Chapter Six: Disease
He'd forgotten how extremely cold Snow Country was. Oh, sure, someone said 'Snow Country' and it conjured images of white frosty ground covered in mounds of fluffy snow. It left out, however, the biting wind that whipped said snow into a person's eyes until they couldn't see. It didn't remind anyone of the way the breath was stolen from your very lungs, your throat drying out until you started to cough so much it hurt. The way your toes and fingers froze, and how if you wore too many socks to try and keep them warm it just cut off blood flow so that your toes froze even worse. How your teeth got cold, stinging through your jaw. How if you wrapped your scarf around the bottom of your face it made your skin moist, so that when wind hit a bit of flesh it didn't just dry, but iced, and the next thing you knew your face was raw and chapped. How if you didn't cover your face with your scarf you couldn't hardly breathe, and your lips dried out until they cracked and bled.
Iruka *hated* Snow Country. He knew that now. He understood that saying 'Konoha gets cold in the winter' was *nothing* like saying 'Snow Country gets cold in the winter.' He knew it bone-deep, and he would never ever again do whatever it was he'd done in a past life that had cursed him so badly in this one.
He must have been someone who talked at the theater. It was the only explanation.
He staggered into his apartment building, sweating profusely under his coat and yet still shivering with remembered chill. His bones ached and his muscles were sore from shaking. His nose would *not* stop running, and his thoughts were starting to get loopy. Even his stomach was quivering, had been for hours, and all he wanted was to get home so he could vomit peacefully in his toilet instead of the gutter.
He opened his door and squinted at the light. Light?
"Yo."
His heart fell. "Oh, gods," he whimpered. "If you're going to kill me, please just do it quickly."
"Why Iruka-Sensei," there was that curse again, "what makes you think I'd want to kill you?" The words were practically purred. Danger! every instinct Iruka had screamed. Sadly, it was muffled by the building headache.
"Look, you have every right to want my head after I made you change the swamp," Iruka said, too tired to defend himself. "But please just let me into my bathroom first."
Kakashi unfolded from his couch, tucking away the ugly orange book. "Why? Need to shower?" He was standing in the way. Hell, Kakashi could have been across the room and he still would have been able to block in the way. Iruka wanted to cry.
Something worse than someone who talked at the theater. He'd been the author of whatever books had inspired Jiraiya to write the Icha Icha series.
"I'm going to vomit," Iruka said, as clearly and precisely as he could. The world was wiggling unpleasantly, both inside and out, and he was trying not to let Kakashi know. It was about to not matter at all, though. Vomiting generally made things pretty clear.
"Well, that *is* an excuse you haven't used before," Kakashi said thoughtfully. "I give you points for creativity."
Bile rose.
Iruka bolted for the hall, Copy Ninja or no. Then there was a black shape in his path, and his stomach was heaving--
"Hell, you *are* going to vomit!" Kakashi said, and Iruka was nearly yanked off his feet on the way to the bathroom.
He was pretty sure he wouldn’t have made the toilet on his own. He didn't make it with Kakashi's help, either, but the trashcan was better than nothing. Stomach acid stung his throat and dribbled out his nose. He felt hands sweep back the hair that had come loose from his hairband, and was infinitely grateful.
"Iruka, you know you have a fever?" Kakashi asked, alarm entering his tone.
Iruka groaned and nodded once he was sure he wasn't going to fling barf around with the motion. He felt more than heard Kakashi sigh, mutter, "Vengeance can wait," and then hands were yanking off his coat.
"Ah--cold--" Iruka protested weakly.
"That's because you're burning up." Kakashi's voice was desert-dry, and Iruka knew that it was more important to cool down than to feel warm, but he wasn't happy about it. "This is gross," Kakashi muttered, stripping off Iruka's sweat-soaked shirt. Iruka started to shiver again, sniffing in an attempt to keep snot from running down his face. He heard water running, and then something wet and *cold* swept along his spine.
"ACK!" he protested, nearly shoving himself against the toilet in an effort to escape the cloth.
"Don't be a baby," Kakashi muttered. "I can't believe you made yourself sick trying to avoid me. I wasn't going to *really* hurt you, you know. And if this is about dating me, you could have just said no."
Iruka twisted around to stare incredulously at Kakashi. "I *said* n--" the washcloth ran over his face, and he yanked his head away. It was a mistake. The whole world spun, and an orchestra took up a bass tempo in his skull. "Oh, gods, kill me," Iruka whimpered, and gave up trying to fight. He sat and shivered miserably while Kakashi wiped sweat off him before dropping the cloth in the sink and leaving the bathroom.
The toiletbowl was the only thing that really understood him. It was the only thing that loved him anymore. He whimpered and shivered and clung to it and promised all his ancestors that if they'd just come rescue him he'd light candles at their shrine *every* week. No, no, *twice* a week.
"Here," Kakashi said grumpily, reappearing with a blanket in tow. He draped it around Iruka's shoulders, rubbing his upper arms briskly.
Iruka relaxed a little.
"Can you keep down chicken broth?" Kakashi asked, voice quiet.
The very thought of the smell of it had him lunging for the toilet again.
"I guess that's a no," he heard above him, as Kakashi again scooped his hair out of his face.
Iruka whimpered. His throat was raw from coughing, and the acid only burned it further.
He really needed to scrub his toiletbowl.
Eventually, he settled back in the corner again, staring at nothing. Even his eyeballs hurt. "You are white," he mumbled as Kakashi stood, rooting though his drawers. "And you are round."
Kakashi stopped and looked at him. "What?"
"I'm writing an ode to the toiletbowl," Iruka croaked. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kakashi's shoulders begin to shake, and the man's head shook back and forth with bemusement. "You are two feet, off the ground," Iruka continued faintly.
"I think you need some sleep, Sensei," Kakashi chuckled, kneeling beside him with a hairbrush.
"You didn't curse at me." He watched the Copy Ninja warily, half suspecting a trick.
Kakashi stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and reached over to tug the hairband out. "I've never cursed at you."
"Sure you do," Iruka said, closing his eyes as the tines swept through his hair, pulling it away from his face. "Every time you call me Iruka-Sensei."
The stroking paused. "Hm," Kakashi said simply, and kept brushing.
Ice had tangled it--and Iruka would never be able to figure out how *ice* could tangle hair--but Kakashi was careful. He tugged the snarls out gently, and then braided it all back and banded it once more.
"Chamomile tea?" Kakashi asked softly.
Iruka only whimpered and tried to pull the blanket tighter around his shoulders. If he just pretended it was all a dream, maybe he'd stop feeling like shit. It was a long shot, but stranger things had happened.
He wasn't sure how long he sat there before the next bout of nausea hit and he was hovering over his friend the toiletbowl again. Kakashi wasn't there, but his hair stayed out of his face.
"When all the world, is going to crap," he croaked as he fell back against the wall, "you . . . uh . . . you fix it all, in a snap."
"Ode to the ToiletBowl, still?" Kakashi asked, appearing in the doorway.
"You take my puke, and bitter bile," Iruka murmured, eyes half closed.
Kakashi just chuckled and knelt beside him again. "Here. Drink."
Iruka eyed the mug as if it might leap up and bite him.
"Chamomile. It should stay down," Kakashi murmured.
Iruka kept eyeing it. In order to get to it, he had to unfold from the warmth that was his blanket.
As if reading his mind, Kakashi blew on the top of the liquid and then held it up to Iruka's mouth. Iruka sipped gingerly. "Good," he croaked.
"Thank you," Kakashi said. He put the mug down and tugged off a glove, sliding one hand under the edge of the blanket to rest it against Iruka's neck.
Iruka felt himself start to color, and was really too sick to care. He was still wearing pants, after all. And his shoes. He sighed.
"Still feverish. We should get some food into you so we can get some pills into you," Kakashi said.
Iruka groaned at the mention of food.
"All right," Kakashi said wryly. "After you're done puking."
"Thanks," Iruka whimpered.
**
He was only vaguely aware of what was going on. At some point, he'd stopped puking. That was nice. He'd really wanted to keep his stomach lining. Since childhood he'd dreamt of he and his stomach lining growing old together, telling stories together, not puking together. They'd complain about hot peppers and whippersnappers.
That could have been the fever talking, though.
Somehow, he ended up on the couch being spoon-fed broth. When he came to enough to realize what was happening he struggled, embarrassed, and ended up spilling luke-warm broth on Kakashi.
"Sorry," Iruka mumbled, already falling back into a half-doze.
"No problem," Kakashi said, but he didn't sound like it was no problem. He sounded resigned. He also dug through Iruka's closet until he found a clean shirt--it was baggy on him. Even more than his normal shirts were.
Iruka peered at him through one slitted eye. "You're really little, aren't you?" he said sleepily, whispering to keep his headache to a minimum.
Kakashi looked at him, one eyebrow arching. Iruka realized that he could see both eyebrows, and further realized Kakashi had taken off his forehead protector and mask. There was a faint tan line in a triangle around one eye. "I suppose I'm big enough," Kakashi said wryly.
"Skinny," Iruka mumbled, closing his eyes against the light--even though only the kitchen light was on. "You should eat more."
The amusement in Kakashi's voice was clear. "Of course, Sensei." It wasn't a curse this time, either. "Drink more broth. Then we'll see if we can't get something in you to keep your fever down."
"'m I still feverish?" Iruka asked disinterestedly. He was cold and hot by turns, and he was certain his toes were never going to warm up.
"Drink the broth."
Iruka snuggled farther into the couch. "Sleep," he mumbled.
"Broth," Kakashi shot back.
Iruka ignored him with the singlemindedness of the ill and miserable. He heard a sigh, and a moment later he was lifted. He would have been thoroughly embarrassed to find himself sprawled across another man's lap normally, but his throat hurt too much for him to care. All he wanted was to sleep, and Kakashi wasn't letting him.
He whined wordlessly and turned his head, inhaling the clean scent of his laundry detergent and warm male skin. A faint memory of summer days with Hayate came to mind, and he had to fight the sudden urge to sink his teeth carefully into the pale skin of Kakashi's neck.
Kakashi wasn't Hayate.
"Come on, Sensei," Kakashi murmured, joggling him slightly. "Drink."
It was too hard to fight. Iruka rolled his head back up and drank when the bowl was pressed to his lips, wincing as his throat burned. They got the rest of it down him, and then Kakashi handed him water and pills.
He swallowed them wordlessly, his throat burning with the effort. "Oh, gods, just kill me," Iruka whimpered, rolling back into Kakashi's narrow chest.
"If you're healthy enough to want to die, you're not going to," Kakashi said, and the words rumbled through his bones and made his voice deeper.
"You're too cheerful about this," Iruka said, cracking an eye and peering up at the Jounin.
Kakashi smiled down. "Well, you did stick me with converting a swamp into arable land. I think I'm entitled a little glee."
"Fucker," Iruka muttered.
Kakashi smiled, and it was just as bright and cheerful without the mask as the single eye had indicated. "I like you like this, Sensei. All warm and pliable . . ."
"Don't molest sick people. Sicko," Iruka grumbled, trying to hold himself as still as possible so his head would hurt less.
Kakashi chuckled, and it jiggled him. Iruka winced. "Sorry," Kakashi murmured.
Iruka closed his eyes again and let his head rest on a muscular shoulder. He felt the sigh, even though he didn't hear it.
"Good thing your breath still smells like vomit, Iruka," Kakashi murmured, so quietly Iruka almost didn't hear it. "Or it would be more temptation than I could take."
Iruka thought about protesting, but the drugs were kicking in. His headache was fading, and his throat didn't burn quite so much. As the pain lessened, his body demanded sleep.
He slipped under without a fight.
**
He woke on the couch, soaked in sweat. The fever was back; he could feel it in his muzzy head and the fine shiver along his arms. Iruka dragged himself upright, realized he was still wearing pants even though his shoes were gone, and glanced around.
His kitchen was a mess, but it had been a mess when he'd left a week ago. This was an all new mess, though, and there was a note on the coffee table sitting between a glass of water and dry toast. Pills clustered together at the base of the glass.
"Iruka," the note read, "Had to run. Take these. Eat this first. Go back to sleep. I called you in sick. There's more chicken broth and some soup in the fridge."
There was no signature, but it didn't really need one. Iruka groaned and rubbed his temples, then dutifully ate the toast and took the pills.
Then he collapsed back into bed.
**
"Iruka--"
He dragged the couch pillow over his head to bury the noise, and promptly dissolved into a coughing fit.
"Holy shit. You stink," Anko said, standing in his doorway.
"'m sick," he mumbled. It had been too much work to go to bed, so he'd remained on the couch for the day.
It had been too much work to even *think* about showering, so he hadn't. The fever had gone down or broken entirely, and he could tell he would survive.
Sadly.
"Whoa. When I saw Kakashi leave this morning in your shirt--which looked too big and *oh* so cute on him, by the way--I thought maybe you'd made up."
"Fuck off," Iruka mumbled.
"You hurl on him?"
"Almost." He pulled the pillow off his head and peered at Anko. "Could you get me some soup? It's in the fridge."
She kicked the door closed and went tromping across the floor in her boots. Iruka winced.
"Wow. This is good soup," Anko said reverently. "You make it?"
"Does it look like it came from a can?" he grouched back. He was highly aware of how good the soup was, and the fact that it was all freshly chopped--which meant Kakashi had gone elsewhere for the vegetables in the middle of the night--and that it had been left in little bowls so he could just stick them in the microwave and voila! Soup.
He was starting to get a major guilt complex going.
"So . . . Kakashi was here . . . all night . . . and nothing happened?" The microwave beeped, and Anko grabbed the soup and a spoon and wandered over.
"Nothing happened," Iruka mumbled, sitting up. His voice was hoarse, nearly a croak. Another coughing fit broadsided him, and he nearly doubled over with the force of it. Gods, his throat hurt.
"So . . . he came here after you pulled that swamp shit with him . . ."
"And the kids. And Chuunin training," Iruka muttered, taking the bowl.
"And he saw you were sick, made you soup, didn't leave until this morning . . . and he didn't even take advantage?"
Iruka had a sudden, clear memory of wanting to nibble on Kakashi's neck, and blushed hotly. "No." Breath against his temple, a strong heartbeat under his cheek, wiry muscles in a strong arm supporting his back. Careful fingers brushing his hair back and braiding it.
Oh, gods.
"So . . . you might even say he was . . . a *gentleman*?"
"Fuck off, Anko," Iruka mumbled miserably, and took a spoonful of chicken soup.
"In fact . . . you might say that your accusations of him being insane were . . . unfounded?"
"I hate you right now," he muttered around a potato chunk.
"I'm just saying." Anko shrugged. They sat in silence for a minute while she studied him. "You really do look like hell."
"Thank you," Iruka growled.
"I mean, really."
"Get out."
Anko laughed and stood. "You owe the boy an apology."
"'The boy' is older than you are."
"You're dodging the point. You owe him an apology. A big one."
"I know. I *know*," Iruka groaned.
"Seriously, Iruka. He put up with a lot of shit for you, and then he did this."
"I *know*!" Iruka shouted, then clutched at his head as it exploded. "Gods, just get out! I know! I owe him big! I misjudged him! Get out!"
Anko's laughter hung in the air long after she'd gone.
**
Iruka had half expected Kakashi to come by, but he didn't. By the time Iruka was better and back to work at the school and the mission office, he kept expecting Kakashi to come by.
He didn't.
He did come in to drop off a mission report and pick up another assignment. He smiled pleasantly and said Iruka was looking better, and then left.
Iruka was left feeling flabbergasted and more than a little cheated. He was supposed to choke out an apology and then tell Kakashi he still wasn't interested.
Except he kept remembering the thu-thump of a heartbeat, and the peculiar Kakashi smell of forest and carrots with just a trace of dog. Clean dogs.
And still Kakashi didn't come by.
"Hey," Kotetsu said, a week and a half after Iruka had returned from his mission. "Isn't that your stalker? How are things going with him?"
Iruka flinched and glanced around the pub and sure enough, there was Kakashi standing with Asuma, casual as ever. "I, uh, don't know," Iruka mumbled. "He's stopped chasing me."
"That's what you wanted, right?" Kotetsu asked, confused.
Iruka rubbed a hand through his hair--down, because he'd broken his hairband earlier--and scowled at the tabletop.
"Iruka still owes him an apology," Anko chuckled, sitting on Gai's knee. "Hard to apologize when he's not around anymore."
"Now he's around!" Kotetsu pointed out. "Now he's right there! There! *Right* there! With Asuma! Iruka, you aren't even looking."
Iruka stared at his beer. "I know where he is, Kotetsu," he mumbled. "Now isn't exactly the time."
"My Eternal Rival would never make you grovel," Gai said solemnly. "I believe he thinks he's doing what you wanted."
Iruka stared at his beer.
"It is what you wanted, isn't it?" Gai asked, voice oddly subdued.
Iruka sighed, and stared at his beer.
**
The guilt was eating away at him. He kept remembering the smell on Kakashi when he'd come into the mission office after the Swamp Incident--which would forever be capitalized in Iruka's mind--and then remembering the very careful way Kakashi had braided his hair back. Yes, indeed, the guilt was going to kill him.
He finally screwed up his courage and went the Hatake residence.
It was old, nearly as old as the Uchiha compound. Not nearly as big, of course, as only one family had lived there, but the grounds were lovely. Iruka was certain Kakashi didn't have a hand it in. Not that he couldn't, but there were gardeners wandering around pruning bushes, and a man in a formal kimono answered the door.
Iruka found himself tongue tied and stammering, bottle of sake held forgotten in his hand.
This was stupid. A bottle of sake? Sure, he'd looked for the good stuff, but Kakashi could afford as much of it as he wanted. What had he been thinking? If he wanted to apologize, he should have given Kakashi his choice of the missions!
And the man who'd opened the door was still looking at him expectantly.
He finally managed to choke out that he was looking for Kakashi--only to be told Kakashi wasn't there.
Probably on a mission. Of course. That was what the man did, he went on missions and--
"He's visiting friends. At the memorial," the man said.
Iruka winced. "Oh. Right. Thanks."
He could go to the memorial.
He shouldn't go to the memorial.
He wanted to get this over with, now that he'd screwed himself up for it.
He didn't want to disturb Kakashi.
Somehow, while he was arguing with himself, his feet took him to the memorial.
Kakashi was there, as promised. Iruka just stood and stared.
Right up until Kakashi turned and stared back.
He felt his cheeks color, and stepped out from under a tree. "Ah, I didn't mean to bother you," Iruka said slowly. "I just . . ." He lifted the bottle of sake, then dropped it again. "I wanted to thank you. For the other night. And, um, apologize. For my behavior." He winced. It really wasn't possible to sound stiffer than he just had.
And now Kakashi could be pompous and irritating, and Iruka would remember why he didn't like the man.
Instead, Kakashi smiled politely. "You're welcome, and apology accepted." He hesitated, then prompted, "Is that for me?"
Iruka glanced down at the bottle in his hand. He colored again. "Oh! Yeah. Here." Walking the five strides needed to cross the distance, he handed the sake over and then stood there awkwardly. "You, uh, haven't . . . been around," he said lamely.
Kakashi tipped his head. "You made it fairly clear you didn't want me around. I admit, I've never had someone get sick just to get out of being with me. That was effective. I'll have to remember it."
Iruka turned even more red. "That wasn't on purpose."
Kakashi's words were wry. "No, I didn't really think so. But it was the most effective one."
Iruka remembered a lean chest and warm skin, and his blush deepened. "Oh. Sorry about that."
Kakashi just shrugged and looked back at the memorial. He touched the stone briefly with his fingertips, then turned and smiled at Iruka.
Then he started to walk away.
Iruka panicked. He had to say something, anything. He wasn't sure why, but he did.
Nothing came to mind.
"Uh--Kakashi--"
The Copy Ninja turned to look at him, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the bottle.
"Um. You still have my shirt."
Kakashi inclined his head. "I'll send it back to you." He turned to leave again.
Panic struck once more. "Can I ask you something?"
Kakashi stopped again and smiled politely behind his mask.
"Why me?"
The Jounin scratched at the back of his head. Then he spread his arms with a flourish. "I'm Sharingan Kakashi, Jounin of a thousand jutsu!" The pose relaxed, and he stuffed his free hand in his pocket. "Not many people stand up to me." He shrugged. "I was impressed."
"Oh," Iruka mumbled. "You mean, if I'd dated you and been uninteresting, you would have gone away?"
Kakashi smiled brightly and nodded. "But you didn't! You tried to scare off a possibly unstable ex-ANBU Jounin."
"Huh."
They stood in silence. Iruka fidgeted, not sure what to say, wishing Kakashi would break the silence. Then he could remember why he didn't want to date the man. Even though he'd been paid a nice compliment and nursed all night and hadn't been touched once when he hadn't wanted to be touched. Even though Kakashi had tried so hard to be good around the kids and then during Chuunin training and had even completed the Swamp Incident.
And even though he had a great ass.
Kakashi turned to walk away.
Iruka cursed himself and the stupid realization that maybe, just maybe, he'd overreacted over the last few weeks and maybe, just maybe, Kakashi had been a gentleman--a pushy one, admittedly, but a gentleman overall--and maybe, just maybe, Iruka was actually . . .
He could barely admit it even in his own mind, and with every second Kakashi was walking further away. Damn it. The man was smart and sexy and downright hot. "I was thinking," he said loudly and quickly, before he could change his mind, "that I could, uh, take you out." He flinched, and added, "As a thank you."
Kakashi stopped yet again, black uniform and green vest nearly blending with the shadows under the trees. "You don't have to do that, Iruka-Sensei." But he didn't move.
Iruka swallowed around a lump in his throat and scratched the back of his head nervously. "I--I know. But I misjudged you pretty badly and, um, I'd like to--" he had no idea. "To--" no idea still. He frowned.
"Get to know me?" Kakashi suggested, wandering closer.
"Well . . . yes. All right. Get to know you."
Kakashi stepped much closer. He pushed up the forehead protector and tugged down his mask, letting it pool around his throat. It left his neck bare, and Iruka had another vivid image of sleek, pale skin.
"I guess," Iruka said quietly, "I'd like to get to know you."
"So . . . you're asking me out?"
Iruka blushed. "Don't push your luck," he muttered.
Kakashi laughed, one bright, quick bark. He had very even teeth, Iruka thought. "You don't smell like vomit. Being sick isn't going to save you," Kakashi said, and Iruka was amazed at how well the mask had hidden that wicked little smirk.
"Uh, yeah, I know," Iruka snorted, standing his ground as the Copy Ninja slunk slowly closer. "Why, you planning on starting off getting to know each other with sex?"
He was being sarcastic, but Kakashi's eyes lit.
"No," Iruka said, lifting a warning finger.
Kakashi grinned. "Can we start it off with a kiss?"
Iruka thought about it, finger still lifted like an invisible barrier between them. Then a long, slender hand wrapped around his, tugging it inevitably downward. "I guess a kiss won't hurt," Iruka said, trying not to think too much about warm skin and nibbling on necks.
That wicked grin flashed again, and Kakashi took a final step closer.
The kiss was even better than Iruka had thought it might be.
**
Iruka yawned widely, holding up his pajama pants with one hand and ruffling the other through his hair.
"Morning, sleepy head," Anko chirped from the window, carefully applying eyeliner.
"Morning," Iruka tried to say around his yawn. He let go of his pants and they slid downward almost indecently. His shirt hid it.
"Get me some of that cereal, would you?" Anko asked, glancing at him through the windows. She stopped, eyeing him, then smiled slowly.
"What?" Iruka asked defensively.
"You have that well fuc--"
He tuned her out as the bedroom door opened again, and Kakashi wandered down the hall in boxer shorts and one of Iruka's shirts. A katana had gouged out a good chunk of flesh over his left pectoral, leaving him vaguely self-conscious about scars.
One of the many things Iruka had learned over the last five--no, six--dates.
And three sleep-overs.
The man really did have a great ass. And he looked great in Iruka's shirts; he looked smaller, somehow, almost wraithlike with the creamy pale skin and deadly grace. The lithe body and slender-boned frame didn't hurt, either.
Kakashi caught Iruka looking and arched a brow. "You look pleased with yourself."
Iruka shrugged, smirking. "Breakfast?"
"Hm."
Iruka dug around in his fridge looking for eggs, wondering if he had bacon. Kakashi really did need to eat more, he'd decided.
"Morning, Kakashi," Anko chirped.
"Morning," Kakashi answered. A chair scraped across the kitchen floor.
"Hey! You look well-fucked, too! Just what is going on over there? Who's doing who?" Anko asked, sounding almost offended.
Iruka glanced up at the reflection in the oven. He saw a slow, wicked and somehow lazy smile stretch over Kakashi's face. "Don't you wish you knew," the man purred.
"Ohhh, you're such a brat," Anko muttered. "Give me my cereal! I've got to get going!"
Iruka threw it together and handed it through the windows, laughing when Anko winked broadly at him. Then he settled down across the table from Kakashi, picking up a slender hand and nipping the fingertips. "You know," Iruka said after a moment, his mind turning over the last few weeks, "I do have one thing that's been bugging me."
"Hm?" Kakashi said, eyebrows rising lazily.
"Why did you ask Itachi if he would have sex with you?"
Both eyebrows shot downward. "Itachi? I never asked him to have sex. I'm not *that* crazy."
Iruka blinked. He stood, checked the eggs, then leaned against the table beside Kakashi. He traced the edge of the man's bare jaw absently with one finger. "Ibiki said you did."
Kakashi frowned. "No. I told Itachi he threw jutsu like a girl, once. I never asked him to sleep with me." Then Kakashi's eyes narrowed. "Wait . . . was Ibiki practicing his caligraphy at the time?"
Iruka froze. "Ibiki does calligraphy?"
"Yes, only he doesn't want anyone to know. Was his office door closed?"
Iruka twitched. "Yeah."
"He was practicing calligraphy and trying to get rid of you." Kakashi smiled slowly, a look of awe crossing his face. "That bastard."
Iruka stared. Then he just shook his head and scooped up papers and mail sitting on the table, dumping them all into a fruit basket.
"What's this?" Kakashi asked, rescuing a scrap of paper.
Iruka glanced back, and snorted. "My Ode to the ToiletBowl. I was sick, all right?"
Kakashi was quiet for a moment, then quoted, "'You listen to, my every cry, you wait until, my tears are dry'?"
Iruka blushed. "I was sick!" he said, and went to spoon eggs and bacon onto plates, one for each of them. "My toilet bowl," he murmured to himself, absently reciting his Ode. "My toilet bowl, I love you so, my toilet bowl . . ."
"Anko's gone?" Kakashi asked, stretching backward to see through the window.
Iruka glanced at the oven reflection. "Yeah."
The chair scraped over the floor again. "Then I have a better idea about breakfast . . ."
Arms wrapped around Iruka's waist, a nose and clever tongue tickling at his ear. Iruka shivered. "Again? Already?"
He could feel Kakashi's grin.
He wriggled loose, setting the plates on the counter before turning fully. "Have I told you how great you look in that shirt?"
"Mmm," Kakashi said, hands wandering.
Iruka grinned, and nibbled on a slender, pale neck.
*************
The Ode to the ToiletBowl was gleefully written by Hey Diddle Diddle! It is, in its entirety,
You are white,
and you are round
You are two feet
Off the ground
When all the world
Is going to crap,
You fix it all
In a snap.
You take my puke
And bitter bile,
And you always go
That extra mile
My toilet bowl,
My toilet bowl,
I love you so,
My toilet bowl.
When I am sick,
And feeling down,
You’re always there
To bring me round.
You listen to
My every cry,
You wait until
My tears are dry.
When boys are dumb
And really vile,
You’re always here
To make me smile.
My toilet bowl,
My toilet bowl,
I love you so,
My toilet bowl.
When I’m done,
You go flush,
And every time,
You make me blush.
At times I wish
I could marry you,
‘cause everyone else
Makes me feel so blue.
The boys are dumb,
The girls are mean,
And no one else
Is quite so clean…
As…
My toilet bowl,
My toilet bowl,
I love you so,
My toilet bowl.
Sadly, I couldn't manage to fit it all in there. Wonderful, isn't it? *grins*
Now, this story is dedicated to Dark, who gave me Five Ways for Iruka to Get Out of a Date with Kakashi. Without that, this would NEVER have been written. *Grins* Our girl's brilliant, isn't she? ;-D
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