I'm Only Happy When It Rains
Devo

It's frigid and raining when he comes staggering home that night--barely able to lift his feet, as if they're weighted with lead--and he is alone. Iruka watches him approach, from his fogged window, as he has so many months and nights before. He waits until Kakashi is almost past his front door, before grabbing an umbrella, and solemnly going outside to stop him.

The stubborn fool would keep right on walking, if left to his own devices. He'd walk slowly to the other end of the village, creep into his apartment through an open window, and collapse--wet, muddy, still carrying his pack--wherever he happened to stop. He'd lie there, too, until morning, or regaining consciousness, whichever came first. He'd be too drained to shower, or even undress. Iruka can see this happening.

He'd _seen_ it happen, once before: Kakashi lying face-down on the ground, fast asleep on his own welcome matt; big, ferocious looking dog standing guard by his side.

Iruka wonders, sometimes, how often the man has actually seen his own bed.

Kakashi works late. He arrives late for his lessons, because he often oversleeps. He's never in a terrible hurry to begin with, and this only compounds matters. Iruka knows this. Kakashi's students do not--and they never _can_ get a straight answer from Kakashi on the matter. It's Iruka-sensei to whom they complain; it's always Iruka-sensei.

--He's pretty cool, I guess...but he's always late!--
--That's right. He was fifteen minutes late yesterday.--
--He acts like it's no big deal. I don't understand how you become an elite shinobi, if you're that lazy,--

It's not his place to make excuses for Kakashi, a man he barely knows. It's not his place to get in the middle, either, no matter how much he worries. It isn't any of his business besides. He's sure Kakashi has his reasons, as sure as he is that the man would be late no matter what the circumstances.

It's not that he's lazy. Or forgetful. Or that his priorities are skewed, as Sasuke puts it. If Iruka has learned anything of the man, it's that he's deliberate to a fault, and knows exactly what he's doing.

Most of the time, anyway.

The night greets Iruka like an icy slap, and he trudges grimly through the mud and wet, calling out.

"Oi, Kakashi-sensei! Were you planning on walking home in this?"

Kakashi turns a bit, swaying, hands in his pockets. He walks a pace or two farther, then stops. "Oh, this?" He lifts a hand, deceptively care-free, waves off a scattering of water droplets. "Maa, a little rain never hurt anybody." His hair hangs sodden and dripping over his one visible eye. He's soaked through and through, spattered with mud, leaves, and bits of grass.

A complete and utter mess. Iruka lets out an exasperated little cluck. Not that he's surprised.

The first time he'd found Kakashi like this, he'd had to work up considerable nerve to approach him. Dashing out into the rain, without an umbrella, and just stammering at the man. --Aren't you...don't you...would you perhaps--and so on.

He couldn't have been sure, with the mask on, whether Kakashi hadn't smiled, even slightly. His eyes had held nothing but weariness. He may have, though. A tiny smile. Before waving it off, all of it, like he hadn't a trouble in the world. Even though, as Iruka recalled, he'd been bleeding quite heavily from a wound on his shoulder.

It was nothing, he'd said.

Somehow, Iruka convinced him not to take that long walk home. After several minutes of trying, and almost pleading, Kakashi shrugged and gave in. Iruka took him by the arm and led him inside. Kakashi went quite docilely, and perhaps he'd had every intention of doing so in the first place. Suddenly surprising, just how exhausted he was. Once the door was shut, he'd leaned on Iruka with his full weight, and let out a breath as if he'd been holding it all day.

He was warm and heavy against Iruka's side. He said nothing the entire time.

Iruka bent and removed his zori for him, walked him through the apartment, up the stairs, into the bathroom. He'd had to support him through all of this; Kakashi practically sleep-walking, in a total fog. And, without even thinking about it, Iruka undressed him. Sat him down on a stool, and patiently peeled him down to his drawers, removed his mask and everything. Came to himself with a start, blushing, when he found himself eye to eye with a nearly nude Kakashi; who regarded him calmly.

His stare was the most penetrating thing. And Iruka couldn't recall, at that time, if he'd ever seen the man's face before. If it even mattered that he was pale and handsome underneath, and for all that, unremarkable. Because he'd expected at least a hideously disfiguring scar, or something. And if there were, they were too faint to make out.

Iruka said nothing about it, though, he was still caught up in that gaze. Maybe he was mesmerized by it. That would explain why he'd reacted so calmly when Kakashi reached up, with gently gravity, and took Iruka's face in both hands.

Had one more good look in his eye, and enough time to gasp, before Kakashi drew him forward and kissed him square on the lips.

Kakashi was a man of few words, so his actions spoke volumes. Iruka tensed for one heart-hammering moment, then relaxed and let it happen. He could feel a tug inside of him, as light as the kiss was; it penetrated him, and sent heat spiraling to his groin. He'd had an iron grip on Kakashi's wrists, hard enough that his fingers started to numb; and still, the man was implacable. He had no intention of letting go, and Iruka had no intentions of making him.

Kakashi's hands were hot, and his fingers jagged with calluses.

The gentle kiss went on forever, and ended far too soon. Kakashi had let go, hands dropping like stunned birds to his sides, and the two of them teetered apart. Iruka was panting.

--Ka...kashi-san!-- He came to his senses, face hot, and would have slapped Kakashi, had he been the sort of person to do that. But he wasn't. He settled for a harsh look, and as much moral outrage as he could properly muster.

The man had enough decency to look chagrined--like a dog that knows it's been bad--and nothing more came of it, that night. Iruka cleaned him up, and rolled out a spare futon, where Kakashi collapsed gratefully. He slept like a stone, and was gone by morning.

Iruka had gone about his day as if nothing had ever happened. And Kakashi did whatever Kakashi did, while Iruka silently fretted about his former students, how they were doing, and so on. The very next time they met, they argued. What it was about, Iruka couldn't quite recall, only that he was furious. And that the more furious he became, Kakashi became calmer, and cooler, until he was just a silent cold stare, nailing Iruka speechless.

Kakashi had the last word, and his word was final, because once it left his mouth, he turned and left. Iruka had never been so summarily dismissed in all of his life. He didn't know quite what to make of it. So he let the whole matter drop, or at least tucked it away safely, to be picked at later like a half-healed scab.

He didn't see Kakashi again for a while. A few days. He wasn't worried, or even apprehensive. But Iruka, all the same, began to wonder where he'd gotten to.

Until one night, Iruka spied him from his window, ambling casually down the road, through a foot of snow.

After that, it seemed, he'd return once a week, or two, from one of his assignments; on a night where it was raining, snowing, icy cold, windy, or otherwise miserable; and he'd be in the sorriest state. Each time sorrier than the last. And not knowing why, Iruka would go outside and catch him, and coax him inside. Feed him, bandage him, clean him up, and give him a futon to sleep on for the night.

He never, in all that time subsequent, raised another hand, nor did anything inappropriate. And Iruka waited for it. He stood too close, and he waited. He leaned against Kakashi, and rubbed his back, and joked with him, and made eyes, and waited. Kakashi, every time, just stared at him, into him, and did nothing.

It was a challenge then.

"Kakashi, how long are we going to play this old game?"

"Hm?" The man cocks his head, and shifts a bit. Looks down, and his toes are covered in mud. He's standing in a great big puddle of it. And he just doesn't seem to care. They're standing just outside of Iruka's apartment, for almost a minute now, and the rain is just pissing down, cold and heavy, an inexorable weight. Kakashi is suddenly dead serious. "Do you think this is a game, Iruka-san?"

Iruka knows when he's being mocked. Knows it for a fact when Kakashi's eye arches closed; and he can almost feel him grinning.

"If so, then, check-mate. I guess I'll be going home now...ha-hah. See you next week perhaps?"

There are times when he could just strangle the man. But then, there are times when Iruka could just strangle most people. Kakashi used to be the exception, until he got to know him better.

"Just come inside." Iruka sighs under his umbrella, and slumps. Tiny bits of hail are beginning to fall, peppering the ground like bullets, sending up splashes of mud. "Please."

Kakashi tugs at the straps of his pack, and stands there, looking suddenly forlorn. The whole street around them, the whole village, is quiet and empty seeming. They're quite alone. Kakashi is alone. From not even ten feet away, he's completely isolated, there in his mud puddle. Miraculously, the pieces of hail seem to miss him. Iruka doesn't want to be holding his breath, but he is. That sad eye regards him for another cold second, before Kakashi's expression softens.

"All right." He says, creeps up beneath the shelter of the umbrella, and drips on Iruka in quiet defeat.

Iruka doesn't think about it. They're outside in full view of anybody who happens by. But he doesn't think twice about putting his arm around Kakashi's shoulders, and pulling him closer. He comes quietly, like so many times before, too wiped out to worry about anything else. Not bothered to care what liberties Iruka might take with him, as long as he's being cared for, as long as it's someone familiar.

And once inside, once through the foyer--out of his zori, his pack, and his vest--he leans against Iruka, who's standing too close, and waiting. And Kakashi just lets his face drop onto Iruka's shoulder, turns into his neck a bit, and stands against him. Iruka goes still. The body against his is boiling with fever, and there's a tiny tremor of fatigue running through him, under the careful hands on his arms.

Kakashi is shivering, and miserable, and he's not caring at all about his status at the moment. He just wants to burrow, and huddle against somebody warm. He wants to be acknowledged.

Iruka sighs, and again, wraps an arm around him, then both arms, and just squeezes. "Oi, how do you always manage to get yourself in such a state?"

"You should know better than to ask that." Kakashi murmurs against his neck, swaying slightly. He rears back suddenly, and sneezes, muttering: "not good," and groaning.

Iruka leads him into the bathroom, with exaggerated patience, and peels him out of his clothes. "So you walked home in this chill, without an umbrella."

Kakashi rubs the back of his head, sheepishly. "I hadn't thought to bring one. Besides, it would've gotten in the way."

"How far did you walk?"

"Fifteen miles, give or take." He sighs, then mutters hazily. "I'm afraid my book got wet. I was really looking forward to what happened next..."

Iruka slips Kakashi's hitaiate off, and places a hand on his forehead. He sorely wants to lecture the man about knowing better, elite class or no, but Iruka saves his words. Kakashi, at this point, can barely keep his eyes open.

And he's swaying again, he's at the point of collapse now, and he's still talking, to Iruka's growing alarm.

"...but then I didn't want it to get ruined. I guess I really should've brought an umbrella...I should go buy one tomorrow...if it's not still raining...but then, that would be kind of silly, wouldn't it...buying an umbrella in the rain?"

Iruka grabs him roughly by the shoulders. "Kakashi, shhh. You're starting to go hoarse." He begins to look like he might pass out--eyes rolling up, mouth going slack--and teeters forward. Iruka digs his fingers into Kakashi's arms, shakes him a bit. "Kakashi."

"I'm okay." He insists, slurring, a drunken tilt to his lips. "I'm fine."

His hands light on Iruka's chest, the heat of them burning straight through his shirt. He is mostly naked, there in the bathroom, and radiating warmth like a furnace. He lurches forward, clumsily, as if by accident, bumping up against Iruka. Getting right in his face. Iruka fumbles, then grabs onto Kakashi's wrists, they knock over the stool, and their legs become entangled.

The whole thing is a mess, from the start, and Iruka's grasping for the shower curtain, tangling it in his fist, Kakashi pressed roughly against him, clamping onto his mouth with sudden ferocity.

"mm!" Iruka struggles briefly, body gone hard with tension and confusion. He can hear the curtain about to rip, and imagines it doing so. Popping free of its rings, and scattering them across the room. The two of them sliding to the floor amidst a tangle of fabric and limbs, and grappling atop the litter, clawing at each other until one of them gives. He relaxes his grip carefully, groping out for the wall, instead; his other hand firm at the middle of Kakashi's back.

He wants this. Oh, yes...very much. His hand creeps up, fingers tangling in Kakashi's hair, gripping hard. Kakashi has him pressed into the wall, has his shirt rucked up so their stomachs are flush, sticky with sweat, joining them there like Siamese twins. He's trying to wiggle out of his drawers, gasping and rubbing against Iruka like a promise of things to come, and they're both painfully hard.

"We’re not playing anymore...Iruka-san..." He whispers against Iruka's lips, dragging a hot breath across his jaw with a scrape of teeth. "I win."

Kakashi smiles triumphantly, and goes limp, slides out of Iruka's arms, down the front of his body, and stops somewhere above his groin. Unconscious. Just like that.

Iruka gasps noisily for air, a soft, raw animal sound scraping its way out of his throat. "Shit." He says quietly, hand going to the side of his head, clawing sweaty strands of hair back. He stands there for a while, knees shaking, groin throbbing, then carefully bends to lift Kakashi up.

He sets him down, and cleans him up, and regrets. And curses himself silently. He isn't sure for what, exactly. Maybe for not acting sooner. Maybe for acting at all.

Kakashi is quite heavy, though he doesn't look it. His slender body compactly muscled, and utterly solid; he's dead-weight, too, as cooperative as a sack of flour. Iruka carries him into his own bedroom, and lays him down on the big bed--one of the very few luxuries he's afforded himself. No futon for him this time. Iruka can't be bothered. It's late, and he's pretty tired himself, more so from having to care for the careless jounin. He pulls a spare blanket from his foot-locker, and wraps it around Kakashi, who curls in towards Iruka's touch, and reaches for him in his sleep.

Iruka bites his lower lip, and lays a gentle hand on Kakashi's pale, clammy cheek. "Just who the hell are you?" He murmurs.

Since no answer is forthcoming, Iruka strips off his clothes, wraps himself in another blanket, and lies down beside Kakashi; back to feverish back.

Kakashi uncurls, slowly, and turns over, until he's spooned against Iruka. He sleeps like a stone, that night. Iruka does not. He lies awake, and listens, and waits.

It rains forever, and he wonders if it'll ever be morning again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

*Pour your misery down...on me.*
~owari da?~

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