Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I make any money from Naruto. Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.
Summery: -less: Suffix. 1. without, lacking. 2. unable to be.
Edited and dedicated to beasiesgal. Beta'd by kita_the_spaz
-less. Kakashi's POV.
General. Romance. PG.
kakashi x iruka
Kakashi stumbles through the gates of Konoha, his body moving in a fluid, tireless motion - conscious thought long ago forgotten. It feels as though he's been wandering for years, a directionless man drowning in his own quenchless thirst to be home and warm and safe.
To be somewhere where his world isn't a colourless, timeless nightmare. Where ceaseless crowds of faceless people don't stare and hiss; godless, faithless, Sharingan Demon. Where he no longer has to be just another ruthless shinobi, a remorseless wraith leaving hundreds slaughtered in his wake.
Where he no longer has to be the legendary copy-genius.
He wants… Kakashi's gloved hand curls just a little tighter, the kunai hidden in his pocket slicing just a little deeper. He wants to be wrapped tightly in strong arms, his body being held seamless against a warm chest as wanton lips alight butterfly-soft across his jaw and down his neck, forgiving.
He wants the gentle baritone of his lover's voice, the repeated whispers and constant reminders that it's okay; they are okay, and he is okay and it is okay. That he isn't some emotionless, soulless monster. He isn't some compassionless man living a worthless lie.
He wants it, but more so he needs it.
Pausing mid-step, the sudden realization has Kakashi's single visible eye widening. A heartbeat later and he continues forward, expression schooled. In it's place mild disinterest, a slackened posture and a tawdry orange book to fortify the flawless visage. It is a practiced, effortless change; though the thought remains. He needs it, he needs him.
The need is pointless and purposeless but it is also bottomless. He needs him. His chuunin, his lover, his.
It is a small insatiable thought, an insight into his psyche and he wonders why he hasn't noticed sooner. Clueless, he thinks fondly, ambling into the missions room.
Overwhelmed by sound and scent, the pure homeliness that goes hand in hand with scrolls and papers, ink and cleaning oils, cajoles and laughter, it is here that the weeks constant need to be tireless, dreamless, faultless, tearless, blameless… everything he is not, pulling him down and under, is finally felt.
And suddenly he doesn't care where he is or who is watching, because he needs, needs, needs to feel what is irredeemably his in his arms and against his body. He needs the touches and the whispers and the taintless, stainless, shamelessness of his chuunin to ground him before he shatters into a thousand tiny pieces where he stands.
And then he has him.
Lungs breathless, noises heedless, body boneless. He has his chuunin and it's okay, they're okay, he's okay. He is okay. Kakashi repeats the words like a mantra. He's home and he's safe and for the first time in what seems an eternity, he doesn't feel quite so lifeless.