Kakashi walked into the mission room at five minutes to six. He returned from his latest mission early that morning, running through the night and arriving at the village gate just as the first streaks of dawn brightened the eastern sky. After sleeping for a few hours he'd had his mission report filled out and ready to turn in by noon, but had waited. And although he was reluctant to admit it, even to himself, he knew why he had waited. Umino Iruka wouldn't be on duty until six. And for several months now, he had been deliberately timing his visits to the mission room to coincide with the times that he knew the chuunin school teacher would be there.

At first it had been nothing more than a passing fancy, the man was so damned cute when he blushed, and he blushed so damned easily. But recently it had become something closer to an obsession. Iruka's was the face he wanted to see when he returned to Konoha. The sweet scarred face that represented everything in the village that he fought for, risked his life for, and lived for. More than the Hokage, more than his dead parents and sensei, even more than the monument and Obito. The man whose smile made him aware that he was truly alive and that he wanted to return. Alive.

He had planned to wait until seven, or at least six thirty, but six o'clock found him leaning against the back wall of the mission room reading Icha Icha Paradise as if he hadn't moved from the spot since his last mission. At five minutes past six the door swung open and Iruka hurried in, clutching a pile of papers. Kakashi couldn't help noticing how deliciously flustered he looked as he bowed to Mizuki-sensei, who was at the desk, and started to apologise before being cut short by a friendly pat on the shoulder. Mizuki moved aside and watched as the dark-haired man set down his papers, straightened them into a neat pile, took out two pens, one red one black, and smiled at the two shinobi waiting to hand in reports. Then with a backwards glance he walked out of the door.

Kakashi took in every nuance of the way the other teacher had stood a little too close to Iruka, narrowed his eyes lecherously as he turned back towards him, and sauntered provocatively as he left the room. But it was the touch on the shoulder that made the breath catch in his throat. Seemingly so casual but in fact so very deliberate, with the tiniest squeeze of the fingertips for emphasis and the barest hint of a caress. How he envied Mizuki that brief contact.

Half an hour later they were the only two left in the room. He put away his book and watched the teacher grade papers for a few minutes. Making deft quick strokes with his red pen, frowning and smiling in turn, his touch sure and nimble as he transferred them from one neat pile to another. His students must have done well, the teacher's good mood was palpable. Finally, when Iruka put down his pen and was positively radiating warmth, Kakashi crossed the space between them and offered his report. Iruka looked up, startled, and reached for the paper. Kakashi released his grip and allowed the ungloved length of his fingers to trace a path along the other man's palm and wrist.

Kakashi hadn't planned to touch him, but seeing the other's hand only inches from his, he'd seized the chance to 'accidentally' stroke it, the chance to feel the heat and texture of the tan skin for himself. Iruka's eyes went wide as his mouth dropped open and he took in a sharp breath. The sudden flare of chakra almost threw Kakashi off balance and he could sense the teacher's heart racing wildly. Surely he hadn't frightened him? They must have exchanged enough smiles and pleasantries by now that he shouldn't be that intimidating, even if he was a well-known assassin. He took a step back and mumbled a brief apology.

"I'm sorry, please excuse me."

Then he fled.

At a safe distance from the mission room he raised his hand to his masked face, catching the trace of Iruka's scent before it faded, then let his fingers rest against his lips.

He stood like that, alone in the corridor, for a long time.

Iruka ran into the mission room five minutes late. Late! God knows he was the most average shinobi that Konoha had ever produced, but the one thing, the only thing probably, that he had going for him was his reputation for reliability and punctuality. Hard won after years of being the class clown. And as luck would have it he was there, Hatake Kakashi, as if his heart wasn't pounding fast enough already. The silver-haired jounin was leaning against the mission room wall reading his book, paying no attention to anyone or anything. Iruka decided he'd have to ask what it was about one day, it seemed pretty good. Luckily Kakashi was too engrossed to notice how flushed and bothered he was as he took over from Mizuki. Unlike the jounin, who did everything as if time was a foreign concept, Mizuki was obviously in a hurry, not even staying long enough for him to apologize before brushing him off and hurrying out the door.

He helped the few people waiting to hand in reports then turned to his overdue grading. Kakashi didn't move, probably hadn't even noticed he was there. He was glad. It gave him the opportunity to be with him for a while, even if it was in silence, on opposite sides of the room.

Iruka stole a look at the other man, disguising the glance as an attempt to refocus his eyes after staring at his papers. The jounin he admired so much had come to know him a little, at least enough to recognise him. He always smiled back and greeted him warmly when they met, on the streets of Konoha as well as when he had a report to turn in. He'd noticed a definite improvement in the reports too, as if he had decided to take a little more care with them. Iruka hoped that it was because of his influence, because if it was, then it meant that the other man at least acknowledged him a tiny bit. And a tiny bit was all he needed.

He knew that he was completely infatuated and that his feelings couldn't possibly be anything but hopeless, but didn't care. When Kakashi was away he lived for the day of his return. Not that he thought he wouldn't, not really, he was Hatake Kakashi and he was undefeatable, unbeatable, perfect. But without him the village was a greyer, duller place, and when he came back, when there was a chance of seeing him, he filled it with sparkle and colour.

As he read through copy after copy of the same answers he let his mind wander pleasurably. Wondering what the sharigan eye really looked like, what Kakashi's face looked like. The only visible parts of the other man were the fingers of his right hand, curled around the book he was holding in front of his face, his left hand stuffed in his pocket. Iruka's gaze lingered on the pale fingers, so slender, so elegant. Fingers whose touch would be the last memory for so many. Strong hands that had killed often and yet, he knew from reading the reports, had been merciful to so many more. How would it feel to have those lethal fingers against his skin? He held his breath and closed his eyes, then lowering his hands behind the desk he ran the fingertips of his right hand over the back of his left.

His eyes blinked open and Hatake Kakashi was standing in front of him, report in hand. He looked up in shock and took hold of the paper automatically. Then as the other man pulled his hand away it accidentally grazed across his. Iruka reacted so suddenly and so excessively that, no surprise, the poor man couldn't wait to get out of there. But he still had the good grace to apologise.

"I'm sorry, please excuse me."

And then he was gone.

Iruka was mortified that his stupid over reaction had chased him away. But he would worry about that later. For now at least, he still had Kakashi's touch on his hand. He could feel its weight like a layer of gold, tingling like an electrical charge. Raising his palm to his cheek he brushed it against his skin, then put it to his lips and kissed it tenderly.

He sat like that, alone in the mission room, for a long time.