@kakahshi & after the war.
iruka collides with his husband ( his husband. it is still so new and only now does it feel real. that they have promised their lives to each other, and that they have made it out with their lives to see that promise through ). he had come at kakashi at a run, broken into a sprint upon the sight of him in the distance, among the wreckage and the waking of thousands of shinobi. whatever disorientation iruka had felt upon waking from that strange and wonderful dream was chased from his system by his urgency. the desperation of searching, for messy white or blond hair, among the masses. he’d spotted kakashi first, and iruka is glad they are both shinobi ( perhaps for the only time in his life ), so he does not need to worry about toppling him over. he doesn’t pull back on his speed, even as he reaches him, lets himself hit kakashi full-force and knows he can handle the impact. as he expects, sturdy hands catch iruka at his waist, brace him against kakashi’s body, steady.
there is so much to say that Iruka begins to speak while his face is still pressed into the crook of kakashi’s neck ( and his lover will feel the vibrations of his words against his skin, something caught between speech and a kiss ). “I’ve missed you. oh my god, I’ve missed you.” the words are insufficient, though he doesn’t know any better ones to describe how their months apart have felt like a piece of iruka’s heart had been wrenched right out of his chest. he feels it slot back into place now. like coming home, at last.
the urge to check kakashi over in his usual way, to tend to his injuries with devoted, loving hands, pulls at him as compulsions do. but the need to stay close to him is stronger. iruka isn’t willing to pull even a fraction of an inch away from where he is pressed flush against his love, only shifting their points of connection to suit his needs. his hands find kakashi’s hair, cradle the nape of his neck, gently cup his cheeks ( and, yes, run thumbs over the lingering cuts, healing chakra at his fingertips ). his lips drag up along his neck, his jaw, to meet his lips, again and again. his forehead dips to lean against kakashi’s own. the movements, every touch, it’s all more desperate than how he usually reaches for the other, underlaid with an urgency months in the making. he’s lived as nothing more than a medic for all these terrible months; now he wishes, above all else, to be a person finding comfort in his husband’s arms. “kakashi.” his name is irreverent, like a prayer from iruka’s lips, wherever they lay connected to kakashi now. “are you hurt? I can help, just give me a moment.” he wants more than a moment; he wants every precious second of the rest of their lives. “just let me- let me hold you.” iruka’s voice is strained before it breaks entirely. “i love you. i love you so much.”
all the tears he’s choked back to keep himself together and useful, keep his mind away from the terrible danger and impossible distance, they close his throat and wrack his body. it is selfish, to be standing in the wreckage with so many around them mourning their loved ones, their villages, their homes. but for this singular moment, iruka doesn’t take on the grief of the world and allows himself the indulgence to be held and feel relief. a thought crosses his mind and he laughs, inappropriately perhaps, but iruka is so delirious in his relief that it feels like euphoria. “we’re married. we get to be married, kakashi.” it’s an almost absurd realization each time he has it and it’s the most wonderful he’s ever felt.
