I am not the blue of the blackberry.

drowned

txilar — Thu, 03 Sep 2015 03:08:35 GMT

it’s like i’m floating away

i want to float away

an aimless balloon in the sky

floating

i can’t breathe, i’m drowning, i should be drowning, i could drown,

i want to drown

(i do not want to die)

i’m helpless i’m lost i’m numb

i can count the stars, but i can’t find you

i keep waiting and waiting and waiting

but i still can’t figure out

just where you are

where are you?

(you are not here)

if i could just get under the water

perhaps

i’d find you floating there

in the sky with me

i dream about him a lot. i'd say nightly but i don't always remember my dreams so i cannot be positive that is truth, but it feels like it is. they are good dreams, excessively normal dreams. nothing mythological, symbolic, or archetypal. just him, there, with me, where he should be, but only there. i also had a dream where his mother was there (she died about two months before him; she was under their sister's care with alzheimer's) and we were discussing him, his little idiosyncrasies. she was telling me about him as a little boy. another one we were at some sort of stadium. i don't know where or why, but the guy next to me was having a meltdown.

mostly he is 'my' david, but sometimes he is rockstar david: long hair, dark curls and that sweet, innocent, sexy, gorgeous face with the distant gaze. i just wish i remembered them more. they seem to fade too quickly.

i feel expectant, empty, like i've forgot something, and like i'm waiting on something. i also feel like he's just slipping away from me. and if i don't pay close enough attention he'll be gone.

where are you david?

Naruto Fic: fervent

txilar — Thu, 19 Mar 2015 21:09:10 GMT

fervent
Gen | 500
Summary: Some days you just want to relax with a cat. But some cats have claws.
Notes: For megyal and Scratches.

“Madara!”

Madara heard another urgent cry from the street below, but didn’t move, idly petting the cat snoozing on his belly, his purrs turning to a snore, rumbling in time with the rise of Madara’s diaphragm.

A rustle of leaves and the shudder of impatient steps announced Hashirama’s arrival.

“Madara, where are you?”

Something dense and broken roiled in his shoulders at the expectant tone. He remained still, eyes closed, one arm behind his head, but even the cat felt the tension snapping inside of him. Two sets of claws dug into his abdomen, but he kept stroking the cat, forcing the odd sensation down, determined to retain his deep relaxation.

“What are you doing? Why are you here? I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Mm.”

“Madara! We had a meeting--I’ve been looking all over for you and--”

Madara opened his eyes and rolled his head until his gaze fell on Hashirama. He stared until Hashirama quelled.

“--oh. I just… What are you doing?”

Madara lifted a hand and waved Hashirama over. “Come. Sit.”

Hashirama squinted at the black cat, who glared just as suspiciously back. He sat on the edge of on a small bench, in the space left by the unyielding planes of Madara’s body.

The sun glared down unrelentingly. It was hot, too hot to be loud, to train, to fight, even to think.

And yet, every single thing about the day irritated Madara. He felt like he was fighting a losing battle against sheer rage at being.

Except for the cat. That was about the only thing that didn’t irritate him. And somehow he felt that Tengan the cat was the only other one who not only understood, but felt the same way.

Tengan’s tail lashed as Hashirama adjusted himself on the bench.

Madara felt vaguely jealous for not having a tail to lash.

“Relax, Hashirama. You are very tense. Tengan doesn’t like that.”

“I think what Tengan doesn’t like is the interruption. We had a meeting with--”

“Shhh.” Madara meant to put a finger over his incessant mouth, but he landed on Hashirama’s chest instead. Opening his eyes, he took in Hashirama’s embarrassed surprise. His mouth rounded to speak and Madara let his fingers slide up to cover that noisy mouth.

“Let’s just enjoy the quiet.”

Tengan made a short miao, as if in agreement, and thumped his tail against Hashirama’s leg.

Hashirama made a strangled noise, as if he couldn’t bare to repress the urge to speak. Madara turned his head away, closed his eyes, and let his hand fall to pat Hashirama’s belly. He felt Tengan’s claws and smiled. Tengan’s claws and Hashirama’s weren’t so different.

“Both of you. Hush. I need to think.”

-fin-

Naruto Fic: your mind (Is Not Your Own)

txilar — Mon, 18 Aug 2014 23:12:08 GMT

your mind (Is Not Your Own)
Adult | 2358
Summary: Sometimes, Kakashi doesn’t want to be alone.
Prompt: #30 by lazybumperv: 'Everyone thought that the cold killer he had been was an action taken out of grief, that the laid back personality was the real him. What if they're wrong?' Written for kakairu_fest's 2014 Summer GlompFest.
Notes: I love this prompt and had so many different ideas for where to go with it, but Kakashi kept resisting, so I ended up rewriting and by then he was quite subdued. I hope this piece, still in the spirit of the prompt, suffices. Thank you M for thorough last minute beta-skills. <3
Also posted at AO3.

“Lonely is the night when you find yourself alone. Your demons come to light and your mind is not your own.”
-Billy Squire

When he was younger, he washed his hands a lot.

Sometimes, he remembered that. Now, the gloves made it impractical. Possibly unhygienic, but he was fond of extremes.

Kakashi looked down on the village from his vantage point. Late afternoon coloured everything a golden shade.

Then a burnt orange.

A shadowy dusk.

Indigo shadows.

Finally, a dark night lit by a particularly fat moon. A nip in the air hinted at the coming autumn temperatures or possibly a late summer storm. Both.

Kakashi sighed.

He felt restless. There was a frantic pace, a jagged edge to everything, to everyone, everywhere. He didn’t need the Sharingan to see or sense it. It was overwhelming. And though he was no fan of premonition, only this morning he’d broken his favourite comb.

He pushed back into a crevice and curled into it, waiting for the sun to rise. He wasn’t going home tonight. If he did, he was going to start washing his hands and he didn’t know how long it would be before he could stop.

-

“Hey, the Copy Ninja’s over there.”

Izumo poked Iruka in the side. Iruka ignored him and kept drinking.

“Didn’t you go on a mission with him? Wasn’t that your last mission before you started teaching full time? What happened, huh? You never talk about it.”

Iruka shrugged. “Just a mission.”

Kotetsu poked him at that point. “Just? Iruka, you retired from missions to work at the Academy. All you said was ‘things got tense. I’m exploring my options.’ C’mon. Give! You’ve barely been on a dozen missions since and--”

“All resounding successes.”

“--not once--well, yes, good missions all, but that was nearly three years ago. You can tell us about it now.”

Iruka glimpsed in Kakashi’s direction. Kakashi wasn’t even looking in their direction.

“It’s classified. It was a mission, guys. Like any other. I got wounded and, you know me.” Iruka shrugged. “I’ve always preferred the technical to the practical. I thought it was a good time to pursue my academic interests.”

“He’s a headcase, right? Like everyone says, ‘Cold-Blooded Kakashi?’”

“You shouldn’t speak of your fellow shinobi in such a manner,” Iruka said quietly. For one thing, it was disrespectful. For another, Kakashi had ridiculously sensitive hearing.

“C’mon! He talks to ghosts, killed that one guy for snoring--”

“That’s a ridiculous rumour.”

Izumo blinked at Iruka’s interruption. Mainly because Iruka hadn’t made it. They all looked up to see Kakashi looming over them, holding up his drink.

“Mind if I join?”

His mask was down, hooked on his chin rather like Izumo’s. They stared at him, wide-eyed. No one said anything, so he slid a stool next to Iruka and moved in close.

It was utterly silent.

“I didn’t kill anyone for snoring.” Kakashi spoke with a smile.

They relaxed, subtly, Iruka thought, but he was sure Kakashi noted it.

Kakashi was still smiling. “He was a traitor. I broke his neck in a fair fight.”

Kotetsu stood and yanked Izumo up. “Well, you know we have to be at the Missions Office early in the morning, so…”

“We do?”

“Yes,” Kotetsu said firmly. “Don’t you have to be early as well, Iruka?”

“I--”

Kakashi’s hand shot out to grasp Iruka’s wrist.

“We’re going to stay and chat. I’ll buy a round next time, guys. Night.” It was clearly dismissive, but Iruka could tell they didn’t want to leave. Well, Kotetsu did, but Izumo was staring nervously at Kakashi.

“It’s fine guys, I’ll be early too,” Iruka said. He didn’t say it particularly reassuringly, but Izumo nodded, apparently convinced and Kotetsu dragged them out. Iruka turned an exasperated expression to Kakashi.

“Really? Broke his neck in a fair fight?” Iruka asked.

“Yes. For the record, I do not talk to ghosts.”

“If you say so.” It had been a while since Iruka had talked to Kakashi and he had kind of hoped it would be even longer. At the same time, Iruka couldn’t deny he still had an attraction to Kakashi. That had to be a sign that there was something wrong with him too.

“I talk to myself. I can’t help it if ghosts listen.”

Iruka refused to be drawn in. This was how it started. Kakashi spoke in circles, trapping anyone who dared enter his logic traps. Anyone who dared enter his world.

“I hear you failed another group of students.”

Kakashi let go of Iruka’s wrist and took a long drink of his beer. “I hope they weren’t yours, sensei. They had a fair grasp of the basics, but no sense of teamwork, no idea that missions aren’t going to work like classroom exercises, and their grasp of weaponry would make Teuchi cringe.”

“They weren’t mine,” said Iruka flatly.

“Well, there’s that.”

They were silent for a while, Iruka beginning to feel uncomfortable and wonder why Kakashi was really keeping him sitting here.

“Do people really think I talk to ghosts?”

“People joke that you do so they don’t have to believe that you do.” Iruka signalled the bartender for another beer. It was starting to seem like one of those nights.

“That doesn’t make any sense, Iruka.”

“It makes perfect sense. Look underneath and all that.” Iruka felt like he was treading thin ice with Kakashi, but he liked the feeling. Like he had nothing to lose. Their last real conversation had been after that mission. Despite what he’d told Kotetsu and Izumo, it hadn’t been ‘just’ a mission. Kakashi was a headcase. Rather, he had been. He was better now. Mostly.

“I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

-

Iruka walked like he was going to make a break for it at any moment.

“You didn’t tell them about our mission.”

“Of course not. That’s classified,” Iruka said.

Kakashi nodded as they strolled, hands in his pockets, walking in that indolent manner that people always mistook for easy-going and carefree. He had it down to an art. He was the Copy Ninja after all; he could copy anything.

Just some nights, he couldn’t find peace.

-“Where are we going?”

Kakashi shrugged.

“Were you waiting for me?”

Kakashi shrugged again.

Iruka sighed. Kakashi hadn’t changed much. Oh, to most people, he was just a lazy, carefree copy-nin wandering the village between missions with his Icha Icha book. But Iruka knew what was beneath, and beneath, and beneath that still. He wasn’t the only one that did, other shinobi knew Kakashi better, but Iruka knew him differently. He had a unique perspective.

“Bad mission?” Iruka finally asked, about a half hour later. Kakashi said nothing. “Our mission was just a punctured lung, a few broken bones and setting me on a new career. What happened on this one?”

He barely registered Kakashi moving. Kakashi grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back and shoved him against a building. He was careful not to slam Iruka’s face into the building, and Iruka was grateful for that, but Kakashi wasn’t gentle about any of it.

Kakashi’s mouth was right beside Iruka’s when he spoke. “Confidential, that.”

“Sorry,” Iruka wheezed. “Just making conversation.” He’d known this was a bad idea. Provoking Kakashi--even inadvertently--was like playing with fire. If fire was a ninjutsu-trained wolf with claws and little in the way of a moral compass.

“It’s late, I should go home.”

“But I enjoy your company, Iruka.”

Iruka tried to laugh. “I don’t think you enjoy anyone’s company.” Kakashi pulled Iruka back to looked at him. He was frowning. Iruka shook his head.

“Then let’s pretend.”

“Sure. If that’s what you need.”

“Oh, don’t go all psych-nin on me. That’s not what I need at all.” Kakashi let Iruka’s arm go and slowly Iruka turned around.

“What do you need?” Iruka asked quietly.

Kakashi didn’t move; his gaze slid dangerously to Iruka. The look he gave Iruka wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It was the harsh light making him look so completely dispossessed. His eye narrowed as he stared at Iruka. Iruka stood his ground, despite the danger emanating from Kakashi.

Kakashi stepped close. Iruka could feel his body heat. “Iruka…”

“I know.”

Kakashi grabbed him by the throat. Iruka relaxed, keeping his head up, breathing as carefully as he could--which wasn’t much, given Kakashi’s tight grip.

“This isn’t a good idea.”

“It wasn’t my idea.”

“There’s something--you’re different, you--no, you just, you look at me differently,” Kakashi whispered brokenly. “Why?”

“I want to help you.” Iruka raised his hand slowly, very slowly, to Kakashi’s cheek, the scarred one. Kakashi’s eye tracked down as if he wanted to follow the movement, then back to Iruka’s face, warily. His mouth was open as he breathed, his chest rising heavily.

“I hurt you already.”

“It was a mission. You did what you had to do. You didn’t mean--”

“I would have killed you without a second thought.” Kakashi’s gaze bored into his.

Well, thought Iruka. That answers a question I never wanted to ask.

“You made their medi-nin heal me. I might have died otherwise.” Iruka raised his other hand to Kakashi’s face. He’d moved closer, so close he was almost pressed against Iruka. His hand was still around Iruka’s throat, but it was loose, only his thumb pressing into Iruka’s neck.

“I killed every one of them.”

“They killed ours. We completed our mission. We’re shinobi. We protect our village. At all costs.” Iruka let his hand rest on Kakashi’s neck, almost mimicking Kakashi’s grip on his own.

Kakashi’s head tilted slightly to the other side. “At all cost?”

Iruka nodded slowly. Kakashi grasped his head and pulled him closer, mouth open against Iruka’s. He kissed desperately, his mouth hot and lonely. Iruka could do little more than cling.

Kakashi’s fingers worked through Iruka’s hair, rubbing his head, pulling him, tilting Iruka’s head from side to side, trying to get the best angle to explore Iruka’s mouth.

“Not out here,” Iruka muttered. “Not the ground again.”

Kakashi dragged his mouth along Iruka’s jaw mouthing and teething along the way. He bit the skin under Iruka’s ear, making him yelp, then trailed down his neck down the same, nipping, licking, and sucking, before kissing him again.

Iruka shivered.

“Please don’t fuck me in an alley, Kakashi.”

Iruka’s head lolled when Kakashi yanked him upright. “No, fuck me in your bed this time. Take me home, Iruka.” He grabbed Iruka’s hand and led the way, not quite following his own command.

Iruka hadn’t felt this much like a teenager when he was a teenager: skipping across rooftops with an illicit lover and stealing kisses between leaps.

When they stopped at his door so he could disarm the traps, Kakashi pushed his hair from his ear and whispered, “I’m sorry I hurt you. I wish I’d never wanted to.”

Iruka wasn’t sure what to say to that, to his hair twisted between the gloved fingers of the most wanted ninja in any bingo book anywhere, so he opened the door, and let Kakashi inside.

“I’ve never been fucked in a bed before.”

-

“So what’s the deal with you and Kakashi-sensei?”

Iruka looked up at Naruto, his eyes wide. The question came from out of the blue. Hadn’t they just been discussing… what had they been talking about anyway?

“Uh, what?”

Naruto shrugged. “You had that one falling out years ago, but you seemed okay after that. But he just sort of, I dunno, watches you sometimes. It’s weird. Does he not trust you or something?”

“No,” said Iruka slowly. “He trusts me.”

Naruto sighed in relief. “Right! Maybe he just has a crush on you.”

Iruka felt his face flood red. Naruto made a jerking motion and waved his hands. “I’m kidding! Iruka! It was a joke, you should see your face!” Naruto fell backwards and laughed helplessly. Each time he tried to stop, he started again and couldn’t stop. He started wheezing and gasping for help and Iruka walked over and started slapping him on the back. It didn’t help. He kept laughing. Then he started hiccuping. Iruka crossed his arms and Naruto just laughed harder.

“Iru--kaka--sitting--tr--tree, hahaha! K-I--S--ahhaha!”

Iruka glared at him.

“Can’t--sto--Rah!--op!” Naruto grabbed his stomach and moaned between laughing and hiccuping.

“How about I scare them away? We’re secretly married! Not working? Maybe I should try Oiroke no Jutsu? Will that scare them out of you?”

-

Naruto’s screams could be heard outside the flat where Kakashi hunched on a tree branch. He had a faint smile on his face. Iruka made it look so easy.

It had been years since he’d come to Iruka for any sort of respite. Years since he’d needed it, really. At least, in that way. He was much better at playing with others. He could pass for civilised. He wasn’t a headcase anymore. Not… quite.

Though there were plenty of nights he didn’t want to sleep alone. He could, even if he didn’t want to.

“Hey.”

Iruka’s voice was quiet and warm. Kakashi looked over to the bedroom window.

“Naruto’s gone. Why don’t you come in?” Iruka slid the window up and stepped back without waiting for a response.

Kakashi walked the length of the branch and bounced inside. The room was dark. He trailed Iruka’s scent to the kitchen where he was doing dishes.

“Are you hungry?”

“Not for--no.” He didn’t have to pretend with Iruka, did he? Kakashi sat down at the low table in the next room and relaxed. Iruka sat a cup of tea down and joined him.

“It’s been a while. How are you?” Iruka drank his tea and looked at Kakashi. His eyes the same night dark pools of acceptance they always had been.

Kakashi just looked at him.

“We all have our demons, Kakashi. Some are more powerful than others, some are more dangerous. But we’re all haunted.”

“It gets lonely sometimes.”

Iruka looked at his hands, reached for them, then met Kakashi’s gaze and smiled. “It doesn’t have to. Why don’t you stay?”

---fin

Original Fiction: but it burns my tongue

txilar — Sun, 20 Apr 2014 00:06:53 GMT

but it burns my tongue
Adult | ~3620
Summary: Tommy and Baptiste have been bonded as long as they both can remember. They were always together, and Tommy never thought anything of it until Baptiste was gone. Then he gets Baptiste back, and everything changes.
Author Notes: Written for kianna_leigh for smut_fest's Bonding Round.
Content Notes: A touch of hurt/comfort, mostly romance, some under the influence sex
Warnings: Fairly casual mentions of drug use
Beta'd by: Freckle, Imp, & M

Posted at Ao3: but it burns my tongue

"I would be your dragon
clinging, as if it's love
Breathing fire but it burns my tongue"
Zulu Winter

Baptiste was outside the gates when Tommy showed up. He was smoking. The cigarettes were clove, rolled dark, nearly hidden by his hair, but given away by tendrils of smoke. He didn't move when Tommy got out of the car, leaned over the top, smiling and waving. Baptiste just tilted his head and blew smoke out, like he was on a smoke break. Like this was their regular deal.

"You're late."

His eyes took Tommy in, but his face was still tilted to the sky. Clouds moved over the sun, polka-dotting the ground and Baptiste with it. Spotlight, shadows, bright light, dim, over and over.

"I missed you too."

At that, Baptiste looked down. He took another long drag, dropped the cigarette, and stepped on it. A paper bag sat beside him, rolled up like a lunch bag. He picked it up and walked over to the car, through the whispering smoke that remained.

"Fuck this place. Take me home, T." He got in, and Tommy kept smiling, staring over the car at nothing. At the fifteen foot chain link fence. At the prison. At the flat land that just went on and on and on.

Baptiste was home.

- - -

Tommy looked sleek and modern, like he'd stepped out of a magazine. He could roll out of bed and pull on a trash bag and he'd still look like he belonged on a magazine cover. Bedroom eyes, and a tall, slim build that just came natural to him.

It was chilly out, but Baptiste tried not to shiver in his state-issued sweatshirt. The car was warming up. It was half nauseating and half numbing, the drone of the road, and the blur of scenery. It was amazing what had sprung up along the highway in three years.

"Got any music?"

"Just for you." Tommy pressed a button and pounding death metal filled the car.

That was good. He didn't want anything with memories attached to it right now, good or bad. Baptiste leaned back and tried to relax, but every muscle in his body felt like a coiled spring. Rusted, but taut.

- - -

"You look good, man. Cut. You work out?" It was hard enough driving without touching Baptiste, to make sure he was real. He had to work at not looking at him, keeping his eyes on the road. But he wanted to. He wanted to stare. Drink him in like ice cold beer. Inhale him into his lungs and drift on the high. Three years of looking at each other through plate glass with only one face-to-face and "hey, no touching!" had taken its toll.

Baptiste shook his head. His hair was long. It didn't look like he'd cut it in three years. It'd been in a tight braid every time he'd visited, but today it was long and loose. Tommy liked it.

"Not much else to do. Play chess for cigarettes. Read. Got some ink."

"You didn't join a gang? Prayer group? Choir?"

Baptiste gave him the finger, leaning over to get his hand in front of Tommy's face. Tommy laughed.

"I have to report within twenty-four hours. Address, anybody living there, any and all bonds, and I have to have a sponsor for--"

"I got it. We're good. You want something to eat?" Tommy signalled and headed toward the main highway. "We got a three hour drive."

Baptiste leaned back, looking out the window. "Nah. I just want to take a shower alone, and enjoy some goddamn quiet."

Tommy nodded. "I got quiet for you. I work downtown so I'm in a company sponsored unit. It's super elite, so it's quiet. And it's in a trendy zone, so hipsters, zombies, squares, and tricks all in one place. Mod bars next to goth bars, jazz in the streets. Cowboys and rappers puking in the alleys together."

Baptiste's eyes were closed, so Tommy rambled on until the next exit. In the three years Baptiste had been locked up, Tommy had gone from part-time cook, alley code-breaker, and skateboarder to lead NLI programmer at his uncle's tech integration company.

Now, instead of cooking oil and decks interrupting him, he dreamt solely of code. Sometimes he dreamt of Baptiste. Reprogramming him. Once, disturbingly, of impregnating him.

He couldn't tell Baptiste that, though. Their bond was official, but it wasn't sexual. It had been set before they were ten years old and was completely platonic. A regular buddy-bond, nothing more.

Tommy's father had been resistant, but the teacher had persuaded him. "It'll be good for them. We try to pair opposites, but in this case, it's for the best." Tommy remembered the teacher's embarrassed laugh. "And after all, they're sort of opposites!"

Later, in hushed conference with all four parents, she said "They aren't getting along with the other boys." Tommy knew he wasn't supposed to be listening to that part, but the low voices piqued his interest. He was selling collectable bottle caps fitted with miniature data recorders at inflated prices. Baptiste was being teased and getting into fights. Neither one of them wore their uniform 'respectfully' and the other kids, well, kids heard things from their parents. Whatever. It had been the start of a beautiful friendship: a shared dislike of those around them.

Nine years later administrators tried to break their bond, but it was too late. Fighting, scamming, wheeling and dealing--

"Hey, we're here." He reached out and shook Baptiste's sleeve. Baptiste jerked upright and grabbed Tommy's wrist, shoving him away, bringing his fist up defensively. He was wide-eyed and breathing fast as he looked around, struggling with the seat-belt, back against the door.

"The fuck?"

"Hey," Tommy pulled his hands back slowly and pulled the door in to stop the beeping. The garage made everything echo louder. He kept his hands where Baptiste could see them. "We're home. You okay? You want to go inside?"

Baptiste took a deep breath, looking down, and nodded. "I'm fine. Yeah, let's go."

- - -

It took three days and five showers before he felt like the smell was off of him. Tommy's place smelled woody and sweet, fancy incense his mom brought back from their island holiday. It helped, but Baptiste still felt sweaty and unclean. He was roaming the kitchen when Tommy called out about the party tomorrow night.

"I don't know. I'm not sure a party is the best idea, I mean, who's going to want to see me? I pissed 'em all off." He wandered back into the salon. Tommy was right. It wasn't a big place, but it was certainly bigger than a cell.

Tommy shook his head from where he sat on the sofa, long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. A book was face down on his belly. "It's not like that. I told you. You still have friends. Keep your hair down like that, you'll have girls, if nothing else."

Baptiste frowned at Tommy and wandered off again. Tommy might be zen-calm these days, but he couldn't sit still. He walked into the dining room again. There was a nice table and chairs, but Tommy was using it as an office. It was ridiculously neat, even the magazines and catalogues were lined up. Baptiste had always been messy, but three years of incarceration had changed that. Once, he'd have grabbed the stack and thumbed through it out of boredom. Now? He didn't want to disturb the clean lines.

Tommy was still tip-toeing around him. Nothing was wrong with him. The moment in the car. He was startled, that was all. He just wasn't ready for a party.

Tommy wouldn't push though. Tommy never pushed.

What the others would do, he couldn't say.

- - -

"C'mon, have a beer, this is a party, man." He didn't even know the guy pushing the beer into Baptiste's hands, but Baptiste was smooth. If he was rattled, it didn't show. He nodded his thanks, took it, but he didn't drink it.

"I'm good."

"Oh, Tiste, your hair, you should be on a magazine cover." Girls were crowded around him. Tommy knew that would happen. Those girls lost it for the long-haired. Tommy had been half worried they'd mistreat him the minute they walked through the doors, but it looked like the opposite had happened: he was their prison celebrity now. After all was said and done, Tommy wasn't sure he liked it.

"What was it like inside? Did you--"

"Shanya, come on, we're welcoming him home, not reminding him of where's been." Tommy slung his arm around Baptiste and drew him away from Shanya. She was already giving him The Look. They moved to another table--new girls. They didn't know how things went down, where Baptiste had been. The last thing he needed was questions or accusations.

Baptiste had a beer. The music got louder, Tommy had some beers, and before long, everyone was loose and soft. The lights were crazy, and it was a proper party.

They were never far from each other, but Tommy let Baptiste wander, mingle, dance. He kept an eye on him--made sure no one pressed him, pushed issues, dug up old hurts, but he let Baptiste go. Habits were hard to break, but Tommy had to make sure there was no tension. Once Baptiste got a few more beers in him, his body lost that tight, coiled rigidity and went fluid.

Tommy's loose-limbed, serpentine Baptiste was slowly re-surfacing.

And they might have been platonic, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate what rolled in front of him. Lately, too much, maybe.

Tommy shook his head and had another drink. Baptiste was having something stronger than drinks. He could feel it. Maybe it was the pulsing pound of music, the swirl of lights and colours, or just the occasional steamy swirl of smoke and acrid haze, but somehow, he could feel it in his blood. Baptiste was high.

Suddenly Baptiste was there, right there beside him. They'd come out of the toilet stall together, had another drink, and then found themselves pressed against two fine sisters with huge breasts and dark eyes, dancing. Tommy turned away for a second, one second and Baptiste was licking something off the back of the sister with gold eyeliner and go-go boots' hand, smiling. The smile turned to laughter and it was infectious and they all laughed, a tight circle on the dance floor. Tommy felt Baptiste's high, and it really was a party then.

- - -

He was safe with Tommy. This time, he was safe.

And it'd been so long, that it didn't take much. He felt cloudy and high, not just high high, but, literally high, like he was floating, over everything, and was only barely tethered to the ground, to the club, to the very earth. He said something, or started too, laughed, and answered voices, things, people he knew weren't there. They smiled, and he smiled back.

Suddenly Tommy--Tommy--caught his arms and maybe they'd been talking, he wasn't sure. He just felt so damn good and now, he could finally relax. Tommy was still talking.

"You see? Everything is code. From your television, your car, right down the bonds in our head. I mean, your toaster oven. It's code. Everything is code. Code is everything."

"You're high." Baptiste smiled. Tommy didn't usually get high or, at least, not too often. When he did, it was like he could see behind the curtain. The curtain of code that separated him from reprogramming everything. Thank god it was finally his job, not just a hobby. He'd read a book about code in the prison library. Really basic stuff, but completely beyond him.

They were connected in ways he didn't even understand, but sometimes, especially right now, he thought maybe he knew exactly what the bond between them was, and it wasn't some genetically programmed buddy system.

"I had the weirdest dreams while you were gone." Tommy licked his lips. And Baptiste must have been really high, because they shimmered, suddenly full and ripe, jewelled under the intense lights. "I was reprogramming you. I almost had you out of your cell. Out of your body. And then, one time, you were carrying my baby, man."

Tommy's pupils were wide and dark, only the tiniest sliver of tan ringed around the iris. They looked like a cat's eyes, wide and startled, somehow innocent.

"You're really high," whispered Baptiste, aware that they were in each other's arms, in the middle of the dance floor somehow, suddenly, some way, and he wasn't sure how that had happened.

Except they were high. Really high.

"Can bonds change, Baptiste?" He shivered when Tommy said his name. And that was weird. That had never happened before. "Now that I have you here, I don't want to let you go." His arms were around Baptiste's waist. Tommy's arms felt so good. Strong, warm, fierce.

"It doesn't work that way," he said. Or maybe he thought it. Whatever, Tommy would be the one to know, wouldn't he? Codes and programming them was his thing. What did he know, anyway?

Had he reprogrammed them after all? Reprogrammed Baptiste?

Whatever. He didn't believe himself. Nothing had changed. Maybe they were both just too high, but it felt good. Felt better than it ever had before. Stronger. Like they were breathing together.

Like their heart was beating together.

- - -

Tommy's heart was pounding in his ears. Their heart, their heartbeats. He could feel each beat in his fingertips, across his skin. He wasn't sure if it was his or Baptiste's, but they echoed throughout his body. Each fingerprint, reverberating, thrumming into his bones.

The made it to his sofa, Baptiste walking as if his legs were jello-filled, giggling by turns, and murmuring throatily to Tommy, "I feel good, so free, god, Tommy, I'm so fucking free," before half-sitting, half-falling onto the arm, his hands around Tommy's waist.

Tommy pushed Baptiste back leaning him nearly across the back of the sofa, and ran his fingers down the side of Baptiste's face. He nuzzled his mouth across Baptiste's chest, up his neck, and along his jaw, taking in each sigh, each twitch, smiling, as Baptiste's arms pulled him closer, his fingers clutching desperately. Finally, Tommy crawled onto the sofa arm, and took his face in both hands. He opened his mouth against Baptiste's lips. Baptiste's eyes were closed, but he opened his mouth, whispering, "Oh, Tommy."

Their lips were hot and even there, Tommy swore he could feel a pulse, like a drum, like a low frequency thrumming. Baptiste's hand came up to cup his jaw, the other hand going to the back of his head. He yanked and they tumbled onto the sofa, Tommy on top of him, between Baptiste's legs.

They were both hard and both so high and he wanted Baptiste so bad. He undid the buttons on Baptiste's shirt and pushed it off of him, running his fingers across firm muscles.

Baptiste turned away. "I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have--I didn't mean to...."

Tommy kissed along Baptiste's jaw, along his neck. "Hey, you don't have to apologise. It wasn't your fault."

Baptiste nodded, then shook his head. "No."

"Baptiste." Tommy slid his fingers into Baptiste's silky soft hair and tugged his face toward his own. "Look at me. It's just us. Now. Just us." Baptiste's eyes opened and he stared at Tommy, blinking once, long and slow like a cat. He smiled, opened his mouth, and reached for Tommy, while one leg hitched over Tommy's hips.

His sobriety began fading as Baptiste's heartbeat kicked into high gear, as Tommy deftly got him out of his jeans--Tommy's borrowed jeans, which suddenly turned him on even more.

"I'm going to fuck you, come on you, then fuck you again."

"Fuck yes," breathed Baptiste.

They were too high to be fucking for sentimentality and it seemed like his final grip on coherence dropped when Baptiste's bare legs wrapped around him and he felt naked skin against him. A hastily rolled on condom kept them slick, and Tommy was afraid he wouldn't last long--not with the sounds Baptiste made, not with the heat of his lithe body twisting under Tommy.

He was trapped in the humid corner of Baptiste's throat, tangled in his hair, smelling alcohol and cigarettes, and the spicy sweet scent of Baptiste's cologne, something he insisted on buying before anything else, and which Tommy would never smell again without getting hard. He open-mouth kissed Baptiste's jaw, slid a hand under his knee, and pushed inside him, capturing his sharp gasp with another kiss.

They went still for a tense moment, Baptiste arched like a bow, taught, Tommy kissing, and stroking him, before he made a quiet moan, almost a sob, a little broken.

"Tommy, oh fuck, Tommy."

The pure want in his voice went straight to Tommy's dick. It felt like permission somehow, and he took it, rocking slowly, pulling out, pushing in, building up until he was fucking Baptiste as promised.

When he pulled out, Baptiste made a whining noise and Tommy laughed, drawing up on his knees. Tommy pulled off the condom. "Open your eyes."

Baptiste could barely keep his eyes open, but he watched, squinting as Tommy covered his dick and stomach in come. Tommy grasped his dick and worked it, hand slick with his come and Baptiste came, crying out, come shooting out to hit Tommy's thigh and belly.

Tommy leaned down to kiss him, hand slick on Baptiste's throat. He fumbled to get another condom on, then fucked Baptiste hard and fast. They collapsed panting. He pushed Baptiste's hair back, holding his face, and closed his eyes, still hard, still inside Baptiste.

- - -

Baptiste opened his eyes. There was a subtle sound, like sliding gates, but it must have been a dream, because he was on a large bed, naked, wrapped in thick linen sheets, the soft hum of a fan overhead, wafting cool air, occasionally scented with sweet incense.

He didn't remember getting in bed. He didn't remember getting home.

Tommy was beside him, on his stomach, still sleeping. His back was bare, showing off an elaborate, but muted black tattoo of a winged, dragon-like creature coiled across his upper shoulders and spiralling down his spine. Baptiste traced a wing, his fingers pale against Tommy's skin. Tommy stirred, but didn't wake.

Something was definitely different.

He got up, walked into the kitchen and made a cup of coffee. It was a fancy coffeemaker and Tommy's mom brought him coffee from the island. Like the incense, it had a sweet, amber-like quality, and Baptiste drank it black.

He was staring out door to the balcony when he felt Tommy behind him.

"You can go out there, you know."

Baptiste nodded, a smile playing at his lips, thinking that Tommy thought he was afraid of the sliding door or something. "Ain't got clothes on."

Tommy laughed. "We're high in the sky, man. No one will see. Not even the neighbours. C'mon." He pushed the door open and slightly humid, warm air came in, along with the hazy hum of city and traffic. Birds. Jets.

The balcony wasn't large, but the walls on either side were nearly shoulder high.

"I could fuck you, right here in the sunshine," Tommy spoke over his shoulder. It sounded like a joke, but Tommy wasn't laughing. Baptiste was hard at the thought. So was Tommy. He turned away and looked over the lower balcony wall.

"You might get a sunburn." Tommy winked.

Baptiste set his coffee down and shrugged. "Sometimes I tan. Maybe I'll get freckles on my ass."

"I'd like to see that."

Baptiste laughed and it came out like a giggle. He coughed and tried to cover it up. "Aren't you dating anybody?" It was early, so there wasn't much going on in the street, but he could see shops setting up, the early morning people starting their day. Coffee and breakfast seemed like a really good idea.

Tommy shrugged. "I was seeing a girl. Didn't work out. Tried seeing a guy. Didn't work out, not really."

Baptiste nodded.

"You?"

"I uh, had penpals. My cellmate wasn't my type and I wasn't his. Thankful for the little things, you know?"

Tommy nodded, gazing down at the city. "What is your type?"

Baptiste stared at him, let his eyes trace down the long, lean line of Tommy's body, lit by sunshine. "Not what I thought, apparently."

Tommy turned, his gaze narrowed. "How so?"

"You're my best friend. I thought my parents would pick a partner for me, we'd adopt, and that was that. They were old school poor people, remember?" Baptiste shrugged. "Trying to act fancy, do the high class things. I never thought I'd get a say in the matter."

Tommy didn't say anything, just watched him, with that mild and faintly apprehensive expression. Baptiste swallowed. "Was--was last night as good as it seemed?"

"It was good. You don't remember?" Tommy's face relaxed, but he didn't quite smile.

"C'mon. Last night was a blur. Felt like a dream. Might have been a dream."

"It wasn't."

"I'd like to know for sure. Clarity of sobriety and all."

Tommy's mouth quirked in a crooked, sharp grin. "Risk of sunburn doesn't scare you?"

Baptiste shrugged. "Doing time changes a man. I'm willing to play with fire if you are."

The balcony was small, Tommy took three steps and had his arms around Baptiste.

"I think we've been playing with fire a long time."

- - - end - - -

migraines & shinobi

txilar — Thu, 23 Jan 2014 04:33:02 GMT

http://lovemeow.com/2014/01/cat-gives-bunny-a-bath/

i'm having a terrible week of migraines and i don't know if its the weather, poor sleep, a sudden rash of questionable eating habits, or a combination of all three. it's dreadful though. after months of incredible relief, it's wretched. i'm watching american dad and roger is ill due to being so nice. 'my people have to let our bitchiness out.' perhaps there is a connection!

Day fourteen

In your own space, write a love letter. Write it Fandom in general, to a particular fandom, to a trope, a relationship, a character, or to your flist. Share you love and squee as loud as you want to.

i recently, finally, finally watched mugen no jūnin/blade of the immortal. at the same time, i keep seeing previews of space dandy on adult swim and i think, why oh why, couldn't the same people that did cowboy bebop and samurai champloo do mugen no jūnin?? it wasn't bad (well) it was just... plain. and the music, what the hell? inconsistent, out of context, dated. bleah. i'm behind in my complaints, i know, but bleah.

dear mugen no jūnin,
you were one of the first manga i ever read, certainly the first i read dedicatedly and seriously. your art was mind-blowing and your story captured me. i will always, always love you, and i am so glad that i just happened to pick you up that one day, in between batman and spawn.

it's kind of weird to think that something i was reading 20+ years ago is something i am still reading to this day--and my love is no less for it! i wrote a fanletter that was in one of the comics, which still makes me giggle.

but i wanted a brilliant concept-shattering anime! there was no way they could recreate samura's art. the storyline is powerful and they rearranged it a little to tell it visually, i can get that, but with just a bit of daring, they could have had something just as startling and fascinating as the manga itself. it has that 'looks like anime' look which, at the least, they could have saved with perhaps a fascinating soundtrack. in that way, it was disappointing.

the characters themselves are brilliant. complex, flawed, misguided, noble, defiant, cute, cruel, charming, deranged, and intense. they deserve so much more.

i do really recommend the manga, and only if you love it, the anime. i do like the opening song. the singer has this odd curl in their voice that is intriguing.

as a side-note, mugen led me to naruto by an errant doujinshi download. i'd thought it was blade of the immortal due to the spiky haired ninja on the front. as it turns out it was hatake kakashi, but it intrigued me just enough to find out more about him. also, watching the anime has helped me fill out a naruto story i have on my brain with a long, complex storyline. (but not until i finish my chaptered fic!) and it got me to reread the series and finally break down and buy the remaining trade paperbacks... so i did. all 26 issues to date, save for volume 1, which i had from long, long ago. and i'm going to the comic book store saturday to get volume 28, yay!

so, that's that. it's cold again, which is nice, but i want SNOW.

naruto fic: soft ball stage

txilar — Sat, 11 Jan 2014 05:46:32 GMT

soft ball stage
gen | 350 | iruka, kakashi
Notes: Written for kakairu_fest's Bingo Round. Team Hurt/Comfort. Our card theme is blood. Also posted here.
Bingo Square: Wildcard! Our wildcard theme is cooking.
Summary: Kakashi makes candy and cookies.

"You're supposed to be helping!"

"C'mon, let me see," cajoled Kakashi, fingers tugging at Iruka's lips.

"Top it." Kakashi's fingers were sugary sweet which contrasted with the bitter-iron blood in Iruka's mouth.

"S'wike gwass," he complained, as Kakashi examined his mouth. The mucous membrane was sensitive and he jumped when Kakashi's chakra eased over the cuts inside his cheek. It stung and he immediately tried to soothe the burn with his tongue.

"Ah, ah, that's my job, Mr Tongue."

"Oh, top," Iruka muttered. He pushed Kakashi's hand away and rubbed at his lip too. There was a tiny cut at the corner of his mouth. It stung each time he touched it and he couldn't stop touching it.

Finally, The Sharingan Dentist was done. "I think you'll be okay."

"Who allowed you to make candy? Those were terrible. Sweet, but deadly."

Kakashi batted his eye at Iruka and squeezed his shoulders up. "And I thought you didn't really know me at all."

"What are they supposed to be? Lollipops?"

"Gummy bears."

Iruka stared.

"I think I let them boil too long. Or too high. I broke my thermometer, so..."

"You could sell them as table decorations at the local market."

"Are you saying you don't want to try my ginger cookies?" Kakashi frowned when Iruka scrambled away. "Come on, isn't this what one does? Make sweets and goodies to help coax you back into good health?"

"You've already made me bleed, I don't want to lose a tooth. Why don't we have some wine. I could use some relaxation. We can watch the sun set."

Kakashi rolled his eyes. "Bor-ring."

"Now you sound like Naruto. I'm in no mood, and no condition for sparring. Want to watch a movie?" Kakashi's response was a low growl also indicating boredom. "You aren't very comforting."

"My presence is meant to invigorate. Now, gimme a gummy bear, and get back to those stretches. You can have a cookie when you finish your next set."

Iruka groaned. Next time he was recovering, he'd refuse all offers of help. And any offers of cooking.

naruto fic: Intrigued

txilar — Sat, 11 Jan 2014 05:15:00 GMT

Intrigued
Adult | 2450 | Iruka/Kakashi
Notes: Written for kakairu_fest's Bingo Round. Team Hurt/Comfort. Our card theme is blood. Also posted here.
Bingo Card: Cursed
Summary: Iruka gets a papercut, has too much to drink, and tries to go home with the wrong ninja. Kakashi tries to fix all that.

"I'm just telling you. You'll wish--"

"Ouch!"

Iruka looked down at his hand and then back into his bag. He had a set of papers to grade, a set of practice kunai he'd confiscated, a set of practice scrolls, assorted teacher ephemera, and a water bottle. Nothing explained the stinging slice of pain across his hand--and the thin stripe of blood tracing his lifeline. He wiped it away, but it stung. It sort of tingled too.

"What happened?" Mizuki wasn't good at feigning concern.

"Papercut, I guess. Look, I know you dislike the jin--Naruto as much as anyone else. I'm just telling you, I've been re-thinking the whole thing. It's not right. I stand by that."

"You're a goody-two-shoes, Iruka. And a meddler. Nobody cares about your pet projects or your lecturing. Least of all me. I'm out of here." Mizuki stormed off.

Good riddance, thought Iruka.

Kakashi watched Iruka and Izumo enter the club. Izumo seemed as wide-eyed and eager as always. Iruka seemed... off. He was flushed, but that wasn't unusual. He seemed fidgety and troubled. For such an exuberant personality, he was a paragon of virtue. Such a lapse of control didn't suit him.

On top of that, he was radiating heat. Like, actually generating heat.

Colour me intrigued, thought Kakashi as he pushed his headband up. His sharingan spun and blinked in confusion.

No, something wasn't right. Not right at all, but he had no idea what was wrong.

"C'mon, Iruka, loosen up."

Iruka sighed. From Izumo even. He was so tired of that. 'Loosen up, sensei, har har.' If he got annoyed, he was 'a pissy bitch,' if he got offended, he was some kind of 'femi-ninja.' No matter his response, it was the wrong one. Apparently if he wasn't slapping someone on the forehead with his dick, he wasn't a real ninja. Yet if he slapped the wrong one of them on the forehead, then he was a pushy queer and it was a whole different game.

Iruka sighed and downed two shots in quick succession. Whoops and cheers erupted. "Yeah! That's it! Let it go, sensei!" Within minutes someone else did the right kind of letting go and he was out of the spotlight.

He looked up and saw the Copy Ninja sitting at the bar. Clearly an elite, he had an aura that suggested he be left alone, and yet he was watching their group intently. Iruka could kid himself that Kakashi was watching him, but that would be silly.

Feeling irritable, he shoved through tables to a nice corner spot where he could watch but not really be seen. He was itchy tonight. Irritable. Like he was about to jump out of his own skin.

"What's with you? You look like you're about to jump out of your own skin? Is it Mizuki? He still hassling you?"

At least Izumo was a sympathetic ear. He unloaded about that jerk Mizuki. Just because he'd suddenly taken a different look at the jinchuuriki. He talked and talked and drank and drank and things seemed to spin around them.

They got up and danced and time moved like a genjutsu or a dream.

The floor dipped and melted beneath them. Izumo yelled something to him. Iruka had no idea what he said. He laughed and nodded, waving his hands in time to the music. There were hands on his ass and his hips and lips on both sides of his neck. He laughed again and again.

The lights were loud and the music was all over him, twisting between his legs, and across his chest.

"A man could have his way with a serpent like you," someone whispered. Iruka nodded, quite ready for someone to do just that. In fact, he'd let the someone do it right now--

"Iruka. Iruka! Irrrrruka," Izumo said his name over and over, singing.

They were in the bathroom and Iruka was cold, then hot. Iruka shook his head. He finished pissing, shook, and washed his hands. He was cold. Izumo stood there waiting on him. He smiled.

"You look--"

"I'm hot."

"Oh-ho, you arrre," he purred. "Are you coming home with me tonight?" His voice was taunting and wrapped around Iruka like ropes until he shoved Izumo against the wall. They hit so hard it startled them both. Iruka shivered.

"I'm so hot."

"Iruka? Are you--are you okay? You're ice cold, but you're sweating." The jest was gone from Izumo's voice and his expression was creased in concern, but all Iruka could think about was serpents, writhing serpents. And that he was hot. So hot.

"I am. So. Hot." Iruka ground his hips against Izumo. He was so fucking hard. Fucking. He wanted a hard fucking. Oh fuck.

"Iruka, you're not... I think something's wrong."

And then Izumo was gone and Iruka was shivering again. He drank some water. Maybe Izumo was right and something was wrong with him. He still felt hard. Like, all over. His entire body wanted to fuck, or be fucked. And he was out on the dance floor and it was like fucking, the way everything and everyone melted and shook and ground together. Writhing like fucking serpents. Fucking like writhing serpents.

Like fucking.

There were fingers on his mouth, on his cock, and a smooth voice in his ear.

"How about I have my way with you?"

And really that was all he wanted. Iruka nodded and the music pounded and shook and he sweat and shivered. He yanked his shirt off.

"I'm so hot. These clothes, I have to get out of them. Please, help me, just... take them off. And fuck me."

"Oh, sensei. I don't think that's a... well, at least not right now." Kakashi wasn't really sure how he'd come to have an armful of half-naked Umino Iruka in the first place and now he was begging to be fucked? That was just too much.

"You're still shivering, how about we keep the clothes on until we--oh, no, sensei, not here. Please." He pulled Iruka up--again. The man from whom he'd rescued Iruka was none too pleased and he'd made it clear he'd take it up with Kakashi at a later date, but what was he supposed to do? Iruka was out of mind. Clearly something was wrong. And Kakashi loved a mystery.

Especially when it involved half-naked sexy men.

"Mmm, I'm not a serpent," murmured Iruka. "But you can have your way with me." Iruka's eyes were half closed and he looked ready to keel over.

It wasn't drugs, Kakashi could tell that from his chakra flow. Genjutsu seemed unlikely. Who would target the beloved Iruka anyway?

"Just once, right here, really quick."

Luckily, they were off main streets. Kakashi inhaled with mental fortitude and forged on. If he asks me one more time...

"Please, fuck me."

Iruka blinked against sunlight. Something about the angle and amount seemed wrong. He could tell he'd slept through his alarm. And his head seemed a bit cloudy. Actually, it seemed a lot cloudy. Thick. But not like a hangover.

"Would you like some tea? Water? Juice? A hammer?"

Iruka opened his eyes to see Hatake Kakashi beside him. He was stretched out on top of the blanket, with the sheet pulled over his face, leaving only his eyes showing, but there was no mistaking his comfort. He'd slept here.

Iruka's gaze darted around quickly. "Kakashi-sensei? What the hell are you--wait a minute. Did we--you--oh fuck."

"Oh yes." His expression wasn't nearly as smug as his tone. There was definitely something off.

"Was it... good?" Assuming he'd been drunk off his ass and had propositioned the Copy Ninja in front of everyone.

"I liked it. You seemed to enjoy it. You're neighbours weren't quite impressed, but they seemed to agree it was about damn time, but for god's sake keep down the noise and shut the windows." Kakashi rolled onto his back. He seemed awfully comfortable in Iruka's bed. Did they really... Iruka sat up slowly. He ached all over, but surely that wasn't...

"What the hell happened?" It was only a little rhetorical, but he meant it.

Kakashi sat up and fixed an intent gaze on him. "What do you remember?"

Iruka stared at Kakashi. He'd never seen the infamous Copy Ninja sans mask. And now they were in bed together. Kakashi's eyebrows rose and the order was clear: answer.

He shrugged. "Nothing odd. I left the academy. Met Izumo at the bar--oh god, I think I molested him. We had drinks. Danced. There was a guy--I don't know--feeling me up. I think. Seriously, it was a sickening blur. Half nightmare, a quarter drug trip, and a quarter genjutsu training, with a sprinkle of sex on top. But not enough sex. Apparently."

Kakashi's grinned, his mouth curving toward the scar that down his cheek. "Yes, you were quite keen on sex. Are you often that... er, intent?"

Iruka blushed.

"There it is! That's the sensei we all know and love."

And that just made him blush more. "No," he said firmly. "I don't--I've never--Izumo and I are friends. We flirt, but that's it. I've never--" Iruka broke off, blushing furiously.

"Anyway. I remember a man on the dance floor, but I never really saw him. I think I left with him. Maybe. He had a beard. I think." Iruka shook his head. "That's all I really remember. Then you."

Kakashi nodded. "I tried to take care of you."

Iruka leaned in and gave him an intent stare. "Is that a sex joke?"

"No! I really tried. I found a cursed seal in your bag. Quite a prank. If that's what you're teaching your kids, they'll need to work on their penmanship before they try those again."

Iruka jumped out of bed. "I'm not teaching them cursed seals!"

Kakashi grinned.

And Iruka realised he was completely naked. He cleared his throat and tried to relax, crossing his arms over his chest as casually as possible.

"Somebody have something against you, sensei?"

"No, why would anyone--oh. That bastard."

Kakashi's leer faded and his gaze rose to meet Iruka's. He looked serious. "There is someone?"

Iruka shook his head. "No. I mean, yes. It's not--well, it is. It's just--" He shook his head again at Kakashi's expression. His head was tilted like a dog. Iruka almost laughed.

"A co-worker. He's mad at me. For... various things. One of them is for turning him down. He swore I'd come crawling back begging."

"Ah. And to make you beg, he had to resort to a cursed seal?" Kakashi made a tsking noise and shook his head. Then he rolled around on the bed and stood. When he stood he was right in front of Iruka.

Right. In. Front. Iruka's breath hitched.

"When you said that you'd 'never' what exactly have you 'never'?" Kakashi's voice was low.

"Well," he started, breathless. Kakashi's fingertips on his elbow, and behind his ear distracted him. Kakashi was fully dressed, down to his gloves.

"I'd never..." He trailed off as Kakashi's lips touched his shoulder and his thumbs ran down his flanks.

Kakashi made an encouraging hum that made him shiver.

"Never been with a man, like, like, oh." Kakashi's hands were on his back, then his ass, then teasing as the backs of his thighs. He straightened and faced Iruka.

"Like what?" His fingers trailed down Iruka's chest, his abdomen, and teased at the tops of his thighs. His body pressed against Iruka's, nudging against Iruka's hard-on with his own.

"Sex. I mean, like, with a woman. I mean, as, no I mean, just, I'd never been fucked," he said, the words tumbling out in a rush as Kakashi's hands moved to caress his balls and tease at his cock.

"Ah. Well, sensei, I took no such liberty. I only had a taste." As he spoke, his touch became less of a tease and more certain and demanding. Iruka trembled and reached out to his shoulder for balance.

"Oh," Iruka breathed out, in response to the comment and the increasing intensity. "Maybe, maybe I can have a taste too."

Kakashi growled deep in his throat. Iruka felt it more than he heard it. "Yes, sensei, I think you can."

Iruka knelt immediately. They both reached for the buttons of his pants and fumbled to get him undone, but Iruka won out and sighed happily when he had a handful of Kakashi's cock in his palm. He licked up the entire length--and an impressive length it was, fully enjoying Kakashi's shuddering moan.

"Oh, yes, well that's very nice sensei. No guidance necessary, I see."

Iruka hummed a negative and kept on licking, circling his tongue around the tip of Kakashi's cock and trying to imagine Kakashi's mouth on his own. His nakedness felt prickly and thrilling against the roughness of Kakashi's clothes.

When Kakashi's hand smoothed around the back of his head and grasped his ponytail, he tried not to pull away and jerk off without finishing what he was doing. How many times had he had that particular fantasy?

Iruka wrapped his hand around Kakashi's cock and slid it into his mouth, sucking hard, pulling his head back and forth. He could feel Kakashi's gaze on him and wondered if it was the Sharingan staring at him as well. There was tension in Kakashi's grasp, as if he wanted to grip Iruka's head tight, but was trying not to.

He let his head loll backwards, and Kakashi's cock rest on his lips, breathing heavily, and mouthing lightly. Reflexively, Kakashi gripped his head and made a small grunting noise. Iruka moaned, and resumed, sucking hard, taking Kakashi deeper, swallowing as much as he could.

Kakashi's hips tensed, his entire body tensed. He pulled at Iruka's ponytail, but Iruka didn't let go.

In one sharp pulse, Kakashi was coming, hot and hard, hips in one hard twitch forward.

They went still, Kakashi in Iruka's mouth, his body tense, both of them panting.

Iruka slid off and looked up as Kakashi backed up to sit on the edge of the bed. Kakashi motioned Iruka over and kissed him hard.

"I thought you said you'd never--"

"I said I'd never been fucked, not that I'd never given a blow job."

"I don't know who your co-worker is, but I'd like to buy him a bottle of whiskey."

"Later. Because you know what?

Kakashi looked at Iruka. "What?"

"I've still never been fucked."

At that, Kakashi licked his lips and pulled Iruka up against him, falling backwards on the bed. "Give me ten minutes. We'll change that."

naruto fic: a lesson in paying attention

txilar — Sat, 11 Jan 2014 04:45:18 GMT

a lesson in paying attention
1200 | Gen | Kakashi, Iruka
Notes: Written for kakairu_fest's Bingo Round. Team Hurt/Comfort. Our card theme is blood. Also posted here.
Bingo Square: Insomnia
Summary: Kakashi can't sleep. He can't make Iruka feel better either. But Iruka can help him sleep. So he does.

A tall figure in hospital blacks wandered in. Iruka blinked sleepily against the drugs in his system designed to keep him still.

"You're not a nurse," he slurred. "Oh." He saw the shock of pale hair. "Kakashi. What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?"

"You're so zen, copy-nin," Iruka said, then giggled when he realised what he'd said out loud. He sobered when he remembered he wasn't supposed to move. But really he couldn't. His giggle wasn't much more than a dumb sound and a bit of slobber. "I'm on drugs," he explained. "Have to stay still. Lost blood. Not a lot, but. Well, a lot. And my arms are, well still here. Barely. I think. I hope."

Kakashi nodded somberly. He was wearing a mask. Not his regular mask, or a ninja mask, but a hospital doctor's mask.

"Why are you here again?" Iruka was starting to wonder if he really was.

"Who says I am?"

Iruka tried to laugh again but it came out as another dumb sounding wail.

"You should go on more missions, sensei. You were too slow."

"How do you know I--hey, is that my mission report?" Iruka felt dizzy as endorphins rushed in and fought with the drugs. "You get off, get out, stop reading that! That is privileged--private--classif--top secret data!"

"Mmm." Kakashi kept reading, flipping over pages as if Iruka had no spoken. He nodded and pointed at something on the page, tapping as if he'd discovered something that proved his point. "Too slow."

Iruka wasn't supposed to sit up. He couldn't, actually, but he struggled to raise up to see Kakashi better. How dare he? "We were ambushed and--"

"That's no excuse for ill preparation." Kakashi's mild 'I'm right and you're wrong' tone was infuriating. And Iruka was way too high to be infuriated.

A machine beeped. His heart was thumping so loud he could hear it and feel it and how dare that smug--

"It's not an excuse. It was an ambush. By its dery vefin--fery fef--it's something you aren't prepared for!" Iruka felt hoarse. That's right. He wasn't supposed to be talking either. "Fast or slow, an ambush is an--"

"Umino Iruka. Silence!" A nurse, flanked by two serious looking orderlies pointed at Kakashi. "You, out! This is a hospital. What are you thinking?"

Kakashi shrugged. "This is a lesson in paying attention. Best wishes, sensei." He spread his hands gently toward the orderlies. Iruka wasn't sure if it was to assure them he wouldn't fight them--or to caution them that he would.

"Next time, be faster."

Iruka growled, but he faded to black under the tsking of the night nurse.

Iruka couldn't say he was delighted. One did not delight in the wounding of a fellow ninja. "I heard you faint at the sight of blood."

"Just my own. It would be inconvenient otherwise."

"Mm." Iruka nodded noncommittally and looked over the mission report he'd brought with him.

"Are those no longer top secret?" Kakashi asked. His head tilted to one side and he sounded genuinely curious.

Iruka shrugged and kept reading. "Ambush, huh?"

"I suppose you are here to lecture me?" Kakashi managed to sound imperious, but not as if he really meant it.

"Oh I would never. That would be crass. Are you just getting old, is that why you move so slow?" Iruka settled into a chair across from the hospital bed. Kakashi glared. Actually glared. He only wore the hospital mask, so Iruka had a nice direct view, unimpeded by drugs or hampered by being in a hospital bed himself.

It wasn't a potent glare. It was charming. Iruka grinned.

"You aren't old, Kakashi-san. I jest. Of course. The nurse said you'd be fine." Iruka paused as he continued looking over the report. "It appears you--"

"I'd rather you didn't say."

Iruka looked up, still smiling. Kakashi was no longer glaring, but he was very, very still.

He was unable to look away, and felt his smile fade as they looked at each other. "I thought it was 'just an ambush,'" Iruka said quietly and not nearly as carelessly as he'd been before. "This isn't your report. Those really are classified. I mean, for most--people." Iruka could feel himself babbling and squirming under Kakashi's intense gaze.

"I should go." Iruka stood and bowed politely. "It was a poor joke on my part and--"

"No, you can stay. You're comforting. Just don't talk." He nodded at Iruka's still bandaged arm. "Or bleed."

Iruka cleared his throat. "Okay, I--" He broke off, nodding, and sat.

Kakashi watched him for a moment then tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. Iruka couldn't tell if his eye was open or if he was taking a nap. "I couldn't sleep. I never can in hospital. You really should go on more missions. It is the only way to be prepared for an ambush. Expect them every time."

"But then it's--right." Kakashi's gaze swept back to the ceiling.

"Your presence is soothing, sensei. I'm going to nap. Don't leave."

Within two minutes the machine's readout updated to reflect Kakashi's vitals. Iruka wasn't sure how long he was supposed to stay. Was Kakashi really asleep? Was the mission that problematic? The soft patter of footsteps grabbed his attention. He looked up to see three medics in the doorway. They looked surprised. One waved him over.

Iruka looked at Kakashi and back at them and shook his head. He pointed at Kakashi. The tallest medic tiptoed in, her gaze on Kakashi the entire time.

"He sleeping? How long? Why? Coherent? Stable?" Iruka nodded to everything but 'why' because he didn't know the answer to the one, so he shrugged.

"You close?"

He shook his head at that one. Quickly and firmly so she couldn't get it wrong. She looked up and shook her head twice, tapped her wrist and nodded to the other medics. They sighed and melted away.

"He won't stay in psych, sensei, but he can't be released. That is, until he sleeps. Will you escort him home this afternoon?"

"Me?" Iruka pointed to himself, he actually pointed to his own chest.

The medic understood. She smiled, nodded and took his finger, tapping his chest twice. "Yes, you. He trusts you."

"No one doesn't. He thinks I'm slow."

"He's sleeping. This man doesn't sleep. A nurse will bring you paperwork in an hour. Just get him home, make sure he sleeps six hours, has a decent breakfast, protein, complex carbs, and you're off the hook."

Iruka nodded though he was slightly dazed.

"Until next time."

Iruka looked back at Kakashi. His body did seem very relaxed. Iruka had never realised the tension in Kakashi until he saw him without it. Even his hands looked relaxed. They'd fallen loose from where he'd laced them over his abdomen.

He had nice hands. Even from his seat against the wall, Iruka could see scars, tiny and small, worn callouses, and great strength in Kakashi's hands. Great power.

Caring for that power was the least Iruka could do.

operation stray cat collection in progress

txilar — Sat, 11 Jan 2014 04:20:24 GMT

my mom came over last weekend and saw a black cat on my patio. in anticipation of the very cold weather, i put out a wee shelter thinking he might be a stray--who lets their cat out in that kind of weather right? but we southerners aren't used to it, so who knows. anyway, i tried. left cat food, but didn't see him again. then, last night, as i pulled up, i saw him! he ran off of course, but he'd eaten the food.

i was most pleased and filled up his bowl. tonight when i got home, there was a cat running off. a completely different cat. word is getting out. one cat bowl to rule them all...

day five

In your own space, talk about a creator. Show us why you think they are amazing.

so i'm going to talk about my bff megyal because she is super awesome.

she posts fanfic, original fic, tutorials, icons, fanmixes (there are more, but that one has bedouin soundclash, so...), and then, on top of that, amusing things from her life. so it's a wondeful mix of fan life and real life. i talk about her enough that my imp knows who she is, but he used to ask 'have i met her?' because he confused her with my real life friends; he thinks she is part of my group that goes out for lunch/dinner events. that's how real she is! i mean, as an online bff, of course she's real-real.

she's a prolific writer, in a few different fandoms, but i met her in naruto. we talk about fic all the time, trading thoughts and inspirations, and dare i say, even ideas. we even started a fest comm for naruto's kakashi & iruka (kakairu_fest) in 2009.

one of my favourite stories of hers is paid by blood that was written for smut_fest. it has a great depth to it, like worn book, like a real world, like you walk right out the front door of that story and you'd be in that world, with food, clothes, keys, and even a book of your own. but all her writing has that, which is why i love it so. i sink right into her worlds. and she does it effortlessly--or so it seems. i know she thinks on it, because we talk about worldbuilding all the time. she's good at it. there's a feel there. i can't quite describe, but, like, it scans. 'yes, i know this place. i can see it, breathe it. i am here.' she doesn't pile it on like an info dump, it's natural. little dents here and there, smudges of reality, so you can tell its handmade not machined and bought and shiny. no, she buffed it herself and it glows with sunlight she made with her bare hands.

i am happiest we virtual-met--for her wonderful works of course, but mostly because she is an awesome friend, and i hope this tiny bit of praise conveys a tiny bit of that.

day six

In your own space, share a book/song/movie/tv show/fanwork/etc that changed your life. Something that impacted on your consciousness in a way that left its mark on your soul.

foucault's pendulum by umberto eco
i've reread this book more than a few times. i'm re-reading it now, in digital form, for a new 'life-changing, mark on my soul' feeling. it showed me words i'd never seen, introduced me to new concepts, let alone eco's writing, helped me learn to mock conspiracies, let me know what it felt like to be haunted/chased by conspiracies, and showed me how the most tedious things could be turned into esoteric mysteries. it also taught me to look for things i was certain i'd seen, but upon looking, i would not find them. it made me wonder if the egyptians really understood geometry, whether perpetual motion was really possible, if, perhaps, the conspiracies were a conspiracy to conspire against conspiracies or just a whim, and, finally, how, when there is nothing left to understand, you will understand everything.

i try to get people to read it, but it is not an easy sell to some. i don't know why.

imp was recently disappointed. i ate all the stracciatella, so he bought more, thinking he'd surprise me with a new flavour.

me: 'this cappuccino is good.'
imp: 'it's cappuccino?! i thought it was cappadocia. i wanted to surprise you.'

imp is notorious for malapropisms. he calls his braunschweiger sausage 'bunsenburner meat.' he was really disappointed that it was plain old cappuccino gelato. ^_^

an epiphany for today

txilar — Tue, 07 Jan 2014 03:29:23 GMT

i think i don't finish stories because i'm lazy and don't have focus. i'm also easily distracted, have no drive, nor any sense of commitment.

moving on. snowflake challenge!

day three

In your own space, post a rec for at least three fanworks that you did not create.
i'm going to go with things i've read recently. that makes the most sense i think. they are all naruto, kakashi and iruka.

What Doesn't Kill You by stark_black
Big fat NC-17 | Chapters 5/7 posted
Warnings: Angst, Manpain, Language, BDSM (not graphic, but implied)
Summary: Kakashi and Iruka are sent on a dangerous and enlightening mission. Unfortunately, this mission could have serious emotional as well as physical ramifications.

Control by megyal
Mature/NC-17 | ~1400 words
Themes/warnings: Dom/sub relationship; whipping
Summary: Kakashi breaks one of their agreements; Iruka punishes him.

and just to mix it up, art!
Cooking Time by rutheatsu
art | worksafe
Summary: Iruka's preparing dinner - and Kakashi just can't leave him alone.

it is very cold here. my hands are icy. but i love it! i wish it was going to last longer. -12C/10F right now, but should be around 16C/60F by saturday. wtf. i really hoped it would snow, but no such luck. well, it did snow, but nothing accumulated. boo. i hold out hope.

the weeds are overgrown and no birds fly here (snowflake challenge)

txilar — Sun, 05 Jan 2014 20:28:10 GMT

of course i remember how to post, i think.

i sort of abandoned lj (writing, fandom, myself, lots of things) last year, but this is an even numbered year and it ends in blue--last year ended in orange, my favourite colour, well one of them, you'd think i'd have done better, but blue is nice too and four is a nice blue (not as nice as 7 but anyway) so here's hoping. i don't make resolutions, as a habit, but i am determined (/makes fist) to write better, and more, and try to finish a few somethings. this month, even.

and participate. that's right, i hated duck, duck, goose, but i did it. i hated red rover, too, and still do so i'm going to sit that one out. anyway, i'm tryyyyying. imp, up from two days of battles and raids just told me i needed to get up off my ass. ha!

i see megyal is doing a snowflake challenge, so me too. hopefully i can stick to it (wish me luck o please):

day one

In your own space, post a rec for at least three fanworks that you have created.

i enjoy a lot of fandoms, but only write a few, one at a time. some i've never even posted, haha. (spartacus. torchwood. a 100 word sherlock drabble.)

Naruto: Subdued
Adult | ~2800 | Kakashi/Iruka
Warnings: Dubcon, punishment, spanking, mild BDSM themes. References corporal punishment of a child (witnessed as a past event).
Summary: Kakashi doesn't take kindly to Iruka telling him how to do his job.

Dragonlance: Listen
183 | Caramon/Raistlin
Summary: Raistlin knew this question had gone beyond rhetorical, but he continued to ask.

Harry Potter: On Where He Stands
1000 | Remus/Sirius
In a crisp moment, his face is buried in Sirius’s neck and he inhales deeply, the same scents now deep with a hint of skin, magic, and butterbeer. The smell of burnt sugar arises, and Remus tastes caramel as he touches the pulse of Sirius’s neck with his fingertips. Sirius tickles him and he laughs helplessly, shouting and trying to get away. His fingers are pineapples and Remus shrieks unashamedly at each sour tickle.

day two

In your own space, promote three communities, challenges, blogs, pages, Twitters, Tumblrs or platforms and explain why you love them.

kakairu_fest and kakairu
so i put these two together since they are quite related. naruto has been my longest running fandom love.j

smut_fest
the first fest i joined, outside of kakairu (but that feels like home). i have a hard time finishing original fiction. i don't know if its a mental block or sheer laziness, or simply an addiction to world-building. sometimes i leave my story behind and focus on maps, cultures, and languages. this is a fun fest with great mods and structure, and superb quality considering that 'smut' is right there in the title. it's the best of smut!

the_slash_pile
it's like the virtual equivalent of an independent bookstore. i imagine there are soft sofas, comfy chairs, coffee and tea, great music, and of course, fascinating people always coming and going. most likely, just outside the doors, the weather is always fabulous. as for the comm itself, links, recs, discussions, evens prompts. excellent place to find something to read.

Original Fiction: as much a light, as it is a flame

txilar — Sun, 05 May 2013 21:42:07 GMT

as much a light, as it is a flame
Adult | ~9999
Content Notes: Infidelity
Summary: More and more Itzal feels like a kept pet. He's sick and tired of it. And then Iudicael's mystery guest appears and everything changes.
Notes: Written for ingenius_inc for the dystopia/post-apocalypse round of smut_fest.

Also posted at Ao3: as much a light, as it is a flame

"Love must be as much a light, as it is a flame."
Thoreau

"Oh please, tell us!"

Itzal smiled at the woman on his right. Her lovely heart shaped face beamed in the soft lighting. She clasped the hand of the woman beside her and they both nodded eagerly at him.

It wasn't that he hated telling the story. It was the expectation that he would perform, on demand, like a trained dog. Like a dancing child. The simple minded earth boy performing under the patient humour of well-meaning nobles. Nobles who made the story possible.

"Go on, tell them."

Iudicael's voice was warm, but Itzal could hear the mild remonstrative hiding behind the indulgent tone. Five years and still he made Itzal perform at these parties, as if he were hired entertainment. Iudicael still thought of him as a child.

'You should be grateful.' The elder judge's voice still played in his head like a gramophone recording, repeating over and over. 'Count your stars, child.'

Itzal counted his stars. Every night. He would never take the night sky for granted. Nor his freedom. Yes, they were free. Yes, the old system was abolished. Yes, he was free.

But.

Itzal smiled at the crowd around the table. Only years ago, they were the ones that kept him from the light. From knowing that there were electric lights that shone bright as the sun. From dining at meals such as the delicate lamb they'd had. From wearing fine clothing. From choice. From knowledge. From freedom.

These people, who now feasted on his stories, were the ones who'd kept him in the dark. His father died so that they might live. His mother lost two children so that their children might thrive. They lived in dark, so that these people could have light.

He swallowed against a sudden rage. He'd not felt like this since the first time Iudicael commanded him to share the tale, to admit, to confess that he'd been an agent of the The Fox of Foudrais--sworn enemy of the nobles, now imprisoned and paying for their crimes.

Itzal took a deep breath and smiled again. "One night, well, it was always night wasn't it?" He paused for the appropriate titters of laughter. "I'd been following an air duct that had a blockage. It was hot, dirty, dark work. It took a long time, but I finally reached the point where it was sealed into the rock. Then it was hot, dirty, dark, and damp. I climbed in and crawled. Somehow, I got lost in the tunnels. Turned around and not only lost, but trapped. I could only go forward at this point, through the dirt, the roaches, and the rats."

A woman down the table gasped, throwing her hand to her throat.

"Oh, rats aren't so bad. Not with a bit of garlic. And sometimes we had butter." He couldn't help it. Was it the wine? He didn't look at Iudicael. The woman looked as if she might throw up. Clement, Iudicael's little toady, pushed his plate away. Itzal smiled, as if joking, and continued.

"I don't know how long I was trapped. It felt like I'd climbed for miles. I was desperate for air, for a bit of light. And I was scared. I was barely fourteen, I suppose. Not yet a man, but I was no child. I was there to prove myself." A dramatic pause. The men smiled. Partly in understanding, but mostly., he knew, they were laughing at him. He wasn't a man like they were.

Six foot, an engineer employed by the crown, and he was still a child. He could be fifty years old, eight feet tall and muscled as wide, and still he would be a child to them. Beneath them, literally once and figuratively now.

"Suddenly, there was light. It burned so brilliantly that I had to cover my eyes, but I couldn't stop. I had nowhere else to go but toward the light. I came against a grill that I managed to kick out and then I tumbled and woke up in paradise. It seemed that I'd landed in the Garden of Eden. If I'd been a good believer, I'd have bent down and kissed the ground in prayer."

Women and a few men nodded approvingly. Prayer was more popular with women than men, though they certainly understood the sentiment.

"I was a defiant young thing. I walked out boldly, but, in truth, I was terrified. Curious, excited, and near to pissing my pants!"

Laughter from the men, who understood, and embarrassed disapproval from the women. He couldn't lie, that disapproval delighted him. Did he dare work in details about the shared chamber pots?

"So I wandered through the garden. It was so bright and the sky was the colour of my mother's eyes. And then, suddenly, it rained. An afternoon shower. I'd only heard of such." He sighed. He'd never forget that first rain. "I'd never felt rain, of course, only heard it. We were told it was punishment from God. Or perhaps radiation burning up the earth. Lies, constantly told. We wailed in grief and prayed for hours. We were fools."

Iudicael cleared his throat, in a warning.

"I stared as far as I could into the treetops, rain pelting my face, my tongue, and even dropping in my eyes. I laughed, dropped to the grass and rolled in it, pressing my face to the dirt, to flowers--oh the smells! Like nothing I could ever imagine. I must have seemed a madman." Itzal shared their laughter and then sobered.

"And then the men appeared." Some of the women gasped. The woman next to him put her hand out on his. it quivered. He smiled gently at her and continued. "I was terrified. I didn't know what they would do to me. I assumed they were guards, so I didn't bother trying to hide. I wouldn't even know where to go. I was sobbing so hard they didn't even have to threaten me. I let them take me away."

He paused again to sip some water and glance at Iudicael. He winked slightly, but Iudicael did not smile. His expression was oddly contemplative. Finally, he nodded for Itzal to continue.

Itzal leaned in, almost conspiratorially. "They took me to him."

The women gasped and swooned. Some of the men leaned in eagerly. Most looked embarrassed to be so enthralled.

"The Fox."

The elusive terrorist of which the earth children were completely unaware. These people would never understand why he wasn't afraid of Ren. He wasn't their enemy. Ren had helped him. Ren had saved him. He didn't fear the fox--he feared them.

"He didn't look like a fox. He was a right handsome devil, holding court in his tent, directing orders like a general in a war camp."

More swoons and titters. Clearly romanticising it was the best path.

"In between his dastardly deeds, he taught me of the world. Nothing like what we learned in the dark. We learned how to pray and how to fear. He taught me the imperial tongue. Mathematics. Philosophy. Engineering. The history of war. The arts of oppression. The way people were led into the earth, willingly. How they were bred to be used, like cattle."

Iudicael's foot pressed on his, in warning.

"He made it seem so easy," Itzal breathed. The foot pressed harder, almost hurting.

Itzal smiled widely, making a grand gesture with his hands as he leaned back. "And in return, I did his dirty work. I went back in the dark, with all I learned, and bid my people rise up with me. With the Fox. We did, and so took our freedom back, to walk in the light." Itzal toasted the air with his wine glass before taking a long drink.

"Where we live to this day." He smiled, looking around the table, and relaxed, quite pleased with himself.

Iudicael's expression was still troubled. "Well, Itzi, my dear. That certainly was an exciting version. I didn't realise the fox had taught you the imperial tongues. Bene factum." He inclined his head and clapped politely and the guests followed suit.

A few looked a bit insulted. But why should he care? Nothing he said was less than truth. And he could have said things that would leave them considerably more insulted. Things to make their stomachs turn and greatly offend their fine, fine sensibilities.

"Gratias ago vos," Itzal replied carelessly. Imperiously too, he might add.

"I suppose I should announce our surprise guest. I think Itzi has taken care of the grand introduction, hasn't he?" Iudicael was calm and relaxed and it heightened the mystery. Even Itzal had no idea who the surprise was.

They all watched curiously as Iudicael rose and stood by the doorway into the salon. He made a motion of presentation and a man stepped into the room, lit by lamps on either side of the wide arched doorway.

Itzal's heart thumped thickly once in his chest and he gasped for breath.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present Renouard de la Bruyére, perhaps better known as the Fox of Foudrais."

Iudicael looked right pleased with himself as they all clapped and cheered. Itzal stared at Ren as the men rose to make proper greetings. He was as handsome as ever. He turned to look at Itzal and smiled. His smile hadn't changed in twelve years.

Itzal swayed. The room went dark with Renouard shining brightly at the center. He heard a ringing in his ears, heat and noise, and a flickering sensation, like he was the flame of a candle. Something was wet, and the sound of glass.

Darkness

///

"Get that kid!"

He'd been terrified when the men approached. The forest was cool and calm, sweet smelling, and the sky so blue. He forgot that he was supposed to be fearful of the outside. He'd been brought up fearing the evil that roamed the earth, but he saw nothing that looked evil. There was sunshine and bird calls. He'd never heard birds before.

The guards would punish him. He'd have to pray. He'd have to be cleansed before he could return. Would they let him return? There were rumours about people who'd escaped but were too far gone to be saved or prayed for.

"Who sent you? What were you doing? Have you reported?" The men questioned him, but they weren't particularly threatening. Possibly they were put off by his sobbing. The more questions they asked, the more helplessly he sobbed.

"Take him to Fox. He'll break him."

That had only made him cry more and beg forgiveness. He didn't know who Fox was, but he did not want to be broken. They took him to a tent nestled against a outcropping. It was almost invisible, covered by trees and bushes. He stumbled as the men pushed him through the opening, announced that they'd 'found a skulker!' They left him on the floor.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't, I wasn't--"

"Get up and look at me."

Itzal stood, shaking and stuttering out apologies that the man ignored.

"I'm Fox, who are you?"

"Itzal." The man didn't look like a fox, though his cheekbones were somewhat vulpine. He was only a few years older than Itzal, but a grown man, dark-skinned, with glossy black hair trimmed short. His eyes were dark and intense over full lips. He had the kind of mouth that looked like he smiled a lot. But he wasn't smiling at the moment.

"Were you looking for me?"

Itzal shook his head rapidly. "I don't know who you are. Or where I am. I didn't mean to get out. It was an accident, I swear! I didn't know I was--where I--It was so bright and I was trapped and there was a rat biting my leg and I think I got turned around but I-I don't know and I didn't know how to get back and they told me to fix the blockage--"

Fox held up his hands. "Woah, little horse. Quiet." He tilted his head and looked closely at Itzal, taking in his clothes and stockinged feet. Fox's clothes were more like what the priests wore, but even nicer. . "What are you doing out here? Where did you come from?"

Itzal tried to point, but he had no idea where he came from. "I don't know where... The rocks. I'm from the third level, in the East Orange quadrant. I was trying to fix a blockage in the vents."

Fox stared at him. "You're an earth child? My god, I've never... Come sit down. Are you hungry?" The Fox went to the doorway and called for someone to bring food. He walked Itzal to a seat and sat across from, looking Itzal over as if he'd never seen another person before.

"I'm nearly grown, I'm not a child." He sat as directed, stung to be called a child. No, he wasn't a man, but he was doing a man's job.

"What do you call yourself?"

"My... name is Itzal." Hadn't he told him that? Why were guards living out here, when it was so dangerous?

Fox smiled gently and shook his head. "What do your people call yourselves?" At Itzal's blank look, he cleared his throat. "For example, I'm Lusian, though my mother is a Cassianite, and I live in Borres, which is the capital." He paused and seemed to be waiting for Itzal to respond.

"My mother is Rezi. I mean, that's her name. My grandfather told me that his grandfather said we were di Qabri, but we're not allowed to have that sort of thing anymore. The priests banned it. We were divided into colours and directions. Grandfather picked east because he said his grandfather told him that's where we were from before the..." he shrugged. "Well, you know, before."

The Fox nodded slowly. "I don't even know where to begin. I'm part of a group that's trying to free your people. What do you know about us?"

Itzal knew nothing. Almost literally, he knew nothing. Nothing of the real world. Nothing beyond the dark.

He began sneaking out to see the Fox. It was easy to slip away with a bag of rat traps. Vents were constantly blocked. They were afraid of breaking safety zones, and breathing in poisoned air. No one wanted to work the pipes, so no one questioned him. He was doing the jobs no one wanted to do..

It began innocently, not like a lesson at all. Itzal asked questions about how they kept the lights on at night. The Fox explained electricity, but Itzal wanted to know more. So the Fox gave him an engineering book. Three days later, he'd taken apart the family lamp and rewired it.

It was so bright that a woman outside screamed. He unplugged the lamp, dropping it just as a guard came through the door. He didn't have to fake the tears; he'd touched the bulb and burned his hand. That night they'd had an extra long service and prayers. Even the men prayed.

People trusted him. They believe him when he told them of the lies they lived under. Most importantly, Grandfather approved.

"You were born under a shadow, Itzal. But that's the mark of a saviour. You stand as a man now. I have faith in you."

That responsibility made it harder for Itzal to sneak away, to learn about the real world. And that's how he still thought of it. The real world was out there. He was eager to see it, but the Fox cautioned him to wait.

One night he took Itzal for a long walk. They hiked up the mountain, over the very rocks and roots and trees that covered the roof of his home. His family was miles beneath them.

They climbed a tree. It was so large they could stand together on a single branch, Itzal against the trunk, the Fox beside him. His arm was loose around Itzal to keep him stable, and with his other arm, he pointed out into the distance, over the forest.

The glow should have been terrifying. They were taught that flames of radiation were the only thing that lit the night sky. Only beneath the earth was there refuge for the human race.

Miles away, a city thrived. Itzal could make out homes, roads lit with firelamps, things lit for no other reason than to shine in the night sky. Vibrant and shimmering.

And it was all on their backs. Until that moment, he hadn't truly understood.

He turned to look at Fox. He could feel the tears in his eyes, wiped away by the Fox's thumb. And then he kissed Itzal with the city radiating in the distance. He pressed Itzal against the tree, arms around him, hands in his hair, the warmth of the early summer night surrounding them. The kiss was sweet and wild, magical and sinful. The wet smell of the forest combined with the Fox's fancy cologne and the living silence of the night chattered as the Fox held his face tight.

It was a moment he never forgot. A moment that carried him through the tumultuous months of rebellion and revolution. The Fox was right. They hadn't needed weapons. They got out. That part was easy. Many people of the real world supported them and supported Fox's efforts. They were given places to live, food, and clothing.

The dissidents were disbanded, but their notoriety was not forgot. The Fox--Renouard de la Bruyere was a noble. Son of a royal councilor, and grandson of a general, he was branded a terrorist and blamed for the crimes of those he fought against. Saviour to those he'd freed, to the nobles, he was a reminder of what they had been and what they had done. He was an the emblem of the past and suddenly, a criminal of the highest order.

"A noble must fall," ruled the High Court. For their crimes, the Fox would pay. The trial raged for months and he only barely escaped execution.

Renouard was a fairytale, a dream come true. He was Light. Itzal couldn't imagine life without him.

"You are found guilty of wilful treason against the crown and against the people. By the grace of this court, execution is waived. You are sentenced to fifty years of labour. You forfeit your title. Your lands and wealth will be held by the court. High sentence is passed."

Fifty years. Renouard would spend fifty years living in the darkness from which he'd rescued Itzal. As if they'd traded places, Ren slipped away, into the darkness.

///

"And Itzal's grand finale!"

Itzal jumped, eyes snapping open.

"How embarrassing, dear, but so dramatic!" Iudicael's rich laugh filled the room, but he wasn't looking at Itzal. "The women loved it. Clement thought he was faking, but what a smashing end to the party." Iudicael loved being the talk of the town. The next fete would be bigger. It would require a longer re-telling of Itzal's drama and he would be expected to faint if the Fox appeared.

Itzal shook his head. They'd been in the drawing room for hours, talking until he'd drifted asleep, as swaddled in memory as he was in blankets.

But Iudicael's plans for the next fete weren't what drew his attention at the moment,. He was in a chair opposite the sofa where Iudicael and Renouard sat. They were angled toward the fire, while he was away from it, to keep him cool, lest he faint again. It allowed him a direct view of Renouard and he could be forgiven for not looking elsewhere.

He couldn't keep his eyes off Renouard, though he tried. They spoke as if he wasn't there, as Iudicael so often did, so it was easy to simply stare. And wonder.

"I called Grand Pere and he called everyone he knew."

"It's all right. I fared well in prison. I wanted for nothing and suffered very little. Save for being kept in the dark much of the time." Renouard shrugged one shoulder. "A fitting punishment, if I'm honest. I thought it fair even if it wasn't for the right crimes."

Renouard's gaze passed over Itzal, but it did not linger.

Did he recognise Itzal? Perhaps he had many young men and women he seduced into his cause. Itzal wasn't bitter. But he was curious.

Why did you leave me? Why did you ignore me? Why did you forget me?

It had troubled him for years. He'd attended every public trial he could.

Iudicael still didn't know the extent of his relationship with the Fox. He thought Itzal a simple child who'd idolised the Fox along with everyone else.

Iudicael was a noble himself, and, as he'd explained to Itzal when they first met, his family was well informed about the plants and the mines. That knowledge hadn't equated support, however, and his family was instrumental in assisting earth children during the revolution. And in the way those things do, they'd continued on in comfortable fashion once the newly elected crown came into power, as if nothing had changed at all.

"It was unfair. I feel guilty."

He hadn't been paying their conversation much attention, but Iudicael's words suddenly piqued his interest.

"You worked so hard and those of us who took little risk paid nothing. We kept our position and our wealth and you lost everything."

Itzal let his gaze slide to Iudicael. Something wasn't right.

"I thought you weren't--" He broke off as they both turned to look at him. Iudicael looked surprised that he'd joined the conversation. Of course. The adults were talking. He shouldn't interrupt. He shook his head.

"You never knew my role, did you, Itzi?" Iudicael's pupils were wide in the diffuse light of the salon. "I was no fox, of course, but I supported him. I did the Fox's paperwork. I printed, I distributed, and I lied to the authorities. We're cousins! Our mothers share our great-grandfather, and our fathers were brothers. His goal was to free your people and I stood behind them--behind him--every step of the way."

Iudicael turned to Renouard. "Bonum opus!"

Renouard's dark eyes were still on Itzal. Itzal met his gaze, but ducked his head to his drink. Renouard gave him little more than a measuring stare. Only polite attention. No hint of recognition.

Why was that so depressing?

And now he learned that not only were they family, but that Iudicael was also a supporter of the revolutionaries. Dissidents. Rebels. Whatever they were calling them now. They weren't terrorists any longer.

After a period of fractious governing and a whirlwind of trials, imprisonments, and executions, a semblance of order had come to be, with representatives of both the former noble class ruling with members of earth's children.

It wasn't perfect--so many of the free class still thought of them as children. Brash, recalcitrant children who were taking their high class toys.

He didn't care. They lived in the light now. That was all that mattered.

"We'll get your money and your title back, and we'll reclaim your land. My lector is working on the paperwork. Don't--you--worry." Iudicael's words were beginning to slur. He yawned and then sat up straight.

"I'm to bed," he said suddenly, wavering only slightly as he stood. Itzal struggled to sit up and join him, but he held out his hands. "No, no, stay and talk. Reminisce with your Fox." He smiled benevolently and was gone before anyone could say another word.

Itzal's heart pounded. He couldn't bear to look at Renouard, nor even speak. How would he escape?

"You've changed so much, Itzal."

Itzal turned his head warily. Renouard's gaze, the Fox's burning gaze was on him. It was just as before, being the focus of the Fox's undivided attention. A single glance and he felt like an interrogation spotlight was upon him. Being the focus of the Fox's grand and dedicated attention had once thrilled him.

He'd learned so much under Ren's tutelage. Starved of knowledge, he blossomed. Itzal had always been a smart child, but the teachers underground only taught rudimentary knowledge, mostly centered around prayer, with reading, maths, and the history of their life underground in between. The time before was spoken of in whispers.

After months, the Fox finally told him the truth.

"I'm a noble, Itzal. I'm one of the people who keeps you down there and yet, I ask you to return. It's a cruelty of incalculable proportion. And I perpetuate it, even as I seek to break it. If our plans don't work, you must escape and come to me. I'll protect you. I swear it."'

Had he been seducing him all along? Itzal was so young and impressionable, it must have been easy. Itzal blinked at the rush of memories. He looked up and gazed into Renouard's dark eyes.

"You know who I am?" He shook, in sudden tremors as Renouard rose. "You remember me?"

"Of course." Renouard whispered, as if afraid to speak aloud. "How could I forget you, Itzal? How I've missed you. What serendipity to find you here with my cousin."

Renouard moved slowly, but inexorably closer. Itzal fidgeted. Renouard knelt before him, his hands over Itzal's knees. He stared so intently, his eyes moving to and fro as he looked over Itzal's face. Itzal struggled to get out of the blankets binding him.

Renouard licked his lips and reached out, caressing Itzal's face so lightly. Itzal turned into the warm touch, rubbing his cheek into Renouard's hand.

"Renouard," he whispered. "Ren, why did--" A finger over his lips broke off the question. Ren's hand slid over his face and then both hands gripped his neck, his jaw, his ears, and then his hair, tangling in the long waves, pulling him close, and inhaling deeply. He leaned in so they almost touched.

Ren's mouth opened and Itzal could feel his breath, taste the wine upon his tongue. He leaned in, but Ren pulled away, his hands still in Itzal's hair.

"May I kiss you?" His voice trembled.

Itzal's hands came free and he reached out, drawing Renouard close as he breathed out, "Yes."

Their lips met and it was like an electrical shock. Itzal ran his hands over Ren's short, oiled curls, like silk under his fingertips. He pulled and Ren pushed and they twisted into the space of the chair, kissing madly.

It wasn't like before.

Itzal was no longer a slight star-struck boy, eager to please. He twisted them around, so that he was the one pushing Ren down, trapping his wrists while he indulged in Ren's wine-sweet lips and the long-lost feel of his body. He was warm and malleable, hard and strong, his legs twisting around Itzal's.

They kissed as if they were starved for each other. It had been so long, but it felt like moments.

Itzal stopped, pushing himself up and holding Ren's shoulders down.

"Oh gods," he breathed. He shook his head, but Ren just smiled and rubbed his thumb against Itzal's lips.

"You're not just a houseguest."

Itzal shook his head. He was dizzy again. Maybe he was dreaming. This couldn't be real. Maybe he was still on the floor, passed out. Maybe he was still in the mines, stuck in a vent.

"I have to go." He pushed away and stood. He felt light-headed. Ren didn't move, only watched him leave the room, head tilted, almost in amusement.

Iudicael was asleep when he got in bed. When Itzal reached for him, one arm sliding over his waist, a leg hitching over hip, he pulled away, muttering. Itzal rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

For the first time in years, he couldn't sleep.

///

"There's a letter from your mother, Itzi. Her pregnancy has progressed. The doctor says it will be a boy." Iudicael handed Itzal the letter as he walked by. "Your sister wants to know when we'll visit."

Iudicael was sitting down to breakfast on the patio and Renouard had joined him. Itzal couldn't look at him. He finally fell asleep near dawn and spent all morning dreaming of the past, waking up to fear that he was back in the East Orange.

Itzal made his way to the table, bringing a tray of juice and tea.

"Let Oro do that," Iudicael murmured.

"She was up late cleaning up from your party. Let her sleep in. It's a dreary morning anyway." Iudicael said nothing, only pushed his glass toward Itzal and waited for him to pour the juice.

"We need coffee to get our mind in action, but Oro makes the best," he confided to Renouard. "We have work to do, Itzi. It'll bore you, all this family history and legal letters. You're not going to the Opera House today, are you? Why don't you go visit with Mother?"

He couldn't help it, his eyes went to Renouard first. One confusing kiss and he didn't want to be parted. He broke their gaze and turned to Iudicael.

"No, they're having practise sessions at the Opera. I'll go see Madam, of course. I won't return until late. She had gowns to send Esti and one of her nieces offered baby clothes for Mother once we know... Actually, I'll go now. Excuse me." He stood, made a neat bow, and left the room before anyone could say a word. He stopped in the kitchen, to grab tea and biscuits.

"He's awfully prickly lately," complained Iudicael. "We don't often have guests, so I do apologise. He'll warm up. He's just been so distant lately. Clement says he's cheating on me, but that's not likely."

So Iudicael had noticed. And damn Clement. He was as jealous as he was suspicious. Itzal waited a moment more to hear Renouard's reply.

Renouard hummed in response. "It's no worry. I'll talk to him tomorrow while you're gone."

Itzal's heart lurched when he remembered that Iudicael would be leaving for a few days. Oro always spent the last weekend of the month with her family so the house would be empty but for Renouard.

Four days alone. He rushed upstairs to dress and tried not to think upon it.

///

"I think we should talk." Renouard stood in the doorway of the library, his arms outstretched, hands pressed against the frame.

"I'm working," Itzal said, with a glance. "Perhaps later." He was working. The Opera House had the drawings, he was only waiting to return for final inspection. He was clearly too busy to chat with Renouard. He'd tried hiding, but apparently that did not work.

"That's what you said at breakfast. And last night's dinner. Do I frighten you?" Renouard's hands gripped the frame and he pushed himself back and forth, almost swinging.

"Of course not."

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not. I'm--" He looked up again and nearly jumped. Renouard was standing beside him. He reached out to caress Itzal's cheek. "I'm busy. Don't."

Itzal made no move to stop Ren. He stepped closer. Another hand came up, smoothing over his hair.

"You've grown into a striking man. It's not so unseemly now, is it?" Ren brushed Itzal's hair back letting his fingers drift through the strands. "I never meant to hurt you, Itzal."

That got his attention. Itzal looked up. "What? You didn't hurt me."

"You were a child. In more ways than one. I didn't mean to take advantage." Renouard pulled his hand back and watched Itzal closely, arms folded across his chest.

Itzal sat up, shaking his head. "I was enslaved, I wasn't stupid. And you aren't that much older than me."

Renouard looked around the room. "How long have you lived here?"

Itzal followed his gaze, trying to see it from an outsider's view. The walls were covered in pale flocked velvet, set off by dark drapes outlining the ten foot high windows. The furniture was all handmade, dark wood, and silken fabrics. The huge double doors led to his bedroom--to their bedroom, where he and Iudicael slept. It was certainly a change from his living space when he'd met Ren. A dozen families fit into nearly the same amount of space.

"Ah, four years. I stayed in the guesthouse for a while. Cael helped me after, well, there was a great deal of turmoil after everything." Ren nodded. "I was in a camp with my family. He was with the census workers. They were moved into a small house and I came here."

Ren stood in the center of the room, leaning against an ornate settee, looking around. It was quiet while he waited for a response.

"I thought of you. In the dark, all those years." Ren's voice was low. "It helped. I thought, if you could suffer it, then so could I."

Itzal stood. The way Ren leaned against the settee, made him seem short, and Itzal was able to, if only slightly, look down on him.

"I didn't want you to suffer."

Ren lifted his gaze to Itzal and smiled. "I didn't. And now here I am."

Itzal swallowed uneasily. Ren stood so casually. They were so close, he could feel the warmth from Ren's body, smell the heady aroma of the badiane cologne he wore, and sense the tension in his muscles, barely held in check.

"Ren..."

Ren leaned forward, tipping his chin up to reach Itzal's lips. Itzal couldn't help himself, he clutched at Ren's shoulders. He meant to push Ren away, but he did not. He wanted Ren's arms to unfold and wrap around him. He wanted to wrap his arms around Ren.

Itzal pulled him forward, opening his mouth to meet Ren's in a desperate, forbidden kiss.

"I can't," he breathed. "Shouldn't..."

Ren's arms were still, infuriatingly, folded against his chest, against Itzal's chest.

"I can't."

With a strained sound, Ren unwound his arms and grasped Itzal, pulling him close for another kiss. Their panting filled the air around them with humid warmth, and they twisted and pulled at each other, desperate to get close. Ren slipped out of his shoes, and Itzal followed. It put them on an even base and they were suddenly eye to eye. Ren grinned. He'd teased Itzal about his height and here they were.

"Who's short now?" He laughed as Ren untied his trousers. He returned the favour and pulled Ren through the doors to the bedroom. Ren dropped his jacket, then his shirt, and pulled away from the kiss only to pull off his undershirt.

Ren pushed Itzal onto the bed and he sat, somewhat dumbfounded while Ren removed the remainder of his clothes. Fully naked, he stood before Itzal. He slipped to his knees and tugged Itzal's trousers open around his cock, fully hard. Suddenly, he realised what Ren had meant. It seemed taboo--now.

But not nearly as taboo as this. He gasped, dropping his head back, as Ren's mouth engulfed his cock with a sweet heat.

"Gods, Ren." He leaned back, letting his hips tilt forward into Ren's mouth. The warmth, the heat of his tongue was intense, was nearly too much. He pushed at Ren's shoulders.

"Up here, kiss me, please."

Ren slid off his cock, sucking as he slowly pulled off, eyes on Itzal's. He put a knee on the bed, between Itzal's legs and pushed his shirt off, dropping on top of Itzal, their mouths meeting in a hot kiss as they fell back, and once again Itzal rolled until he was over Ren.

"Gods, I loved you. Why did you leave me?" He kissed Ren too many times to get an answer, on his lips, across his jaw, down his neck. He didn't want an answer, but he had to get the words out.

Ren's chest heaved, but he didn't speak. His arms wound around Itzal until Itzal pushed them out and over his head. He dragged his fingers down Ren's body, exploring. They were well fed in the mines, but time and hard labour had given his body sharp, lean muscles. Itzal trailed down to his uncut cock, surrounded by neatly trimmed hair. He smoothed his thumb over the head and Ren moaned.

"No touching, just fuck me," he whispered. Ren shifted to let his legs bend, his inner thighs rubbing against Itzal's thighs. "Please."

Itzal shivered. He stretched to reach for the oil they kept on the nightstand. A blush of guilt swept his mind, but he pushed it away. He turned back to Ren, who had turned over. Removing the stopper, he tipped the bottle to let a thin trickle of oil trace over Ren's lower back and buttocks.

Ren let out a breathy moan and Itzal smoothed his hand over Ren's back, drawing a finger between his cheeks, until he found found the sensitive heat of his hole. His finger circled, oiled and teasing, and Ren whimpered.

"I dreamt of you," he said. "In the dark, you were my touchstone." He hummed in response to Ren's unstopping touch. "I endured it, knowing you were safe."

Itzal pressed his finger in, smiling as Ren's body opened to him.

"Renouard, my fox." He slid over Ren, kissing his neck as he aligned their bodies and pushed into Ren. They both gasped. "Oh, gods. This is what I--" He broke off as Ren shifted underneath him, arching, his body a vise around Itzal, hips moving, driving into him at a rapid pace.

A fine sheen of sweat made them as slippery as the oil did, and Itzal grasped at Ren's shoulders as he slid in and out of Ren, building to a tortuous intensity. He pushed and pushed until Ren jerked beneath him, his muscles suddenly clamping around Itzal. He stuttered out a cry, a soft broken sound, then said Itzal's name over and over.

Ren flexed his body once more and Itzal shouted as he lost control, pumping his hips, letting his release fill Ren. He stilled, tense and panting, heartbeat pounding in his ears, before driving in again until he could no longer move.

After a few moments, he pulled out and rolled onto his back, still trying to catch his breath.

As their bodies cooled, Itzal started to realise just what they'd done--what he'd done. He turned to look at Ren. He was still on his stomach, but he face was turned toward Itzal. His eyes were closed, but his body moved with each rapid breath.

"This... wasn't what I meant... to happen."

Ren laughed. "So you were avoiding me?"

Itzal gave him an uneasy smile in return. "I really didn't... I shouldn't have..." He trailed off and it it really sank in. "Renouard, I--"

A noise distracted them. Itzal felt a wave of guilty sickness and stood. He was taking a step toward the door when Iudicael came through the doors.

Itzal sat back down, but he couldn't speak. It seemed like a hand clutched his heart in a tight trip and he couldn't make a sound. Ren rose and picked his trousers up, carefully stepping in and tying himself up.

Iudicale stared at the both in confusion, then at the rest of the clothing scattered on the floor.

"What is this? Itzal?"

It was clear what it was, yet he asked. Ren, still half dressed, looked surprised. He wasn't used to Iudicael's non-rhetorically asked questions.

Itzal tried to speak, despite feeling sick to his stomach, but no words came. It wasn't fair to Iudicael. It was wrong. A betrayal of the highest order.

And yet.

"Cael, I'm sorry, it's--"

Ren finished buttoning his trousers and turned. "Don't blame him, cousin. I--"

Iudicael didn't even look at Ren. "Don't speak to me of blame. You leave. This is between us alone." He looked angry. He looked betrayed.

Renouard bowed gently to Iudicael and left without a word, shirtless and barefoot, his shirt on the bed, his jacket and slippers scattered on the floor trailing toward Iudicael.

Iudicael started pacing, hands behind his back. He reminded Itzal of one of the priests that had taught them prayers when he was young. He paced as he lectured, explaining how the sins of the world pushed them underground. He was a quiet man, and that had made him all the more terrifying.

"I hurry home to you and find this. You could barely wait for me to leave, could you? Is this what you do every time I go? I ruin your plans when I return early, don't I?"

"No, of course not. Cael, listen to me--"

"You've been distant lately. And now I know why. You tire of my affections. I lifted you from the streets, brought you into this world, made you a part of my family, for god's sake. You'd be in a brothel if it weren't for me!"

That certainly stung. He was smart. He had the Fox to thank for that. He'd joined the Royal House of Engineers and while he had Iudicael to thank for the suggestion, it was by his own merit they accepted him. There was never a chance he'd have gone to a brothel. "It isn't--"

"How long has this gone on? Who else?" Itzal couldn't get a word in edgewise and the pacing was making him nervous. He feared breaking the spell of pacing and talking. And then suddenly Iudicael spun to face him.

"There is no--"

"Get out."

Itzal blinked. "What?"

Iudicael grabbed a vase on the chest by the window and threw it at his feet. "I said get out!"

Itzal jumped, startled by the noise and the violent act. It wasn't like Iudicael at all. He was dramatic yes, but only with an audience. With Itzal, it was different.

"Renouard is family. I've no choice but to take him in. You're nothing." Iudicael broke off to take a shuddering breath. "Nothing but a whore," he said, very precisely, eyes colder than Itzal had ever known. "Leave."

"Cael--" He'd never seen or heard Iudicael like this. His hands twitched as if he wanted to do to Itzal what he did to the vase. "Cael, don't--"

"I have a title. You will use it." Iudicael stepped over the vase, the delicate porcelain crunching beneath his boots. His jaw clenched and and his mouth barely moved as he spoke. "You bow to me." He stood over Itzal, arms tight against his side, hands fisted as if he could barely contain the violent impulse.

Itzal's stomach swayed.

"My apologies, Lord Gardinier." He could hear the tremble in his voice and he knew Iudicael could too. "I'm sorry, I--"

"Pack a case and go. I'll send the rest of your belongings after you."

Itzal bowed his head so far down he was almost touching the mattress. He could smell Renouard's cologne on the sheets. What had he done?

"And get dressed." The disgust in his voice sent a shiver down Itzal's spine. The door slammed shut.

Itzal barely made it to the toilet to throw up.

///

It didn't take long to pack clothing into a valise. It was enough for a few nights. He really wasn't certain what to take. He'd never had to pack his own bags before. When they'd left the East Orange, he'd had nothing to pack. When they travelled together, staff packed the bags. Cologne, mouthwash, a night cap to keep his hair from tangling in his sleep. Ah, slippers. He packed a warm woolen coat into the trunk. With shoes, and two proper suits, that left very little room. He wasn't sure what Iudicael would consider his. Did the cufflinks that Madam gave him count as his or as Iudicael's? She was his mother after all.

As he stood over the jewellery box, Oro came in.

"You've been summoned by the Lord, dove. The rest of the staff is back and he is clearly taking himself far too seriously. I hope you can amend that." Oro's expression told him he was clearly to blame, but he didn't need her to tell him that.

Any questions he'd had about what he would do were now answered. And Iudicael was a stubborn mule when it came down to it. Rightly wronged this time, Itzal had no idea how far he would take things.

He knocked at Iudicael's office door and started to enter, before thinking better of it. Within seconds came the quick double ring of a bell. He was granted entrance. Iudicael hadn't done that since he'd had royalty from a nearby city visiting.

Iudicael was behind his large desk, hands in his lap when Itzal entered. He made his way over and sat only when and where Iudicael indicated he should. Itzal opened his mouth to speak, but Iudicael raised his hand.

"I will speak first."

Itzal nodded and waited politely. Iudicael was contemplating his desk. After a moment he leaned forward and rang his bell again. Three quick rings, then one. In no time, a side door and a young woman Itzal didn't even recognise came in with a tray. She sat it on Iudicael's desk and bowed quickly.

Itzal took a deep breath, but said nothing.

"Itzal." Iudicael inclined his head stiffly. "I didn't realise there was--such history between you. I misunderstood, not knowing the whole story." He managed to say so without an accusing tone, but it still felt like yet another slight Itzal was responsible for.

"Renouard has moved to the guesthouse. He has asked that I allow you to stay until until the week's end to make a decision." Iudicael tossed his head. "You may sleep there if you like. Oro put together a meal for Renouard. No dinner is served tonight. The house will be locked at tenth hour."

"Thank you, Ca--Lord Gardinier." He bowed his head neatly, as taught, so many years ago, by Iudicael himself.

"Mm. That will be all." Iudicael lifted a cup off the tray and took a sip, then returned to the papers on his desk. He waved his hand, dismissing Itzal, and began writing.

Itzal opened his mouth to speak, but had nothing to say.

What have I done?

He stood there for a moment more, but Iudicael continued writing. The scraping noise of the quill rasped against Itzal's skin. If Iudicael knew Itzal was still in the room, he didn't act upon it. Finally, Itzal left.

In their room he sat on the bed and looked around. They'd been consorted for four years. They'd planned to formalise their union next spring, marking the eighth anniversary of their meeting. Or so it would have been. But how easily Iudicael cast him out! As if he'd been waiting for the moment.

He so coldly turned off his feelings. Itzal felt too guilty to summon proper anger at the thought, but it stung. He'd made a mistake. One Cael had made plenty of times. Why couldn't he listen, give Itzal a chance to explain? He would never know what it was like to be kept in darkness. He would never know what Ren--what the Fox had given him. What he represented.

After Renouard's trial, Itzal moped and grew depressed. He refused to sleep in the dark and some days didn't leave the bed at all. At first Iudicael was concerned. He brought food and drink on a tray and kept nightlights in every room.

After a month, the concern began to wane. At two months, Iudicael brought other lovers home. He didn't bother keeping them a secret. One night, Itzal had shocked them both by breaking into tears at the sight of Iudicael in another man's arms.

A visit to a philosophic suggested a traumatic disorder of the mind and offered medicine and therapy. They worked to heal the rifts in their relationship.

Or so he thought. Perhaps the scars hadn't healed entirely.

A soft knock at the door distracted him. He looked up to see Oro entering, her colourful tunic as bright as the flowers outside the window.

"I made you tea and a snack, dove. And I told the mighty Lord that he was a right mule. He's the one with the problem, dove. Never you." She patted his arm tenderly and gestured at the cookies and sandwich. "Eat up."

Itzal smiled at her. Oro was at least seventy, thought she often claimed to be older. She didn't remind him at all of his own grandmother. She was more like his younger sister. Impish, impudent, a prankster, and a champion of those unfairly treated.

It was a wonder Iudicael put up with her. He was a stickler for decorum, and even though the high classes weren't what they had been, most still got courtesy treatment, both from the earth children and the servant classes. At least Oro could be counted on to put Iudicael in his place.

"I'm not sure where to go, Oro."

She made a face at him, then one to the ceiling, meant for Iudicael no doubt. "I could send you to my daughter's family, but they'll put you to work on that farm, a strapping boy such as yourself. I suppose you could go to the city. Too old for an apprentice, but you've got skills for electrics. Maybe Master knows someone... Hm. I'll see who I can contact. My niece works for the Duke of Quanais. I'll send her a letter first thing in the morning."

Itzal nodded. "Thank you. I will appreciate it." He pushed the plate toward her, and she took a cookie.

"You'll stay until then, won't you?"

Itzal looked askance. "Where? I'm to be out of the house before tenth hour." A strapping boy like him, but his stomach twisted at the thought. The utter fear of being cast out almost brought him to tears. Something he thought he'd got over a long time ago.

Oro made a patient expression. "The guesthouse, dove. It can handle a full family of size. I'm sure two young men will fare quite well."

Itzal shook his head. "I can't--not to him. He would hate that. It would only make it worse."

"But he's pushing you right to it, isn't he?" She squinted her eyes and tilted her head forward, tapping first her own forehead, then his. "Think, dove. It's a guilty conscience that accuses with no evidence."

"Oh, Oro. He had evidence. He's absolutely right. I'm a... I mean, I'm--I shouldn't have done that. I don't know what I was thinking. Oh gods, I wasn't thinking." Itzal dropped his head in his hands. "What on earth was I thinking? He's right. I betrayed him. I thought I loved him so much, I thought he loved me, and yet..."

"And yet?"

Itzal swallowed and looked up at her. It was hard to admit. Even to Oro, no doubt well versed in the drama of relations. "And yet, Renouard appears, as if out of thin air, and I'm like a firefly drawn to a flame. Everything is so different now. But Ren. I loved him first," Itzal said helplessly. "I can't help that."

Oro patted his arm. "Finish your packing. I'll walk you to the guesthouse."

///

Renouard was reclined on the sofa of the salon in the guesthouse, reading a small book. It had been years since Itzal had stayed in the guesthouse and he'd forgotten how large it was. Oro was right. A family could host a small dinner party and still have room for dancing.

Renouard sat up as Itzal came in and rose when he saw Oro carrying a covered tray.

"Shoo!" She said when he tried to take the tray. "You don't treat me like an old woman, and I won't treat you like a hungry wolf with an eye for the master's lamb." Renouard smiled and bowed neatly, his hand out to guide her.

They laughed, but Itzal wasn't comfortable with the idea that Renouard had anything to be guilty of. He wasn't the lamb. Itzal was the one who should carry the guilt. He was the one to blame. He--

"Come, come, dove. You can't take care of yourself without eating."

He was the wolf.

"I should eat in my room and--"

"Itzal, sit. Relax and have some food. Stay here until Cael comes to his senses." They'd not made eye contact because Itzal hadn't looked at him, but now he did. Renouard, hand at Itzal's elbow, was right beside him.

Itzal looked into his eyes. Only this morning they'd... And damned if he wasn't still so desperately in love with the fox.

"He is no longer Cael to me. He is Lord Gardinier, and I have wronged and betrayed him. You are a cousin to him, but I know--knew him intimately. He doesn't forgive and he won't forget. I'll have no choice but to leave." He could hear his own voice shaking and see the sympathy in Renouard's eyes. "I don't know what he'll tell people--"

"Fear not. You know him well, but so do I. He'll concoct a story that suits the gossips. He wouldn't want anyone thinking untoward of either him or his tastes. You'll both escape unscathed. Sit." Renouard pressed on his shoulder and he sat. "Perhaps he'll say I stole you. You'll both suffer deliciously and he'll find someone to recount the dramatics for his next fete."

Itzal shook his head. It felt odd to be near Ren. The tension was broken. After so many years of sneaking and secrecy, the taboo suddenly seemed routine.

"Besides, he's not as innocent as he makes himself. The guilty usually condemn in others what they despise in themselves." Renouard tucked into his meal, but Itzal's appetite had still not returned since yesterday.

Itzal turned to look at Renouard. "What do you mean?"

"Only what I say. I won't indulge in rumours or gossip, but I believe Cael is only upset that you beat him to the punch."

"That's horrible of you to say. It's speculation at best and practically gossip at its worst. He's right about me."

Renouard flung his fork down. "He thinks of you as a pet tiger! Dangerous, but shackled and tame. I don't deny letting myself indulge of another's man consort, but he's more offended that I touched his property without his permission than he is that you allowed it. How can you not see the way he treats you, Itzal? Is his perception correct? Are you as gelded as he treats you?"

Itzal sat back. It was as though each word was a slap in his face.

And yet. He couldn't deny the point Renouard made.

It had been getting worse, the way Iudicael presented him, showed him off, and made him perform. He'd only been denying it. No wonder he'd felt so aloof lately.

'I've another trip to the city. Clement and Prades will be going. If you weren't busy with the Opera House, I'd take you with us.'

He'd forgot the row they got into over that trip. Clement had suggested someone stay to guard Itzal. When Itzal told him he was quite capable of defending himself, he'd clarified. 'I'm merely protecting Iudicael's interests. Who knows what could happen?'

At the time, he'd taken it to mean the house. But Clement was always the one suggesting that Itzal was less than faithful.

"He didn't know--"

Renouard shook his head. "He's known since you met him. I bid him find you and take you under his wing. I knew he would escape unscathed. And I knew I would be caught. I couldn't take the risk you'd suffer our connection. I knew he would take care of you."

Itzal stared at Renouard. "He said he didn't know the whole story. That's why he let me stay tonight. A favour for..."

Renouard scoffed. "He's known the entire story all along. I didn't even know you were here. He told me he had a houseguest, he never said who. I begged him to let you stay."

He couldn't imagine the Fox begging for anything.

"I did love him."

"I should hope so."

"Only, I loved you first. So much."

Renouard smiled. "I should hope so. I was committed to freeing them, Itzal. To let loose the mines and everyone in them. But until I met you, it was all an idea in my head. I was in love with my cause. When I met you... You gave my cause meaning. You became my cause. You've always been my cause."

Itzal put his chin on his hand and leaned on his elbows, watching Renouard.

"You truly are a fox."

Renouard grasped his hand and laughed.

///

Epilogue

Renouard waved and Itzal waved back. Esti came to stand beside him, wearing a bright yellow gown, one of the fine gowns Iudicael's mother had sent. Together they watched Renouard follow Grandmother down to the vineyards.

A letter had come with the gowns.

My Dearest Itzal,
Iudicael has told me a story about you. You know I only listen to half of what he says. Do visit and tell me what has happened. I've enclosed another pair of gowns for your sister, the baby clothing for your mother, and a few things for you as well. Don't let my son be a bother. Ignore him as I do!

Much love,
Your Dearest Second Mother

"Is it true? Did he really just throw you out?" Esti was still watching Renouard and Grandmother so Itzal studied her profile for a moment before answering.

"Just so. Good thing I gave him a reason. It would have been embarrassing to be put out because I didn't perform well enough at his party."

Esti laughed. "I can imagine the headlines. 'Ungrateful child ruins party! Mousse goes uneaten in shock!'" She sighed. "It's a shame, but now you have him. It's so romantic, isn't it?" A call from the road took their attention and Esti nearly squeaked. "Oh, Indar is coming!" She smoothed her hair and her dress and kissed his cheek. "We're going for a walk."

Itzal smiled as she walked away--slowly as to not seem too eager, but not too slowly because she truly was eager. Their story paled to her own romance, of course. He waved to Indar once she was safely met and turned his attention back to Renouard and Grandmother.

The land was ringed by sharp rocks on one side that, from a distance looked like tiny magical castles. To the west as a dark blue lake that shimmered in the sunlight. Nestled by a line of trees that trailed the edge of a forest leading up to the rocks, was his home, a sprawling country home.

Grandfather had passed his patriarchal standing to Itzal, his eldest male heir. Any day now, his mother, remarried to a local man, would be giving birth to his half-brother. His sister was marrying Indar, a baker from a nearby village. His people were descended from those who escaped the roundup so many centuries ago. They still spoke the old language and cooked traditional foods. Grandmother had a lovely garden full of the herbs she'd told him about when he was a child, that she learned of from her Grandmother.

It was almost surreal. They had woken together in a home built on ancestral lands, once owned by his family. And now he lived there with his family and Renouard.

And he was consorted with the fox. It was like a fairy tale. From darkness to light. In the end, he was a wolf who'd trapped a fox and he didn't want to chance it, but he was certain they were living happily ever after.

Renouard looked up again and waved.

/fin

Original Fiction: Constant

txilar — Sun, 20 Jan 2013 00:20:58 GMT

Constant
Adult | ~6200
Summary: Accepting a freelance position with Apollo Xrysanthos takes Panos Zalou to the lush island of Antikytheros, designing navigational technology used across the globe.
Notes: Written for gryvon for the alt-history/future round of smut_fest. The antikythera mechanism is a real device, named after the shipwreck area it was recovered from. Antikythera is a real island; Antikytheros is not.

Also posted at Ao3: Constant

"Clocks will go as they are set, but man, irregular man, is never constant, never certain."
Thomas Otway

'We arrested a Gerald Herrington a fortnight ago. He mentioned you. He said you were adopted and, with your given name, naturally we question your allegiance.'

Not only had Gerald stolen from him, he'd betrayed what Panos believed to be a near-sacred trust, giving his name up to Minders in order to save his own skin.

'Perversions are, naturally, to be assumed from people of your character.'

Panos took a deep breath and listened to the tide.

'It's not you, Panny. It's not that I don't care.'

He could see another island far in the distance, a vague outline of haze and darker grey. It was smaller than Antikytheros, and closer to the mainland. He'd been told it was uninhabited, save for a priest and a collection of monks living in an old church from the 17th century. He wondered if Antikytheros looked as mystical from the other side.

There was something about the smell of Antikytheros that was familiar. The perfume from the flowers combining with the electric salt of the ocean. The bougainvillea that crowded doorways and paths and bubbled over railings. The way the ocean's silken rustle seemed to nestle deep within him. A memory of that quiet murmur almost surfaced.

Panos shook his head and thought about Apollo.

Despite his insistence that Panos would get used to the openness 'like you've been here all your life,' Panos wasn't sure he would. He was used to the city surrounding him. Buildings leaning in protectively, the percussion of mechanics overhead and thundering in the distance, and the constant rattle of people bustling, carriages moving, and graphwires buzzing. The smell of petrol in the air were the aroma he'd become accustomed to.

The island was wild and untamed with only the ocean's steady heartbeat and intoxicating florals as a chorus. This quiet island was something he would get used to. And he knew he would miss it when he left. The smell. The illicit purple. The waves crashing in the distance, a sound as subtle as spiderwebs. It was an open silence, waiting and expectant.

And how odd was it that the island home of such modern technology was a step back in time? Half the island was factories and the rest was strewn with ancient ruins.

Some, Apollo told him, were so old their provenance was pure mystery. Walls written in a tongue no one had spoken for a thousand years or more. Panos was eager to see the ruins. History fascinated him, but also, it was a curious juxtaposition, living side by side with the past.

And then there was Apollo himself...

Panos inhaled deeply, looking once more at the tiny patch of beach holding out amongst the cliffs below before turning back to his worktable.

It had been only a week since he'd left New York. Had it not been for Archibald taking his inventory to sell at his Sectorium, he'd have had no choice but to leave penniless. As it was, he was able to give his housekeeper a small severance to hold her over until she could find a new position. He would receive a steady commision from Archie that should hold him until his work here was completed and paid.

And where would he go then?

There was no guarantee that Gerald wouldn't set more Minders after him. He was lucky enough they hadn't stopped him in London There was little they could do here. And if he ever wanted to leave the Republic, he'd need protection. And home? He took a deep breath and clenched his fists, determined not to think about that.

How Gerald could turn on him after--Panos squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, Apollo's ferro-prints were all he saw.

The sun was set by the time a servant knocked on his door to alert him to dinner.

By morning, he felt ready to conquer the entire Republic. Surely it was a sign that his housekeeper's prophecies of doom were right: he was working himself into an early grave.

Overnight he'd had a bit of an epiphany and was ready to assemble a simple prototype just to test his theory. Curiously enough, he'd dreamt of being underwater, swimming through an ancient wreck when a fish guided him toward an antikythera, buried in the sea's debris. Bubbles escaped the fish's mouth as he spoke: 'Two gears are better than one.'

It was Apollo's voice. Panos laughed thinking of it.

"And to think I had you pegged as the serious type."

Panos twitched as he turned to face the unexpected voice. "Ah..." He started to speak, but words failed him. He stared. Apollo wore a buttoned coat over smart chequered trousers and he leaned on a glossy black cane.

Panos was dressed to work. His loose shirt and trousers were decidedly improper for a meeting such as this apparently was, and the leather apron over them was crude. He felt like a beggar.

"I thought you were still in Denos."

Apollo nodded with a small shrug. "I returned early. All is coming along well?" Apollo smiled at Panos' murmur. "Good. I'd hate to have to tell you the latest news if it weren't. Why don't you have a seat?"

Suddenly uneasy, Panos sat down on the small wheeled stool. It wobbled a little and that seemed a hint of things to come.

Apollo was still smiling. The smile transformed his face, like sunshine breaking through clouds. Panos flushed. That was really over the top. But smiles did light up his face. His eyes crinkled at the edges and gave him a kind expression. And his mouth, his lush lips, spread wide and inviting. He wasn't wearing a hat and his black ringlets were in disarray from the wind. Panos blinked.

I have to stop staring.

Apollo, grinning still, turned to toy with various instruments on Panos' work-bench, idly caressing book corners, picking up tools to study, until finally he looked at Panos.

"A warrant has been called out against you," he said in one quick breath. "I'm terribly sorry. I'm pleased you are here and not being dragged off by Minders, but it could be a problem if you wish to go home. I was able to contact friends who have secured your finances, but apparently a Mr Herrington has--"

"Gerald?" What else could Gerald do to him?

Panos blinked again. He repeated the rest of Apollo's words in his mind and took a deep breath. He was taking a lot of those lately.

"A warrant for what? I'm afraid I don't--" That had all been taken care of. Archie had spoken up for him. And by God, it might have seemed a lie, but it was the truth. He'd yearned for Gerald's touch, but it hadn't happened. The Minders had threatened to...

"There are other things I should tell you." Apollo looked unsettled, that was the only way to describe it. As if he did not want to continue talking, but he did.

"Herrington wasn't--He was setting you up, Panos. He works for them. Not the Minders, but the Department of Security itself. Not only were they prepared to, er..." He trailed off, rubbing his knuckles over his mouth before he continued. "Entice you, they were prepared to imprison you and force you to build their machines. I know, I know." He broke off at Panos' attempt to interject.

"It sounds ridiculous," he began slowly. "But Gerald Herrington is a married man, with children. There are several closed cases of his, er, indiscretions, that are either used to recruit or blackmail men and women of interest to the department."

Panos stood. "How do you know all of this?"

Apollo shrugged, angling himself against the drawing table. He traced the edges of a ferro-print. "I'm sorry to--to be the one to tell you."

"But how do you--" Panos shook his head and moved to the window. He couldn't look at Apollo. He stared at the window, closed now, to keep out the afternoon sun's glare, and listened the bird calls and the distant clattering from the kitchen. Thank god Apollo's uncle wasn't here to hear this.

"So you know. I suppose I should leave--"

"No."

Panos turned. Apollo sounded certain. Consoling. And he was so handsome. If he--No. You have to have learned your lesson this time, Pan.

"We expect you to complete your work for one. You're family. For another." Apollo smiled and shrugged one shoulder up. It was almost coy. "This is the Hellenic Republic. We haven't changed so much from our ancient ways. Only we share our technology a bit more." His smile widened and Panos relaxed. "We welcome you to stay, Panos. And this brings me to the other news I had to tell you."

"Well I hope that was the bad news." What on earth could be worse?

"I hope so too." Apollo looked at him for a moment, eyes narrow as if he were trying to figure something about about Panos. "It's about your family. Part of the reason Herrington found you is my fault. I was looking for you as well and through my inquiries, he came across your work. Panos, you--your parents weren't--" Apollo broke off shaking his head. "Your family is from the island. You were adopted by your mother's cousins, after your father died. The war was ending and...."

Panos stared at Apollo.

"And you see, we aren't related but our families are. You, Panos, are a son of Antikytheros. And that's why you are here."

"I don't..." He'd been born just outside New York, his grandmother told him. They moved to the city when he was three. He was named for a friend of his father's who had died in the war. "I was named for a family friend, I'm not--"

"Your father was Panos Giannakos. My great-aunt married your uncle. Your mother sent you abroad with cousins when you were barely four." Apollo smiled. "I remember you, though I know you don't remember me."

So Gerald was right.

'Of course you were adopted. And with a name like that of course the Minders are interested in you, even if the war is over. You know what they say, 'war is never won.''

His first thought was to deny what Apollo was saying, but suddenly the familiarity made sense. So many things made sense. His mother's encouragement of his Greek studies. His father had been a banking manager, but he seemed eager to guide Panos to the antikythera. They spoke of his affinity as if it were a given.

'Panos has such an eye. Guided by Polimetis' hand.'

And from the moment Apollo had walked into his small shop, he'd felt a tug. He'd thought it mere lust for an attractive man who looked at him like he saw something more than just an odd device designer. He should have known better on that count.

Panos opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn't sure what. What did it matter now? His parents were dead. Had been dead for years now. He would always miss them and nothing could change the fact that they had raised him.

"My parents are--are any of my family still alive?"

"Your uncle Demetrios is still alive. He was your father's eldest brother I understand. We can go see him if you like. You've been working hard. We'll take a break. And soon there will be a celebration. After that, work can resume."

"What kind of celebration?" Panos asked faintly. It seemed the most ridiculous thing to be thinking about a party now, when he'd learned so much more of Gerald's betrayal--a fantasy! Everything was a fantasy, and now his own parents were--but no. They loved him. Of that he had no doubt. And they had been family, after all.

Apollo looked a little embarrassed. "Well, as I told you, the island is old. Our history goes back. To the dawn of time," he added theatrically. "We still worship the ancients and Dionysos' Day is coming."

"Oh." Panos had no idea what else to say. He was adopted, his former lover was a con, and he was going to celebrate the birth of a heathen god. "What should I wear?" Any minute he would break out in hysterical laughter.

But Apollo just tilted his head in that beguiling way of his and smiled. "Why don't we have drinks outside?"

Panos followed Apollo to the patio. The western tip of the island curved out against the horizon, the dark navy shadows meeting the fading remains of golden sunset and a large waning moon hovered above. He stood at the garden's edge, looking at the rocky cliffs below.

"Is the beach accessible?"

Apollo joined him to look. His arm was warm against Panos'. "It is."

Panos swallowed deeply and turned to look at Apollo. After a heartbeat, Apollo turned to look at him. He reached out and gently touched his thumb to Panos' chin.

"Something on your face," he murmured, but didn't move.

"Thank you," Panos breathed.

Panos stared into Apollo's dark eyes, lit by sunset. He took a shaky breath and looked back out. Apollo's body was warm and he could feel the heat against his body.

"Panos, I--" A yell broke the stillness.

"Gavril!"

Panos startled and they fell apart. Apollo only sighed, while Panos' heart pounded. "Who?"

"Ah, they are calling me. I should go see what is going on. It's probably Polymnia. You'll meet her. Panos... I've put so much on you tonight, I hate to leave you alone."

Panos shook his head. "It's for the best. I have plenty to think on. Might I send a wire to my cousins tomorrow?" At least his cousins were still his cousins. Apollo's too, he supposed.

"Of course," Apollo said, then hesitated. "I will see you on the morrow."

///

Panos woke early. Something about the island air or the island light. Or maybe the island sounds? He had no idea what it was, but he woke shortly after sunrise every morning. He'd never been much of a morning person. Here, he woke with the sun, opened the windows and revelled in both bright sunshine and fresh sea-borne air.

On this morning, he stayed he bed, contemplating. He'd thought, after his parents death, that he had no family left, save for Archie, who wasn't really a cousin at all. Like Apollo, he was the child of relatives through marriage. Unlike Apollo, he wasn't terribly handsome, and he certainly didn't give Panos that look.

It seemed stupid, and somehow illicit to find Apollo so attractive. They were cousins. Well, not really, but he'd need to see a chart to work it out. He wasn't sure it mattered anyway. Apollo remembered his father fondly. Hopefully he could tell Panos more about the man that was so much more than a namesake.

Giannakos.

Panos got up and dressed quickly. He made his way to his drawing table and shoved papers away until he found the distinctly blue ferro-prints Apollo had given him when he first arrived.

'It's something our original designer started, but never completed. The helical gear design means it will be quieter, cheaper to produce, and it will last longer. It is our hope that you can not only complete the design, but bring it up to standard. My uncle and I have followed your work for some time. I think you will find our compensation package quite generous.'

He unrolled the collection of pages and looked carefully in the upper right corner. There, just like his own. A signature. Incredibly small, but neatly legible in Greek lettering.

Panoyiotis Giannakos.

His father had created these designs.

All his life he'd thought his father was calculations manager. He didn't even like his adding machine, preferring an old abacus that had belonged to his father. Mother was a teacher. She quizzed him on what he learned and filled in the gaps when she felt his studies lacking. They'd impressed both Hellenic history and philosophy on him. They took him to the beach on holiday.

'Good health needs fresh air, Pan.'

They'd both pushed him toward this. Toward this work, this design, even this island.

Panos drew his finger over the printed name and smiled.

///

Though Panos was well versed in reading ancient Greek, and could speak a fair bit of Modern, the islanders spoke a dialect he could not comprehend. He'd felt quite out of place and done little more than have all the drinks offered him and smile politely at anyone he passed. Now he was watching the musicians perform. A few men were gathered around doing a small but complicated circle dance. Panos couldn't follow it at all.

"Pan!"

Apollo had caught up with him. He shook Panos' hand, smiling warmly, before guiding his just-as-warm arm over Panos' shoulder and drawing him in. "She's a zitherist. Family tradition on the island. The women of her mother's family are said to be direct descendants of the temple virgins who sang and played a thousand years ago."

She was playing the zither, laughing and singing with a group of musicians. Dark haired, dark-eyed and red-lipped, she was easily the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. The moment Apollo pointed her out he was jealous--and glad she was only his cousin. Their cousin. Not that he had the beginnings of a chance with Apollo, but at least it wasn't because of the competition.

"Our cousin Polymnia," he said, once the song was finished. After introductions, hugs, and cheek-kisses, the conversations gradually shifted back into local dialect, the music started up, and Panos wandered.

He found himself in a garden, just down the road from the villa, the distant sounds of the party echoing in the breezy night air. He felt liquid and warm and so amiable as to smile at the statues in the garden.

"Hello there, nymph, or goddess. Are you as bored and lonely as I?"

"Panos?"

He turned to find Apollo at the garden's gate. He was smiling.

"Where did you go?"

"Right here," Panos answered, feeling suddenly playful and flirtatious. "Did you need me?" He felt his pulse quicken. What was there to lose? He was too drunk to really worry about his dignity. Apollo's expression was bemused and yet... the way he looked at Panos.

Apollo blinked once, slowly, then looked behind himself, before moving toward Panos. He stopped barely a breath away, warm, and smelling faintly of cigarette smoke.

Panos relaxed against the column behind him, tilted his head back, and licked his lips. He nearly laughed. He felt drunk and giggly and wasn't sure he could manage to keep his hands off Apollo.

"Have enough of the party?" Apollo asked.

Panos nodded. He couldn't keep the smile from his face.

"You seem happy." Apollo close enough that Panos could feel the warmth emanating from him.

In one swift movement, Apollo stepped close and reached out to touch Panos' face, his thumb pressing against Panos' cheekbone as his fingers feathered lightly down his neck. He tugged Panos close and met him in a kiss.

Panos reached up to grasp Apollo's shoulders and the kiss turned rough and heated.

"Is this your way of encouraging me?'

"Is it working?" Apollo smiled against Panos' cheek. He ran his lips alongside Panos' jaw, laughing as Panos shivered against the touch.

And Panos laughed too. The garden was oddly humid, full of the smell of jasmine and roses, and Apollo had him pressed against the column. He was more than aware of how drunk he was, but the moon glowed in a sharp blue outline far, far above them. It seemed to approve.

"I thought we were cousins. Isn't this unseemly?"

"We aren't." Apollo kissed his cheek again. "I wish we were," he whispered. Panos laughed, scandalised, but aroused, and trying to move closer to Apollo.

He studiously ignored the voice of his conscience telling him this was a bad idea. He was going to need more to drink. Especially if Apollo kept giving him those open mouthed kisses across his neck, and pushing his knee between Panos' legs.

Apollo twisted his hips so that his thigh was between Panos' and at the same time jerked Panos closer. Panos let out a ragged sound and raised his hands to Apollo's shoulders. He needed to push Apollo away, but he didn't want to. Apollo's mouth was at his neck, and then his hand slid right under the waistband of Panos' trousers.

"Oh god," he whispered.

"It's just a name," Apollo said, snickering.

"This is a terrible idea."

Apollo nodded, one hand cupping Panos' ass, the other unbuttoning his trousers. Apollo kissed him hard and then he was gone, on his knees before Panos and he knew he must be drunk or dreaming then, because he was usually the one on his knees.

Apollo's hands were tight on his hips, then his hot fingers and even hotter mouth were wrapped tight around Panos' cock and mouth. He clenched his hand into a fist, biting on his knuckles as Apollo sucked and hummed and licked.

With a whimper Panos dropped his hands into Apollo's dark curls.

"Apollo," he moaned, the name dragged from him helplessly. Apollo cupped his balls, pressing his fingers carefully around Panos' hole, tantalising, but not quite touching.

A ridiculously sweet pressure was building, flooding his system with a completely different kind of drunkenness, tinted with a sobriety so sharp it was almost painful. He whimpered as the pressure built, whispering Apollo's name when it broke.

Panos gasped, gulping in air. His heart raced and his body was liquid. Apollo said something, but Panos couldn't hear over the rushing in his ears.

///

There was a knock at the door. It was insistent, as though someone had been knocking for a while.

"Come in," he called out and stood, brushing his hands off. A mere brushing wouldn't do anything about his ink-stained hands, but it was habit. He looked up just as the door opened.

"Panos."

Apollo. It had been two days since the party. Since the garden. He wasn't sure he he expected to see Apollo again, truth be told.

"Come to check up on me?" he asked lightly. Apollo smiled weakly, not quite meeting Panos' gaze. "Look, I'm almost finished. Tryphon has been assisting me with the prototype and--"

"I'm not here about that."

Panos slid his hands into his pockets. Of course not. "What can I do for you, then?" Though Apollo had been the one to--it wasn't like Panos hadn't played this game before. He tried not to grind his teeth. Gerald at least had given him the pretence of a relationship.

"Panos, I--It was a grievous assumption I made upon you. I cannot apologise enough. Let me spare you indignity and we proceed as if no such night occurred. I am loathe to blame the wine, but the celebration caught up with me and... I only meant..."

He trailed off. Panos felt queasy and that surprised him. He'd expected this, he told himself. But hearing Apollo speak set a cold feeling in his belly. He felt rather devastated, truth be told, but also a little worried. He wouldn't send him back to the Minders, would he?

"I hope--that is, am I leaving? Do you want me to go?"

"No!" Apollo did look up at that and met Panos' gaze. He looked like he meant it. He looked guilty. He also looked... sad. "No, I would never--It's no fault of your own," he said quietly.

Panos took a deep breath. "Of course. Let me show you my progress, then." Panos picked up his welding goggles. They weren't strictly necessary, especially when he wasn't building, and actually they hindered his view a great deal, but for some reason, he felt he might crack and holding the goggles, even though there was no welding here, gave him some measure of dignity.

When Gerald had dropped him so unceremoniously, it hadn't burned like this. For one, Gerald had never touched him like Apollo had. Gerald had claimed to love him. Perhaps by not lying to him Apollo was the better man?

Once again he found himself thinking of things he'd decided not to think about, so he turned his mind back to the one thing that didn't ever betray him: gears.

It was easy to speak when he was explaining the process of the build. In all his years, he'd never seen an antikythera so delightfully designed. 'Simplicity is the noblest quest,' his father had always said. And the design spoke to him, as though his father were speaking to him. It seemed a madness to even consider such, but he couldn't deny the feeling.

They didn't speak about anything beyond the design of the antikythera. Apollo seemed pleased with the progress. He never had liked deadlines pressing against his thoughts, and, as usual, Panos was ahead of schedule.

"Nonetheless, I thank you," Panos said, as Apollo prepared to leave.

"What?" Apollo turned, his hand at the door.

"I feel as though I've met my father through these designs. I thank you for that. And of course, you kept me from quite dire circumstances."

Apollo looked pained, though he nodded in agreement. There was certainly no denying that. Had he not accepted Apollo's offer--had Apollo not pressed him to accept, the Minders would have come for him. They probably had, only to find him gone, confirming all the suspicions Gerald had given them.

Later, he would ponder his future. The design was complete save for a few last minute adjustments after the prototype was complete. Tryphon gave him an estimate of a few days time for that.

Until then, he could enjoy what the island had to offer. Maybe he could visit the ruins.

///

"You can visit the temple when you come back. The gods always call back their own--and Apollo always gets what he wants," she teased.

Panos shook his head, still embarrassed. She'd taken one look at him and known.

"Ah, it's just a nickname, don't be silly," she said, mistaking his blush for earlier, when he'd looked for Apollo and no one seemed to know who he meant.

"Even Tryphon," he pointed out. Polymnia couldn't enter the factory, so Panos had gone. He'd asked three people where to find Apollo. He hadn't been in his office. One old man pointed at the sky. Finally in desperation he'd asked Tryphon, but until he'd said 'Mr Xrysanthos,' Tryphon too had looked at him like he was crazy.

They finally stopped where the whitewashed walls sloped outwards, opening up to the road that went into the village, away from the villa. The sun was turning the walls pink and even Polymnia's dark hair was gilded with sharp highlights.

"They thought you'd had visions. No one, well, Apollo is not our god, so it makes them nervous, to think Apollo has shown himself to someone on the island." She smiled, her eyebrows rising at him, and handed him an evil eye charm. "To help with the visions."

Quietly, he took the charm and turned to leave.

"No, Panos, wait. You are family. Antikytheros is your home. Your parents, they--"

"My parents died over five years ago. They had nothing to do with this." Regardless of all he'd learned, they were still his parents.

Polymnia looked fond. "But darling, your father died in the war. Your mother did not want you to suffer what she thought was inevitable. She tried to send me as well, but my mother, well, she had only me after my father was killed." Polymnia laughed, but it was the helpless expression of someone who didn't know how else to respond. "You are still one of us."

"I have to go, Polymnia."

"Where can you go? Please, do not leave Apollo. He's spent so much time looking for you. And especially now--"

"It can't be like that." Panos shook his head smiling gently. Looking for him or not, Apollo couldn't want him here. Whatever else she was going to say was simply impossible. Though she was right that he had nowhere else to go. He didn't want to leave Apollo. But it was impossible to stay.

"I leave in the morning. I..." Panos swallowed, suddenly reluctant to go. "I barely know you, but I will miss you." He realised how stiff he sounded and tried to smile. "Can I write you?"

Polymnia laughed. "Oh, darling," she said, reaching for him. "Of course. I will beg you to visit in every letter."

"I'll consider it each time," he said, smiling. After another hug, they parted ways and he made his way to his rooms, to his neatly packed bags and neatly arranged toolkit.

Panos sighed. He didn't want to leave.

///

A horn sounded in the distance.

"I'll send a graph as soon as I arrive in Athens. Thank you for sharing your home with me. Cousin," he added, with a smile.

There were tears in her eyes so he leaned forward and grazed her cheek with his. Tryphon was with her, and hugged him after passing him a small wrapped gift. After yet another flurry of hugs and kisses, Panos was finally off.

It was an overnight steamer and he'd arranged for a private room, but a few drinks would get him quickly slumbering, then he could forget and arrive in Athens before he knew it.

As soon as he got on the ship, he made his way to the gentleman's club. "Three shots of ouzo, please."

By the time he made it to his room, he was both drunk and tired. Though the seas were rough, he could not blame his uncoordinated moves on the water alone. Panos chuckled as he took yet another fancy stumble.

It took a few tries before he got his door unlocked and for that he blamed the key.

"Ill-hewn mockery of metal."

A lazy voice answered him. Panos jumped and moved around the corner into the tightly packed room. Apollo was sprawled on his bed, smoking a pipe and reading a book. He was reading Panos' book.

"What?"

"I said, you must be flying high to curse your key so."

Panos could only stare. He felt dizzy again and it was not the ouzo this time. He swallowed and tried to speak--tried to gather his nerves.

"What, ah, wh-what are you doing here?" There was no turning back now. Panos tried to count how many hours they'd been at sea. He had no idea what time it was.

"Four and two thirds of an hour," Apollo said.

"What? Oh. Yes. But what are you doing here? This is my room." His room and only one bed in it.

Apollo sat up. "My apologies, Panos. I didn't think... That is, I thought we'd have this conversation earlier. I still owe you an apology."

"You paid me. You owe me nothing more." Panos sat down at the desk. The room felt even smaller than it had before.

Apollo was quiet and Panos dreaded hearing what he had to say. "I took advantage of you. No payment can--"

"Do you think me a child?" Panos looked up but Apollo was staring at the closed book in his lap. He had the decency to still be clothed. Panos didn't imagine he'd come here expecting... whatever things Panos' deviant mind was thinking.

"Of course not. But I did bring you here under, well, less than honest means."

"You hired me to do an honest job. Was that a hoax?"

"No! Panos you must believe me, I would never--"

Panos smiled. "That was purely rhetorical. You need not console me as you would some innocent maiden fearing the theft of her virtue." Pano tried to measure his words carefully, but there was simply no way around it. "I'm not innocent and I have no virtue to lose."

They were both quiet. Panos looked at Apollo uncritically as Apollo, appearing quite abashed, avoided his gaze entirely. Apollo sighed heavily.

"Oh, Panos. Most men my age are expecting grandchildren. What, you think I'm simply waiting for the right woman?"

Panos stared, lifting his shoulders gently. Weren't most men?

"You do," Apollo said flatly. "And you? How long will it take you to find her, your right woman? Perhaps we can look together. Find a pair of sisters, or one to share?"

Panos stood. He was both too and not quite enough drunk for this. Apollo rose too and though he was at least a meter away, it felt like they were face to face. He stepped closer and then they were face to face, and Apollo had him neatly trapped against the desk.

"Apollo, I--"

"Why don't you stay with me and continue doing what you love, where you love? I know you love that island, Panos. As much as the work, you love the island."

When Panos didn't respond, Apollo moved closer. "Please don't leave."

"I think it would be best." Panos' voice was faint. Not only had they already left, Apollo was not saying what he was hearing. Or he wasn't hearing what--there was no way.

"Not for me, it wouldn't." His arms were at Panos' elbows. The toes of their shoes were almost touching. The boat rocked, or Panos rocked, and a quick stumble shifted him into Apollo's arms. Panos took a quick breath at the jolt, but Apollo's hands tightened on him.

"Steady, sailor." He tilted his head and smiled. "I've chosen the wrong time yet again. I'll go. We should speak when you are--"

"No." Panos clutched at his lapel. He was still staring at their feet, now nearly entwined, Apollo's foot between his. He swallowed and looked up. They were face to face now, eye to eye, nearly nose to nose He could feel Apollo's breath and smell the smoky amber scent of his pipe.

"I"m fine. You don't--" Panos broke off to take a deep breath. "Don't go."

Apollo's smile faded and he moved his hands to Panos' shoulder, then his neck, and finally, into his hair. He tugged Panos to him and they were mouth to mouth. With one small tilt, Apollo's mouth opened against his. Panos moved into the kiss, his hands cupping Apollo's face.

The ship rocked and they clung to each other.

Panos slid his fingers under Apollo's jacket, trying to push it off of him, laughing as Apollo tried to ease out of it without breaking their kiss. They pulled apart for a brief moment, tugging jackets off and then kissed again.

"You feel so right in my arms, Pan."

Panos trailed kisses down Apollo's neck and followed with his fingers to unbutton Apollo's shirt.

"What are we going to do in Athens?"

Apollo turned and pulled Panos onto the bed with him. "More of this," he said, leaning in for another kiss. "A small holiday before you take your place with us."

Panos shifted over Apollo. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say or even how to say it. What he was sure about was kissing Apollo again.

"You're hair is bleached from all that time in the sun. I think you spent as much time on the beach as working."

Panos smiled. "We'll discuss work when I return from my holiday."

Apollo's eyebrow arched and he flipped Panos neatly over, nipping at his neck. "Oh? And when will that be?"

"A fortnight should be enough. We've a lot of catching up to do." Apollo was smiling. Panos tugged him down for another kiss.

"You feel right in my arms too."

Panos could trust this and he could trust Apollo. He was certain of it.

///end

Naruto Fic: Perception

txilar — Sat, 19 Jan 2013 23:55:43 GMT

Perception
Adult | ~3500
Summary: Kakashi learns that Iruka can teach him a thing or two about perception.
Notes: Written for the kakairu_fest Fest Community 2012 Winter Round.

Perceive that which cannot be seen with the eye
Miyamoto Musashi

With grim foreboding Iruka peeled open the black-tipped scroll. A faint shiver touched his upper back as he read it. In a fit, he snapped his fingers sending a burst of chakra that ignited the scroll. He shook his head, knowing that while he could destroy it, he still had to follow the orders.

He'd known this was coming. There was no point in pretending otherwise.

'I have a wounded soldier out there. By now, it might be a dead one. It's delicate and I need you. Go home. Prepare.'

Iruka wasn't worried about his skills being up to par. He wasn't worried about his ability to complete the mission. He was worried about what--about who--he might find. There was only one ninja scheduled for the coordinates she'd sent.

Kakashi.

And it wasn't that he didn't want to go. This just wasn't how he wanted to see Kakashi. Iruka checked his kit and began strapping his weapons.

"Iruka, come on." Kakashi's fingers were a little tight on his arm and his tone had moved from condescending amusement into impatient boredom.

"That is not your most persuasive line." He was tired of this, he really was.

"You're a chuunin," Kakashi said again. "You teach children. There's nothing wrong with that, but--"

After that, it hadn't taken long before he realised Kakashi's subtle egocentrism. Jokes began to take on an edge and little comments began to add up to something that wasn't funny at all. And while, Kakashi wasn't like some of the other ninja of his rank, Iruka had never expected such from him. Where some of the other jounin wore their pride like a uniform, Kakashi, better than them all, didn't show his true colours until he was involved with someone.

Iruka shook his head, checked his armbands, and left. Fifteen minutes later he was heading west where his target had last checked in. According to the last scroll Tsunade sent on his way out of the village, the target was most likely wounded.

And not likely to survive.

Iruka's approach was quiet, but not hidden as he approached the dense copse nestled against the ruined wall of an ancient and long forgotten fortress. He had to assume his target--that Kakashi was still alive and able to defend himself. There was no way Kakashi was...

Iruka shook his head. Just because it was Kakashi didn't mean he started wondering and worrying. This is a mission like no other, he told himself.

A tumble of rocks created a shelter and the distinct scent of a fire drew Iruka in. He ignored his sudden sense of relief.

Kakashi was against a wall, his head tilted back. His leg struck out at an odd angle beside the small fire and his arms were tightly crossed over his chest. He shivered. It was faint, but distinct. For someone who claimed to be hot natured, he looked like he was freezing.

Iruka took a step forward, making his presence known, if for any reason Kakashi hadn't already noticed it, and raised his hand in a proper greeting.

"I'm here to assist you."

///

"Oh, are you kidding me? Why couldn't I hallucinate the Cherry Blossom Twins?" Kakashi could hear the slur in his voice, so he was certain the hallucination could too. The hunter's mask tilted and he could almost see the expression on Iruka's face. That patient, frustrated, wry, smug, irritated, amused... Kakashi was running out of adjectives--and painkillers.

He was cold, worn out, he knew he'd pushed himself too far, but poison happened. Lots of things happened. More than the expected number of enemies happened. Chakra depletion happened. Tripping on stupid roots also happened, but he wasn't going to ever tell anyone that. Ever.

At the least, his brain could offer suitable entertainment. The Cherry Blossom Twins were not only limber, they wore so little you didn't even care if they didn't take it off. Which was good because he was in no position to handle that himself. His hallucination had way too much armour on.

"Look, brain, come on. Where is this coming from? You're supposed to be helping me get out of here."

"You cannot walk," said the Hunter-Iruka-Hallucination.

"My hallucination is a wit. No, I can't walk, do you see my leg? Iruka... You're a teacher, what are you doing here? I mean, why, in my brain, now?" Kakashi's arms fell to his side and he was seized by shivering again. "I'm an idiot," he muttered. And he didn't mean just the whole tripping on a root thing. He'd decimated that root as soon as he got rid of the three ninja that has precipitated his ungainly stumble.

"I won't argue with you Kakashi-san, but an army is headed this way. We have a head start of about two days. We need to leave."

Kakashi leaned forward and fussed with the binding on his leg. It wasn't enough. The paralysing poison was setting in as he'd started the bandaging and it was only through sheer force of will that he'd got the bones into place and a makeshift splint started.

Iruka rifled through a small pack and knelt beside him. For a hallucination, he had a well packed medic bag. "Take this. It'll help get the poison out. And put your jacket back on." He didn't have to say it like that.

"Oh, ah, I got hot, then I was cold, but a chipmunk family was here and they needed--"

"Put the jacket on and shut up. This is going to hurt." Hunter-Iruka-Hallucination got to work, cutting Kakashi's clumsy bindings away. For a hallucination, he had awfully cold hands and--

Kakashi let out a ragged yell. "That was healing!"

"Sorry."

Kakashi panted. "You don't sound sorry. You're not a hallucination." You're a smartass.

"It's a good thing. The Cherry Blossom Twins have little expertise in this area."

"Oh, ha ha." Now that he'd been graced with the clarity sudden pain often brings, he was irritable--and in pain. His jacket was damp--probably with chipmunk piss, he hadn't been making that part up--and he felt grimy, and he was clammy, and his saviour was a bitchy little chunin who didn't put out.

He stared, watching as Iurka tended Kakashi's leg, as carefully as any medic.

"You can take that mask off, you know." Iruka either didn't hear him, or, more likely, was ignoring him. He licked his lips. Even with his mask they were dry and flakey. He really needed lip balm. A shower would be nice. And a blanket. A mug of tea. He bit his bottom lip when Iruka pulled out a needle. And another. And another. Stitch thread and chakra-mend.

Look away, self.

Trying to ignore the needles, he pondered Iruka. A number of comments went through his mind. Wisely, he kept them there, settling on the smartest thing he could say for now. "I didn't know."

"So you don't know everything after all."

"You don't have to--Ow!" Kakashi's yell broke off into a low growl. "Are you enjoying this?"

"Sorry, I didn't know you were afraid of needles," he said blithely. Iruka made no pretence to disguise his voice. Not that it would have made a difference. Kakashi had recognised him in a split second. It hadn't even been conscious.

"I'm delicate." Kakashi shivered again. "Can't you numb me?"

Iruka turned, slipped the mask over his head, and fixed a hard stare on Kakashi.. "Weren't you listening? We have twelve hours travel ahead of us that we need to make in seven. And that's just today."

Kakashi moaned in despair. "I thought you were here to take my head and ritually burn my remains. It would probably hurt less."

There it was. That expression. The same face he made when Naruto said something stupid.

"Well, you're closer to alive than was expected."

Four hours later, Kakashi was near tears. No really, he was. If he thought it would have moved Iruka to mercy he would have cried and pled for his life.

"When are we going to stoooop?"

"You're worse than my kids. You know what I teach them? Pain is a state of mind. You can erase fear, you can erase pain. You cannot erase defeat."

"Oh god, I'm going to diiiiiie."

Three hours after that, they stopped for the night. Iruka built a fire, caught, skinned, herbed, and cooked a rabbit, filleted two thick salmon, and found a pile of berries. Still river-wet, he pulled off his shirt and hung it near the fire to dry before settling next to Kakashi.

"You are so much better than the Cherry Blossom Twins. Maybe not as endowed," he said, checking out Iruka's chest as the fire flickered, "but certainly..." His dark, shiny, toned, wet... Kakashi licked his lips. "Where was I?"

"We made excellent time. You did well. Have more berries."

"They're bitter."

"They're good for you."

"I don't like them."

"Tomorrow there will be no stops. It's fourteen hours. We'll make it in nine."

How generous. An extra genin hour. Iruka was treating him like a genin.

"You sound like a genin! Stop whining. Drink some water, eat some more berries and let's get moving. I'll check your bandages in two hours." Iruka checked his weapons and supplies at their second break. Well, Iruka called it a break. Kakashi wasn't so sure he knew what the word meant. He must have learned about breaks from Ibiki. At least Iruka came to a complete stop.

"Can't we sit down? My leg hurts."

"No. Rather a pained leg than capture."

"You're mean."

Iruka's only answer was an overly dramatic sigh. Or maybe that was his version of a patient sigh.

"I told you half an hour ago." Iruka was gritting his teeth. That was not good dental practice.

"Tell me again, I forgot."

"Four. More. Hours."

"Will you miss me, when we get back? I don't see you that often." Was it his imagination or just Iruka just whisper 'Thank God?' "Maybe we could go out to dinner one night. Have drinks back at my place?"

"What about your Cherry Blossom Twins?"

"Those are just characters in a book, Iruka. They aren't real. Sadly."

There was a long silence during which Iruka seemed to gather his chakra meditatively.

"I mean, if you really are asking me out--I'm not exactly a Cherry Blossom Twin, Kakashi. What are you expecting?"

Kakashi stopped, just stopped. Iruka made it fifty feet before stopping and cursing in a manner inappropriate for a teacher. Kakashi leaned against a tree, palms on his knees, panting. He looked up at Iruka's approach.

"What?" His voice was weak. He was weak. Had Iruka just suggested...?

"You're tired, you're wounded, you're delirious. Stand up." He pushed at Kakashi's shoulders until they faced each other and kissed him. Hard.

Iruka tasted like rabbit and berries and seven hour runs. Iruka closed his eyes to kiss. Kakashi knew because he didn't close his eye. Iruka was hot, warm, sweaty, and delicious. He purred.

Kakashi whimpered when Iruka pulled back.

"Three more hours. We're almost home." Iruka sauntered off looking right pleased with himself.

Once again, in Iruka's presence, Kakashi was close to tears. He was beginning to understand Naruto's frustrations.

They weren't far from the gate when Iruka put his mask back on. Once he slid on his mask, he became a Hunter Nin. Something wholly and entirely different than the expressive pony-tailed sensei.

Kakashi had no idea how he had recognised Iruka when he'd first seemed a hallucination. There was nothing of the self-effacing, loud-mouth prude in the masked ninja in front of him. He seemed taller, gracile and fluid, as if he could dissolve at will.

Kakashi followed obediently. Whatever he knew, had thought he'd known, he knew he had no business treating the Hunter Nin as he had Iruka.

They were not one in the same, and yet, they were.

It must have been a big deal. There were more guards than usual at the gates. There were far more people than usual out and about, crowding the Mission Building, and looking anxious.

Had people really thought him dead? While the concern was touching, the worry was insulting.

Without speaking, Iruka led them to Tsunade's office, moving as if he expected people to move out of his way. And they did. Without a sense of consciousness, people stepped aside or simply melted out of his way and in no time, they were outside Tsunade's office.

I'm going to have to tell her about that damn root.

ANBU opened the door at Iruka's approach, without a hint of hesitation, as though they expected Iruka. He felt a slight shimmer of surprise. They hadn't expected him.

Iruka knelt before Tsunade's desk and bowed his head, waiting patiently.

"Thank you, Hunter."

She fixed her gaze on Kakashi. It was the look he'd seen mothers give to misbehaving children when forcing them to apologise for their actions. She then looked pointedly at Iruka--the Hunter Nin.

"Thank you, Hunter," he repeated, bowing slightly. Now that he was still, he ached. Oh, how he ached. There was nothing on him that didn't ache. Except maybe his ears. Ears were hardy like that.

"You're dismissed, Hunter. Kakashi, sit." He sat and watched Iruka walk out.

Tsunade rose and came before him, pressing a soft cool hand to his forehead. "I thought he would return with your head."

"I asked him to."

Her other hand clutched his arm and it was not cool and refreshing, it hurt. Hurt badly. He knew better than to complain. The simple gesture said enough. After a moment, her grip relaxed and he felt a soothing wash of chakra flow over him. He sighed and relaxed into a comfortable slump that he knew was bad for his posture.

"We'll go over your report quickly and I'll escort you to the hospital."

Maybe he could leave out the part about the root.

///

Iruka rubbed his forehead.

How can these kids be such idiots? They handled deadly weapons and trained to defend their village but their reports were little more than accounts of how awesome they'd be with a new uniform.

The knock at the door was welcome respite until he opened it.

"Kakashi-sensei. What a... lovely surprise. Won't you come in." He hoped his words sounded less welcoming than they sounded. Then he looked at Kakashi, who hesitated. He wasn't wearing his mask. There were faint dark marks under his eyes. And his expression was nearly sheepish. Browbeaten.

Iruka stepped back. "Really, come in."

"I was told to get out and do things," Kakashi said as he came in. "The holy terrors at the hospital released me yesterday. They were even less gentle with needles than you." Unconsciously, Kakashi rubbed his arm. He was dressed in simple recovery blacks. A narrow band of embroidered red leaves decorated the hems.

"We all have our fears. Would you like something to drink?"

"Only if its alcoholic."

Iruka laughed. "Sit down. Clean bill of health?" he inquired as he walked into the kitchen

"Clean bill of pain and agony." He was quiet for a moment. "I appreciate all you did. I know I'm not... not the best charge."

Iruka came back in the room with a tray. Luckily he'd been boiling water and luckily he found a second clean mug. Green tea would put some colour on Kakashi's pale cheeks.

"I was doing my job."

"Ironic."

"Not really." Iruka sipped at his tea. Kakashi looked a little miserable. But contrite. Iruka smiled at him.

"I misjudged you. I want to apologise." Kakashi sounded almost formal, but Iruka knew it had to be difficult for him.

"You didn't have to come all this way to tell me that." Iruka hadn't realised how close Kakashi was. He'd moved while Iruka had been in the kitchen.

"How else could I ask you out to dinner?" The contriteness was fading away into Kakashi's customary cockiness. Though it felt a little put on, a little... fragile.

Iruka sat his mug of tea down, turning away from Kakashi to do so. When he turned back Kakashi's eyes were still on his. "Do you want to go eat now?"

Kakashi shook his head. Iruka smiled.

"Drinks?"

Kakashi shook his head again and Iruka leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

"Bed?"

Kakashi was so still for a moment that Iruka feared he'd misjudged everything. And then Kakashi nodded again. His breathing was a touch shallow and Iruka could almost feel his heart racing. He leaned in again, tilting his head closer to Kakashi's and very slowly dragging his cheek alongside Kakashi's. Then he leaned back.

"Just because you think I'm worthy now?"

Kakashi blinked.

Iruka's smile was easy and he was so, so very relaxed. He leaned back against the sofa, one arm resting on his bent knee, his hair loose over his shoulders. How--how had Kakashi not noticed? How had he ever written Iruka off as 'just' a teacher?

He was about to deny what Iruka had said, but Iruka's hand had inched its way into his lap and his fingers were now slipping their way under the drawstring waistband of his hospital pants. It was a good thing the pants were roomy, because he was going to need room to grow.

"Uh," he whimpered. "No..."

Iruka nipped as his bottom lip. "I'm not worthy?"

"Oh yeah," he said, but it wasn't an answer. It was a response to a strong, warm hand wrapping around his cock.

"I mean, no. Yeah."

"You're just saying that because I have my hand around your cock." Iruka licked Kakashi's lips and then ran his teeth alongside Kakashi's jaw.

"N-no."

Iruka released his grip and slid over Kakashi, his legs straddling Kakashi's hips. They were almost face to face. Iruka was about to kiss him, but Kakashi couldn't wait. Iruka's hands slid up his neck and Kakashi grabbed his shoulders and kissed Iruka hard, like he was about to be taken away, like it was the last kiss he'd ever get.

Iruka gave as good as got--better even than that hasty hot kiss in the forest. The wet shock of Iruka's mouth and tongue did things to Kakashi's insides that he'd forgot could ever happen. Things he hadn't felt since he was--well, maybe he'd just read about the way your belly could twist with winsome agony. The way your entire body could prickle in excitement for lust the same way it did for battle.

Had he read about the way it would feel to have Iruka's tight body between his legs? Because suddenly it was all he could think about, even with Iruka's legs around him and his hard cock grinding into Kakashi's belly. He'd think about fucking Iruka later. Right now, he wanted Iruka inside him, surrounding him, owning him completely.

"Can we--"

"God, yes."

Kakashi stood, Iruka sticking to him like a leech, stumbled a little, and promptly flattened Iruka against a wall. Iruka's legs wrapped against his waist and they broke apart heaving hotly against each other's lips, before Kakashi took another few steps, pressing against another wall.

"Next."

Iruka kissed like he was starved of Kakashi's lips.

"Door."

They'd lost some clothes on the way. Kakashi walked them to the bed, hands under the only thing left on Iruka. His shirt.

Kakashi ran his hands over smooth, rough, scarred, taught, muscled skin. He licked into hollows, dips, peaks, creases, and tasted every inch he could reach of Iruka, before settling on his cock.

Iruka was a livewire, his body flickering against Kakashi's. They both yanked at Kakashi's pants, rolling, until he was on his back and Iruka was between his legs.

He sort of loomed over Kakashi, looking like he never looked--loose, fierce, powerful--like a Hunter. His skin was damp and shining, his hair wild, and the look he gave Kakashi was pure lust.

There was a single moment, a sudden sharp clarity that pierced Kakashi's mind the same time Iruka pierced his body.

There was no going back from this knowledge, from this moment. He had seen the unviewable, and what he had perceived he could not undo.

He closed his eyes and let Iruka fuck him, body and soul, into a million pieces, and then back to one.

"How. How did I miss this?"

Kakashi was still flat on his back and unmoving. Iruka had been up, showered, brought Kakashi a wet cloth, wiped him down when he proved too worn to do it himself, made them tea, shifted the blinds, picked up their clothes, and was now stretched out beside him, outlining a training regimen that would get Kakashi back to his standard.

Smiling, Iruka reached out to run his fingers through Kakashi's ever defiant hair.

"You know what I teach my kids? Close your eyes and perceive that which cannot be seen. You didn't look beneath the beneath, Kakashi."

/end

Naruto Fic: Subdued

txilar — Mon, 01 Oct 2012 04:39:12 GMT

Subdued
Adult | ~2800
Warnings: Dubcon, punishment, spanking, mild BDSM themes. References corporal punishment of a child (witnessed as a past event).
Prompt: KakaIru Kink Meme. I was really inspired by this prompt, but I am not sure it enitrely hits the mark. I hope you still enjoy it, OP.
Summary: Kakashi doesn't take kindly to Iruka telling him how to do his job.

“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.”
-Sun Tzu

Iruka was seething. Kakashi’s dismissal was humiliating enough, but what set him off the most was his casual disregard for Naruto--for all three of the kids. Iruka knew, oh how he knew, that they were not children anymore.

But they weren’t ninja either. They weren’t ready. Kakashi would have to face that.

And he'll face me too.

Iruka knocked again and waited, tapping his foot impatiently. He was just about to raise his hand again when the door opened.

“Well. If it isn’t the little mother hen. Come to castigate me for sending your precious kit off to battle?” The words were harsh, but Kakashi’s tone was bored. Iruka refused to take the bait. He ducked his head politely.

“Kakashi-san, as a teacher, I am fully aware of what the children are trained for. My concern is that you are not fully aware of how ill-prepared they are for the exams. Your expectations are... different. I only ask that you give them more time--”

“You’re a busybody, sensei.” His tone wasn’t bored anymore and the way he said ‘sensei’ was downright disrespectful.

Kakashi leaned against his doorframe, relaxing as he looked at Iruka, and folded his arms. He spoke coldly and precisely. “You take raw talent and heat it. I turn it into steel. What you make soft, I turn into weapons. Why am I explaining this? Do you want me to turn you into steel as well?” Kakashi winked, but there was nothing playful about his body language. Iruka flushed at the downright lascivious tone.

“I want--”

Kakashi reached out a finger to trail across Iruka’s nose. “I could teach you a lot, sensei.”

Iruka opened his mouth to respond, but his brain seemed to short out on him. He couldn’t see half of Kakashi’s face, but the way his eye crinkled suggested a pretty self-satisfied smile. His fingers drifted down Iruka’s face and neck until his hand was on Iruka’s shoulder. Kakashi’s fingers clutched tight and he pulled Iruka close.

“Like how to take orders,” he whispered.

He yanked and Iruka was inside the apartment, his back against the shut door before he even realised what had happened. Kakashi’s body was close and hot, his breath a warmth at Iruka’s neck.

“Can you follow an order, chunin?”

Iruka was shaking in a vicious and confusing mix of rage and fear. Technically, Kakashi was his superior, but this, this wasn’t.... this was... he should... what...

Kakashi’s quiet voice and feline stealth were frightening. No, that wasn’t right. Iruka was not afraid. He was angry. But his body was reacting to fear and he wanted to run.

“What are y--”

Kakashi’s hand slapped flat across Iruka’s mouth. “You talk too much. There is great value in listening to your superiors. Come with me.”

Without removing his hand, Kakashi yanked Iruka forward and wrapped his arm around Iruka so that he was wedged against Kakashi’s chest. They walked down a dark and narrow hallway.

Iruka shook his head and tried to dig in his heels, but Kakashi just kept pushing. Iruka's sandals squeaked all the way down the hall. They ended up at a doorway into another room. A bedroom.

Kakashi’s arm was tight around Iruka and the hand over his mouth was warm and humid, thumb shoved against Iruka’s nose as he panted noisily.

“I’ve never been one for physical punishment. My father wasn't a believer. But I remember a mission to Sand when I was ten. I was there to--well never mind that part. I was in school with regular children and I saw things I’d never seen before. Playtime was certainly fascinating. But one afternoon, a boy threw a tantrum. It was amazing. His face turned bright red and he threw himself on the ground screaming. He was completely out of control, like a seizure, only on purpose.”

Iruka could feel his heart pounding, could hear the dull thud in his ears and across his skin. Kakashi must have felt it too, as they stood there in the doorway. The apartment was still and quiet around them.

“The teacher came over, yanked him up, pulled his pants down and smacked his ass until it was as red as his face. He didn’t quit until the little wretch stopped flailing.”

Iruka was breathing deeply now. His fear had left him, well, his first fear. The fear that Kakashi was going to kick his ass in some testosterone-laced version of teaching him a lesson. Now he feared... well, he wasn't exactly sure what he feared.

He feared Kakashi.

Kakashi pulled and Iruka arched back to keep from choking. Kakashi whispered against his ear.

“On a later visit, I learned the boy was a model student. But he liked his girlfriends to spank him.”

Iruka shook his head.

“Maybe this will teach you a lesson too.”

Kakashi pushed Iruka and walked them into the room. At the bed he turned Iruka around to face him. His hand was still plastered over Iruka’s mouth. He tilted his head and searched Iruka’s eyes. And then he left go.

“Kakashi, I don't--”

“Do you think you can keep quiet? That boy was in front of all his classmates. He was a child, so it didn’t matter that he cried and slobbered. But between us, I think this should be a quiet thing, don’t you?”

Iruka wet his lips and stared. This isn't a dream.

He kind of wished he hadn’t come here. And then Kakashi hooked a finger under his mask and pulled it down. Iruka didn't often see Kakashi without his mask. Something about that innocent face felt dangerous. It was no wonder he wore a mask.

Iruka wondered yet again what he was doing here. Why wasn’t he running? Because Kakashi was faster than he was. Why wasn’t he begging? Because Kakashi’s expression was impenetrable.

Kakashi sat down on the bed and crooked his finger at Iruka. Iruka shook his head and the hint of humour on Kakashi’s face disappeared. He drew a small length of rope from his pocket and ticked his finger at Iruka again.

This time Iruka moved forward.

“We’ll tie your hands, just to be safe. Hold them out for me.”

Shakily, Iruka held out his hands. He ran through his ‘why’ scenario again. Kakashi was faster, stronger, and frightening. And Iruka could not look away.

Kakashi smiled as he wrapped and knotted the rope. “And now the time has come. Shame we don’t have an audience to really drive the point home, but I think I’ll be satisfied regardless.”

Iruka stared at him, waiting.

“Pull down your pants, sensei, and bend over my lap.”

“But...” Kakashi’s brow arched as Iruka spoke. He drew in a ragged breath when he realised Kakashi wanted him to pull his pants down himself. He wanted Iruka to struggle. So he did. He felt his face growing redder and redder as he struggled to get his pants down. And when he finally got them down, it was the ultimate embarrassment to know that Kakashi saw that his cock was hard.

“Nice,” Kakashi breathed out.

Iruka stepped closer, well, he tried to step without tripping over his pants-hobbled feet, and leaned over. Iruka had excellent balance, but his practice was usually focused on escaping with his hands tied, not... not this.

He wavered. Kakashi wasn’t helping at all. How exactly did he want Iruka? Was he too far, not far enough? Hands in front or over his head? Iruka tried to ignore the question of what to do with his cock.

“A little more,” said Kakashi. “I want your ass right under palm. Let your arms hang down. Get your hands in place to balance. There. Perfect.”

Iruka flinched when Kakashi’s palm slid right over his ass and he scrambled to stay in place. As he wobbled, Kakashi's other hand slipped under Iruka’s shirt and grasped at his neck as he let his fingernails scrap against Iruka’s sensitive--and sensitised skin. Iruka's shoulders twitched and Kakashi smacked his ass lightly.

“Just a bit of warming up," he murmured. "I can’t wait to see if your ass gets as red as your face.” Kakashi smacked again and immediately rubbed his hand in circles before scratching long stripes into Iruka’s ass with his nails.

It turned into a rhythm: smack, rub, scratch, squeeze, smack.

Iruka stopped flinching. It was almost hypnotic. His breathing evened out and he realised the scent in his nose was Kakashi. It was kind of a warm dirt smell, with a hint of sweat and ozone, and something faintly mechanical.

This isn’t so bad, he thought.

And then Kakashi’s hand was gone. Kakashi’s body tensed a little and then there was a loud cracking noise followed by a sting. Iruka jerked, realising Kakashi had hit him. Had hit him hard.

“Ow! What are you--” Iruka bit off a cry as Kakashi smacked his ass again. Where before he’d been slapping lightly, the way you might smack someone awake from a nightmare, he was now drawing his arm back and dropping forcefully onto Iruka’s ass.

He barely finished the thought before another two strikes had landed.

And they hurt.

They were loud and once he got over the sound, he felt them. Right cheek, left cheek and then twice on each side.

Iruka struggled but he was hobbled on both sides. He tried to raise himself up but Kakashi’s hand on his neck kept him in place. He could barely keep his balance.

“I told you he didn’t stop until the brat stopped flailing.”

Iruka could hear the slight effort in Kakashi’s voice. And then Kakashi was raining smacks down on his ass so fast that Iruka couldn’t keep up with the sound, other than to his hear his own faint grunt follow embarrassingly. His ass was beginning to sting and god forbid he was hard again. He squirmed and felt his cock rubbing against Kakashi’s thigh.

Each smack was like an electric current right to his cock and he cringed from the realisation. Several more smacks landed and he sniffed hard, trying to twitch away from the burn. Each time Kakashi smacked, he jumped and it just made it bett--worse! Worse, he reminded himself.

Iruka gasped and it sounded downright pornographic.

Kakashi hummed in approval and somehow that made Iruka's ass arch into Kakashi's touch.

“Oh, your ass is hot Iruka. I mean, it’s on fire. So red.” Iruka felt something cool and wet draw across his ass. He twitched when he thought it might be Kakashi’s tongue. But no, he couldn’t have. Would he? Iruka shivered.

“Are you as turned on as I am, sensei? This is turning out to be a great lesson, no?”

And at that, Iruka realised that yes, Kakashi was indeed turned on. That hot hard length pressing into him was Kakashi’s cock.

Suddenly, Kakashi’s fingers were parting his ass and something slick pressed into him. He gasped and arched almost completely up but the fingers were gone.

“Wha...” He stopped to swallow. His mouth was incredibly dry. Before he could speak again, Kakashi was smacking his ass. Iruka felt tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He squirmed, but Kakashi was leaning over him, holding him down. It felt like they’d been there for hours.

His ass was on fire. His cock was hard. His throat was dry. He couldn’t think. He couldn't move. His felt his body go limp. Felt the sting of three more smacks in a haze and lifted his ass for more. He was going to come any minute.

“Please...”

Then Kakashi was dragging him up and over and he was flat on the bed and Kakashi was over him. Kakashi’s fingers were holding him open and Kakashi’s cock was hard against his hole.

His ass was burning, but it was nothing compared to the sweet fire of Kakashi fucking him. He pressed in slow and Iruka tried to lift his hips, to help, but he was too worn. All he could do was remain still--still and hot. He felt a molten stirring as Kakashi fucked him, his hands clamped tight on Iruka’s shoulders.

Iruka bit his lip and Kakashi chanted, “Oh fuck, fuckfuckfuck.”

A cry burst out of Iruka as he orgasmed. He felt a thick wet heat beneath him as Kakashi ground him into the mattress and then he couldn’t keep quiet. With each thrust, Iruka grunted and cried out.

When Kakashi came it was an inundating heat and he cried out again, hips bucking as if he was coming again. Maybe he was. He didn’t know. He bucked and burned and wanted to scream.

Kakashi pulled out, eliciting yet another ragged cry. Iruka felt come striping his backside and nearly wept when Kakashi stabbed back inside. His body jerked out of control. He must have cried out again, because Kakashi’s hand covered his mouth and he stretched out flat over Iruka, fucking rapidly and then stopping.

Another thrust. And they were still, pulse slipping against pulse.

Panting.

Hot.

Sweaty.

Iruka tried to swallow and his throat burned. He couldn’t move. Mostly because Kakashi was a dead weight on him, but also because, well, he couldn’t move. If Kakashi wanted him gone, he’d have to untie Iruka, dress him, and take him home. Because, screw punishment, Iruka wasn’t going anywhere.

/ / /

“Would you like some tea?”

Iruka shook his head. He was in Kakashi’s bed--stripped of the cover. They’d had a shower and a bath. Kakashi had carefully washed him, held him as they soaked, and then he’d had patted Iruka down, applied quite a bit of cream to his flaming backside, and put him to bed. Iruka had two very nice pillows behind him, he’d had his feet rubbed, his ass checked twice, and a light but warm blanket tucked carefully over him.

“You sure? I have a really good white tea from Kumo.”

Iruka turned his head to look at Kakashi. He was sort of sitting, sort of leaning on the bed behind Iruka.

“What is wrong with you?”

Kakashi blinked innocently. If he was acting, he was good at it. “It's very good tea.”

“You beat the hell out of me, practically ra--”

Kakashi pressed a finger to Iruka’s lips. “You said ‘please.’ I was only rewarding you. Accepting punishment is worthy of reward, Iruka-sensei. It isn’t entirely about the punishment.”

Iruka just stared. He couldn’t be expected to think about this properly now could he? He looked away from Kakashi’s polite smile.

“We’ll discuss it after you’ve had time to process. I think that was a very good punishment. In fact, I don’t think I’ll ever need to administer such again.”

When Iruka’s gaze jerked back up to Kakashi’s, his smile changed entirely.

“However,” he said, “upon reflection, it might take more than one, singular punishment. You have some deeply ingrained behaviours, Iruka-sensei. I am completely open to helping you learn to control your emotions.”

Iruka swallowed again and looked away.

His ass would be on fire for days. He dreaded tomorrow. The mere thought of sitting on that hard wooden chair in front of the children was inconceivable. The eagle-eyed little snots noticed everything. Last year he'd twisted his ankle. Upon entering the room, Shou-chan asked why he was standing funny.

He couldn't bear to be asked why he was sitting funny.

Kakashi rolled so that he was on his belly next to Iruka, his hip and legs right against Iruka's. Kakashi's hair was limp, flat against his head. Like it was as smugly satisfied as its owner.

“Your chakra seems a bit ruffled.”

"I'm fine," Iruka muttered. He wanted to snap, but he didn't have the enmity. And now, Kakashi showed such concern. Iruka had always thought Kakashi attractive. Not just his looks, but everything about him. He was sleekly built, lithe, and had a commanding presence. Kakashi's bored exterior hid a dangerous man.

He looked beside him. Kakashi's head was on the corner of the pillow under Iruka. His eyes were closed and his hand curled over Iruka's thigh.

Now that Iruka knew that body more intimately, the mild attraction burned into something more. Yielding to Kakashi seemed counter-intuitive, but he'd been on his own for so long, so tightly wound for so long, that letting go, being allowed to let go, for even for that single moment, had given him an unexpected peace. An unexpected freedom.

Something he'd never have found on his own. That he hadn't even realised he'd been looking for.

And he wanted more.

/fin

naruto drabbles

txilar — Sun, 09 Sep 2012 21:24:59 GMT

drabbles for kakairu_fest jōnin drabble round:

touch | ~100
prompt: When we are unable to find tranquility within ourselves, is is useless to seek it elsewhere
François de la Rochefoucauld

Kakashi reached out to touch Iruka. He couldn't decide if he was offended or turned on when Iruka flinched.

"Kakashi, you can't keep doing this." His voice was too low to be a whine, and his body moved the wrong way to mean what he said.

"I just need..." Kakashi trailed off, nipping at Iruka's neck. One hand was around Iruka's neck and he could feel Iruka's slow, steady heartbeat, trapped under his warm, warm skin.

The warmth lulled him. He needed Iruka. He would never find peace within himself. Iruka was his only chance.

waiting | ~100
prompt: It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both
Machiavelli

Iruka knew that Kakashi feared him.

The idea that he needed Iruka--and Iruka knew that was what he believed. He knew why Kakashi sought him out. It was too hard to push him away, too hard to say no, and simply not worth hiding out. Kakashi would find him wherever he went.

It wasn't love, it was only physical, but Iruka could not deny the complicated emotions that kept him from seeking help. For either one of them.

Kakashi's fear was far more intoxicating that his love.

But Iruka was willing to wait.

don't run from me | ~300
prompt: There is a saying among soldiers: it is easier to lose a yard than take an inch
Tao Te Ching, 69: Ambush

He never reacted raged Iruka. Hands in his pockets--clearly a sign of insecurity--careless slouch, that, that, scarecrow was a model of passivity.

Just look at him! Iruka stared, watching Kakashi stare at the sky, pinkie finger wiggling in his ear. He lowered his head and caught Iruka's eye. He had the gall to wink.

Iruka spluttered, even more enraged when Shizune shushed him. How dare she shush me! He jerked his gaze from the indolent Copynin and waited for his moment.

///

"You lazy, torpid--"

Kakashi raised an eyebrow. Torpid?

"Infuriating, smug, son of a--"

"Ah, ah, Iruka-sensei. There are children about."

With a growl of rage, Iruka shook his fist. "You slug!"

"Now that's uncalled for--"

"Sloth!"

"I do not look like a--"

"You're an indifferent, lackadaisical--"

"Someone's been reading his thesaurus," he said tartly.

"Dilettante," finished Iruka, teeth clenched.

Kakashi smiled and leaned forward to whisper in Iruka's ear. "You've lost your yard."

And then he ran.

///

Oh, how Iruka loved a chase.

Kakashi might be the all powerful, sharingan-using copy-nin, but he ran like a girl. Iruka felt moderately bad about that sexist thought as he passed Sakura and Ino on a bridge, but even they were shaking their heads at Kakashi's slow effort.

Kakashi felt Iruka was hindered by working with children day in and day out.

"You're losing your edge," he said one night after sneaking up on Iruka.

"I was wearing headphones, for heaven's sake! And--"

"Yes, I'm sure a rogue nin would kindly ask you to take those off before he snuck up on you!"

"I'll get you, Hatake Kakashi! And when I do!" Iruka practically felt Kakashi's shiver of delight. "You'll shiver all right!"

He put on a burst of speed.

He'd get his inch back.

drabbles for kakairu_fest chidori drabble round:

Attrition
~490
Prompt: Kakashi is a programmable human 'doll,' available to clients as anything from a corporate assassin to a weekend lover. Iruka is the processor who hasn't quite been deleting all the information he should...

Iruka leaned forward as he spoke into the intercom. "Yes sir, I'm clearing him now. He has a mild cold, so I put him down for treatment before Section Four."

The response was crackled and distant. "Don't fuck this one up, Umino."

Iruka rolled his eyes before turning back to his keyboard. The paperwork was easy. Hell, coding was easy.

Waking him up was the hard part.

///

"You were in an accident," the young man said. "Our company is covering your medical treatment." He smiled, but it was a mechanical thing. Perfunctory.

Kakashi knew his name, but not much else. He knew he was in a hospital, but the smell wasn't quite right and the nurses were simply wrong. He couldn't figure out why it was so familiar. Why the smiling young man was so familiar...

"What's your name?"

The man's eyes went wide and he opened his mouth to speak, but just stared at Kakashi in surprise.

"You've never--I mean--you don't remember?"

"Why would I remember you?"

Now the young man looked downright nervous. "Oh, um, well I, the--paperwork! I processed the paperwork for the... for the, uh, s-ski rental."

"I rented skis?" Kakashi didn't know how to ski. Maybe that explained the accident.

The young man's response was a furious nod.

"And you are?"

"Oh," he said faintly. "I'm Umino Iruka." Iruka leaned forward in quick bow. "Pleased to meet you."

Kakashi's eyes narrowed. "I thought you said we'd already met."

"But you don't... Your memory is..."

"You spoke with my doctor? That's a breach of privacy if--"

"Sir, if you could please just sign this, I'll escort you to Section Four."

Kakashi smiled. He was more interested in Iruka than privacy. The ways his eyes danced from Kakashi's bare chest to his face--

Kakashi's thoughts broke off as he reached up to his left eye. "What happened to my eye? Am I a pirate?" He grinned, but Iruka looked rather pale.

"Th-that was... uh, b-before your, our, we had nothing to do with that, sir."

"Huh." Kakashi's finger trailed down the scar that went almost down to his mouth.

///

"So what's Section Four?"

"Reprogramming," Iruka muttered.

"What?" Kakashi stopped in his tracks.

"Treatment. You've got a cold." He blushed painfully. Don't fuck this up. We are so close.

After Iruka snapped the last connection into place, Kakashi grabbed his wrist. "I've never gone skiing. Who are you, Iruka? "

Iruka licked his lips. "We're almost done, sir." He touched Kakashi's cheek, finger grazing that scar, and hoped it was enough.

"You just have to trust me."

///fin

Flower | Adult | ~420
Warning: Dubious consent
Prompt: 'They spoke no words. The visitor, the host, the white chrysanthemum.'

They spoke no words. The visitor, the host, the white chrysanthemum.
Ryota

Iruka says nothing as he opens the door. His face is a mask, tight-lipped, even when Kakashi gives him the chrysanthemum, presenting it with great flourish.

He inclines his head slightly. The movement is stiff, not like Iruka at all. Still, he does not speak.

He takes the flower and turns, leaving the door open behind him. It is not welcoming, his open door, his open back, waiting for visitors, waiting for an attack.

Once inside, Kakashi is a guest, an honoured visitor. Iruka won't dare to defy him.

The Academy is closed for autumn holidays and Iruka is dressed in a dark kimono, the silk fabric making gentle whispers that complements the fresh air coming in from the windows. It sounds like the ocean, one of the few sounds that will lull Kakashi to deep sleep.

It's a dangerous sound. And suddenly he doesn't like it.

Iruka doesn't make a noise when he is tripped. They wrestle and Iruka struggles, but it's a front. Kakashi knows this as he holds Iruka down, pressing one hand over his wrist, leaning his forearm on Iruka's. Iruka's kimono falls open and Kakashi watches his chest rise and fall. His knee digs into Iruka's thigh. He knows it is painful, but Iruka doesn't flinch.

They are panting. Iruka looks away as Kakashi eases off of him. He slides his knee from Iruka. The movement pushes Iruka's legs further apart and Kakashi is enthralled by the way his body flushes red all the way down to his belly button.

Kakashi licks his lips as he touches Iruka's lips. He drags his fingertip down Iruka's chin, down his neck, down his chest, and doesn't stop until he gets to the loosely knotted belt low on his waist.

Iruka's breathing hitches.

Kakashi presses himself down to Iruka's body. They are both hot and hard. He works his mouth into the crook of Iruka's neck where it is turned away, forcing Iruka to look up, if not at him.

He bites.

This time Iruka flinches and whimpers and Kakashi stands.

Iruka is sprawled in the floor, flushed and disheveled, Kakashi standing between his legs. Still, he won't look at Kakashi.

Kakashi nudges his toe against the crease of Iruka's thigh. Iruka's lip trembles as his teeth bite down into the delicate flushed flesh.

Kakashi turns to leave and smiles.

He does not shut the door.

///fin

whew, so many drabbles to go read! ^_^

naruto: drabbles

txilar — Wed, 22 Aug 2012 17:39:23 GMT

1oo word drabbles for kakairu_fest genin drabble round:

but i like you better
prompt: mission: babysitting, 100 words

"How about I just visit you instead?"

"But, I'm six." The pale-eyed child staring up at him looked genuinely confused.

"Yes, but I like you better than your parents." The kid--Kakashi would really have to figure out his name eventually--nodded wisely and pondered that statement.

"I have it." Kakashi looked up, eyebrow raised expectantly. "You're hired. As my babysitter."

Kakashi noted the page number of his book before putting it away. "Deal," he said, reaching out for a firm handshake.

"Ah, but what do I get, sensei?"

"I teach you how to keep Iruka-sensei off your case."

"Deal."

sweet dreams are made of this
prompt: genjutsu, 100 words

Genjutsu. It had to be. Iruka felt weightless and pleasant.

Oh, the hospital. Maybe--

The unpleasant thought dissipated. It was like he was floating in never-ending water, the horizon surrounding him like he'd been dropped in the ocean.

It was pleasant.

Fish brushed by his ankles, something bigger bumped his thigh, and tangled weeds clung to his toes.

Iruka sighed and spread his arms out, floating again, his body light and cool. He stared up into the sky, feeling sunshine and a pleasant balmy warmth.

There were red clouds in the sky and they looked like pretty spinning flowers...

i miss you most of all
prompt: autumn leaves, 100 words

Iruka stared at the leaf on the ground. It was one of many that fell, had fallen, were falling. There was nothing special about it. It was just another leaf. Green, spotted with red, and curling brown on the edges.

'Kiss me, Iruka. Don't be shy.'

He remembered Kakashi's hands the most. Delicate, fierce, powerful.

Plenty of leaves had fallen and he was always remembering Kakashi, but this leaf was stark against the cool grey of the memorial stone and the sharply incised characters of Kakashi's name, and when the leaves fell, he missed Kakashi.

Original Fiction: An Accidental Simulation

txilar — Sun, 03 Jun 2012 00:09:22 GMT

An Accidental Simulation
Adult | ~3100 | m/f
Summary: Baland thought he was in for a long night of coding and compiling until Suya--technically his superior--showed up and things went very wrong very fast.
Notes: This was written for penny for the sci-fi round of smut_fest. Also posted at smut_fest: An Accidental Simulation

Posted at Ao3: An Accidental Simulation

Original Fiction: Yearning

txilar — Sat, 02 Jun 2012 23:20:57 GMT

Yearning
Adult | 10,200
Warnings: A character is whipped, though it isn't particularly graphic.
Summary: Under threat of attack from a hostile enemy, Savien's temple finds itself under military control. Despite the intrusion, he is drawn to General Etzgerdin--and the General can't seem to keep his hands off Savien.
Notes: Yearning was written for empty_room for the fantasy round of smut_fest.

Posted at Ao3: Yearning

And by the yearning in my veins I know
Swinburne

Original Fictions: Lays here my hope & Bitter Bonds

txilar — Fri, 01 Jun 2012 21:15:30 GMT

I'm trying to move/post original fiction to a different journal. I have no idea why really, it just seemed logical and orderly.

These two stories are related and both are set in the Yearning universe, of the eponymously named Yearning. It's best to read Lays here my hope first and then Bitter Bonds, as it technically takes place after the events of the first.

Lays here my hope
Adult | ~8300
Summary: “When the housekeeper told him about the children, his first thought was ‘This should be an easy service. How difficult can children be?’”
Warnings: As this is slavefic, this story references dub-con and abuse.
Prompt: For me_ya_ri via orig_slavefic's prompt festival: “An adult slave is sold into a household with small children. He's never dealt with children before but the kids love him.”

Posted at Ao3: Lays here my hope

Bitter Bonds
Adult | ~2050
Summary: It is a dream and he knows it is a dream.
Warnings: As this is slavefic, this story references dub-con and abuse.
Prompt: Master Eddagard isn’t really a hands-on type of trainer, but megyal said “I'd like to read me some Belemi/Master Eddagard” so this happened.

Posted at Ao3: Bitter Bonds

annual lj post...

txilar — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 04:43:22 GMT

as always i think about things that might make a somewhat entertaining post and compose it in my head and swear that i'll post it 'tomorrow' but as you can see, i never ever do it. i'm terrible at tumblr too and that 'haiku a day' plan? never really took off.

anyway.

december hit hard and fast right? it's not just me is it? it's like, 'omg it's winter, it's december, it's cold, there are xmas lights and a tree (i don't have a tree, let alone have it decorated) and omg, open house and xmas is in like 2.5 hours and i'm not dressed!'

if that sounds crazy, just wait. it's almost here.

i need to henna my hair. i need to make a post for holiday cards. i need a nap. i made hot cocoa and i need a refill.

i saw this and thought it was a great meme, so do it, so i can pester you with my ideas. you=all of you! here it is:

Tell me about a story I haven't written, and I'll give you between one and three sentences from that story.

naruto fic: always

txilar — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 01:31:45 GMT

always
~1100
warnings: infidelity
prompt: inspired by kinkmeme: "Ok so I'd like a fic where Iruka and Kakashi are actually having an affair- as in Iruka is actually going out with someone else but has always cheated on them with Kakashi."

“Love is a game in which one always cheats.”
-Honore de Balzac

“We have to stop doing this.”

Iruka sat down on the narrow mattress, sheets loose around his hips. He very nearly put his hands in head.

“You have to stop doing this. I,” said Kakashi, with flourish, “am under no such obligation.”

Well, then Iruka did put his hands in his head. Kakashi was right.

“Obligations,” he bit out. “We both have obligations.”

“True.”

Iruka felt Kakashi shift and turned to look at him. Kakashi was stretched out on his back, eyes closed, arms bent behind his head. He was a picture of languid prurience.

Iruka swore last time was the last time. He was about to swear that this was the last time. He was well aware he would say the same thing next time. So many last times. Was that why he couldn’t stop? If he planned their next encounter would it break the spell?

“Get out of here, sensei. I’ll see you next week.” Kakashi’s voice was smug. It was subtle, but definitely there.

:: :: ::

Next week never came.

Iruka made a point to ignore their regular meetings. He signed up for three extra shifts at the Mission’s Office, took on two private tutoring sessions, and planned a romantic dinner--not with Kakashi.

Two of his shifts got cancelled, one of the students turned out to be such a spectacular waste of time he couldn’t bear it after their third session, and his romantic dinner was... Well, it wasn’t a failure. They had dinner. And the setting was very romantic.

It’s just neither one of them was interested in romance, and try as Iruka might, neither was ever going to be. Eventually children would be necessary. He’d hoped they might at least like each other for that part, but he remembered that his own family was not the norm.

His mother and father had been promised to each other at a young age, that was true. But they grew up together with that knowledge, spent their childhood in the forest when they weren’t in school, then spent their young adulthood on missions together, and then...

Iruka wanted his children to grow up knowing that kind of love was possible too. As such, he was failing at every possible example. No love with his wife and nothing but lust with Kakashi. Not even that. Just sex. Fucking. Just a thing.

No, not even a thing.

:: :: ::

Three months of failed romantic dinners had left Iruka simmering. No one noticed a change. He yelled as much and threw just as many scrolls at wayward students’ heads. He told himself he was not giving in. He would not give in. There was nothing to give.

“Iruka.” Kakashi nodded once at Iruka’s approach. His singular gaze took Iruka in. Iruka didn’t want to know what he saw. Kakashi was like those fortune tellers in larger villages. One glance and he knew things no one should be able to tell just from looking.

‘Quick to anger, you like ramen, and you’d like to take me home and fuck me.’

Children had been within earshot that day. Besides, everyone in the village knew about Iruka’s temper. And who didn’t like ramen? The Copy-Nin was many things, but he wasn’t pyschic. Probably.

“Looking for something?” Kakashi asked indolently. He probably knew Iruka was reminiscing.

“I’m hot, hungry, and I’d like you to take me home and fuck me.”

That garnered him a smile. He could read the wrinkles around Kakashi’s eyes to know a smile from a frown or any other expression. That worried him a little, the easy understanding of Kakashi’s hidden expressions.

“You think I’m easy?”

Kakashi’s voice was sort of soft. Not quite a whisper, but low. Iruka looked around the small bar. Kakashi was nursing a small glass with clear liquid. He’d never known Kakashi to be much of a drinker. He wasn’t moving either, or getting his body ready to move. Kakashi was settled in quite comfortably, casual slump and all.

“No, I--”

“You think I’m a whim?”

Iruka sat down and signaled the bartender for a drink of his own. In the time it took the bartender to get the drink and move away, for Iruka to down the drink in a single movement, three swallows worth of liquid, and then for the bartender to return and refill the drink, Kakashi sat silently, spinning his own drink around in deceptively lazy and transparently precise circles.

“I don’t like sharing.”

Iruka had nothing to say to that. He had no idea if he liked sharing or not. Was he sharing Kakashi with someone? A number of someones? Would he share her with someone? Would he share her with Kakashi? He had no idea. To any of it.

“But I respect your choices.”

It shook Iruka, to think he meant something to Kakashi, when he tried, so adamantly, to insist that Kakashi meant nothing to him. To know that he meant something to Kakashi was frightening. Threatening somehow.

“Whatever you want, Iruka.”

Iruka looked up and met Kakashi’s gaze, his mask down. His mouth held a hint of a bitter twist and again Iruka thought of how well he understood Kakashi, how well he could read all these things that he’d ignored for so long.

“Just don’t use me.”

It was barely a whisper. The words and the movement. Kakashi tilted his drink back, sat the glass down with a striking sound, and was gone before Iruka could even formulate his response. He had another drink before he realised Kakashi didn’t want a response.

Iruka tried to convince himself it was a warning, a threat, but he realised a sudden truth. He wasn’t the vulnerable one. He had things to lose, little things, big things, but Kakashi had only one thing to lose.

Himself.

helpthesouth

txilar — Mon, 02 May 2011 16:55:24 GMT

Fandom steps in: helpthesouth helps the South. Watch, Join, Visit, Auction, Bid!

A forlorn video of some of the destruction =\

More photos: Tornado Gallery

This, all over the state, after the damage of at least 200 reported tornadoes, knocked much of Alabama off power. Some 354 (possibly more) people were killed, many are still missing, and there is no telling how much damage was done. I read that deaths and damage hit in nearly every county in the state. I keep reading about how people don't recognise their own city/neighbourhood because the devastation destroyed so much. Power was out all over the place, for days, some places are still without power. My city is only back to 25% power.
Alabama doctor
Boy survives being sucked into tornado

I'm very lucky to have escaped any damage, and I haven't lost any loved ones, any pets, or any belongings. The power was out for over four days, but I had hot water, a grill, and plenty of food. The weather was beautiful, the night sky was unreal, and we were safe and secure. I can't complain, but I can say I am pleased to realise that I haven't been spoiled so rotten that I'm not incapable of living without the fine amenities of modern life that are so easily taken for granted. Meanwhile, I have been glued to facebook the last few days depending on it for information about what was open and what was going on. Some awesome pages have gone up to help people find reminders of their life and reunite people with their beloved pets:

https://www.facebook.com/PicturesandDocumentsfoundafterAprilTornadoes
Tornadoes throw things wildly and capriciously. Debris can be thrown out miles away from its origination point. If someone finds those little bits of people's lives, they can post them on facebook to get them to their rightful owners.

https://www.facebook.com/ALTornadoAnimals
Pets.

Ways to Help:
• Alabama Possible
• American Red Cross Relief: text REDCROSS to 90999
• He Is There
• Helping/Volunteering in Alabama
• Salvation Army: text GIVE to 80888

There are probably more. I'm sure others have done this more comprehensively than I! Anyone in the know, link me and I'll post more. In the meantime, please visit helpthesouth if you are inclined and can offer any help.

Oh, even Charlie Sheen is here to help.

Other Posts/Links:
http://kallaneboi.livejournal.com/74512.html
http://kallaneboi.livejournal.com/74830.html
http://newsfeed.time.com/2011/05/01/how-you-can-help-the-tornado-victims-in-the-south/

“Whether the weather be fine, Whether the weather be not, Whether the weather be cold, Whether the weather be hot, We'll weather the weather, Whatever the whether, Whether we like it or not.”

north for electricity!

txilar — Sun, 01 May 2011 15:56:25 GMT

Still no power but its been so beautiful out and we r eating well and have ice to keep things cool and had my neighbour over for dinner last night. Its been great outside of the migraines and nature attack. The benedryl and treximet mix is giving me vivid and disturbing dreams. Also im waking up around 615 every morning which is not normal for me.

Been listening to the radio a lot and while there are a lot of nice people helping people stories there are also a lot of... Well i dont know how some of these people calling in function when there isnt a disaster. Seriously, people are calling in with the stupidest questions. Why on earth would you call 911 to get pharmacy info? And then call the radio to whine abt how rude they were to you!

Also the guy on the radio sounds just like dale from king of the hill no lie ^_~

Strangeness afoot

txilar — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 22:32:39 GMT

Waffle house and hooters (complete with hulahooping hootergirls out front) were abt the only places open for food. Limited selection at waffle house. Cash only, no power, and nothing but water to drink but our waiter had the prettiest green eyes and was sweet as could be. Imp accused me of having a crush on him to which i readily conceded he was right. ^_^

We finally found ice but no gas. Imps RAV is down to fumes but the tiburon has abt a quarter tank so we r still doing pretty darn good. My neighhour offered up her full tank if we needed and all she wanted was a case of diet dr pepper.

Kroger and target were up and running and awesome though target was dark and eerily quiet! Ran into a friend there so that was nice.

Little hot but bearable all things considered-- took my hot water for granted until hearing from people that dont have any.

Hope everyone is well. Ive posted more since not having power than i have this whole year i think!

Hope to get some writing done. Maybe i should dig mom's old typewriter out!