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Wednesday, April 29, 2009


Warnings: violence, death, masturbation, voyeurism, implied sex.

Minato, 25; Genma, 18; Kakashi, 15


by vernajast

(hope, comfort, love)

When Kakashi returns home from yet another S-ranked mission in yet another foreign country, he expects to be greeted as always. Craves it, though he would never admit that, even to himself. (He's not allowed to need or crave or even want, they're weakness to be exploited. Obito wanted. Rin wanted.)

Instead of a familiar blond head bowed over the Hokage's desk, signing and stamping and miming the bureaucrat, he finds Shiranui lounging on the couch. (Blood red like the carpet; it hides the stains when an injured young jounin comes tumbling through the window, though it hasn't happened like that in ages.)

"Yo. He'll be back. He got called away about an hour ago."

A fine silver brow shifts up behind Kakashi's hitai-ate and he asks, but makes it a statement because his mouth is already forming the question before he decides to remain silent, "He left you alone in his office."

"Yeah, well, we're supposed to go out later, and it was easier than sending me home. After all, Ichiraku is on this side of town."

The way Shiranui flicks the senbon in his mouth from one side to the other is infuriating, but in the same tolerable manner as a fly buzzing at a sealed window or a drip of water in a wall. The water will eventually cause the wall to swell, and perhaps it will burst. The fly will leave a dry black corpse on the sill by morning. And Shiranui?

Sensei is, always, a bright light in the dimness of everything. "Kakashi-kun! Welcome back. How was your mission?" The smile as he crosses the room is wrong; it isn't for him, and Kakashi glares at Shiranui, who has stolen Sensei's smile, his couch, his trust.

With a stiffness that obviously sets the blond on edge with suspicion, Kakashi replies quietly, "Mission complete, Yondaime-sama," and wonders if he's ever addressed his mentor by his formal title.

"Kakashi." Sharp blue eyes read the reasons through his skin, always able to see through him, and the blond head bows slightly. He's standing close enough to Shiranui that the older teenager's extended hand reaches out and slips into Sensei's and he lets it, and Kakashi's crawling out the window before ten-count. The hand in Sensei's hurts, whether making a claim or offering comfort. (The first Kakashi knows all about, while the last is a mystery he's never cared to explore.)

He doesn't think they'll follow him, and he's right.

It isn't until, hours later, that Sensei finds the near-sixteen-year-old and tries to explain. But he smells of sweat and smells of ramen and—Kakashi looks to Pakkun, who stands off to the side and gives a short doggish nod—and smells of sex. He can't be taken seriously.

But, neither can Kakashi. He isn't angry that Sensei has been distracted lately. It's only that he wanted to be the distraction. (There's that want again, persistent like an itch on the roof of his mouth, and it's his own fault Obito's not here to double-fist scratch it like always. Before.)

He lies through the mask and sends the blond away, aware that he's fooled no one.

Later, Kakashi is perched on a windowsill across the village in an unfamiliar apartment complex, listening to their soft sighs—Genma!—and muffled, drawn out moans—Min!. He bites his lip to hold his own ecstatic groan inside when first Sensei comes, and then himself. (And, gods, who knew the man could be so damned beautiful with his head thrown back and his lips panting someone else's name?)

When he looks up again, soft, watery blue eyes are watching the window. Sensei's expression languid in the after, with Shiranui's arms around his chest and his teenage lover's senbon clenched between his own teeth.

The next day, Kakashi's presence at the window goes unmentioned, though there is a lingering look in Sensei's eye that makes it obvious he has disappointed the man. The silver haired slip of a boy makes a vow to train harder, perfect the art of moving through shadows in a way the Nara have never dreamed. Somewhere lurking in his mind is the hopeful suspicion that he can be good enough one day. (Hope is something with which Kakashi has even less experience than comfort, otherwise he might have understood that it was hopeless, early on.)

(Or, perhaps, he does understand as he counts Shiranui's gurgling breaths. His slit throat gapes and grins, and Kakashi wonders if Sensei will have room in his heart for him now.)

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