The Trick Is Not Minding

Chapter Seven

Dinner was an awkward affair. Iruka bustled around the small kitchen, checking his cabinets and fridge, trying to come up with something that would be easy for the copy-nin to eat. Deciding on a simple miso soup with eggplant and rice he spun into action, shooing the jounin out into the living room when his presence became overly distracting. Kakashi hovered uncomfortably in the center of the room, not wanting to disturb anything, after all, these things belonged to the teacher, and he’d learned long ago not to touch other people’s things. So he hovered, uncomfortable and awkward, in the bare center of the floor, trying not to look at or brush against anything.

Iruka watched the copy-nin shift uncomfortably, hands in pockets and eyes downcast, pointedly avoiding everyone and everything around him. The chuunin’s heart sunk at the sight, now that he knew some of what had been going on he saw this studied indifference in a whole new light. What he and everyone else had always taken as arrogant snubbing of those beneath his notice was, in actuality, fear of pain and retribution. Iruka’s heart broke yet again at the thought of anyone feeling so abandoned and isolated.

Umino Iruka was a practical man, he prided himself on his down-to-earth nature and ability to accept whatever came his way. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, or happily ever after . . . and in his experience dreams did not come true. But right now, for the first time, he wanted all of those things to be true, because he wanted those things for Kakashi. Sighing deeply as this new reality rearranged his vision of the future, he dished out the simple meal and called the copy-nin in to eat. One thing at a time.

Kakashi tentatively took a seat at the table, pressing his hands together and proclaiming “Itadakimasu” along with the chuunin. He looked longingly at the food in front of him. It smelled so good, surely it was safe. He watched as Iruka began to eat, drooling at the nearness of the food, but unable to trust it, or the chuunin, enough to eat. Suddenly the teacher stood and carried his plate back into the kitchen, setting it on the counter, his back to the copy-nin. “Go ahead and eat, I won’t look, I promise.” Trust or not, the jounin repeated to himself yet again, and, once again, he decided to trust the gentle man who was going to so much trouble to make him feel comfortable.

Pulling his mask down, the copy-nin quickly began to devour the food in front of him. Simple it might be, but he couldn’t remember the last time food tasted this good. Somewhere deep inside he felt a small glimmer of hope, maybe things could be like this always . . . but he quickly stamped down the thought, having known the additional pain of dashed hopes. He would treat this like what it was, a temporary respite, all too soon the madman who ruled his life would arrive to collect him and things would go back to normal. He tilted his head as he considered everything that had happened over the last day and wondered again if perhaps none of this was real and he was suffering from a head injury . . . or maybe this was the after-life?

Suddenly he was struck by another, even more horrifying thought. There was only one bed. Kakashi would gladly sleep on the couch, but he feared that this was where he found out the price of Iruka’s kindness. Of course the chuunin would expect him to share his bed after all he’d done. He tried to suppress his shudder as he stared at his ‘savior’ through half-lidded eyes. He could do this, he would do this . . . after all, he owed the chuunin a debt for rescuing him, and the teacher had been gentle with him so far, perhaps it would not be so bad.

Swallowing hard and accepting his fate the copy-nin gracefully rose and padded into the bedroom. There he quickly shed his clothes and slipped into the bed, squeezing himself against the far wall, leaving the maximum amount of space for the chuunin. Iruka slowly entered the bedroom, preparing to find some night clothes for Kakashi and grab some linens for himself so he could make up the futon. He stopped in the doorway, clearly puzzled by the copy-nin’s behavior. “Are you comfortable, Kakashi?” he ventured, not really sure what to say.

The copy-nin’s brain whirred, survival mechanism coming into play and working to interpret the chuunin’s question . . . he knew that his life could hinge on a correct answer. He quickly changed his position, kneeling in the center of the bed, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed. “I’m sorry Iruka, where do you want me?” He asked smoothly, and the chuunin’s face burst into flame at the wicked thoughts that raced through his head. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the enticing figure in front of him, the lean pale body appearing sculpted from alabaster, the scars adding an enticing and poignant reality to the vision he was faced with.
Oh god, he was so hard he hurt. The star of every wet dream he’d ever had was displayed in front of him like a piece of erotic art, and he had to calm down right now. Iruka swallowed hard and in a less than steady voice proclaimed “I think I’ll take a shower before bed. Here’s some night clothes for you. If you need anything just call, I’ll be on the futon in the living room.” Then, hands clenched at his sides, he practically ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Kakashi’s mind was whirling, trying and discarding different reasons for, and consequences of, the teacher’s sudden retreat. Obviously he wanted something else, but what? Iruka’s arousal had been clear, yet he made no move on the copy-nin . . . why? The genius’ mind turned the problem and examined it from every angle. He couldn’t be sure, of course, but he tentatively decided that his scars must be a turn-off for the teacher.

Iruka flattened his back against the bathroom door and panted, trying to gain some control over his arousal. He rapidly stripped his clothes off and moaned as his pants dragged over his engorged need. A cold shower just isn’t going to cut it, he decided, and dialed the water temperature to comfortably warm. Stepping inside he immediately wrapped his hand firmly around his length, the first smooth stroke lighting a fire in his gut. He wasted no time setting a brisk pace, mind lost in fantasies of doing anything and everything with the silver-haired jounin. I always knew he had a killer body, but wow! Iruka thought, the reality is so much more. He couldn’t stop the visions racing through his mind, any more than he could stop his ragged moans of the copy-nin’s name as he chased his release.

Kakashi crept from the bed to listen at the bathroom door at the first moan of his name. Did the teacher want him to come join him in the shower? He shifted uneasily from foot to foot, considering. The shower wasn’t so bad, the warm water helped. Go in or stay out, in or out, in or out, the question tumbled through his mind faster and faster as the sounds from behind the door became louder and more ardent.

Iruka was trembling, heat streaking up and down his spine. He gave one final stroke, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive tip and exploded, shooting streams of creamy seed onto his chest and abdomen. “Oh, ‘kashi, I love you.”

The copy-nin stood frozen with his hand on the bathroom door knob. Love, he thought, what kind of a trick is this anyway, no one can love me. Even more uncertain about the teacher’s motives than he had been, Kakashi decided to crawl into bed and pretend to sleep. Maybe he could postpone his payment until the morning.

A few minutes later the chuunin crept quietly out of the bathroom. He stopped and gazed at the supposedly sleeping man in his bed. “Sweet dreams ‘kashi-love.” he whispered, before turning and heading to the other room and the waiting futon.

Kakashi laid in the dark for hours, trying, and failing, to figure out what the teacher wanted from him. One thing he was sure of, it wasn’t love, it couldn’t be . . . it didn’t hurt. Finally he drifted off to sleep, no closer to answers than he had been, grateful to escape into nothingness.