Chapter Eighteen
Now

They'd had dinner--soup, salad, and bread, and Kakashi had apologized for it not being better, even though it was delicious--and then they settled down on the floor, Kakashi at Iruka's back. Iruka had realized pretty quickly that he wasn't going home tonight. He'd never seen the Jounin touch anyone so much, as if making sure that Iruka really was alive, and not a figment of his imagination. The ninja had even stripped Iruka's shirt off, insisting he needed to check the scars again.

Iruka just let him. He liked the contact, and Kakashi seemed to need it.

"I like your hair down," Kakashi said once, threading fingers through it. "Soft."

Iruka smiled slightly. It was almost dry, heavy on his neck, and silky. He liked it best at this stage. "So where am I sleeping tonight?" he asked, glancing around. There wasn't much room in the tiny apartment; no couch, and only the one futon.

"There," Kakashi said, pointing to the bed.

Iruka eyed it. "Then where will you sleep?"

Kakashi shrugged. "On the floor."

"Why don't I sleep on the floor, and you can sleep in your bed?"

There was a horrified silence.

"I haven't vacuumed in three days," Kakashi said.

Iruka rolled his eyes. "Three whole days?" he teased, glancing back. Kakashi continued checking the fresh scars, like he'd been doing for nearly twenty minutes, as if afraid they might open up again. At Iruka's question he just nodded solemnly, apparently not realizing it wasn't a serious query.

Iruka laughed and leaned back into the other man's chest. He felt Kakashi stiffen, then relax slowly. A moment later arms wrapped around the Chuunin's waist, a head of silver hair coming down to nuzzle Iruka's neck. Iruka sighed happily. He could hear Kakashi's heart thumping under his skin, slow and comfortable.

"Why do you wear the forehead protector in your home?" he asked, looking up at the masked face.

Kakashi shrugged. "The Sharingan gives me a headache. I can't turn it off." Then he reached up and pulled the cloth off, setting it on the floor.

"Well, if it makes you hurt, leave it on," Iruka said with a frown.

Kakashi smiled. "It won't hurt just for a night."

Iruka kept his frown. "If you're sure . . ."

"I've lived with it for fifteen years. I?Äôm sure."

Iruka gave in and settled again, his skin prickling against Kakashi's shirt. He moved as the scars tingled. "Feels funny," he explained, when Kakashi made an inquisitive noise.

"It's going to feel funnier in a second, if you keep wiggling like that," Kakashi murmured.

Iruka frowned, started to say he didn't get it, and then saw Kakashi's face and both raised eyebrows. He realized how he was sitting--leaning back against the man's lap and chest--and blushed hotly. "Oh. Right. Sorry."

"I didn't say it was a bad thing." Kakashi's voice was low.

Iruka hadn't thought it was possible, but his blush deepened. "You're terrible."

"That's not what other people tell me . . ."

Iruka snorted and tried to elbow the Jounin. Kakashi just moved, swiftly enough to block it and lock Iruka's arms in place. "That's better," he said smugly.

"Bastard," Iruka muttered, trying to yank free.

Kakashi only shifted his grip and held on, fingers strong around the younger man's wrists.

"Let me go," Iruka said, scowling.

"What's the magic word?"

"Now."

Kakashi laughed softly, breath gusting against the shell of an ear. "I don't think so."

Iruka struggled again. Kakashi started to move, inching them both back until he was sitting against the wall, Iruka in his lap. "You asshole," Iruka groused, twisting his wrists to break Kakashi's hold.

Kakashi's hold didn't break. "That's definitely not the magic word."

"Who talks about magic words anymore, anyway? Mothers do that to little kids, not--" he stopped.

"Not what?"

"Nothing."

"What?" Kakashi asked, sitting up slightly straighter. "What were you going to call me?"

"Nothing," Iruka ground out. "Would you let me go?"

"No. What were you going to say?"

Iruka felt himself start to blush again. "You're an ass."

"We're going to sit here until you tell me what you were going to say."

"Please let me go," Iruka said, giving in.

"Too late for the magic word. Besides, the magic word is 'salsa.'"

"What?" Iruka yelped, laughing. "The magic word can't be salsa! That makes no sense!"

"What were you going to say?"

Iruka blushed harder and fell silent. He wasn't going to say it. It was embarrassing. What if Kakashi didn't agree?

"What?" Kakashi breathed into his ear.

The bastard was teasing him. He was certain of it. Kakashi's pinkies moved, drifting up and down Iruka's bare skin. Iruka didn't squirm. He would not squirm. And damn it, he wasn't going to get turned on, either, because if he thought blushing was embarrassing, that was even worse.

He felt Kakashi's nose drift behind his earlobe. "What were you going to say?"

Crap. He was getting turned on, and in a minute Kakashi was going to know that, and--crap. "I was going to say," Iruka bit off, "'Mothers do that to little kids, not adults who are dating.'" He was pretty sure no one had ever died from blushing before, so he hoped when it happened to him he at least got an award for it.

"Dating? Is that what we're doing?" Kakashi was still speaking into his ear, breath warm against Iruka's skin.

"I don't know," Iruka said, managing not to stutter. "Are we?"

"Hmm. I'd like that."

His heart dropped out of his throat. He turned his head slightly, catching Kakashi out of the corner of his eye. The man turned too, nuzzling at his neck.

Iruka swallowed. "Kakashi?"

"Hmm?"

He wasn't sure what he was going to ask, so he just stayed silent. Kakashi nuzzled his throat and then around, warming the skin, lifting his hair.

"Will you let me go now?" Iruka asked quietly.

"No," Kakashi said into the nape of his neck. "I thought you were dead. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"I'm not dead. I wasn't anywhere near being dead, and you can't exactly come to class with me," Iruka said, trying desperately not to think about how tight his pants were getting. He brought his knees up. "That would cause questions."

"Mmm." Kakashi didn't seem to care. He blew on Iruka's skin, making goosebumps.

"Kakashi . . ."

"Yes?"

He bit his lip. He didn't know what to say. He shivered when Kakashi's pinkies shifted again, rubbing against his ribs. He turned his head, because at least he could kiss back, and saw mask.

He'd be damned if he was going to kiss cloth. "Take the mask off?" he asked quietly.

Kakashi froze.

Iruka's heart sank. "Kakashi, I?Äôm not kissing a mask," he said patiently, hoping. "Please. Take it off."

The grip on his wrists released, freeing him. He rolled forward, crouching, lust rapidly replaced by fright. The neurosis couldn't be this strong. Please, please it couldn't be this strong.

"I can't . . ." Kakashi said quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. Then the eyes flickered up, filled with pain and confusion and a scary dollop of fear.

Iruka's heart sank. He stood slowly, nodding, and walked toward the door.

"Iruka--" Kakashi started, the word almost choked out.

Iruka paused. Outside, a dog howled. "It's all right," he said softly. He reached out and turned off the light. Blackness fell so completely he couldn't see his hand in front of his face.

Everyone had neuroses. He had known this would be a strong one. "Take off the mask?" he asked into the dark, softly.

There was a hesitation, and then the sound of cloth being pulled away. Iruka made his way slowly back to Kakashi, for once glad that there was so little furniture to trip on. He knelt when he found the man, fingers on Kakashi's shoulders to guide him. He slid his hands down wiry arms, feeling the tremble beneath the shirt, and then, when he was on the floor, slid his hands back up to the Jounin's shoulders.

He hesitated there, afraid to push, but--

He brushed his fingers up Kakashi's neck, over his jawline, drifting over the man's mouth. His skin was damp from the moisture trapped by the mask, but mostly smooth. Iruka could feel a scar on one cheek, and suspected it was the continuation of the one over the Sharingan eye. Something thin trailed down the side of his neck. An old scar, cutting frighteningly close to the jugular.

Kakashi let him feel for several seconds before trapping his fingers and pulling them away. The Jounin's hands were still trembling. Iruka leaned forward and kissed him. After a moment, with a shaky breath, Kakashi kissed back.

Later, lying in a tangle of sheets and limbs, some vague part of Iruka wondered what had happened to their clothes, and how much of a mess they'd just made. Most of him really didn't care. All of him was rapidly drifting into sleep.

He woke a bit when Kakashi sprawled half over him, reaching out. Iruka turned his head and saw a black pile of clothing, barely a shape in the dark, the Jounin shaking something free. With a frown Iruka realized it was the mask.

He reached out with a sleepy hand and stopped the other man. "Don't," he said softly, holding Kakashi's forearm. Deep in the back of his mind, he wondered how bad the compulsion was, that Kakashi would feel the need to wear a mask to bed.

Most of him was too tired and sated to think about it much.

Kakashi hesitated, then completed the motion, bringing the mask to the futon. There, he paused again, and just set it on the nightstand rather than putting it on.

Iruka sighed happily and let himself go to sleep.

**
Then

Kakashi stared in the mirror, peering at his face. He looked like his father. He looked like his entire family.

He rubbed away the dried blood on his lip, knowing his sensei would ask questions if he saw it. He didn't want to say that the Genins tried to beat him up, and he let them. That would only cause more questions.

His hands were shaking. He didn't want to look at himself. He couldn't not look. Ugly, and horrible, and--and--

He made a fist and smashed it into the mirror. The mirror was stronger than he was, though, and held. He wanted to scream at it. Slash his skin off so he looked nothing like that man that was his father. So people wouldn't hate him so much.

But that would cause questions.

He stumbled back, dropping onto his futon, and stared at the floor.

He would cover it up. That would work. He would cover his face, and no one would ever see him, and everything would be better. His sensei might ask questions, but--but--ninja used to cover their faces. He would say it was out of respect. Sensei would believe him.

Kakashi looked around, eyes finally falling on his bedsheet. That would do. He grabbed a kunai off the dresser and ripped into it, tearing off a corner. Once he had a long enough piece to wrap around his head he stood, walking back to the mirror.

He stared hard at his reflection. Then, slowly, he covered his face and tied the black cloth tight around his skull.

He never wanted to see himself again.