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“Please Iruka, after everything we’ve been through together. You can’t do this.”
“I’m sorry Kakashi.”
“I’m begging you. Don’t do it.”
“It has to be done.”
There wasn’t a definitive moment, one standing-out encounter, or an ending-it-all type of heartbeat that just yelled ‘It’s happened’. There was none of that. It was gradual, slow, and glaringly obvious even if he was pathetically oblivious to it all. Not that he could be blamed for not noticing (or more like ignoring). He was an experienced jōnin, a master of a thousand jutsus, a soldier since he was a child; his skillset laid elsewhere. Definitely not in emotional intelligence or people skills. In the eyes of the village—even his own eyes—he was a well-honed weapon of destruction, not a well-functioning human being.
It started small. One joint mission that went south faster than he could spell ‘chidori’, almost resulting in his death. It was sheer luck that he managed to get there in time, shielding his stubborn subordinate-of-a-chūnin who was adamant on seeing a child instead of what was, realistically, a war soldier; young, maybe disconcertingly so, but still an enemy. Yet not for him. Never for him.
Then there was his-not-so-subtle advice about teaching Naruto and seeing who the boy truly was instead of what he carried inside his body unwillingly. He did well, he supposed, considering that the effect of the words was showing not long after that short, but meaningful conversation. It turned out that the chūnin sensei was ready to protect with his life the same student that just some time ago caused him grief and heartache with his presence. He really didn’t doubt that the man, a life-like embodiment of Will of Fire, will save his student. Nevertheless, he came to the rescue in the woods behind Konoha’s wall, making sure Naruto and his headstrong teacher came back safely. It felt somehow right—needed—to make sure both of them returned safe and sound. Considering the close call with the shuriken, it was warranted in the jōnin’s opinion. And if he did a double check on the sensei after the enemy nin were captured and escorted back to the village, it was only for him to know.
It kind of snowballed from there.
He bumped in on them both at Ichiraku one time, after a two-month-long mission that took him to the other side of the continent. He was starving and exhausted and too out of it after running for so long to contemplate choosing something more elaborate to eat, or cooking from scratch himself. So, ramen it was. Yet… it didn’t go as planned. Not at all. Instead of a quick take-out meal to eat in the silence of his small jōnin apartment, he got seated next to the other man. Instead of just satisfying his basic needs away from prying eyes—away from the bouncing, yellow ball of energy and the ever-smiling sunshine-of-a-man—he just allowed himself to be invited for a meal. He still wasn’t sure how it happened that he stayed at Ichiraku. But that didn’t really matter. Nor did the meal itself; it was somehow remarkably bland compared to his usual experience at the famed ramen joint. Why though, he didn’t know; or rather didn’t dare to entertain the possibility of ‘why’ and the real cause of it. Because the fact that the craved meal didn’t matter enough to register in the muddled brain of his, but a face with the blinding smile did, was a telltale sign in and of itself.
And suddenly it was a more than one-time, foggy-on-the-mind accident. It smoothly gave way to occasional dinners with Naruto and the warm-skinned, hot-headed chūnin. Whenever he returned from another long-term mission—from another bone-deep, exhausting assignment that took him away from home for far too long—he somehow found his way to Ichiraku. He wouldn’t dare to think why he did that. He didn’t even like ramen so much. It was greasy and heavy and just not that healthy. And yet… He would check the famous restaurant and sit and wait, not rushing the meal, looking outside the bar area, searching for anything, something; this thing that made him feel restless and uneasy and so, so weird all of a sudden.
When, in the end, it turned out that he would take a genin team (who would have thought that he was a good genin-sensei material? Not him. Not anyone. Well… maybe someone…?) it only felt natural to have a meeting with their former academy sensei. He wanted to learn more about his new charges, their strengths and weaknesses, what to look out for, how to be an actual sensei to the fragile kids that were nowhere near his usual subordinates—blood-soaked ANBU, who learned how to kill before they knew how to kiss. And if it happened at the sensei’s apartment and was filled with plenty of freshly brewed tea and topics that exceeded just those of his genins, it was just a pleasant bonus. And if those tea evenings somehow continued as Team 7’s post-mission ritual, it was just an additional perk for the usually exasperated jōnin (who could blame him when he was charged with the three demons in the bodies of 12-year-olds?). After all, what was wrong with spending an evening with the chūnin that filled the usual silence with his stories, laughter and smiles that made him feel warm inside, almost alive for the first time in forever?
What was bewildering for the jōnin was that the tea evenings and occasional ramen dinners continued after the team 7 disbanded when the sensei had no real reason to continue indulging him. After all, the only thing that bonded them together—Team 7, and the boundless presence of Naruto—was no longer there. And yet the chūnin welcomed the jōnin with open arms and an easy smile every single time, as if nothing had changed. And for that the older man was grateful. When everything seemed to go wrong, stability in the form of a reliable, warm and never-boring sensei was much needed.
And then things started to change. If not in an obvious way, then in a way that he looked at the other man. In how much he needed his presence after a particularly gruesome mission or when the ghosts and demons moved to the mortal plane to hunt him both day and night. Things changed, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to admit it to himself. If he was ready to even voice it in the confines of his own mind. But not acknowledging it didn’t change the truth; the truth that judgingly stared back at him.
It shouldn’t be surprising that the kind man noticed. If not Kakashi’s awkwardness and social helplessness around him, then the dark circles under his exposed eye, or the even bigger slouch to his posture, or just his overall absence (or rather the hours spent by the Memorial Stone). It also shouldn’t be surprising that the compassionate chūnin was subtle in the way he extended his helping hand. He really didn’t change much, still inviting the team-less jōnin-sensei for afternoon meals or evening teas. They still talked—or rather, the academy sensei did, and the silver-haired man listened with rapt attention, the usual bored look nowhere to be found on his masked face—or enjoyed a quiet walk to the Ichiraku, when there was no need to fill the comfortable silence.
What changed was subtle; like the new restaurant the chūnin took him to, since he remembered that jōnin’s tastes laid in milder flavours than ramen; or the peaceful reading time when the sensei graded student’s papers and the other man occupied the couch to read his own book; or when instead of talking they filled the evening with rounds of shoji or other games they had on hand. It was simple, it was pleasant, and, most importantly, it wasn’t lonely. If the jōnin squeezed the other man’s shoulder a little bit tighter as they said their goodbyes, pouring every ounce of gratitude in that simple gesture, he hoped the smiling, beautifully blushing man would understand that.
And then it happened. A moment that changed everything, both for them and between them.
The Pain’s attack, the whole village flattened and decimated, lives lost and then returned. The loss and the win. Kakashi’s death.
It shifted the reality, made every moment count even more, every shared story so much more intimate, every little touch taking the breath away.
After that, there was no denying it, and yet they continued as they were. The not-exactly-dates; the work-and-read quiet time in the chūnin’s apartment; the occasional late-night drink, when the shadow of the looming war and the losses were too great to carry it without liquid courage.
That must have been what got him. That one sake cup too much; the lowering of his inhibitions, allowing his sharp mind to just settle for one moment too long.
And so, in the haze of his tipsy mind, he did not see that coming.
He watched with his eyes comically wide (even if one was still hidden behind his hitai-ate), blindsided and confused. It was beyond his comprehension how he of all people, a genius and a prodigy, could allow it to happen. As if in slow motion, he watched Iruka—no more smiling or drunkenly blushing—move, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
His heart thrummed like it did when facing the enemy, who had just outsmarted him, saw underneath the underneath and now Kakashi was facing another failure. The sweat trickled down the back of his neck, the distinctive sensation sending even more tension into his already taut body.
“Please Iruka, after everything we’ve been through together. You can’t do this,” he rasped, as if it could stop the inevitable.
“I’m sorry Kakashi,” Iruka said in response, an almost guilty look on his face. As if he was truly remorseful that he will ruin whatever that was between them, built over the years, in one single moment.
Kakashi couldn’t allow it. He just simply couldn’t. He had to do something, but all he could do was scream in his mind, his body rooted in place, only his eyes following the confident movement of the tanned hand. In the last desperate attempt, he pleaded, undignified, so unlike the feared Copy Nin, “I’m begging you. Don’t do it.”
“It has to be done.”
They watched each other for just a heartbeat, but it could be an eternity. Dark-grey eye gazing intensely into two molten chocolate depths, getting lost in this final moment.
And then.
The bronzed lips quirked upwards. The smouldering fire burned in the eyes so bright it blinded. The hand slammed onto the table in between them, throwing the empty sake cups off to the ground.
“Uno.”
The word was like a declaration of victory—confident and proud—almost teasing as much as the smirk on the plump lips was. It would be glorious to observe if not for a fact that Kakashi was on the other side of the barricade, ingloriously defeated.
Ready to collect an additional four cards for his hand and thus becoming the looser of the night.
It was truly pathetic to be defeated in such a simple card game while being the famed shinobi, a master strategist and a supposed genius of everything he touched. And yet, here he was, a sore looser. Kakashi would be—no, he was—pouting underneath his mask, pitiful despair so clearly visible in his glazed-over eye.
“You’re cruel, sensei,” Kakashi whined, still refusing to take the four cards he was supposed to.
“And you’re a sore looser. And an amateur,” Iruka scoffed, cocking his eyebrow while eyeing Kakashi’s hand and the cards’ pile. “Now draw four.”
“Not fair…,” he grumbled but reached for the pile half-heartedly. “What’s the point, anyway?”
“The point is me,” Iruka smirked handsomely and placed his one last card on the top of the pile, “winning fair and square jōnin-san.”
Kakashi would pout and whine some more if not for the fact that he was transfixed by Iruka’s happy, victorious expression that could light up the night with its brightness. The gleaming-in-the-dim-light chocolate eyes, the upturn of full lips, the excited blush on tan cheeks; it was mesmerising, Kakashi couldn’t look away. His loss went forgotten when faced with such a beautiful sight. If he knew winning a simple card game would bring about such exquisite joy, Kakashi would make sure he lost a long time ago. Suddenly it was worth the wounded pride.
For a moment, he was so lost in it, that Hatake didn’t notice that his opponent had managed to clean up their make-shift gaming table and was already heading to the kitchen with empty cups. Only when the warm voice reached his ears from the other room did Kakashi snap out of his stupor.
“Don’t give me the sad dog eyes Kakashi. It was you who wanted to try this new game while drunk. And I must say it’s pretty nice to play.”
“You’re only saying this because you won,” the silver-haired man answered half-heartedly while standing up and making his way to the kitchen, where Iruka was busing himself.
“I am. And?” Umino glanced over his shoulder, with a wide, unapologetic grin at the jōnin leaning against the wall. Then he turned back around to finish washing the cups. “Just let me have this one. It’s not like I win all the time. It was like, what? My first? Maybe the second time I bested you?”
“Third.”
Kakashi could swear Iruka rolled his eyes at his whiny tone and the gall to even complain about it. He couldn’t blame the chūnin, but he definitely could react as he pleased. It was his prerogative to take his loss as he did and—
“And you’re pouting again.”
“‘Am not.”
Kakashi cringed inwardly at his own tone of voice. Yeah, he was definitely pouting. How embarrassing.
“Yes, you are,” Iruka corrected him and—a little too aggressively—wiped his hands in the tea towel hanging on the rack, before turning towards the slouching, borderline-bored-looking jōnin. (As if that could hide his pouting. It couldn’t. Iruka could see through that shit.). “But fine. If it’s so hard to admit defeat, let me make it up to you, you sore looser.”
Curiously, the taller man watched from the entrance as the teacher busied himself around the kitchen, taking seemingly random objects and reaching into cupboards. One of the things that the other man wanted to get was high above the counter, and when Iruka reached for it—standing on his tippy-toes, elongating that toned, acrobatic body of his, pulling, stretching, rippling the muscles, the shirt riding up, up, up—it slipped his hand, crashing down on the ground.
The glass jar broke into a million pieces, spilling its contents on the ground and sending different-sized shards all over the floor. Iruka cursed under his breath, exasperation marring his features. Before he could say another word—like a lightning he was known for—Kakashi crouched and started to help clean up the mess. He kept close to the cupboards while Iruka started picking up the glass pieces that fell further away.
It was relatively silent work, until it wasn’t.
“Ah, shit!”
Kakashi turned his head so fast, he could get a whiplash. But all that paled in the face of… the revelation in front of him. He was expecting everything; Iruka with cut hands, or a glass shard in his foot, or anything remotely close to that. But he did not expect to be inches away from Iruka’s raised ass.
As it was, the chūnin was on his knees, halfway under the table, bent and his round, so fucking plump ass stuck out as if he was presenting it to the dry-mouthed audience. It took way too long for Kakashi to kickstart his brain, that did in fact short-circuit for a moment there.
Slowly, as if he was facing an unstable enemy, Kakashi leaned away, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt right about now. “Sensei…?”
As if on cue, Iruka groaned, still in the same position. Whatever he was doing under the table, Kakashi couldn’t tell with the taut, sinful muscles obstructing his view. Not that he minded. Not at all.
“Gods, now I will have to suck it clean.”
Kakashi paled and blushed all at the same time. All the blood rushing down, so far down he felt dizzy, while his mind conjured the most debouched, sinful visual it could muster in the current situation (as if that was difficult). He could feel dust in his perched mouth, and his voice came out a horse whisper. “Ummm… w-wha—?”
“For Kami’s sake, I am so stiff. Lend me a helping hand, will you Kakashi?”
The reality seemed to slow down at that moment. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the alcohol consumed earlier—although he felt far too sober for whatever was happening—or because his blood refused to fuel his brain cells any longer. Either way, in that terrifyingly long second, Kakashi wasn’t sure if he was dreaming, or if he was hallucinating or if Iruka really said all those things in most casually-sensual voice while presenting his ass to Kakashi. It didn’t matter. Not to his mind flashing him with sensei’s exquisite body bent, taking it all in and writhing underneath him, or sucking him clean while on his knees, or just his warm palm taking them both and squeezing just right, stroking up and down. And it definitely didn’t matter to his cock, which was stirring in his boxers, swelling way too fast for his liking.
“All saints above, have mercy,” the jōnin muttered to himself, his mind in the gutter. So, so far gone. There was no salvation for him, he was completely screwed and even Hell wouldn’t want to take him in.
It must have taken him considerably longer than just a moment to compose himself because Iruka started to shift from under the table, groaning (why did it sound so sinful? It had no right sounding so sinful!). He sat back on his legs, butt to heels, rubbing his back with one hand and sucking the thumb of the other.
Ah. A stiff back and cut, bloody finger. Well…
“Kakashi?” Iruka looked at the other man with a furrowed brow, his voice muffled by the thumb in his mouth.
“Y-yeah?” The jōnin blinked a few times, trying not to stare at the tongue, sticking out from the slightly parted lips, swiping at the finger, lapping the tip of it—
“You alright?”
“Peachy,” he ground out.
Iruka gave him a confused look, but didn’t say anything, and Hatake could only thank havens that he didn’t. Kakashi would die if he had to face any more embarrassment over his terribly horny brain and body, doing such a number on him simply because he saw a nice ass. It was the best ass in the village really, but still; Kakashi was a shinobi, a master of control. He couldn’t pop a random boner because someone bent in just the right angle. Right? Right!?
Iruka, oblivious to Kakashi’s inner struggle, continued to move around the kitchen, returning to the abandoned task. He didn’t bother to see if the jōnin got up from the floor or not, as he returned to his chatter, “So, about that ‘making it up to you’ thing. How do you feel about -bj? I was told I’m pretty good at it. It’s hard to fuck it up, but still—“ Iruka turned around and stopped mid-sentence, seeing Kakashi bracing himself on the chair, halfway towards standing. The silver-haired man looked almost sick; pale, panting and sweaty. “Kakashi, are you sure you’re alright?”
“Hngh,” was all Kakashi could realistically respond at that exact moment, trying not to go weak in the knees at the impromptu proposition. It made his head spin. Did Iruka, really, like really, offer him a blowjob? It couldn’t be. He must have misheard it. Somehow. Some way. Although considering how that evening went until now, nothing seemed impossible.
“Okay…,” Iruka looked at him funny, or maybe with pity-worry. One thing was sure: the chūnin didn’t buy his mumbled assurance, or whatever the sound Kakashi made meant. “So do you want the sandwich?”
“The… sandwich?” Kakashi repeated faintly.
“Yes, the sandwich. Do you even listen to me? Are you really that drunk?” Iruka looked the other man over with what could only be described as an aggrieved worry; hand on his hips but something softer dancing in his eyes. “Do you want a peanut butter and jam sandwich or not?”
It was either a cruel joke or just the worst hangover dream. Either way, Kakashi was on his merry way to the afterlife, one way or another, as he took in what Iruka said. Or, considering the circumstances, he could already be dead and entertaining his own personal hell.
Straightening up with considerable difficulty (Were his legs shaking? Why were they shaking?), Kakashi shook his head, swallowing hard in the hope of getting rid of a desert that made a permanent appearance in his mouth. “N-no… thanks. I’m not that hungry…”
“Okay…” Clearly unconvinced by whatever he saw, the teacher gave Kakashi a final glance and shrugged. Turning back to the counter and fridge, he started chatting again. “I’ll have one though. The best part about pbj is how sticky it is in the mouth, you know? It’s hard to swallow but the taste is so worth it.”
The image of Iruka’s mouth covered in sticky, hard-to-swallow mess—his mess preferably—flashed before Kakashi’s eyes. Somehow, it changed and mixed with the equally enticing picture of Iruka enjoying his fucking sandwich as if it was what got him going. That tongue swirling around the jam, licking it off, before sinking his teeth into the bread, the peanut spread covering the inside of his mouth that Kakashi could lick off—
Apparently, for Hatake’s debouched and perverted mind, that was great porn material. A fucking peanut butter and jam sandwich of all things.
Any more of it and Kakashi would combust, here and there. This was getting ridiculous, and it didn’t help his growing problem. Not one bit. On the contrary. Iruka had to be stopped one way or another before the horny—like a teenager who discovered porn for the first time—man would start leaking through his boxers and cargo pants.
“Iruka…”
“Yes?” The younger man turned around, a spoon of peanut butter in his mouth being licked clean as he spoke.
For fuck’s sake, have mercy!
Forcing his lungs to take slow, deep breaths, Hatake directed his attention firmly on Iruka’s eyes. Only his eyes, that were so innocent in their sincerity and affection.
For a moment, the jōnin hesitated, unsure if he should be open or direct the other man’s attention elsewhere. Those chocolate eyes looked at him expectantly, earnest and kind, and it made him throw caution to the wind. Kakashi had enough for one night. So here goes nothing.
“Are you sure you’re talking only about a sandwich?”
“What else would I be talking about?” Iruka frowned, clearly confused by the seemingly random question. The spoon still in his mouth, mind you.
For some reason, feeling dejected by the obliviousness of the academy teacher, Kakashi shrugged, and shifted his stance a little to relieve himself. “Maa.. nothing.”
With his eyes trained on The Copy Nin, Iruka trailed the other’s body movement and soon his eyes started to go down and down until they stopped. Right on the jut of his bulge, taking in the mouth-watering sight in its full glory.
“Oh. Oh.” Iruka gasped and lost control over his faculties, the spoon falling out of his slack mouth to the ground with a loud clank.
The sound made Iruka regain his senses and he snapped his eyes back at Kakashi, who was definitely blushing over his mask and looking everywhere else than at the chūnin. In an instant, the tan cheeks became dusted in not so subtle red, going as far down as the neck and hidden torso. A look of mild panic and embarrassment crossed Umino’s face before settling on concern, of all things.
“Shit, sorry, I—" Iruka rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to look down. “Okay. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Not helping,” Kakashi groaned faintly, not sure if it was his poor attempt at humour to alleviate the tension or a testament to how desperate he felt.
“Well, to be fair I— it could be both…”
Kakashi snapped his eyes back at the tan man in an instant. There was a fire blazing in the one uncovered grey that searched the other’s face. “Iruka… Don’t say anything you don’t mean.”
Something changed at that exact moment.
Iruka’s blush was still there, albeit faint—just a light dusting of pink over a scarred nose and cheeks—but the intensity in his chocolate orbs matched the one reflected in a single eye in front of him. He straightened, his arms crossing over his chest in a challenge, as he tipped his head forward and cocked an eyebrow.
“I mean it,” he said confidently, and then smirked slyly. “I promised you a pick-me-up after all.”
If Kakashi wanted to react, he was too stunned to do so. Frozen and unmoving, he watched as Iruka strutted, moving closer and then placed his open palm on the jōnin’s chest. With the grace of a cat, he traced his hand lower up to the belt, where he circled the now definitely leaking, hard flesh and went down the outer side of the leg until his own knees hit the kitchen floor.
“Would that do?” Iruka asked, looking up at the silver-haired man from under his long lashes.
If that was a dream, Kakashi didn’t want to wake up. If that was his hell, let him burn until there is nothing left.
He couldn’t tear away his gaze from Iruka, who so sensually propositioned him for real this time. That confidence, the simplicity of the act, and the fire that was blazing in his eyes was now slowly consuming Kakashi; it was too much and not enough. On his knees, with a few loose chestnut strands framing his beautiful face, Iruka was a vision. Everyone’s perfection of a wet dream.
“Fuck,” Kakashi groaned and raised his trembling hand, dragging it over his face as if that could dispel the enticing mirage in front of him. It didn’t. “Sensei…”
“Yes?”
Lord Almighty have mercy on me, Hatake wanted to say as he watched that sinful mouth shape into an innocent, yet taunting smile.
“Are you sure? I don’t— please don’t tease me,” Kakashi practically begged, too high-strung from everything happening so fast.
With unmatched intensity, the chūnin nodded, the smile turning into assurance for a brief moment. “I’m where I want to be, Kakashi. If you’ll have me.”
The whole of the air left the standing man’s lungs, leaving him breathless and gasping. Like in a vacuum, everything went dead silent. The only thing that mattered at that single moment was the kneeling angel of death who just sealed Kakashi’s faith with his sinful lips that dared to speak those words.
And then…
The reality resumed abruptly; Kakashi could breathe again, and he moaned frantically, “Yes, fuck, yes.” If it wasn’t for Iruka’s hands wrapped around his thighs (when did they get there?) he would have fallen. But as he continued to stand, the jōnin prayed to that angle of his in a reverent, horse whisper, “Please Iruka. I’ll have you. I’ll have you if you’ll have me.”
It was all that Iruka needed and Kakashi watched—breathless, unmoving and utterly captivated—as those tan fingers reached for the hem of his pants, and slowly unzipped them. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Or at least it felt like it when that angel of a chūnin took his sweet time, savouring every single movement, every single touch, every breath that escaped Kakashi’s overworked lungs.
When finally the pants went down, along with his black boxer briefs, his hard, very eager cock sprung forth and it gave Iruka pause. His eyes went wide, almost impossibly blown-out at the sight in front of him.
Kakashi knew he was… gifted. But that reaction, the unconscious licking of Iruka’s lips as he took in Kakashi’s thick, long cock? It did things to him, alright. If he could get any more stiff, he would with that intense expression alone.
The positive shock tapered off and instantly switched into hunger. The previous ‘taking-time’ lost its relevance and got replaced by a frenzied desire overtaking Iruka, who didn’t waste time. Not any more. His mouth parted open, his hand wrapped around the base as he guided that veiny dick into his waiting mouth. At first, he gave a tentative lick to the ruddy, swollen head—tasting the beads of pre-cum that glistened invitingly—but not because he was unsure. Far from it. Iruka wanted to relish the taste and the way Kakashi felt himself stiffen, hands trying to find support in the table behind him.
It was all he could do, really. Try to hold on that is, when the kneeling sensei was looking up at him and taking in as much of Kakashi’s cock as he could at first; the wet heat enveloped him whole. That usually temperamental and loud mouth was now stuffed with a thick cock, stretching around the grith beautifully. And then he started moving.
At that moment, the famously composed and aloof jōnin lost it completely.
Kakashi watched as Iruka started to bob his head, sucking in and licking the hot flesh like it was a popsicle on a hot summer's day; thick, impossibly long and hard popsicle, but a treat nonetheless. His eyelids dropped to half-mast, overcome with the sensation of that sinful tongue swirling around his cockhead, pushing it into the slit and then sucking hard. It was clear as day that Iruka disn’t play, and he intended to bring Kakashi to completion (or his death more like it) impossibly fast as he wrapped his lips around the head, pulled back with puckered lips and lewd, popping noise just to kiss down the length of his cock. It felt like worship, especially when Iruka looked like he enjoyed it with the appreciative humming and the way he didn’t care for the mess on his lips and chin.
It was a vision. Umino Iruka with flushed cheeks, tangled hair, saliva and pre-cum dripping down his swollen, glistening mouth as he opened wider to accommodate more of Kakashi’s cock. As if that wasn’t enough, he reached for his ponytail and took off the hairband. The chestnut locks framed his face like a picture of debauchery and Kakashi couldn’t help himself—it was involuntary really—as he pulled back his hitai-ate up, revealing his Sharingan. He knew it’s dumb; the chakra drain on his reserves far too big for the simple act of watching, but it didn’t matter. He would watch with his Sharingan open if it was the last thing he did. It was worth it—the sight of Iruka taking his cock so eagerly, making a mess out of himself for him—even if he would feel the chakra exhaustion later.
Iruka noticed the red, spinning eye, observing him intensely, but he didn’t react with disgust or fear or even the ingrained flinching that people did when faced with the famous dōjutsu. Instead, he moaned with the throbbing flesh inside his mouth (and that made Kakashi groan, because fuck, that vibration was to die for) and grabbed the other man’s hand, that at this point was squeezing the life out of the table, and brought it to his head.
The invitation was clear. There was no way he didn’t mean what Kakashi thought he meant. But he was still somewhat hesitant when he grabbed a fistful of brown, long strands, as if any of his movements could dispel that perfect dream. It didn’t. What was more, it made Iruka moan once more, his eyes closing fully when Kakashi tugged.
That was all it took. Kakashi started moving, controlling the pace and the way Iruka’s mouth was taking his cock. In and out, deep, deeper, until he hit that sweet spot—the back of chūnin’s throat that tightened and constricted on reflex—face fucking him right there in the sensei’s kitchen. For a fleeting moment, the silver-haired man considered if it wasn't too much, but the whimpers, god the whimpers Iruka made affirmed that this was, in fact, what they both wanted.
Kakashi watched Iruka from above him, recording every single twitch of that lips around his cock, the slide into the eager, wet mouth as he snaped his hips. The thrusts became more desperate, more uncontrolled; Kakashi could feel his balls tightening, his cock throbbing as he hit the back of the other man’s throat. And, fuck, Iruka barley even gagged as he fucked his mouth. He just moaned, the sounds more wild and frenzied the more the jōnin tugged and pulled at the hair.
The saliva was stretching between Iruka’s lips and Kakashi’s head as he pulled away, not sure how long he could manage looking at the man below him sucking him so well. It proved way too much for the desperate man.
When the leaking cock left the chūnin’s mouth, Iruka made a whiny, pitiful noise and opened his teary eyes to look at Kakashi with what could only be described as pouty disappointment. The jōnin fought with himself, dreaming of nothing else than allowing Iruka to take him back into his mouth, but he also knew that if he would allow that, he would cum in five seconds flat. So he forced himself to slow down, pull away and bring Iruka to his feet.
For a moment, they looked at each other, assessing the state of one another, and Kakashi took in the sight in front of him, what he did to the sensei and he could feel his cock twitch. Those plump lips—even more swollen after the rough treatment of his thick cock stretching that mouth impossibly wide—glistening with pre-cum and saliva and all that mess captivated him; recorded in his mind forever.
“I can’t believe my cock got to taste your lips first,” Kakashi blurted out, clearly still dazed after that amazing impromptu blowjob.
Iruka licked his lips, swallowing what he could taste, and smiled. “We could remedy that. If you’d like?”
It wasn't subtle, the way Iruka left choice to him, but it was thoughtful—kind—just like the sensei always was.
Kakashi didn’t need more encouragement. The chūnin just sucked the life out of his cock, for kami’s sake. What could be more shocking than that? So Hatake lowered his mask slowly, and smiled unsurely—his two fangs sticking out over his lower lip, like they sometimes did. He knew he has quite… impressive canines for a human—a bit of an insecurity of his if he has one when it came to his body—but he hoped that it wouldn’t change anything.
It didn’t, of course. Because the next thing he knew Iruka was kissing him, his tongue swiping over his fangs like it was another treat for him. It was as if the chūnin could only breath Kakashi’s air and was trying to suck it out of him. It was desperate, needy and so arousing that Kakashi parted his mouth right away. He could taste himself on the sensei’s lips, but he didn’t mind. Not at all.
And then Iruka pushed his tongue inside and Kakashi was so unprepared he just moaned into the kiss and got reminded about his, still very hard, cock now squished between their bodies, and what Hatake was sure was equally stiff flesh still hidden in Iruka’s pants.
“Sensei… Maybe we should move it somewhere… more comfortable?” he proposed in the small space between them.
“I think we should,” Iruka agreed and grinned. “You got your ‘pick me up’. Now it’s time for winners reward.”
Kakashi swallowed hard, but didn’t protest as he got pulled into the bedroom.