Adult-FanFiction.org : Naruto

A Chat With Iruka	By : Sushi4Brains Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male > Kakashi/Iruka Views: 2513 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, nor do I make any profit from this fan fiction.

Chapter List
- 1-A Chat With Iruka Part One
- 2-A Chat With Iruka Part Two
- 1
- 2
Hatake Kakashi, elite ninja warrior of the Hidden Leaf Village, known and feared throughout the ninja world as a fierce and deadly opponent; one who would not willingly bow his head in defeat even though outnumbered, low on chakra and severely wounded. Logic, strategy and years of experience dictated the movements of his body when he engaged in battle; for his allies, watching him fight was like watching a beautifully choreographed dance of death. Moving with lethal grace and speed, this dance, was the last thing his foes saw before they were dispatched from this world.
With a mind sharper than a two-edged sword he could anticipate and counter the responses of an opponent with remarkable accuracy; one more reason foes of the Leaf Village were ordered to ‘flee on sight’ of this man.
Hatake Kakashi was a man with a bounty on his head, a sizeable one; only the foolhardy, or the delusional money grubbing shinobi would dare engage him.
Respected by his peers as a charismatic leader, they knew him as a man who would put his life on the line to preserve theirs; one as economical with his movements as he was with his words. But they saw the other side of him as well; a ticking time bomb with too much blood on his hands, one capable of slipping through the tenuous grasp of reality and plunging headlong into madness without warning. They gave him a wide berth and eyed him narrowly as he strolled among them; few ventured close enough to really know him.
Inside the walls of the Hidden Leaf Village, Hatake Kakashi was revered by the civilian population as an enigmatic and peculiar defender of their freedom; drawn by the allure of power and mystery he wore like a cloak, comely young women tried in vain to catch his eye – he politely ignored their clumsy advances at every turn. The elderly women of the village however, knew him as a kind and mannerable young man, one who would take time from his busy schedule to carry their groceries from the market, to rescue their precious cats from trees and to listen patiently as they prattled on about their grandchildren.
Such was the contradiction named Hatake Kakashi.
It boggles the mind then, how a tiny scrap of paper tacked to the front door of his apartment could elicit such a terrified response from the stoic warrior that no foe could; the black inked words apparently possessed some type of power, a forbidden jutsu perhaps that made him shiver in his sandals.
“Hatake-san, meet me in my classroom when my shift ends,” the note read. “I have a matter to discuss with you.”
His palms were sticking to the soft leather of his fingerless gloves, and a cold shiver raced down his spine when he recognized that familiar sloped handwriting; as he read between precisely lettered lines of text, Hatake Kakashi knew he was in deep dippity do. The same agile mind that outwitted countless enemies came up empty, supplying him with none of the creatively unbelievable lies that would excuse him from ordinary situations.
But this was no ordinary situation, for he’d been summoned to have a ‘chat’ with none other than the august, Umino Iruka.
‘Iruka-sensei’ as he was fondly referred to throughout the village, was a mid-level ninja, an instructor at the ninja Academy and an overworked mission room assistant. He was known and loved large as a man with a kind heart, a good head on his shoulders and an explosive temper when provoked.
But there was another side to Umino Iruka, a side Kakashi had grown to love and fear; the stern and ingeniously exacting disciplinarian.
Realizing there was less than twenty minutes before the last shift in the mission room ended, a fluttery feeling of panic settled in the pit of his stomach. Adrenaline and arousal; a malapropos convergence of need, clouded his mind, confused his body.
“If I show up in the mission room first,” he thought, “with a smile and an invitation to dinner, I might be able to talk my way out of this.”
From the recesses of his heretofore cooperative mind, came the memory of the last time he tried something like that; the ‘discussion’ which followed was rather . . . intense and thanks to the Sharingan, that memory was warming more than the cockles of his heart.
Nope, he woefully shook his head, that’s not gonna work.
With a wistful sign, Kakashi removed both the kunai and the note. “Oh well,” he said apologetically to his gouged out front door, “time to face the music.”
In one fluid motion, he was balancing on the rickety porch railing surrounding his apartment; concentrating his chakra to the soles of his feet, he raced up the side of the building and onto the eaves. Bounding from rooftop to rooftop, his trepidation intensified with each forceful leap. It was a rare thing for Iruka to use his classroom as the site of one of their ‘discussions,’ which meant this infraction was serious, and the consequences of this meeting would be severe.
The mere thought of Iruka, standing beside his desk, ruler in hand and a stern look on his face was all the incentive Kakashi needed to quicken his pace.
The Academy’s façade was something he paid little attention to in his daily life, but tonight as he drew closer, the building seemed darker, more foreboding and not just because it was partially shrouded in shadows. Perched on a roof near Iruka’s workplace, Kakashi briefly considering scaling the Academy’s walls that he might let reach his destination quicker.
Another bad idea, he thought.
Iruka was the only instructor in the Academy that set traps outside his classroom windows; students who tried to sneak in after the tardy bell rung found themselves tangled in a sticky web until lunchtime and served detention cleaning every bathroom in the Academy building after school.
Even if he evaded capture, Iruka would somehow know that he’d flouted the conventions of good manners; he always did. Besides, he needed to conserve his chakra for whatever adventures Iruka had in store for him this evening.
Landing quietly on the cobblestoned street, Kakashi walked the short distance to the appointed meeting place. The Academy’s main entrance was unlocked; he wasn’t surprised . . . Iruka, you see never overlooked the slightest detail
The closed up building reeked of chalk dust, sweat, and industrial strength disinfectant and underneath it all, there was a faint trace of Iruka -- sandalwood and cinnamon. He took the stairs two by two, until he reached the third floor; the winding corridor leading to Iruka’s classroom seemed so much longer at night -- it was so deathly silent, he could hear his own rapid breaths echoing off knotty pine paneled walls.
There at the mouth of the corridor was Iruka’s homeroom.
Good, he thought, he’s not here yet.
Peering into the classroom, the pale yellow moon illuminated a lone object sitting between Iruka’s massive desk and the student’s smaller ones; his breath caught in his throat and a shudder rippled through him.
There . . . in the middle of the classroom sat a straight backed wooden chair; on its seat lay a heavy wooden hairbrush, and a small, thin leather strap. A trickle of cold sweat snaked its way behind his ear before being wicked away by the dark blue fabric of his mask.
It was too late to turn away.
Tremulous fingers slipped off the door handle the first couple of times he attempted to enter the room; stagnant air rushed past him when finally he stood inside the large space. His eye locked on to the implements resting on the chair as he quickly removed his flak vest and shuriken, laying them neatly beside a stack of ungraded classwork on Iruka’s desk. His hitai-ate soon joined the vest as did his hip pouch; Iruka, he’d learned, was very strict about having everything in its proper place.
It was as if lead weights were attached to legs and feet as he slowly moved to his place before the chair; his head bowed in submission and his hands folded below the curve of his bottom as he’d been taught. Here he would remain, with his eyes closed as his mind conjured up images of how the implements of correction would be employed.
For what felt like hours . . . he waited, listening for the footfalls which foreshadowed his abasement. Finally, in the distance, came the brisk, measured footsteps he’d dreaded – longed for, as the stirrings of arousal prickled through his loins.
When the footsteps halted and the door creaked open with excruciating deliberateness, Kakashi dared not look up; no sense adding disrespect to what was sure to be a protracted round of ‘discussion.’ Still, there was a part of him wanted to see the fiery determination in Iruka’s warm brown eyes, or that little smirk of satisfaction on his full lips.
He was wise enough to know that a breach of protocol at this critical moment would not be appreciated or tolerated.
It sufficed him, for now just to hear Iruka stride boldly toward his desk. Kakashi could feel Iruka’s eyes critically inspecting each piece of neatly folded equipment as it lay on the desk and he breathed a sigh of relief when Iruka had no comment. However, the fact that Iruka refused to turn around when he addressed him was a fearsome indicator of how angry he was.
When finally Iruka spoke, his tone was authoritative; his voice deep and with tinged with irritation.
“Hatake-san, do you know why I wished to speak with you this evening?”
“No sir,” Kakashi meekly whispered.
They both knew that was a lie.
From the corner of his eye Kakashi saw a flare of chakra which preceded the placement of a silencing jutsu on the room itself. With a secondary chakra flare, the classroom’s windows and the pane of glass at the door were turned into one-way mirrors. Kakashi swallowed audibly.
With his back still turned to Kakashi, he heard Iruka ask, “When exactly did you return from your last mission, Hatake-san?”
Kakashi had intentionally delivered his mission scroll to another chunnin that night; just because he knew it would jerk Iruka’s chain and violate their agreement. “Three days ago sir,” was his tentative reply.
“Were you injured on your mission?” Iruka of course, already knew the answer before he asked.
“No sir, I was not.”
Suddenly…silently, Iruka stood before him, his warm breath gently ruffling Kakashi’s hair when he spoke. “Tell me Hatake-san, what was our agreement about your duty when returning from missions uninjured?”
This was always the most difficult part for Kakashi; standing chest to chest with anyone whilst being interrogated triggered a desire to fight or pull away, even though the warmth radiating from Iruka’s body, the faint aroma of sandalwood and Iruka’s unique scent was drawing him closer.
Squeezing his eye shut, he leaned in to respond, “I . . . I am to report directly to you within two hours of my return . . . Umino-sama.”
Iruka leaned closer as well. “You seem to have forgotten Hatake-san, I am not to be trifled with,” he whispered roughly. Turning away, he walked back his desk.
“Prepare yourself Hatake-san, our discussion will commence in exactly sixty seconds.”
By Kakashi’s own estimation, it took approximately forty-seconds for him to strip down to his underwear, neatly fold his uniform, place it on the desk, stow his sandals near the desk, and assume his previous position.
Definitely a record, but Kakashi had another pressing matter to contend with.
The one part of his body which refused his mind’s commands, was straining quite proudly against the waistband of his standard issue white briefs; he could feel the heat of a rosy blush rising along his uncovered cheeks. This situation wasn’t going to reverse itself anytime soon, especially since Iruka was now circling him slowly, appraising every twitch of lean muscle under his smooth, pale skin.
As the preliminary inspection concluded, Iruka silently took his place beside the sturdy oak chair, reaching down to gather up the implements, before taking his seat. Under the fringe of long dark eyelashes, Kakashi saw Iruka’s crooked finger, beckoning him to step forward.
Obediently, he draped himself across Iruka’s warm, itchy, cloth-covered thighs.
This is was the part of their ritual Kakashi enjoyed the most; the thrill of uncertainty, as he twined his fingers around the cool wood of the chair’s stout legs.
His breathing turned ragged when Iruka’s left forearm rested against the small of his back; the contact was gentle, but all that was needed to keep him firmly in position. Once more Kakashi felt as if his skin were set on the most deliciously excruciating type of fire when Iruka’s eyes trailed a searing path from his curled toes to the nape of his neck.
Without warning, Iruka’s palm brought his wandering thoughts into focus; the sting spreading from the point of contact and warming his entire body; it snatched his breath away and the sheer force nudged him forward, and pressing his arousal against Iruka’s firm thigh. Time lazily stretched onward as Iruka meticulously and briskly addressed every inch of his now rosy warm nether cheeks. Knowing it spurred Iruka on when he took his punishment silently, Kakashi almost bit through his lip.
So focused was he on remaining quiet as Iruka meticulously addressed every inch of his bottom, it took him a while to realize that Iruka was tugging at the waistband of his underwear; Kakashi lifted his hips without further hesitation and braced himself for the fall of Iruka’s palm – but it never came.
The bite of the leather strap took him by surprise, and he could not hold back a disbelieving gasp. The strap’s aim, repetitive and unerring, he gripped the chair’s legs as if his life depended on it.   He heard the strap hit the floor, but didn’t have a chance to catch his breath; the back of the thick hairbrush landed powerfully. . .
With each rapid fall of the brush, Kakashi squirmed away from it or tried to; his small movements served to force his arousal into the tight space between Iruka’s thighs. Iruka’s response was to squeeze his thighs together, effectively trapping him.
As Iruka's arm meted out his punishment with enviable speed and accuracy, Kakashi could feel himself breaking inside. Iruka knew exactly how to bring him to the point of atonement . . . for things committed in the name of the village, for the disservice he did himself by holding on to past regrets. Just as Kakashi felt the weight world lifting from his shoulders, a lone tear slid from Obito’s eye. His grunts of pain suffused the room for the last time and his shoulders slumped in surrender; right then, the hairbrush loudly clattered to the wooden floor.
Warm, incredibly gentle fingertips traced over the outlines the hairbrush and strap left in their wake. Allowing him a moment to compose himself, Iruka leaned forward; the smooth, cool surface of the buttons on his shirt, the weight of chest against the hot, tender flesh of his bottom, making Kakashi raise his hips.
As their breathing calmed, Iruka raised himself slightly, with his back resting against the chair, the pads of his fingers tingled against Kakashi’s skin, leaving behind a trail of healing chakra.
“Will we have to address the matter of your tardiness anytime soon, Hatake-san?”
“No sir,” spilled the choked response from Kakashi’s parched lips. “We will not.”
“Only time will tell, Hatake-san. For now, our time of ‘discussion’ has concluded.”
Iruka helped him to kneel and then to stand to his feet, his eyes still lowered and his legs rubbery.
“You will meet me at my home in ten minutes.” Iruka told him as he leaned to his right, gathering up the discarded implements at his feet. “
“Thank you Umino-sama.” Uncertainty thickly woven in his voice, Kakashi asked, “May I have my other gear now sir?”
Busying himself erasing the day’s lesson from old black slate chalkboard, when he turned to face a fully dressed Kakashi, all traces of sternness were long gone. Holding Kakashi’s outer gear in his hands, he whispered, “Kai” and the jutsus on the room melted away.
“You’ve used up three of your ten minutes Kakashi. Better hurry.”
“Yes sir,” Kakashi murmured with a polite bow.
Once outside the Academy, Kakashi allowed himself a broad grin before taking to the rooftops again.
Sometimes being tardy has its perks.
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A Chat With Iruka