Every time Kakashi puts on his ANBU mask, it’s like being submerged in a freezing river. Ibiki once told him they’d kept the mask in a special box, in the back of the headquarters, for 8 years, waiting for him. Waiting for a face that looks so much like his father that sometimes he is paralyzed by his own reflection- paralyzed by his need to hear those words one last time, to see the faint crow’s feet at the corner of his father’s eyes wrinkle with a gentle smile.
I love you, son of mine.
But now he is twenty seven, and he’s been the Hound for over fourteen years. When ANBU calls, he puts his father’s mask over his not-father’s face and lets his conscious thoughts turn off, like a drowning man in a frozen river surviving on instinct alone, numb to everything but his cold, cold, cold blood running through a borrowed eye that lives on borrowed time. So much so that sometimes, Kakashi starts to wonder if he is anything but a tool, a weapon, an automaton kept on the shelf until it is time for the village to demand something horrible of him once more. When he chokes on the ghosts of the past too much, he finds himself watching his genin a little more closely, reaching out to them like a water-starved oak tree on the barren golden hills of summertime. He ruffles Naruto’s hair just to see the grin, and he purposefully asks Sakura theory questions that he knows only she will be able to answer. He brings extra bento on accident for their lunch, or offers to teach Sasuke some new way to harness his lightning chakra. He takes a D-rank that he knows will inspire complaining, because they’ll talk loudly and laugh even more loudly when he manages to frustrate whoever hired them with polite obtusity.
It works for a while. It works for a while, reaching out a freezing man for fire in front of him, no matter whether the fire might burn his hypothermic fingers. Team seven are a bonfire, bright like the summer days over their training grounds, and Gai follows him with unrelenting warmth. Asuma, Kurenai, Genma- they bring him in and pretend not to notice how hungry he is for their affection, though it takes the trained eye of a jounin to even catch his tells in the first place. And then there is the flare in the night, the sun rising over the dark, the fire that Kakashi can’t help touching over and over again. Iruka’s quick temper, quick forgiveness- his unrelenting dedication to his work at the academy and in the mission room. Kakashi pokes the flames just to let the sparks settle on his skin and leave behind pink spots, burned raw from the intensity of the embers. When they fall into a relationship, buoyed by their shared love for this village (for Naruto, for Naruto and the reality of him burning a hole in their chest, their need for something to fill the hollow this village has eaten out of their stomachs with its demands) he finds that putting on the mask doesn’t make him so cold, anymore.
It becomes a problem.
Suddenly, there is no line- no wall, no ice. It’s melted away, leaving him with muddy grounds that blur the distinction between the Kakashi that wears his father’s mask and kills in the shadows for his kage, and the Kakashi that loves his people, that sits with them in the sun, that has a heart beating underneath a chest that looks exactly like the village traitor’s. He is slipping on the mudslide, feeling it all fall from his fingers, feeling the fire grow out of control. And then he is searching again for something that can stabilize it, for something to build him a stone foundation that can keep him steady. He falls in love with Iruka because even though this upset, this upheaval and feeling of being adrift makes him kind of an asshole- Iruka doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he quietly makes space for him in his apartment. He turns on the kotatsu even in the summer, when Kakashi returns from the Land of Snow with a chill that cannot be purged from his lower limbs. He lets Kakashi’s ninken hang out on his balcony, lazing about and begging for bits of sausage off the grill. He even pulls Kakashi down, slowly, to rest his head on Iruka’s lap while the teacher grades abysmally messy tests from his class of seven year olds. He sleeps there for the first time in three days, sinking into the comfort of Iruka’s chakra, like an onsen after arduous travel.
The best part of it all- beyond the satisfaction of seeing team seven improve, beyond the knowledge that he’s served his village well, beyond even knowing that his friendships with the other jounin have been getting stronger the longer he’s with Iruka for reasons Kakashi can’t quite comprehend- is knowing that Iruka loves him back.
It is impossible to moderate his hunger for that, for the affection Iruka so freely gives him. Some of the other shinobi in the village underestimate his lover. They see his affection (free praise, free criticism, free anger and emotion and love) as a weakness, but when Kakashi is so close to the flame he knows it as nothing other than the true will of fire. The determination to love his fellow shinobi in the face of the cold reality of their profession is intoxicating. The lines blur even further until he becomes fully aware of the second Kakashi that lives underneath the underneath, the one only Iruka coaxes out with a sunlight smile. He thinks, in his calm moments between the panic over the upheaval of his psyche, that this is the man he would have been if he had never worn his father’s mask. This is the man who never saw his comrades die, who never killed them, who never lost his mentor or locked himself away to murder again and again from the shadows for a village that would only call him Friend-Killer in the light of day. This is the man that his fellow jounin who still stick around have, well- stuck around for. It is the man that Iruka loves, but it is also slowly becoming obvious to Kakashi that Iruka loves the other him as well. The cold one that stays awake until three am calculating every way to send a kunai through his enemy’s throat, that drags people to their death with three spinning tomoe, that becomes an automaton at the behest of their homeland for mere crumbs of compensation.
Perhaps it is because of this dichotomy that Kakashi finds himself trusting Iruka enough to fully relax around him. In the end it isn’t surprising, really, that his instinct to give Iruka the helm and let himself float on a gentle current grows until it nearly drowns him alive. When Iruka kisses him hello, he finds himself falling into it. They dance around the subject for a while, taciturn and avoidant, as though neither of them can bring themselves to fully face it. There is no shame about it, not as though it’s really unfamiliar to them. Simply preferences, made assumptions, and the fact that no elite jounin gives up control of a situation once enough knives have been buried in their back. However long it’s been since Kakashi let someone else press him down into the mattress like this, or wrap careful fingers around his throat- the time slips away from him and he is left with the realization that this is all he’s ever wanted.
It’s hard to ask for it, though, because for him, all things are difficult to speak about unless done in an oblique manner. In the classic way of his romance novels, he wants to say- It’s not you. It’s me. I’m the one who can’t bring myself to ask you for this. I’m the one who trusts you but can’t claw my way out of this self sustaining prison and beg you to take me apart until nothing is left but the Kakashi that is entirely yours. One day, when he’s particularly grumpy and the memories are itching angrily behind his left eye, Iruka does the asking for him. He asks with body before he asks with words, dragging his hand through Kakashi’s hair and pressing his head down against the floor where Kakashi lies next to him reading as he grades.
“Sometimes,” Iruka says, with studied calmness, “I get the feeling that there’s something you want from me you’re not getting.” Although he isn’t one to reassure false insecurities in his lovers, Kakashi can’t help but open his mouth. Iruka stops him with a gentle tug on his hair, piercing eyes looking straight through him when he gasps a little at the feeling. “Do you want me like this, Kakashi?” There is more to the question than meets the eye. An underneath the underneath, wherein they both know exactly what Iruka is asking without the words ever leaving his mouth. Do you want me to pin you down? Do you want me to take away every choice you’re agonizing over? Do you want me to make you feel small and swallow you whole, make you a part of me, take you apart?
Oh, he wants it so badly that his chest aches with it.
“Yes,” Kakashi says, the faintest tremble in his voice. Iruka nods with genial satisfaction, the small furrow between his eyebrows smoothing out as he softens his grip on Kakashi’s hair. His fingers are warm, burrowing under his headband and sliding it up. Iruka’s thumb slips over his instinctively closed eyelid, tracing the line of his orbital socket and cupping the sharp angle of his cheek.
“You want to be good for me?” Iruka asks. It is rhetorical, something that need never be said, because the proof has been there all along. There are liberties Iruka can take with his person that even his most precious friends cannot, worming his way in close enough to see the scars he hasn’t shown anyone since Minato.
“So good,” Kakashi promises, breathless with it. Iruka simply nods again, dragging Kakashi’s mask down until he is bare before him.
“Not today,” Iruka murmurs, pressing a thumb to Kakashi’s lower lip where it was split on his last mission. The faint line belies how bloody it had been, the way his opponent’s paper bomb had rattled the contents of his skull and spilt his blood with nasty shrapnel. “I have to meet with other teachers tonight about next week’s joint class exercise. But tomorrow is Friday, and I know you’re on leave this weekend. Will you join me for dinner?”
Of course, he accepts the invitation.
The first time, Iruka flays him alive with his words, his gaze, his hands.
He can acknowledge that it was merely the eye of the storm, the quiet of their dinner together. Companionable silence and the familiar weight of Iruka’s eyes on him, that wide approving grin. When he arrives at Iruka’s door with bags of takeout, the teacher is wearing only a soft, worn out black uniform shirt and pants. His bare feet and the strand of hair escaping his ponytail make him look young, younger even than his twenty four years. With steady hands, he takes the bags from Kakashi’s grip and trades him for a soft yukata, the gray one that he’d started keeping around when their relationship finally solidified into something more stable.
“You should change,” he suggests. The anticipation boiling in Kakashi’s stomach nearly makes him drop to his knees at the bare hint of an order skirting around the edge of Iruka’s tone. Kakashi grips the cotton tightly, moving towards the bathroom, but Iruka stops him in his tracks. “No,” he says gently, the tips of two fingers on Kakashi’s sternum. It’s enough to make him feel frozen, like the mask had, but this time Kakashi isn’t drowning anymore. Kakashi takes a deep breath. “Here, Kakashi. You can fold your clothes and put them on the genkan. Change, please.”
With every piece of clothing stripped off, his shoulders relax a little more. Vest off, hitai-ate off, the creeping feeling of suspicion he carries always sliding to the floor. Shoes off, shirt off, pants off, breath slowing and the muscles of his jaw untensing all at once. The yukata is as comfortable as it always is, a little piece of familiarity that he hadn’t been aware he craved, and the stark difference between his state of relative undress and Iruka’s clothes run a shiver down his spine. Iruka smiles at him- he’s struck by the realization he would do anything to keep that expression on his lover’s face- and beckons him towards the table. They sit next to each other, as they always do, and everything simply smooths out. In some way, it feels as though the world has lost its sharp edges, even though a budding anxiety is wrapping itself around Kakashi’s chest. This here, the dimly lit comfort of dinner shared on Iruka’s worn dining table, is all at once familiar and completely unknown.
After they’ve finished, and Iruka has taken all the dishes to the sink, he comes back to Kakashi with light in his eyes. A careful spin of the chair leaves him standing between Kakashi’s legs, looking down at him, and Kakashi is struck by the sudden impulse to bare his neck to Iruka like a wolf pledging allegiance to his master. He twitches towards it, lifts his chin just enough, and Iruka takes a mile for that inch Kakashi has given him. He grasps Kakashi’s jaw like it was meant to fit between his calloused fingertips, studying the bared face below him with a calculating gaze.
“You want to be good for me?” he asks, a mirror image of the night before, and Kakashi exhales heavily without meaning to, breath blowing across the back of Iruka’s hand.
“Please,” he begs, feeling himself lean unconsciously into the touch. Iruka smiles at him, a little flash of teeth, before his fingers dig into Kakashi’s skin harder.
“I know, I know,” he soothes, leaning down to press a kiss to Kakashi’s forehead, his cheeks, his nose. “You’re always good for me, pretty.” The shudder that wracks his frame might have been mistaken for a shiver borne by the environment in the apartment, but Iruka knows he’s not cold. He lets Kakashi’s jaw go, and slowly begins to slip the yukata off of him. “I put a seal on the apartment,” he says, matter-of-factly, as he unties the belt of the robe and lets it slide to the floor. “Because I want to hear your sounds, you understand? They’re all for me, when we’re in here. Like this.”
“Yes,” Kakashi murmurs, entranced by the way the cotton reveals him to his lover, still entirely clothed. To someone who has made a living off of being undetectable, he’s startlingly willing to give this to Iruka. This vulnerability, this skin, these sounds. For a moment, the old feeling of being a tool, a weapon, a blunt instrument resurfaces. But then Iruka’s fingers trail across a scar that bisects his sternum, and that feeling is drowned in a wave of lust for that one simple, intimate action.
“You know the words,” Iruka murmurs, leaning to kiss Kakashi’s shoulder as he pushes the robe entirely off, leaving him bare to the kitchen air. “Red, yellow, green. Understand me?”
“Yes, green.” Kakashi repeats. “I’m green.” When he is entirely naked, Iruka steps back, reaching a hand out for him to grasp. His lover pulls him up, presses against him, holds him when he finds himself unsteady from the sudden weightlessness swimming in his skull. Iruka pushes him towards the bedroom when he regains his balance, hands flitting over the skin of Kakashi’s scarred back. The scars are a reminder of his failures, yes, but also of his prowess. Not many shinobi live to see this many scars, nor to escape the ones that are pointedly absent. There is no trust for old men in a young man’s profession, and though they’re hardly in their mid-twenties, the fact remains that they’ve outlived enough to be suspicious to civilians. Here, Iruka can appreciate the lengths Kakashi has gone to to return to him, to his bed, to his embrace.
When they reach the bed, it is the work of instinct to push Kakashi down on it. He goes willingly, pliantly, allowing Iruka to arrange him until he’s lying with legs spread, wrists crossed above his head.
“I think,” Iruka’s palm rests over his heart, burning a hole in the skin, “that you want this, in some way, because you are desperate to be worthy of me, Kakashi.” His hand presses harder, into the space where Kakashi struggles to breathe through the knot of denial choking up his throat. “So tonight, at least, would you do something for me?”
“Anything,” Kakashi manages to say, closing his eyes against the weight of his lover’s eyes. “Anything at all.”
And he would, here. He would do it. Anything for the man lying above him, condemning him to the reality of his emotions. It is freeing, to feel them all at once, and painful in the same breath.
“Let me touch you,” Iruka asks, more than telling him, giving him the opportunity to cut his losses here and run. Kakashi feels like he’s mired in quicksand, breathing slow and steady as his every cell reaches out towards Iruka’s. “Keep your hands there, and let me touch you.” He nods, keeping his eyes closed, settling into himself. The knowledge that what he’s wanted is here, that it’s Iruka’s hands pressing his thighs apart and Iruka’s breath on his cock and the soft duvet beneath him is one he’s slept comfortably under night after night after- The first touch of Iruka’s tongue to his skin makes him arch, almost moving his hands on instinct to bury them in Iruka’s hair, but he manages to press all his tension into a single gasp and still his hands before he breaks. The soft laugh coming from just above the angle of his hip makes him open his eyes again, watching Iruka press kisses along the arch of bone, towards his navel.
“Oh, you are stunning,” Iruka breathes, baring his teeth without a hint of fear in his eyes, and then he bites into Kakashi’s pale skin with the intent to leave plum flowers blossoming behind. At the first sharp shock of teeth, he tenses, pressing into Iruka’s mouth, and then all at once going boneless- a breathless “Oh-” as heat floods his cheeks. The feral grin on Iruka’s face leaves no room for Kakashi to be embarrassed about the way his dick twitches when Iruka bites him again, again, again, until he’s writhing and sweating and pleading. It should seem a parody of gentleness, to bruise him like this, to cause him pain, but the intensity of Iruka’s teeth in his skin feels like a sweet firestorm threatening to burn him alive. When he begs for the first time, Iruka stops, pressing firm hands into his hips and holding him down like concrete, metal, stone. Dimly, he can recognize that he’s functioning on the smooth surface of the sea bottom, flat against the sand, watching the sunlight play above him through clear waters. Iruka is the sun, watching him there, touching him and coaxing him to inhale only for him to find that he could breathe underwater all along.
“Please touch me,” he pleads, and Iruka grins at him with a fox’s teeth.
“I am, baby,” he says, spreading his fingers across one of Kakashi’s pecs and capturing his nipple between cruel, wonderful digits. “Don’t worry. I’m touching you.” He digs his nails in, rolls it between his fingers, drinks in the sight of Kakashi whining and pushing up into the stimulation. It had been a joy to find out that Kakashi blushes fully down his chest, like red ink dropped in a puddle of water, spreading until he is utterly overwhelmed with color. The first time he fucked Iruka, Kakashi flushed bright pink all the way down to his navel, and Iruka remembers the overwhelming desire to bite into him, a tempting strawberry right there in his bed. Iruka rakes blunt nails down Kakashi’s chest, drinks in the twist and roll of his torso, the open whine escaping his throat. His cock is dripping against his stomach, flushed pink as his chest is, and his lips are bitten raw already.
When he grips Kakashi’s jaw and kisses him deeply, Kakashi melts into the mattress beneath them, tilting his chin up into the strong grasp, spreading open like a blooming flower. There are bruises all along his hips now, his thighs trembling a little with the effort of holding still, and Iruka can’t decide whether it would be more satisfying to wind him up until he’s tense enough to break into a million pieces, or turn him into a puddle of a man. He is a sight, a joy, a masterpiece, and a privilege all at once. No one sees Hatake Kakashi like this. No one makes him beg the way Iruka has. No one stares him down while wrapping a light grip around his cock, watching him squirm and apologize for the instinctive buck of his hips up into that touch.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Kakashi pleads, apologizes, laments, and Iruka kisses him again, pressing both hands into his thighs and spreading them wide until his body fits perfectly between them.
“Shh, shh,” he murmurs, gripping silver hair in one fist and yanking back. “What’s your color, baby? It’s okay, it’s okay. I want to make you feel good, pretty. It’s okay to feel good.”
“Green,” Kakashi manages to mumble around clumsy lips that search for skin, brushing against Iruka’s cheek in thanks. “So good, I promise, feel s’good right now.”
“Yeah?” Iruka asks him, amusement buried in his tone. He yanks harder on Kakashi’s hair, relishing in the wordless, aroused whimper the action engenders, and smooths a careful hand across Kakashi’s inner thigh. “I’m glad. I want you to feel good, Kakashi.” A firm finger trails up the underside of Kakashi’s cock, teasing at the head, and when Kakashi pushes up against it, Iruka praises him. He breathes in the seawater, drowns in the feeling of Iruka keeping him steady, and barely has to consciously remember to keep his mouth wide open when he moans at the gentle grasp of his lover’s hand around his erection. Caught between the hand holding his head back, yanking on his hair, and the hand around his cock, he writhes, strong muscles rippling with caught up tension and the burning pleasure racing up his spine. For a moment, as he reaches the inferno, it seems as though time has stopped. But then Iruka takes his hand away, and leaves him hanging on the razor sharp edge of an almost-orgasm. When he opens his mouth to beg for it, Iruka smiles again, leaning in until his words ghost across Kakashi’s raw lips. “You want to be good for me, right?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Kakashi babbles, leaning his head up, pulling his neck against Iruka’s grip on his hair, straining for the kiss that’s almost, not quite, there. “I- I’m good-”
“Hmm,” Iruka hums, yanking Kakashi’s head back flat against the mattress again before letting go. He traces a hand down Kakashi’s taxed abdominal muscles, tight and trembling with the weight of his stolen orgasm. He wants, wants, wants, wants, wants. In this space, here, he can catch the thought that it’s good for him to want. Under Iruka on this bed, Kakashi can want anything from him without consequences, without fear. There is no wrong answer, unlike when he had been questioned by ANBU commanders, or jounin councils. A deviation from the rules will not be met with pain and a cold, wilful lack of understanding. “You’re tense, pretty boy, good boy,” Iruka murmurs, wrapping his hand around Kakashi’s straining erection again. “If I let you come for me, do you think you can handle more, after that?”
“I can handle it,” Kakashi says, mindless with the pleasure of his touch. Iruka hums again, gripping him harder.
“But do you want to handle it, Kakashi?”
He has to think about it, for a moment. This soft space is already so nice, so welcoming, so warm. He feels like hot honey poured straight from the bottle, free of every memory that had been stinging at his nerves and every expectation that had felt like shackles earlier that day. Does he want more than that? Does he want to be taken further than this, tonight?
“Yes,” he decides, rolling his head back and forth to clear the thoughts from his brain once again. “Yes, please, ‘Ruka, please-”
“Okay,” Iruka grabs something from the bed, a bottle of lube that Kakashi hadn’t even noticed yet, and pours some of the cold liquid out on his stomach, using him like an object- a table, a space, and instrument. It sends a pang of arousal through him so intense that he has to close his eyes against the feeling, the knowledge that he can be unmade and reborn in Iruka’s hands. Lube-slicked fingers press against his ass, pressing in, overwhelming him even more as Iruka’s other hand tightens around his cock and starts stroking. It doesn’t take long for him to return to that place, the edge of sanity, where he begs with his body and his mouth for Iruka to please, please let him come.
When Iruka presses up unerringly with his fingers against Kakashi’s prostate and squeezes his cock mercilessly, he has to muffle his shout by biting his tongue, earning him a stern look from the other man.
“What did I say about your noises?” Iruka asks him, somehow speeding his movements even more, until Kakashi’s tossing his head back and forth and whimpering such pretty noises.
“Sorry, sorry, fuck,” Kakashi moans, entranced by the blurred sight of the strands of hair escaping Iruka’s ponytail and the red glowing on his tan cheeks, the hungry set of his eyes. All at once, it hits him, the free emotion of love for this man, and he needs- “Please, Iruka, can I- may I come, please?” he pleads, and Iruka smiles at him like a benevolent god.
“Yes,” he soothes, tightening his grip, pressing up into Kakashi’s ass and spreading him open and allowing him this beautiful thing. “Come for me, baby, that’s a good boy.” It is the praise, more than anything, that sends him over, writhing and whining and shaking against the mattress like he’d just run a marathon. “You’re so pretty, so lovely,” Iruka whispers, calming him down, pressing kisses to his open, panting mouth. They are words never said to him by safe people, by people who have no intention of hurting him. No one has ever said those words to him without wanting something in return- no one has believed his scars to be pretty, or lovely before. His head spins, the ceiling spins, his heart pounds loudly in his chest. The apartment is quiet and warm.
When he recovers enough, Iruka takes his fingers out and pushes a plug in his ass, and sucks him off, edging him again and again and again, back up to that point of begging to come. He lets Kakashi bury his hands in his hair, pulling the ponytail holder out and letting the hair fall around his beautiful face. He uses teaching hands to coax Kakashi into fucking his face, the illusion of control when both of them know very well that it’s Iruka who’s calling the shots here.
“Take your pleasure,” he tells Kakashi, curling a hand around the back of his knee and pulling it up to give his hips more leverage. “Take your reward for being mine.” And Kakashi falls easily, spun up higher and higher and higher until Iruka pulls off his cock with little effort, Kakashi’s weak hands barely holding him in place, and tells Kakashi that he wants to come first.
“Can you do that for me? Tell me your color, baby,” Iruka asks him, holding Kakashi’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Kakashi nods fervently, shaking a little with the effort of not rutting back up against his lover, sloppy and fucked out brain cells all in a line with the knowledge that he knows how to do this, he knows how to be good, he knows how to be good for Iruka . He tells Iruka that he is green- green green green as the spring. Iruka yanks at the waistband of his pants, shoving them down, evening the score between them, and Kakashi is struck by the enormity of his own need. And then his lover puts him on the floor, sits on the edge of the bed, and pulls him onto his cock with practiced ease. It is the confidence of that move that precipitates the obedience of Kakashi’s mouth falling open immediately, waiting for what he wants so dearly. It feels good to be used for Iruka’s pleasure, now- to let him fuck his mouth, to grasp at his thighs with hands that are carefully not straying towards his own cock, to feel the fingers tugging on his hair and to hear the sounds coming from Iruka’s mouth. Throaty groans and rasping words of praise, building Kakashi up and holding him in place simultaneously. Iruka comes with a gasp, a “Thank you, pretty”, a gentle thumb rubbing across Kakashi’s raw lower lip when he pulls out.
And then Kakashi comes for him a few minutes later, back where he’d started, cock down Iruka’s throat and four fingers replacing the plug in his ass.
For minutes, days, hours, weeks- he doesn’t know how long- after, Iruka holds him, wrapping him in covers and wiping him down with a wet cloth. He drinks some sweet green tea, and eats a bowl of rice, and sleeps like the dead without dreaming of them for the first time in a long while. They sit under the kotatsu the next morning, warm and cuddled together. The muddy ground feels solid once more. He leans his head against Iruka’s shoulder while they watch the sun slowly rise, breathing deeply of Iruka’s soap, the smell of their breakfast, the incense he always burns in the morning on his small altar with its faded pictures.
“You were right,” he says quietly, when Iruka puts the dishes away and returns to his open arms. “I did want that.”
“You don’t always have to know everything,” Iruka runs his fingers through Kakashi’s hair, cupping his cheek and kissing it with tea-warmed lips. “But I’m glad you know this, now.”
When Kakashi leaves to go home the next day, after Iruka has taken him apart a few more times, Iruka tells him he loves him. For once, it’s not hard for Kakashi to say the words back.
It becomes a routine, to let Iruka take him apart piece by piece and then put him back together again. It is cathartic, soothing, calming, and all at one it fills him with a will of fire that he’s never known before. Some part of him, the ANBU part, doesn’t want to admit how nice it is to submit to Iruka. The most elite ANBU of all, submitting to a schoolteacher who burns his own hands on the rice cooker once a week and has a gentle smile for everyone and yells at shinobi far above his rank all in the name of his moral code. But his father’s mask isn’t his prison anymore, so Kakashi eventually lets go and really, truly tests the bounds of those seals Iruka had put on the apartment.
He drops hard into the sweet, suffocating sea when Iruka fucks him from behind, presses his chest into the mattress but yanks his head back so that all of the desperate, pitiful noises coming from his mouth can echo around the room. He loses touch with his nerves, his limbs, his brain when Iruka ties soft rope around him and immobilizes him, keeps him still for two hours while he finishes grading, and then makes him come untouched with two fingers pressed against his prostate and a mischievous, devilish grin. He lets Iruka heal the hickies and the teeth marks if he’s going on a mission, but when he’s just doing things around town or running errands for the Hokage, Iruka bites a dark purple mark into his throat and he can’t help but touch the raw skin under the mask, feeling the cotton rub against it all day. It’s a reminder of what he has, that sanctuary in Iruka’s apartment, and the man who loves him no matter what he does outside its walls. Sometimes, Iruka pins him down and rides him, ordering him not to come until Iruka is satisfied, and the glorious sight of his flushed, scarred, tan skin and thick, muscled thighs around Kakashi’s waist is almost too much to bear.
When he goes on missions that take him away from the village, he always comes home hungry for more, and Iruka always welcomes him sweetly whether he begs to be crushed or pleads to be treated softly and kindly and gently. The weight of his knives, his swords, and his eye grows too heavy, so Iruka bites him until he bleeds and all Kakashi knows is the sweetness of that pain and the pleasure of a hot mouth around his cock. Other times, he is fragile, feels like glass held by bullish hands, so Iruka presses him gently into the mattress and covers him with kisses, fucking him until he cries silent tears into the other man’s shoulder.
It’s not until ten months later, when Iruka leaves for a week to help evaluate some civilian children living on the border of Fire Country for their chakra capabilities, that Kakashi realizes his love for the other man has become an inextricable part of his internal routine. He loves Iruka, truly and deeply, and he’s used to being the one going away and coming home again. When Iruka is the one going away from their apartment, the place they’ve now moved in together at, Kakashi realizes how much he’s been depending on Iruka to pull the stress from his body and make his waters calm again. He makes it three days out of the week before he drags the box of toys out from the closet and fucks himself, whining into a pillow, wishing his boyfriend was there. He makes it five days before he considers sending Pakkun to tell Iruka to hurry the fuck up, already. The toys get an impressive amount of use. On the seventh day, an hour before Iruka is set to get home, he impatiently pulls out one of the thicker dildos and slicks himself up, determined to be ready to get fucked as soon as his lover returns to their apartment.
The sound of the key in the lock is so loud it feels like it deafens him. It takes barely ten seconds for Iruka to realize what he’s doing in the bedroom, and the smug smile he flashes Kakashi when he rounds the corner and enters their room to see him like that on the bed is overwhelming.
“Couldn’t wait for me, hmm?” Iruka teases, crossing his arms and cocking a hip, every inch the troublemaker that lurks under his public facade. His eyes drag up and down Kakashi’s form, taking in the sweat on his brow and the wet head of his flushed erection. “Desperate, aren’t you?”
“Come on, please,” Kakashi groans, beseeches, his thighs shaking as he presses back onto the thick toy again, watching his lover stand still at the end of the bed. “Please, please, I just can’t- I’ll be good, I’ll be your good boy-” and Iruka cracks visibly, crawling onto the mattress towards him with such predatory intent that it sends a shiver of fear and arousal down his spine. He’s already wound so tightly, so close to coming, everything in him reaching out for Iruka and begging him to do something. When they’d first started fucking, Kakashi didn’t feel like such a starving man, but now he does. Iruka leaves the village for a mere week, less time than most of Kakashi’s out of country assignments, and the stress had only built up in his body until he’d found himself trying desperately to de-stress, four days ago. He’s rocking his hips back, pushing the head of the dildo against his prostate in such a way that it nearly whites out his vision, and Iruka is right there and he still isn’t touching him .
“Please, I missed you,” Kakashi repeats in a broken, breathless tone, his hips bucking up, cock slapping against his stomach and leaving a wet trail of pre-cum, and Iruka simply grins. He reaches up, wraps calloused fingers around Kakashi’s throat, and looks at him-
“Oh, pretty,” Iruka purrs, pupils dilated and cheeks turned red. “You are my good boy, aren’t you?” He punctuates his words with a gentle squeeze, and that’s all it takes for Kakashi to come, eyes clenched shut as he whimpers his way through a climax that shakes and shudders his entire body. He whines when Iruka shoves him back onto the mattress, pressing a knee between his thighs and nudging it against the base of the toy, shoving it deeper into his sensitive body and mercilessly flexing the muscle to keep it rubbing against his overstimulated prostate. His one hand is still around Kakashi’s throat, the other slipping through the come on his stomach and pressing it into Kakashi’s mouth with a fox-like grin. “Did you miss me?” Iruka asks him, knowing full well that he can’t speak around the fingers in his mouth. Kakashi simply nods, gives it up for him, hands grasping at Iruka’s shirt to pull him closer, closer, closer. He’s helpless to stop the squirming of his hips against the overstimulation, his cock twitching against the rough material of Iruka’s pants, but it’s not enough.
“Fuck me,” he says breathlessly, when Iruka’s fingers finally leave his mouth. “Please, please, fuck me.” His lover looks at him with skepticism, legs spreading against his inner thighs to splay him wide, and runs a soft finger around the stretched rim of his ass.
“How many times have you come on that thing since I’ve been gone?” Iruka asks him gently, scraping his nails along the soft skin just below Kakashi’s navel, watching the muscles tense and relax at the ticklish sensation. Kakashi arches his back, hooks his ankles together behind Iruka’s back, and grins a loose, sloppy grin that belies his sordid activities.
“Don’t know,” he practically slurs, purring with the pleasure of his lover’s touch, sinking him deeper into that sweet, warm space he loves so much. “Don’t really care, either. Just want you in me, ‘Ruka.”
“Green, baby?” Iruka asks him, unbuckling his pants and hitching up Kakashi’s hips.
“So green,” Kakashi groans, and then he uses his legs to pull Iruka towards, until his cock pushes in and with a snap of his hips, he’s fucking Kakashi just as hard as he’s been wanting all week long. It’s too soon and he’s too exhausted to come again, but the feeling of Iruka taking his pleasure from Kakashi, using him and splitting him apart, has him feeling lightheaded, high on the proximity. Iruka comes in him, panting and kissing him with shared desperation, and they lie there locked together for long enough that he almost thinks he’ll slip off into sleep.
“I missed you too,” Iruka murmurs, against the line of his jaw.
It is here, in these arms, that the Hound is content.