Author: Carcinya (Isolde on Fanfiction(dot)net)
Author E-mail: carcinya(at)aol(dot)com
Category: Angst/Romance
Keywords: Naruto Iruka Kakashi
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None.
Summary: It is an unspoken agreement between you. Sequel to "Anything" and "Everything". Drabble, IruKaka
Disclaimer: This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. The song and the plot are mine. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

Author's notes: I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Or flamers.

I advise reading "Anything" and "Everything" before this one, but it can also be read as a stand-alone of sorts.

Dedicated to my dear paxnirvana. If not for her, I'd probably never have written "Nothing".

The obligatory (somewhat) happy end. Sorry. Couldn't help myself.

"Nothing" - Kakashi (500 words)

Dark skin glides against paler flesh in delicious friction.

Limbs entwined, you lie supine among rumpled covers, your fine-boned ankles crossed on his muscled back. The intoxicating scent of sweat and sex pervades the bedroom. You can feel his warm breath on the skin of your neck as he moves in and out of you, rhythmically.

He is a teacher in everything, you think, almost fondly, precise and steady and -- ah -- quite skilled. The bastard knows exactly what he is doing. He loves to hear you gasp and moan. He loves to watch you writhe in helpless pleasure.

You like to think he loves you.

It is an unspoken agreement between you. Who needs words, when you have each other?

A particularly well-aimed thrust leaves you breathless. Panting, you cling to his muscled shoulders.

"Enjoying ourselves, are we?" he murmurs into your ear -- you can almost hear the impish smirk in his voice.

You open your mouth, witty answer burning your lips, but all that comes out is a rather needy whimper. Craftily, he has chosen this precise moment to start sucking on your ear.

This your one weak point, and he knows it. Once, he even managed to make you come simply by licking your earlobe. He takes great pride in that achievement, and you'll probably never hear the end of it.

He is nearing his own climax now, you can feel it. He has quickened his pace, and he keeps mumbling your name like a mantra. He grabs you by the hair and jerks your face toward his. Then he kisses you roughly and desperately, moaning in your mouths as tongues stroke and tangle in a heated battle.

You don't try to resist -- you know he gets forceful when he is about to come, almost as if he needed to reassert his hold over you.

There is no need for that, really.

You are his, irremediably his -- else you would never have allowed him inside you. It amuses you that he does not seem to realize just how much of yourself you give him every time you spread your legs and let him fuck you senseless.

But he needs to claim you, just like you need to be claimed.

Nothing in the world can measure up to that heady, incredible sensation of being filled by another. To surrender oneself utterly, body and soul, is a sweet madness you have come to crave.

That first night in the mission room, he was surprised you'd let him take you so readily; but you simply silenced him with your lips and guided him inside you.

His warm fingers curl around your neglected, throbbing member and wrench you back to the present.

He looks into your eyes, serious and gleeful, loving and loved.

There is nothing, at that moment, but the two of you.

There is nothing, no barriers, between you.

You are him, and he is you.

"Come," he whispers, coaxing and commanding.

And you do.

-- end --