Chapter Text
Kakashi loved his village very much. He would die for every person in Konoha. He already had, actually, and he’d do it again if he had to.
But.
Being Hokage was exhausting. He hated it. He hadn’t even wanted the job in the first place, but he was trying to honor Obito by being the best Rokudaime he could be. Unfortunately, the meetings were almost as endless as the paperwork, and if that old councilwoman tried to shove him into yet another political marriage plot he would snap.
Not that he was opposed to the idea of marriage. Not if it were to a certain sensei with beautiful eyes and a fucking incredible ass. Gods, that ass. Kakashi lost himself to the memory of it for a while. To the way Iruka felt under him. Or over him. Or beside him. It really didn’t matter-
“Lord Sixth, please, at least pretend to pay attention.” Shikamaru sounded tired.
“Ah, of course. I really wish you wouldn’t call me that, you know?”
The younger man sighed. “Someone has to remind you of your position.”
“Maa, so responsible. Asuma would be proud of you.” The words were out before he could stop them, an uncharacteristic display of appreciation. Proof that he was going soft in his old age. Shikamaru’s eyes widened for a brief second, then narrowed into a glare.
“Flattery will not get you out of this meeting. Pay attention.”
And so the days passed, in and out of meetings, signing off on mission reports, exchanging messenger hawks with his allies. A blur of boring bureaucracy.
There were two bright spots in his life. The first were the tiny breaks he managed to carve out for himself, strolling the village in disguise, until Tenzō eventually found him and dragged him back to work. The second one was the most important, and also the most recent. Kakashi had never in a million years imagined Iruka Umino would have the faintest interest in him, but it had been nearly six months since he’d kissed him under the eaves of an apartment building. They’d sheltered there from sudden and violent downpour on the way home from Gai’s birthday party. It was a calculated risk. Kakashi figured they’d both had enough to drink that he, or Iruka, could pretend it was an alcohol-fueled accident.
He had expected that, actually. For Iruka to allow the kiss and then pull away with a blushing excuse that amounted to a gentle rejection. Iruka was a kind man, after all. And he was far too good for someone like Kakashi.
He had not expected the man to make breathless moans and sink his fingers into Kakashi’s hair, licking hungrily into his mouth.
He didn’t need the Sharingan to remember that night. Or the nights that followed. Iruka was somehow both exactly and nothing like Kakashi expected. He was warm and affectionate, full of smiles and snuggles. But he was also filthy. A teacher shouldn’t be allowed to speak like that. So they fucked, and argued, and laughed. They ate ramen with Naruto, and sat together in meetings with the school board. Sometimes, Kakashi would surprise Iruka’s class with an in-class demonstration. Sometimes, Iruka would show up with Kakashi’s favorite coffee.
It was good. All of it. Kakashi tried not to be nervous. The war was over. Naruto was training to take the reins. He’d paid the price of his happiness more times than he could count. Everything would be fine.
At least, that’s what he told himself.