Bitter Realazations
By: Song
Description: Kakashi identifies with the strangest things.
A/U: Another fic spurred by a line, and how utterly clueless Kakashi is. The end didn't turn out quite as well as I wanted, but for being written in one night... First try at semi-humorous fic. Only the last lines though ;)
Hatake Kakashi was a smart man. A genius, by some standards. But, for however smart he way, he could not understand the inexplicable feeling he got whenever he was near one Umino Iruka.
It was like his insides froze and burned at the same time... or like his heart was as light as the highest cirrus cloud, and as heavy as a mountain, slowly crumbling into the sea.
When he saw the young teacher, something inside him would flutter, like a dying bird desperate to escape its cage. And then, when he left, the bird would submit to darkness, exhausted and hopeless once again.
He would wake up early, just to watch the sun rise light igniting something in Iruka's face as he blinked back into the world of the living. Iruka would stumble from the warm confides of his bed to shower.
He wished so profoundly to be the hot steamy water dripping from Iruka's taught frame. Or to be the soap that was lathered on lithe muscles ready for a hard days work.
Iruka would step out of the shower as blindingly clean as the day he was born to wrap a towel around his hips. Kakashi wished he were the towel, hung precariously around such a perfect body, saving Iruka's full glory for itself.
To be a hair brush and swim through such perfect hair, slicked with water but strangely beautiful in its mussed state. Or the ribbon that was used to tame the wild and exotic strands.
He would pull on one of the many pairs of various patterned underclothes before dressing in his usual chuunin outfit. Kakashi knew of nothing he would not give to be that cloth, shielding Iruka from the outside world and unwanted eyes.
Iruka would gather together his papers from the night before, carefully slipping them into a bag that he could bring to the academy. How he wished to be that bag, slung over such a glorious shoulder filled to the brim with Iruka's work.
Even the doorknob which Iruka would turn with the slightest touch to enter the chaotic world of teaching would not be a bad thing to be.
Kakashi would watch in awe as he taught the pre-gennins with such patience and warmth. He would sigh and wish so ever desperately when Iruka was marking papers, occasionally chewing on the end of the red pencil. How he would yearned to be that pencil, Iruka's soft hands using him as a tool of authority, the mark of redemption- or even the paper, corrected by Iruka's devoted hand. He would rather be the pencil though, then his fingers would delicately stoke him, desperate for contact. His hot mouth gnawing on pallid skin, whispering words of nonsensical comfort to a blissful partner, unaware of anything and everything but Iruka.
The day would end, and students would stay behind waiting for their precious sensei's careful tutoring.
How he desired to be that student, alone with Iruka, all to himself for hours on end.
When he was satisfied the student could go on his own, he would leave for the missions room, briefly dropping his papers back at the apartment and unobtrusively opening the door and sliding behind the desk. How he wished he was that chair, instead of hard and wooden soft and comfortable for Iruka to rest in.
The ninja would hand in reports and brown eyes would meat his solitary grey one in their infrequent interaction, and he was drowning in pools of content, intent to break the surface but happily sinking in its warm depths.
The missions room would close, and with it Kakashi's chance at interaction with Iruka.
He would then move to meet Naruto for ramen, happily chatting about the days adventures and slurping their individual dishes.
Not long after Iruka would bid the ex-student goodbye and leave for his lonely apartment.
He would enter the room, smiling at the warmth of home taking of his vest and heating some water for his nightly tea. Grabbing the bag that he had deposited earlier and would begin a long night of correcting.
Partially through the correcting the pot would whistle and Iruka would stand prepare start his nightly routine.
Gently sipping away the cup's contents he would finish the papers before secluding himself in the bathroom. What he would give to be that favorite cup, slightly chipped with the words 'best sensei ever' scrawled in a child's hand writing on the front. His insides would warm and calm the tense sensei before he was rinsed and placed back on the shelf.
Or perhaps the mirror, that hung in the bathroom. He would be stared at day after day as Iruka made himself look presentable, even though no matter how he looked he would always be absolutely perfect.
Shedding the days wear Iruka would shrug on a pair of soft pajama pants before taking the blue-grey toothbrush and brushing his teeth. He would take his hair tie out to brush the tawny locks through.
Kakashi would whimper sounds of desire as he watched his dolphin saying 'good night' to the moon and stars before tucking away in a cold and unloving bed hugging blankets to he naked chest from warmth. How he longed to be the soft blanket, hugged so tightly to the tan and toned body. How he longed to be the mattress, supporting a sleepy Iruka on top of him. How he longed to be the moon, or the night sky just to hear Iruka bid him good night.
And when Iruka turned the bedside lamp off, Kakashi's very reason to exist flickered out of existence. He would return home, rejected and cold, unloved and wanting to die from all the wrongs he had committed, only for morning to dawn so he could see his saving grace once again.
To attempt at explaining these strange emotions, Kakashi consulted the one book that had all the answers; Icha Icha Paradise.
It was then he came to the bitter realization, that he, Hatake Kakashi, strait flying, porn reading, chidori wielding, ex-ANBU copy ninja extraordinaire... was gay.
Fin