Beauty
Hey Diddle Diddle
Kakashi was a thing to watch. He would lower himself over Iruka, naked but for the mask, and somehow, that just made him look more bare. He would sit down on Iruka's cock, hands braced against the schoolteacher's chest, and tilt his head back until it looked like it would snap. He'd rock back and forth, little puffs of breaths sounding suspiciously like groans, and Iruka would watch him, clutching the copy-nin's waist. Kakashi was beautiful when he was fucking himself on Iruka.
But when Iruka threw him onto the bed, pushed him down onto his hands and knees, and fucked him to heaven above, Kakashi was beautiful then, too. Kakashi was beautiful when he was slumped against the kitchen counter, dick hanging out of his pants, flushed and sweating and panting, and when he was trying to hide an erection in the middle of the mission room. Kakashi was beautiful everywhere Iruka decided to fuck him, and Iruka liked to fuck him. A lot. Everywhere. And every time, Kakashi was beautiful.
But if Kakashi was beautiful, then Iruka was a god.
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