Story Title: Cracked
Rated: PG-13 for some substance abuse and borderline ambiguous consent
Status: Complete // 500+
Summary: [Iruka/Kakashi] Kakashi takes twice the recommended amount.
Steve's Notes: After I had my wisdom teeth removed, I took my painkillers more often than I probably should have. The result was one loopy writer and a plot bunny that should have never been. Sometimes I'm just really mean to Kakashi. Oh, and don't be scared off by the IruKaka. Instead, read Everybody's Got Secrets by Erisabesu.
Disclaimer: Naruto © Kishimoto Masashi
An A-Class and his ribs are cracked.
"Anou saa, anou saa!" his blond student yells, pointing an accusing finger. "You're late, Kakashi-sensei!"
He shrugs the three hours, twenty-eight minutes, and fourteen seconds late off. "Maa, Naruto-kun, I lost my way on the path of life," he replies truthfully, and his heavy tongue slurs his words—but his students are too irritated to notice.
"Liar!" they shout, and he grits his teeth at their unreasonable decibel. His bruises protest the weight of his clothing and he has no patience for his students today. When he dismisses them, he might try to feel guilty about their glares and dragging feet when he can string his thoughts together. As it is, he can only wonder if he can make it back to his apartment before he collapses—
—onto his bed after he takes twice the recommended amount of his prescription. When he wakes, he might have taken another double batch of painkillers to ease the ache in his left side, yet he might have imagined it too because it still really fucking hurts. In a hazy moment, he thinks he slips the small bottle with its remaining pills into the front pocket of his flak jacket, just in case.
But he isn't entirely sure. It's difficult to concentrate and he wobbles unsteadily when he walks.
"Ah, Kakashi-sensei!" a familiar voice chirps, pleasant upon his frayed nerves. His feet refuse to move and that smile and those eyes increase his vertigo. "May I buy you dinner?"
The label warned may cause nausea and vomiting, but the plain rice and easy conversation sit well. He tries to recall if an increased heart rate is also a side effect, but he's having a hard time focusing on anything that doesn't have to do with the hand on his thigh or the mouth whispering into his ear.
"May I walk you home, Kakashi-sensei?"
—and he's almost positive that home is in the opposite direction but—
"May I kiss you, Kakashi?"
Definitely out of his right mind, then, and he not quite sure that this monster was born from the chemicals in his veins or something else entirely (he has always wanted this?) and he makes that little noise in the back of his throat, and he feels a tongue that is gentle on his skin, palms cool on his skin sweat dripping running sliding gentle gentle gentle cool cool hot on his skin onhisskin—
(underneath the underneath)
—and his body protests as he leaves the comfort of musksweatlove smelling sheets to polish off the capsules that remain in the front pocket of his flak jacket that had been thrown desperately into the corner of not his room and—
"You're late!" they shout when he stumbles to the red bridge.
He shrugs the two hours, forty-six minutes, and thirty-seven seconds late off. "Maa, a little dolphin invited me to his home," he replies truthfully, and his heavy tongue slurs his words—but his students are too irritated to notice.
"Liar!" they shout, and the pain in his head throbs like a second heart.
(beating steadily underneath his palm and "Get some sleep, 'kashi, you're still recovering")
An A-Class and his ribs were cracked.
But at least his ass is sore, too.
end.