep. In the morning we’ll go to the sea. We can make shapes in the sand and dig for treasure. We’ll have a picnic on the beach; cold drinks and hot food. How does that sound? I’ll teach you how to swim. At night we’ll look up at the stars. They’re funny things – deceptive. They may look peaceful and calm, but really they’re flaming masses - balls of incandescent light, each one a sun just like our own. Stars are very sneaky. All that shining is such hard work, yet we know nothing of their motives. For what reason do they burn? We can ask, but our only reply is a silent, radiant stare, and from that there is but one reason we can discern - a rage so silent it fails to speak.”

The water felt like sandpaper on Kakashi’s face, scraping the corners of his eyes, agitating their sockets; the curve of their lower lids growing heavy with protest.

I killed him.

Killed him.

Killed.

Him?

Tell me where he is, Kakashi-kun.

Tell me.

It started at the back of his throat - a tightly knotted wad of grief expanding like damp cotton, spreading up through his sinus cavities, anchoring between his eyes where it sparked a throb like the steady march of armoured, blistered feet.

I don’t know anything.

I don’t know.

His sharingan fell first, clenching defeatedly, pulsating behind the scarred lid of his eye as it gave way, resistance wrenched from the inner sanctum of his defenses, crippling his efforts to repel the attack.

I am not for sale. I am not a robot. I am not a member of the human race.

I am not torn apart.

The water was everywhere now. It leaked from his nose, bleeding from eyes robbed of their defiance, battlegrounds once heavily-guarded and carefully-controlled abandoned now, anguished with defeat.

I hate the corners of the blinds where the light seeps in.

A sob lurched from the depths of Kakashi’s throat, followed by a rough choke – backlash at a failed attempt to abbreviate its duration.

I hate.

It took Iruka a moment to realise Kakashi was crying.

He had longed for Kakashi to express some form of grief, to vocalise and acknowledge its presence – forsaking denial for revelation, confinement for liberation. Now, watching the jounin lapse into uncontrollable lament, his relief was as profound as his alarm. Prepared to be rebuffed and reprimanded, Iruka set a hand upon Kakashi’s shoulder, finding neither acceptance nor aversion – no sign at all that the jounin was even aware of the pressure of reassuring fingertips. Had Kakashi told him to leave him alone, he would have understood. He would have made sense of annoyance or pride, either of which would have been more reassuring than the troubling suspicion that Kakashi was too firmly entrenched in grief to bring himself to care.

He was beginning to wonder if the jounin was aware of his presence at all, when the older male suddenly recoiled from his place in the shower, throwing himself on the bathroom floor, knees planting shakily against the ground as he lurched over the toilet bowl, vomiting in a manner which invoked the memory of nights of heavy drinking – spastic and desperate to rid the body of undesirable toxins.

Iruka turned the water off. Grabbing a nearby towel, he draped the fabric over Kakashi’s shuddering shoulders, drawing it around the rest of the man’s frame as he knelt behind him, an arm placed across his lover’s stomach, feeling the muscles in his lower torso convulse beneath the palm of his hand as the jounin threw up again. The water in the porcelain bowl swirled and receded between bouts of anguished purging, filling again in a landslide of noisy droplets. He brought his forehead to rest against Kakashi’s shoulder and sat there for a long time, listening to the other’s harrowed sobbing diminish to the occasional sniffle, the contraction of his muscles having ceased beneath his fingertips.

He reached out to flush the toilet.

Around Kakashi, too often was he found without words.

Instead, he gave the back of the other’s neck an encouraging nudge, urging him back. Half-expecting to find Kakashi cemented into position and reluctant to budge, he was surprised when the jounin retreated willingly from the base of the toilet, sliding toward him.

Keeping an arm around his unsteady companion, Iruka helped Kakashi to his feet, directing the man to the sink where he saw to it that the other brushed his teeth. Kakashi obeyed in a silent, childlike manner, as if complying for the sole purpose of escaping punishment. He helped the older male into bed, stretching out alongside him.

Pressing against Kakashi from behind, Iruka draped an arm over the jounin, his lips parting and greeting the other’s shoulder, remaining there for a long while. Even when he spoke he murmured gently against the warmth of the man’s flesh, stroking his chest tenderly, “Do you feel any better?”

“Am I supposed to?”

Iruka smiled faintly at Kakashi’s boyish, inquisitive tone, “Sometimes it helps.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t?”

“That’s right.”

“I think this falls into the latter category.”

Iruka kissed the back of Kakashi’s neck, “I want you to talk to Tsunade-sama.”

“What about?”

“About not feeling right; about staring off into space for minutes at a time and not responding to a thing I say.”

Kakashi frowned irritably, “Why bother? That woman hates me. She won’t even - ”

“Kakashi! How can you say that?”

“She acts like it. Ever since I –”

“She asks me about you all the time!”

Rolling toward Iruka, Kakashi fixed the chuunin with a puzzled stare.

“What I mean is … she knows we’ve been spending a lot of time together, and she always wants to know how you’re feeling, if you’re getting enough sleep, eating properly, things like that.” Iruka went quiet for a moment, speaking in a hushed tone as he met Kakashi’s gaze with his own, “The other day she asked me if you were talking in your sleep.”

“What do you tell her?”

“I say … you’re doing as well as can be expected.”

“Isn’t lying to the Hokage a criminal offence?”

“Kakashi!”

“Punishable by ten minutes alone in a dark room with Ibiki?” Kakashi inclined his head toward the younger male, nipping his neck.

“You’re making this up,” Iruka grumbled, running his fingers through the other’s hair.

“Am I?”

“Yes, you are.”

“So I am.”

“Try to sleep, okay?” Bringing their foreheads together, Iruka closed his eyes, fingertips lingering at the back of Kakashi’s neck.

“Okay.”

Prolonging his reasonably obedient streak, Kakashi eventually did as instructed. Iruka remained awake, so that when Kakashi shuddered or cried out in his sleep, he drew him nearer until the jounin fell silent and the shaking stopped.

Kakashi did not go to Tsunade willingly. Ultimately, it was the threat of no sex for an indeterminate length of time which got him there.

She circled Kakashi’s chair, checking his pulse with a regularity Iruka found deeply unnerving. Though the jounin had no difficulty retaining a seated position he expressed no interest in his surroundings, staring off mindlessly.

Halting her inspection, Tsunade brushed a hand through the blonde tendrils of her hair, turning to her female companion.

“Shizune.”

“Tsunade-sama?”

“Find Neji.”

___________

The young jounin was found, extracted from the midst of an early morning training session, and brought to Tsunade’s office, where he was met with a strange request.

“I’d like you to take a look at him,” the Hokage requested, “See if you notice anything unusual.”

Byakugan activated, Neji conducted a scan of Kakashi, searching for any physical irregularities, consequently observing the erratic cycling of his chakra. The source of the problem became immediately evident – a thin rectangular implant in his right arm, functioning to intervene directly with the flow of Kakashi’s chakra, generating abnormal patterns of distribution and concentration.

“It’s a chip,” Neji declared, indicating with a gesture the position in Kakashi’s arm where the device was planted, adhered to the bone, “Looks like it’s designed to manipulate chakra – it reacts strangely to the signal, flowing in an atypical manner, especially in the brain. It may trigger various chemical responses.”

A hint of relief invaded the pit of Iruka’s chest, spreading slowly outward, “Then all we have to do is remove the chip.”

“I wouldn’t,” Neji replied, continuing his examination of Kakashi, focusing strictly on the nearly imperceptible device.

Iruka cringed inwardly, reassurance changing to dread, straining to keep his tone level, “Why not?”

“There’s a marking on it, possibly a seal. It looks like it may be designed to detonate with any attempt at removal.”

“We can’t just leave him like this!”

An argument erupted.

Their voices were dim and far away. Kakashi watched them discuss the problem with as much interest as he could manifest. Slowly, he lowered his gaze to the portion of his arm Neji had identified earlier. No one noticed him move, for they were far too engrossed in their squabbling, or perceived the application of his fingertips to the place where the chip adhered stubbornly to the bone. He could feel it when he pushed down hard enough, though it was small – the kind of thing that was easy to miss when you weren’t looking for it.

So much fuss over such a little thing.

Kakashi slowly unfastened his weapons’ pouch, removing a kunai. Positioning the tip over the designated area, he drove it inward, following the line of bone to the target. Thrusting the sharp point of the kunai between the bone and its unwelcome companion, he wiggled the weapon slowly to pry the device free. After the application of considerable force it snapped off loudly, jerking everyone in the room to rapt attention, their eyes wide and staring.

The chip skittered across the floor.

Kakashi flexed his fingers, curling them around the puncture wound. Unnerved by the stunned persistence of staring eyes and the unnatural silence which accompanied it, he stared back with equal perplexity, “What?”

Iruka was the first one to speak, “Are you insane?!”

Kakashi regarded him with overt innocence, “I don’t think so.”

“You sure as hell could have fooled me! That was stupid and irresponsible! You could have been killed!”

“Imagine the mess that would have made.”

“I’d rather not, thank you!” Iruka fumed, advancing on the jounin, his dark eyes set in a menacing glare.

A bead of sweat bloomed on Kakashi’s temple and he drove his chair backward abruptly, pushing himself away from the irate chuunin. Iruka lunged, grabbing the arms of the chair, jerking it forward again.

Kakashi swallowed thickly, staring up at him, “Have I told Iruka-sensei how sexy he looks when he’s angry?”

Iruka flushed violently, bringing his fist down on top of Kakashi’s head, “Idiot.” After that, his anger faded. One hand settled on the jounin’s cheek, the other gravitating to his back, and he leaned forward until the tops of their heads were touching.

Neji stood by, observing the two men blankly.

Shizune turned to look out the window.

Tsunade lowered her gaze, a faint grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. She dismissed Neji, followed by Kakashi and Iruka.

When they were gone Shizune turned to her, a frown entrenched on her face, “Tsunade-sama … Should they really be –”

Tsunade raised a hand, cutting her off immediately. “Enough, Shizune. Let them be.” She bent to collect the bloodied chip from the floor, smearing the underside of her thumb across its surface, revealing the symbol engraved on its surface. The marking Neji had identified was that of a butterfly.

A bird dipped beneath the window, wings outstretched, disappearing into a thick patch of trees. Tsunade moved toward her desk, taking a seat. She opened the top drawer, removing a pitcher of sake.

“Tsunade-sama, what does this mean?” Shizune inquired.

Tsunade didn’t bother with a cup, drinking straight from the clay pitcher.

“They let him go.”