This isn't the story I'm supposed to be writing! Lily, I'm sorry! I promise I'm still working on it. It's pretty much done but there's something about it I'm not happy with, so I'm rereading it and trying to figure out where it's broken. This popped into my head and demanded to be written. It's short, but I kind of like it. It feeds into my sudden and inexplicable Ibiki obsession of late. n.n Hope you enjoy!
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Ibiki was washing the blood off his hands, trying not to think.
…don't think about the fact that she was a child. Barely a child. She was what, fourteen? Old enough to be a genin. Old enough to be on missions. Old enough to have killed.
He carefully washed each finger individually, paying special attention to the rough creases of his knuckles.
…don't think about how she begged, or the tears on her so-small face. How she twisted in the chair when you broke her fingers. How she bit her tongue to stop from talking. How her eyes fogged with pain when you cut skin.
He took the brush and began to methodically clean under each nail.
They are told the danger. They are told what will happen to them, if they fall into enemy hands. This is a war; they're killing our shinobi. We're killing theirs. She was on a mission; she was trying to steal the scroll. We needed the information she had.
He finished his nails and rinsed them off. Then he took the soap and began washing his palm massaging the soap into it carefully.
Don't think of the way she whimpered. Or how pathetically small her arm was in your hands. Or the way she cried out for her mother. Don't think of the way her body trembled when you applied the pressure to her shoulder that would eventually rip it away from her body.
He started on his arms, digging his nails in to his skin to make sure he got all of the dried blood flakes. They didn't want to come off sometimes; he didn't want to brush his arm later and watch the small flakes drifting from his arms.
Don't think of the smile on her face when she realized you were going to finish it. Don't think of the way she turned to you and thanked you, as if you were giving her a gift. Don't think of the way the light faded from her eyes. Don't think of her mother somewhere, weeping and never knowing what happened to her child. Don't think of the funeral they would hold.
The blood was still there. He smiled grimly and began again, washing each finger individually, paying special attention to the rough creases of his knuckles.
Don't think of how small her body was under the sheet. Don't think of how little information you got, in the end. Instead, think about the fact that each tiny bit is a fact that might save one of your comrade's lives. Each miniscule bite is a piece of the puzzle, a clue to the ending. Don't think of how her hand could have fit inside of yours. Don't think of how fragile she was. How small. How young.
Someone was saying his name, over and over. Someone was pulling him from the sink, cradling his bloody hands in theirs. Ibiki tried to tell them about the blood. Someone was gently soothing him. He stared at his hands, his bloody hands. It took a long moment to realize that the blood was his. He'd scrubbed until he bled. He could still see her blood.
A warm body pressed against his. A gentle hand stroked his back, soothing. Ibiki pressed his face into the warmth, his body shuddering. So much blood. So much blood…
Sometime later, Ibiki opened his eyes. Had he fallen asleep? He was still curled into someone's body, his face nearly hidden in someone's robe. A strong, gentle hand stroked his back. Ibiki took a deep breath and pushed away a bit. Cinnamon-brown eyes met his, filled with pain and understanding. A sweet smile. For him.
Ibiki couldn't make his mind work. He felt hollow and empty; the blood was gone, but the scent lingered in his nose. In his mind.
The other man smiled and gently rubbed his thumb on Ibiki's cheek. Ibiki smelled the man's scent gratefully. Pine trees. Leather. Sandalwood. Ink. Clean smells, alive smells. No blood. He leaned forward, and the other man allowed him to press his lips against his. Passively waiting, giving without taking. Ibiki absorbed the other man's taste, sucking and licking those beautiful lips. When he pulled back, the other man was still smiling that gentle, tender smile.
Ibiki couldn't wait, couldn't stop anymore. He started to undress the other man, his hands shaking. He felt so empty. There was only one way to fill that emptiness. The other man allowed it, gently brushing Ibiki's cheek with his finger. Allowed Ibiki to push his vest off, to strip his shirt and pants away. Still passive. Giving without taking.
Ibiki wanted to give. Needed to be taken. So he leaned forward and kissed the other man, trying to make him understand.
The other man pushed him away slightly. Cupping Ibiki's chin with his hand, he studied Ibiki's face, dug into Ibiki's mind. Ibiki stared back at him, allowing this intrusion. Finally the other man smiled, a heart-stoppingly sweet smile that nearly took Ibiki's last breath away.
Then they were kissing. Ibiki felt his clothes being removed, felt the other man's tanned, competent hand moving across his shoulders and back, drawing him closer. He felt the other man turn him, pressing his back against the cold floor. It didn't matter; Ibiki gave control to the other man willingly. When he felt the fingers inside of him he moaned, bucking against them, welcoming the pain and the pleasure. He'd done this to other people, but he'd never had it done.
And then he was inside of him, filling him. Filling the void. They moved together, moaning, kissing, letting their bodies override their brains. Ibiki clutched the other man's shoulders and buried his face in his shoulder, hearing the man's low, soft pants. Ibiki didn't bother to try and stop his own answering moans as the empty, cold place in him filled with shimmering, heated pleasure. Filled and filled until it overflowed and he was hoarsely panting, his body spasming in pleasure and releasing onto the other man's chest. He felt the other man's answering release, felt his warmth flooding inside of him.
They collapsed together, curling their slowly cooling bodies together. When he could breathe again, Ibiki leaned over and caught the other man's lips in a sweet kiss, an apology and an expression of gratitude mingled. A soft laugh and a gentle caress told him there was no need for apology.
They helped each other dress. With one last, lingering kiss, the other man slipped away.
…
Iruka shut the door behind him and breathed deeply of the chilly autumn air. He heard his name called and turned, a smile blossoming across his face at the sight of his silver-haired lover bouncing down the road towards him, carrying a basket and looking extremely pleased with himself.
Kakashi kissed him and then gave him a pouting look. "I've been looking for you everywhere! Where were you?"
"I was helping Ibiki with something." Iruka smiled, peering at the basket. "What's that?"
"A picnic lunch!" Kakashi said proudly. "I remembered you complaining that you hadn't gotten to do anything just to relax lately, so I'd kidnapping you for the rest of the day!"
Iruka burst out laughing and laced his arm with Kakashi's. "Good! I need a break. Let's go."
As they left, Iruka cast one last look at the ANBU office. He saw it; Ibiki, leaning against the wall, watching them out of a window. And even though the other man was in the shadows and Iruka couldn't see him, Iruka knew for a fact that Ibiki was smiling.
…