[It is morning already when Iruka stirs his face away from the sunlight. Only to come face to face with one sleeping ...
The grin on Iruka's face, it is impossibly wide. So wide.
He is still quiet, grin somehow dulling down to a ... wide smile instead. He does not bother to move because his arm is caught somewhere between a pair of limbs and the sheets and ...
He's a bit too sore to move.
And it's cold and Kakashi is warm.
So.
He opts to watch instead. How he sleeps, how he breathes and how the red marks stand out around his shoulders, neck, chest ...
He's grinning again and this time, he does try to look away. Try being the keyword.]
Sunlight, warm and golden, spills through the window with the winter breeze that sneaks in between the cracks. Across thick piles of sheets and blankets they hide under, together, from the world. And it is warm here, even when the embers in the irori have burnt to soot, and frost forms on glass, coating the world in a film of ice. Breath freezes in the air and prickles the lungs with the scent of winter and snow that never falls.
The people in Konoha are too warm.
Iruka is too.
Kakashi nuzzles his nose into the warm curve of Iruka's neck, languidly tightening his arm around his waist. His leg finds its way between Iruka's, and he thinks this is a good way to spend their entire morning. All tangled up between the sheets. Sharing some body heat and hiding from winter. And the rest of the world.
He grunts softly, and it might be a good morning. ]
[He manages to free his arm during the slight shifting and under Kakashi's neck it goes so that he could easily reach the back of his head. Still warm fingers thread through the unruly and uneven locks, tracing lines over the scalp, up and down from forehead down to the nape of his neck.
He hums at the grunt, lazy smile now directed at the ceiling. It wanes and fades to something that isn't more than a slight upturn around the corner of his lips. He is comfortable like this, warm like this, with fingers continuously tracing lines that eventually move around the swirl of an old tattoo on a pale arm.
Let him sleep, he thinks except his own tracing slows down and he's the one fighting sleep.]
[ Kakashi likes the feeling of Iruka's fingers, soothing in their touch. And he nudges his nose forward against his skin, breathing in the warm, familiar scent of Iruka. He could stay like this for a while. ]
[But he didn't want to fall asleep. Because if he did, he isn't going to get up anytime before noon. At all.
He makes a strangled noise instead and closes his eyes, thoughts a mess between coherency and the pull of sleep. It is hard to stay awake when he's being like this.]
Comments 31
The grin on Iruka's face, it is impossibly wide. So wide.
He is still quiet, grin somehow dulling down to a ... wide smile instead. He does not bother to move because his arm is caught somewhere between a pair of limbs and the sheets and ...
He's a bit too sore to move.
And it's cold and Kakashi is warm.
So.
He opts to watch instead. How he sleeps, how he breathes and how the red marks stand out around his shoulders, neck, chest ...
He's grinning again and this time, he does try to look away. Try being the keyword.]
Reply
Sunlight, warm and golden, spills through the window with the winter breeze that sneaks in between the cracks. Across thick piles of sheets and blankets they hide under, together, from the world. And it is warm here, even when the embers in the irori have burnt to soot, and frost forms on glass, coating the world in a film of ice. Breath freezes in the air and prickles the lungs with the scent of winter and snow that never falls.
The people in Konoha are too warm.
Iruka is too.
Kakashi nuzzles his nose into the warm curve of Iruka's neck, languidly tightening his arm around his waist. His leg finds its way between Iruka's, and he thinks this is a good way to spend their entire morning. All tangled up between the sheets. Sharing some body heat and hiding from winter. And the rest of the world.
He grunts softly, and it might be a good morning. ]
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He hums at the grunt, lazy smile now directed at the ceiling. It wanes and fades to something that isn't more than a slight upturn around the corner of his lips. He is comfortable like this, warm like this, with fingers continuously tracing lines that eventually move around the swirl of an old tattoo on a pale arm.
Let him sleep, he thinks except his own tracing slows down and he's the one fighting sleep.]
Are you getting up any time soon?
[It's raspy and sleepy how his voice comes out.]
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Mm...
[ Translation: I think we should stay in bed. ]
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He makes a strangled noise instead and closes his eyes, thoughts a mess between coherency and the pull of sleep. It is hard to stay awake when he's being like this.]
Bath ...
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