Iruka. Umino Iruka. That’s the boy’s name, Kakashi learned on the drive to his house. His name is Umino Iruka, and he’s fifteen to Kakashi’s soon-to-be eighteen. He’s also kneeling on Kakashi’s bed, panting, as Kakashi thrusts into him, bent over his back. Fifteen. Kakashi feels like he’s going to throw up, or explode, or any number of things, and this is annoying, aggravating. He doesn’t worry about things, hasn’t for years, not since he found his father lying in the bathroom, dead. Now there’s this boy, a little boy, and Kakashi actually cares.

Iruka’s hands are clawing into the sheets and his forehead is pressed hard against the bed. The cords in his neck are standing out, taunt, and Kakashi wants to lick and bite them, to draw blood. He grabs Iruka’s hips and pulls him closer, shoving himself deeper inside.

“Tight,” he grunts, but he wants to say something else. Beautiful, perfect, God. All these things and more. He wants to kiss and bite and lick and taste, and he wants to write, in scrawling red letters, like blood, ‘Hatake Kakashi,’ all over the perfect, skinny, tight body, because he wants Iruka, fifteen and angry and so much like him, like he wants nothing else.

October

Kakashi is so uncomfortable. Iruka is sitting in the passenger seat of Kakashi's car, backpack leaning between his legs, hands spread flat against his knees. He hasn't said a word since he'd gotten into the car, and Kakashi can feel the silence like a person, closing their clammy hands over his face.

"You can change the radio," he says, fiddling with the sound. There's no middle ground. It's either too loud, and Iruka won't be able to talk over it, or it'll be too quiet and Iruka will feel as though he has to talk. Kakashi wants to pull out the whole damn radio, smash it into the ground. He fiddles with the sound once more, then puts his hand back on the wheel. It's hot in the car, the sun shining brightly through the window, reflecting and scattering light and heat in a thousand different ways, and Kakashi's air conditioning is broken. He moves his hand away from the steering wheel to lean over and roll down Iruka's window, and when Iruka's shirt touches Kakashi's arm the older boy feels like he's burning alive.

"You hot?" he asks, rolling down the window. It's a mistake to roll down the window. They're still in the parking lot, stuck in the traffic of seniors and juniors trying to rush home, and the still air outside just makes it feel hotter. Iruka sighs and Kakashi wants to kill himself.

"You're a senior this year?" Iruka asks, sounding almost bored.

"Yeah, I am." The car moves forward about two feet, then stops again, waiting.

"What are you doing after you graduate?"

"College, I guess. My mom wants me to go out of state, to where my dad went." Another three feet. "What about you?"

"My parents never went to college." A car honks somewhere to the right, and kids are laughing.

Kakashi drives forward another few feet and they're finally out of the parking lot. He turns right and starts down the road, the feeling of clammy hands on his face disappearing. "Where do you want to go?"

"Don't care." Iruka's leaning against the door of the car and the wind is whipping his hair. Kakashi watches him from the corner of his eyes and Iruka looks so beautiful, beautiful in a way boys shouldn't be, and aren't, but somehow, Iruka is. And right now, more than ever, Kakashi wants to kiss him.

November

“I’ve never met your parents,” Kakashi says, preoccupied. They’re in his garage and he’s tinkering with his car, hands and arms covered in grease. Iruka’s sitting on the roof of the car, and though Kakashi complained that the boy would leave a dent, he’s sure Iruka’s far too light. Iruka’s nothing but air and shadow, so very light, and Kakashi loves to wrap his hands around the almost delicate wrists, to feel the veins pulse beneath his fingertips, and the muscle bunch as Iruka pulls away.

Iruka looks at him distantly, eyes growing darker for a moment, and he pulls his legs up so he’s sitting cross-legged atop the car. “My parents are dead.”

Iruka’s closed off now, arms folded loosely, legs pulled up. Kakashi wants to grab his wrists and pull him down, drag him up into his room and fuck him senseless. Instead, he turns his attention to the car, reaching grease-covered fingers towards the engine.

“How ironic. So is my dad.”

December

Iruka’s sleeping on Kakashi’s bed, curled around a pillow, one arm hanging off the bed. Kakashi’s sitting on his windowsill, back pressed against the cold window, and he’s watching snow fall to the yellow ground. The whole house is humming from the heaters, and he can feel the warm air rising from the vent.

He’s tired, exhausted, really, but he does and doesn’t want to lie down on the bed next to Iruka, just like he does and doesn’t want to love the boy, and does and doesn’t want to kiss him. So, instead, he sits on the windowsill, watching Iruka breath and sigh and live, and he waits for Iruka to wake up. He’ll drag the boy home then, drive through the snow to drop him off at his aunt’s and uncle’s house, and then Kakashi will come back to lie on his bed and breath in the smell of sweat and sex, and the smell of Iruka.

Kakashi waits for Iruka to wake up, and as he waits, counting each of the younger boy’s breaths, he wonders what it’d be like to smoke.

January

Kakashi slows his car down at the corner, dragging to a stop. Iruka's huddled under the stop sign, dark hair covered with snow, hands shoved under his armpits. Kakashi leans across the passenger seat to open the door, shoving it so Iruka can get in.

"What the hell are you doing? What about your aunt?" He's angry and scared. Iruka's lips look blue and he's shaking, little tremors shaking his thin body.

"She doesn't know, she was sleeping." Iruka's teeth are chattering and the words are shaking, just like him. Kakashi turns the heater up higher and pulls off his coat, twisting uncomfortably in the seatbelt to get it off. He shoves it at Iruka and the younger boy burrows beneath it, fingertips closing around the fabric loosely.

"You fucking idiot, what the hell did you think you were doing? You don't even have a coat." He feels guilty for snapping when Iruka looks at him, brown eyes staring out of a face too white, above lips too blue.

"I wanted to see you," Iruka mumbles and Kakashi wants to kiss him.

"You would have seen me tomorrow," Kakashi grumbles, self-conscious and clumsy as he pulls away from the curb. The windshield wipers are swishing back and forth, obliterating the snowflakes as they land on the windshield, and when Iruka smiles at Kakashi, face slowly gaining color, Kakashi feels himself die just like the snowflakes.

February

Kakashi’s dozing in the sunlight streaming in the windows of the library. The snow’s melting into dirty slush outside, and the sound of the melted snow running off the roof is droning on in the tinks of water droplets.

“Tired?” Iruka asks, glancing up from his homework. Kakashi thinks about answering, but decides it’ll take too much energy. When Kakashi never answers, Iruka looks up again, amused.

“Are you really that tired?”

“Bored,” he says, leaning his head on a hand. Iruka’s doing some kind of math homework and Kakashi reads it upside down, eyelids drooping. “You did this one wrong,” he yawns out, reaching across the table to tap the problem in question. Iruka looks at it critically, then looks up at the dozy boy.

“Did I?” He sounds skeptical and Kakashi would laugh, but he’s too sleepy. Instead, he hums an answer, letting gravity nod his head for him. Iruka makes a face, then sits up, leaning forward across the table to kiss Kakashi quickly. Kakashi’s eyes open slowly and he smiles at Iruka.

“You’re welcome.”

March

Iruka’s standing in Kakashi’s room, dripping water everywhere, and a towel is draped over his soaking head. He appeared on the doorstep a few moments ago, cold and shivering, rain pouring down on him, and Kakashi had dragged him inside and up the stairs. Now Kakashi’s perched on his makeshift desk, flipping his phone open and close almost nervously.

“Are you going to make this a habit?” he asks, agitated. “You’re going to be sick, just like that time in the snow. And you’re not wearing a coat, again.”

“You sounded upset on the phone,” Iruka says as an excuse, and Kakashi wants to smack the boy.

“What does that matter? You walked all the way here, in the rain. You’re going to die someday, from stupid stunts like this.” The desk isn’t sturdy, it rocks when he taps his foot, and Kakashi hisses when it threatens to tip over.

“You’re angry.” Iruka sounds surprised.

“Well, you’re an idiot,” Kakashi snaps back, flipping his phone open again. Iruka crosses the room to sit on the edge of the bed and Kakashi feels a flare of annoyance when the younger boy drips onto his sheets. “It’s three miles, Iruka. How stupid can you be?”

Iruka ignores this and Kakashi feels even more annoyance.

“Warm me up?” Iruka asks almost innocently, and Kakashi would believe him innocent if the boy wasn’t already scooting back on the bed, pulling off his wet shirt. Kakashi growls and stands up, unbuttoning his pants, if only to warm Iruka up.

April

Kakashi’s lying out on the grass of his backyard, head pillowed in Iruka’s lap. He’s dozing, more asleep than awake, lulled by the heat of the sun and the feel of Iruka’s hands on his body. Iruka’s tracing invisible words and pictures on shirt lying over Kakashi’s stomach, and now and again Kakashi can feel his stomach shudder from the inquisitive fingers.

“Wake up,” Iruka commands, but his voice is gentle and he rubs Kakashi’s stomach in little circles. Kakashi grunts and lets his head sag to the side, turning his face against Iruka’s body.

“Don’t wanna,” he says sleepily. It’s warm and quiet, and with Iruka here, everything’s right, and Kakashi wouldn’t move for all the world.

“Come on,” Iruka says again, and this time he leans over Kakashi’s body until his mouth is just above Kakashi’s hips, where the older boy’s shirt has ridden up enough to expose a sliver of his stomach. He licks Kakashi and Kakashi can feel the world drop out from beneath him, dragging his stomach and heart with it. “Wake up, I wanna fuck.”

It’s crude and childish, and when Kakashi can control himself enough to crack open an eye and squint up at the sun, there’s a certain glint in his eye, and he rolls his hips a bit, pushing himself closer to Iruka’s warm tongue and mouth. Perhaps he doesn’t need all the world, if this will be his reward for moving.

May

“Happy Birthday,” Kakashi says, and even if he sounds bored and as though he doesn’t give a rat’s ass, Iruka looks pleased. He shoves an unwrapped box into Iruka’s arms and turns away so the younger boy can’t see his smile.

“Thank you,” Iruka says, and it’s the first polite thing Kakashi’s ever heard out of his mouth. It’s not him, it’s not Iruka, and Kakashi would rather hear the boy curse or scream or beg, because that’s more Iruka than anything else.

“No problem,” he says nonchalantly, as though he didn’t spend three days hunting through stores to find the perfect gift. He wants Iruka to tear the gift open already, so he can see if Iruka likes it, if Iruka’s eyes light up and if he smiles that lopsided smile of his, but at the same time he wants to grab the present and run, just so he’ll never know if Iruka even cares.

“I didn’t know you knew it was my birthday,” Iruka comments, and Kakashi can hear the box open. “Oh,” the boy says, breathless, and when Kakashi turns to look at him he nearly dies, because Iruka’s smiling.

June

There’s a sheet of paper on dashboard of Kakashi’s car, lying in the same place it’s been lying for nearly two months. It’s folded and crumpled, bleached a yellowish white by the sun, but now, at night, it nearly glows under the moonlight.

Kakashi’s lying in the backseat, head pillowed under one arm, curled around the seatbelts, and Iruka’s sprawled on top of him, clothes askew and hair falling down around his face.

“It’s hot,” Iruka groans, shoving his face against Kakashi’s shoulder. Kakashi wraps a loose arm around the younger boy and stares at the sheet of paper. He has the words memorized, had memorized them the first time he read them, and he imagines that he can read them from here, in the backseat, through the faint moonlight.

“It’s hot,” Iruka repeats, and Kakashi finally notices the way sweat’s beading on Iruka’s forehead, the way his hair is growing damp.

“Get off and I’ll roll down the window,” he compromises, lifting his arm so Iruka’s free to move. Iruka grumbles something unintelligible and slides further down Kakashi’s body, shirt dragging up as he goes. He finally stops when his head is somewhere between Kakashi’s chest and stomach and spreads himself out more, dangling over the edge of the seat.

“Don’t wanna move,” he sighs, cheek resting against Kakashi’s bare skin. Kakashi throws his arm over Iruka’s neck, and if it’s hot, Iruka never says a word. Kakashi looks back at the paper, running memorized words over in his head, and somehow feels cold.

July “I can’t believe I’m here,” Iruka sighs, kicking at a stone. Kakashi pokes at the fire with a stick, waiting for it to catch fire.

“It’s only for two days, you won’t die. I thought you’d have fun.”

“I hate camping,” Iruka continues, glaring at a bug crawling across the dirt in front of him. Kakashi valiantly comes to his rescue, setting the bug on fire with his burning stick.

“We can have sex, as much as you want.” He shoves the stick back into the fire and stretches out his legs, pushing his feet perilously close to the fire.

“On the ground, the cold, hard, bug-infested ground. I could be at work, making money, or at an amusement park, but I’m here.” Iruka’s tone is light though, almost playful, and Kakashi smiles. He hates it when Iruka’s not happy, hates it more than he hates himself and the letter and the future, and when Iruka smiles Kakashi nearly dies from happiness.

“We could have sex in the car,” he suggests, reaching out a hand to tousle Iruka’s hair. Iruka turns his head, catching Kakashi’s finger in his mouth, sucking it thoughtfully, and Kakashi feels all his blood go straight to his groin. “Keys,” he says, voice choked, and digs through his pocket with his left hand, desperately trying to find the keys to his car.

August

“So you’re leaving.” Iruka’s tone is childish and petulant and Kakashi remembers how young Iruka really is. They’ve never really talked about it before, how Kakashi would leave years before Iruka would ever be able to, and Kakashi feels guilty for all of this. He’s screwed up, royally fucked up, and with the only kid more messed up than himself.

“You knew I was leaving,” he says, trying to squash the feeling of guilt. Iruka looks hurt and Kakashi leans over to kiss him. All he knows is sex and touching, the way fingers can wander and mouths can taste, and if that’s all he can give, all he gave, to Iruka, then what use is talking? Iruka bites his lip, hard, and Kakashi scrambles back, touching his mouth gingerly.

“What the fuck? I didn’t know, not ever. Why the hell didn’t you tell me before?” Iruka looks so young and angry, and Kakashi wants to kiss him more than ever. Instead, he grabs his cell-phone, flipping it open and closed again and again.

“I did tell you, last year.”

“You said you were thinking about it, you never told me you’d actually go!” Iruka snaps, and there’s the tell-tale sign of tears gathering in his eyes. He grabs his hair and tugs it back angrily and Kakashi flips the phone open and close a few more times. Open. Close. Open. Close. “Damnit,” Iruka curses, grabbing Kakashi’s phone, “why don’t you listen to me?” He punctuates the ‘listen’ by hurling the phone across Kakashi’s bedroom where it shatters against the wall.

Kakashi watches his phone break and scatter and the guilt changes instantly to anger. “What the hell is your problem?” Iruka looks scared and Kakashi loves it, loves it more than the times when Iruka smiles or laughs or even kisses him. He grabs Iruka’s thin wrist, holds it tight until he can almost feel the bones grate together, and when Iruka makes a small pained noise, Kakashi can’t stop himself. He crawls over on top of the younger boy, pinning him into the mattress, and kisses him. This time, Kakashi really has fucked up.

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