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The realization that Naruto isn’t a kid anymore is years late and sudden.
It goes like this: they’re sparring, two v two together. The details aren’t important aside from the fact Kakashi is falling. The fall is short enough that there’s nothing he can do to stop it, but long enough it’s gonna hurt when his body’s reacquainted with the ground. He’ll still be able to get up (honestly, short of death, there’s very little that’d keep him from getting up), but he’s not looking forward to it.
Then the wind is getting knocked out of him as strong arms catch him around his middle, yank his back against a warm chest, and carries the momentum of the fall in a massive arc, a full spin that has Kakashi’s legs swinging, his stomach fluttering before he’s deposited on his own two feet again. Strong, warm hands grip his waist to steady him, and there’s that fluttering again. Slightly dazed, Kakashi turns to find bright blue eyes.
“You good, sensei?”
He blinks. Unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Uh huh.”
Naruto nods once, barest smile on his lips, and is back in the fight in the next instant. Kakashi stands there for a second, watches Naruto kick someone with a truly astounding amount of force, tilts his head with a quiet huh. And then he’s back in the fight, too, and it’s forgotten about for the time being.
It comes back to him the next time he sees Naruto. Kakashi slips into his home after work a few days later, eyes immediately drawn to the orange-clad intruder that doesn’t bother turning to greet the person he’s trespassing on. Naruto’s presence isn’t surprising or unusual: the chakra was unmistakable upon approach and these nightly plant care visits have become commonplace.
“How was your day?” Naruto asks, still occupied with watering the growing collection taking up residence in front of the large south-facing window Naruto’s vocally jealous of.
“Boring, yours?”
With a blinding smile, Naruto launches into a play-by-play of his day as Kakashi takes off sandals, leg wraps, vest, pouches, the works, nodding along and humming in appropriate places. Naruto fiddles with some leaves in a motion that could be purposeful or idle, Kakashi wouldn’t know.
The plants aren’t his, even if they’re in his apartment. Kakashi came home one day, and his singular plant had multiplied. And it kept happening. The culprit was obvious. Kakashi could stop it but doesn’t. Every once in a while he plays around with his trap configuration to slow the slow creep of greenery from taking over his apartment but that’s it. (It also works to annoy Naruto, naturally. He gets so huffy when Kakashi manages to snare him—nothing too vicious, but what kind of sensei would he be if he allowed his student to get sloppy?).
He has yet to kill any of his new charges, but his knowledge of plant care is lacking. Hence Naruto. A couple times a week, Kakashi returns home to him puttering around his space with ease. He can’t say for certain why Naruto’s doing this (he suspects worry and a convenient excuse to check up on him), but whatever the case, Kakashi doesn’t mind. The company’s nice.
It’s when he’s passing Naruto on his way to the kitchen. Their shoulders brush. Kakashi pauses. Gives a once over that’s thankfully missed. Yes, those are the arms that caught him, wrapped around him, pulled him in.
Huh.
Shaking his head, he continues his path, Naruto trailing after him still chattering away while Kakashi busies himself trying to figure out something quick and easy to make.
Kakashi’s no stranger to being caught. Chakra exhaustion is…humbling. If he wasn’t hitting the ground, he was collapsing into someone’s arms. So he has ample experience with swooning. Years of it. There’s just something about being caught, that quick snap of gravity as he’s righted, that makes the insides a little gooey. It’s a bodily sensation, nothing more. A bodily sensation that is entirely to blame for the way his mind is eyeing the gutter with the consideration one might a new home.
He’s known Naruto isn’t a kid for a while. Like logically. He’s in his early twenties. Kakashi wants to say twenty-three, but he’s honestly not sure: time moves fast; he’s a busy guy; sue him if he can’t answer how old his former student is with one hundred percent certainty. He could do the math based off his own age, but he does not want to think about his own age. It can remain a mystery.
He’s known for a while, though. The kid gained a couple inches in height and hasn’t gained any more for some time now (Sakura has been making fun of his height for years). The kid lost the baby fat, grew into the face that is so like the one Kakashi stared up at a lifetime ago with more respect, love, reverence than he let on. The kid shed some of his childlike enthusiasm, learned a bit about social cues, just plain matured without losing his heart. The kid grew up sometime without Kakashi noticing.
Still, despite not seeing the cute little twelve year old genin (or more depressingly, the lonely, shunned, literal child) when he looks at Naruto, he’s been stuck in this nebulous label of “kid” simply for being younger than Kakashi. It’s not like he’s done much to dissuade the notion. He’s accidentally called Kakashi dad before. Recently, even. Doesn’t exactly scream sexually viable.
But then strong arms, warm body, that awful swooping in his gut, and Kakashi’s forced to catch up with the times.
From the corner of his eye, he assesses Naruto, trying to see him in a new light. It’s hard with the way Naruto sits on his countertop despite Kakashi repeatedly asking him not to, swinging his legs until they thunk against the cabinets and fidgeting with anything nearby to keep his hands busy, still yapping away. Zero help with dinner due to being banned from it ages ago. Kakashi doesn’t even trust him to make rice. It sets him on edge that Naruto’s even in here while he’s cooking. He’s like fly paper for culinary mishaps.
He likes listening to him talk, though, so he allows it. It bleeds life into the space, the stream of consciousness mixed with the chopping, sizzling, stirring of cooking. The aroma of fish and herbs overpowering Naruto’s own for a moment helps Kakashi focus. He’s going on about seeing Sarkura earlier and how tired and overworked she looked and how she barely has time for groceries and isn’t that so fucked up, Kakashi-sensei? He agrees absently, turning to grab some spices and when he looks back, Naruto’s leaning back, relaxed, arms supporting his weight behind him, thighs slightly parted, steady thunk thunk thunk of his heels hitting the cabinets drilling into Kakashi’s ears. Oh.
Like it was waiting for this exact sight, his mind provides him with images of slotting himself between those thighs, boxing him in. Would they wrap around him, squeeze with that barely restrained power? He wonders where Naruto would settle his hands: hips, shoulders, biceps? They’re perfect for restraining, could pin Kakashi’s wrists down. They’d be even better around his throat. Searing hot as they squeeze and—stop. Off track. Naruto would be confused, not dominant (not in this instance anyway). Would tilt his head. Would murmur sensei? all hesitant like, imploring blue eyes boring into him. Would stiffen when Kakashi pressed his face into his neck and breathed in the scent that lingers around his home after these visits, all dirt and sage and Naruto, straight from the source. It’d be heady. Intoxicating. And there’d be a breath hitching and tongue and teeth blunted by cloth and a roll of hips and Naruto would be loud—
When Kakashi blinks back to reality, he pokes at the overly crispy fish with his chopsticks.
Ah. Well. Those are new thoughts.
Seems Naruto has been decisively wrenched from the kid label.
He turns off the stove. A clatter behind him then he’s handed plates. He hums in thanks as he divvies up two servings, the larger one graciously piled with the unburnt fish despite the fact it was his fault. Whatever. Kakashi shouldn’t have let him in the kitchen in the first place.
They eat in comfortable silence. Kakashi pushes his empty plate away a minute in. Naruto rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment; he’s tried with all the subtlety he’s capable of to talk Kakashi into taking the mask off to eat in the past and has seemingly exhausted his arguments at this point, much to Kakashi’s amusement. Tried everything apart from asking, that is. If he asked while Kakashi was in a good mood, he might say yes. How Naruto doesn’t realize that is beyond him.
“You said your day was boring?” Naruto prompts eventually, picking at his vegetables like a toddler. Kakashi leans forward, resting his cheek on crossed arms and closing his eyes.
“Mhm. Tedious. I’d say don’t become Hokage, but I need you to, so I can quit.” A warm chuckle. Kakashi smiles.
“You can give me the hat any day now, old man.”
“Soon,” he agrees with a yawn.
It really is any day now. Probably another six months or so before it’s deemed appropriate, and probably less than that before Kakashi reads another poorly worded trade proposal and snaps. Could be tomorrow. Who knows. Shikamaru has started bracing himself when handing papers over.
Though, Naruto won’t have time to water his plants once he’s Hokage. Maybe he’ll keep the hat a little longer. He yawns again.
“Tired?”
“No.” He is, a little, but he doesn’t want Naruto to leave yet. He doesn’t want to listen to him chew so goddamn loud, but he doesn’t want him to leave.
“You should go to bed.”
“I’m awake,” he says even as he begins to doze. Naruto laughs softly. The light scrape of utensils, the aforementioned, god awful chewing, their breathing, the hum of electricity: it’s all so comfortable. Tension he wasn’t aware he carried melts away. “You can keep talking.”
Naruto hums thoughtfully and complies, though quieter, less animated. Talks about a mission he went on somewhat recently, about the weird food he tried while away, which Kakashi obviously knows about since he listened to and read Naruto's report, laden with insignificant details such as his meals and so little about the actual mission, like always. Karma, he supposes, for his own lax mission reports. Did he even teach them how to fill one out properly?
He listens to the story again. He doesn’t fall asleep—couldn’t fall asleep slouched over his table even if he wanted to—but he dozes. Thinks, but hazily, in that way where he won’t remember a thing once he opens his eyes. It bounces between work and his fun new thoughts about Naruto, jarring each time.
Eventually, a presence hovers nearby. He cracks an eye open to find Naruto crouched beside him, something undeniably fond in his expression. The table is cleared.
“Hey, I’m heading out. You should go to bed.” Kakashi blinks lazily.
“Mm, okay.”
He pulls himself up slowly, plants his hands on the table for leverage, and stretches back in his chair to pop his back. Fuck, he feels ancient. Groans and slumps back in his seat, angled towards Naruto, who’s gaze snaps back when Kakashi nudges him with his knee. His smile is lost behind the mask, probably.
Naruto narrows his eyes at Kakashi’s still closed one. Kakashi opens it, mostly so the eye roll has full effect. The guy gets bitchy if Kakashi keeps his left eye closed (“It’s a perfectly good eye, sensei; use it or I’m taking it back.” “Y’know, Obito never threatened to take his eye back.” “Maybe because you actually used it!”). The fact it’s habit, that he sometimes forgets he’s rocking with two functional, non-draining eyes doesn’t garner any sympathy. He’ll stare pointedly, tap his eye, tap Kakashi’s eye, the thin skin right underneath, the scar; on one memorable occasion he reached across the table at a team dinner and pried and held his eye open until Kakashi promised he’d do it himself. Strange and amusing. Kakashi doesn’t get why it matters so much.
“Thanks for watering the plants.” He ruffles Naruto’s hair. Briefly thinks about pulling it, using his grip to tip his head back. He doesn’t.
“I’m not a kid,” Naruto grumbles on cue, smacking his hand away. And really, he doesn’t need the reminder: the way he’s crouched and looking up, tinged pink with embarrassment, Kakashi is thinking some very adult things starring him.
He eye-smiles, patting his head like a dog. “Don’t worry, good boys of all ages get pets.”
As expected, Naruto immediately goes red and bolts upright. “I’m leaving.”
Kakashi laughs openly as Naruto practically flies to the nearest window. Teasing him is too easy. He calls a goodbye right before Naruto jumps and gets a garbled noise in return. Alone with the lingering scent, Kakashi stretches out across the table with a sigh. Okay. Naruto isn’t a kid anymore. What now?
He mulls it over for a while. He’s not one to act on impulse outside of a battle, especially when it comes to interpersonal relations. Not that he always thinks things through quite so thoroughly, but the point stands.
The thing is he’s fairly certain it would be a resounding rejection if he brought it up. It wouldn’t be a careless one. It’s Naruto. It’d be awkward and weird for an indeterminate amount of time that would likely be shorter than expected before it settled back into something vaguely familiar. Kakashi wouldn’t push, wouldn’t bring it up again, would maybe (definitely) be subject to some amount of teasing from his brats since he long lost his intimidating luster, right around the first time he ate dirt from chakra exhaustion. Regardless, it wouldn’t sting. This isn’t tied up in feelings.
And since he’s so certain it would be a rejection, why bother? He’s not desperate. This isn’t some burning, hot, insistent desire. More like a low simmer, only really noticeable in Naruto’s presence. But when he does notice, woof.
He isn’t obvious. Very few would be able to clock his interest and even fewer would call attention. It’s in the slow drag of his eyes mostly. A lingering gaze. He’s not getting caught staring (won’t, he’s not some teen with a crush), but he is looking. Often. It’s really not his fault. Naruto got hot. Kakashi wants. He has an active imagination, oodles of experience, and a note-worthy—nay, legendary—porn addiction. His reputation doth precede him. He earned that pervert title.
He earns it every time his eyes track sweat dripping down tan skin, and he thinks about licking, flattening his tongue and dragging against warm flesh, tasting the sublime musky essence of Naruto. He earns it every time his eyes land on a mesh-covered chest, and he thinks about groping, digging fingers into handfuls of meat, treating his tits like they deserve. He earns it every time his eyes slip to muscled thighs, and he thinks about biting, biting, biting, shaking until he goes limp in his jaws like prey.
He naively thought it would fade at first. It didn’t. So he bangs someone else to see if that helps, see if he’s horny in general, not with purpose. It doesn’t. The simmer’s still there. That’s why he mulls it over for so long.
He won’t get a yes. He knows he won’t. He’s pretty good at this underneath the underneath shit by now, and there’s nothing underneath Naruto’s friendly if obnoxious demeanor pointing in this direction.
Still, Naruto’s unpredictable. Kakashi would be remiss to forget. The only yes he can imagine is brought on by a pure, unbridled curiosity. One where Naruto pauses, looks at Kakashi, and wonders. Improbable, not impossible. He’s not sure if it’s wishful thinking, and if not, how to get there. He can imagine the results: on his knees in an alley, sweaty and disheveled at the training grounds, cramped in a closet of the Hokage tower, doing whatever as long as it’s to his loudest and hottest former student. Sure, he has preferences (his aging body would definitely appreciate a bed), but he’d take whatever Naruto’s up for, since he’s down for anything. He’s not picky. He’s just, again, not sure how to get there.
It’s not like he’s got zero game. It’s that his comfort level of exercising said game differs tremendously between stranger on a mission and kid he has known and held some level of authority over (though respected authority is another beast) for most of his life. Seducing a former student, seducing Naruto, sounds like something that would land in his top five most mortifying experiences. The literal second he acted any different the rest of the team, sans his wonderfully obtuse target, would be on him with all the frenzy of wild dogs, trying to sniff out what he’s up to, and though they have all grown up, being ruthlessly bullied by twelve year olds left an impact. Sure, these days they tease and ridicule him for anything and everything, constantly, doggedly, and he doesn’t mind—but this? If they caught the scent of him attempting to be suave on Naruto? Fuck, he’d never live it down.
The idea of being blunt, getting rejected, and being made fun of? Fine. The idea of an honest, earnest, completely genuine attempt, getting rejected, and being made fun of? Kill him.
It’s not like subtlety would even work; he’d have to be blunt. But he doubts blunt would get him anywhere, either, besides a sputtering, blushing mess of a hero, fumbling his way through a no.
And he’s right back where he started. If he’s going to get rejected, why bother? It’s not defeatist. He’s picking his battles. It’s a valuable skill.
He doesn’t stop looking, though.
He mulls it over for too long. He didn’t realize that was possible until he’s feeling the consequences.
It goes like this: they’re in the Hokage office. Naruto brought lunch, takeout from somewhere other than Ichiraku’s for once. Kakahi lounges at his desk, empty container resting on an important document, head in hand while Naruto sits opposite, relaying a story involving Kiba and a flock of chickens between stuffing his face. The wild gesticulating is in full effect. Endearing, though he’d never admit it. Kakashi hums occasionally to show he’s listening even if the details aren’t sticking. He’s got the gist. It’s not like there’s gonna be a quiz.
It’s a scene that’s played out often and will continue to until they switch seats. The first few times Naruto brought him lunch he’d been baffled, honestly, but now it’s become routine for him to stroll into the office, bags swinging a little too vigorously, dangerously close to spilling, and a sing-song delivery, sensei, at least once a week, sometimes more. It usually ends in Naruto hanging around to shadow the Hokage, an activity that’s more Kakashi pushing paperwork he doesn’t want to deal with off on the eager, willing chump than anything else. The experience is good for him.
Sometimes it’s just lunch. Sometimes it’s Naruto bolting up, declaring he promised to meet someone or the other, and ducking out of the window with an easy smile and an over the shoulder see you later. Either way, Kakashi savors it.
His eyes linger briefly on a biteable throat, the swallowing. It's driving him crazy, but he doesn’t mind.
He’s ripped from his vaguely horny thoughts by Naruto’s bright laughter. It’s ridiculous for him to be laughing at his own story and so typical. A hidden smile graces Kakashi’s lips. The light filtering in from the window causes golden hair to shine like the real thing, adds a layer of softness to whiskered cheeks, glints off a lopsided smile with above average canines, and suddenly—
Suddenly, Kakashi’s breath catches. There’s a fluttering in his stomach not unlike an all too familiar swoon. The smile falls as dread drops like a lead weight.
To his credit, his expression doesn’t crack with this mind-shattering realization, too well-trained a shinobi for such an easy tell. The air, though, thrums electric for a split second. It’s barely anything, not a big enough spike to turn heads, something only a halfway decent sensor would notice. Unfortunately for him, he’s sitting across from a pretty fucking stellar one.
Naruto pauses. Tilts his head. “Sensei?”
Kakashi merely hums, maintaining that lazy interest he exudes when Naruto talks at him like he was. Doesn’t move, head still in hand. Reminds himself he has been on numerous, infinitely more stressful, life-threatening infiltration missions and come out the other side unscathed. This is nothing. Child’s play.
“Are you good?” The genuine concern is touching and making it worse.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Naruto squints. The suspicion is warranted and insulting. Kakashi rolls his free hand. “You were saying?”
Graciously, with only a side-eye, Naruto lets it slide to finish his story. What little attention Kakashi was paying beforehand has gone out the window. His mind is a loop of what and no and fuck me.
Having the hots for Naruto weighed on his conscience but was ultimately fine. The guy’s hot; it was pure fantasy; Kakashi’s an old hand at living with guilt and shame and other such emotions. Nothing new there. The attraction would’ve faded eventually, but he felt comfortable indulging his wandering mind in the present. As much as he mulled it over, he was still strongly in the camp of why bother. It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t needed. It was fine.
Feelings, though...yikes.
He doesn’t really do feelings. For as much as he asserts his love for Icha Icha is due in part to the romance and for as much as he knows his absurd level of loyalty and devotion would translate shockingly well to a relationship, he can count the amount of romantic inclinations he’s had on one hand. His usual excuses of not having the time, finding no one appealing, not wanting another person in his home that he offhandedly throws out to well-meaning comrades who love to pry and meddle, whilst true, aren’t the full picture. The full picture includes his reluctance to saddle another person with...well, him. Perhaps uncharitable and needlessly cruel; the privacy of his mind saves him from whatever lecture he’d get if he said that outloud (He loves his precious people, truly, but his tolerance for speeches about how stupid and loved he is borderline nonexistent these days).
He feels blindsided. Shocked this is happening and wrong-footed from his lack of experience. And to top it off, it’s clear that his hangups are at their most pronounced here. Naruto with him? Don’t make him laugh.
All that to say, he’d really like to go back five minutes ago to before his world was proverbially rocked by someone he already had complex and layered feelings about without all this. This feels grosser, more depraved than any perverse desire he’s been steadily harboring over the past few weeks. Sexuality’s easy to contend with. This is not. This feels wrong.
It wouldn’t be a great look if the Hokage defected, yet it doesn’t sound like a bad idea—if not for the fact Naruto would drag him back. Hm. He could throw the hat at him on the way out to ensure his escape won’t be thwarted. Hard to chase a man while tied to a desk.
The expression Naruto’s sporting, though—exasperated yet fond, finally clocking the fact Kakashi’s barely listening face is not a farce this time—pulls at something in his chest. Thoughts of leaving vanish. The urge to rub his temples rises, but he’s not going to crack, dammit.
“You’re definitely distracted.” Naruto leans back, fiddling with his chopsticks despite being done eating. Kakashi hadn’t noticed. He does notice the delicious flex of those hands. “Seriously, what has you all—” Makes a vague gesture at him, clicking the chopsticks together for emphasis. Emphasizing what, Kakashi doesn’t know.
“It’s nothing. Unimportant.”
“Sensei, I’m not an idiot.”
“I know,” Kakashi says easily and notes how Naruto goes a little pink from the barest praise, like always. He taps his finger against his masked cheek, allows himself that little show for Naruto. Not for himself. Nope. “It’s nothing for you to worry about, is all. It’s a me problem.”
Naruto purses his lips. “See, I just don’t believe you know the difference between a me problem and a we problem. You’re always bottling things up. Y’know you can talk to me, right?” He kisses his teeth, runs a hand through his hair. “To us? We’re always down to help, believe it.”
Kakashi wants to tear his hair out. Trust Naruto to be stubborn when it’s least helpful. He drops his hand and levels the other with a look.
“Naruto, I know. I don’t need help, not with this. I can handle it,” he lies. He gets a skeptical look in return. As frustrating as it is for this particular problem in this particular moment, it’s sweet he cares. He worries if that thought is platonic or not. It should be, right?
With a sigh, Naruto tosses their trash into the takeout bag. “Look, I promised Sakura I’d do her shopping since she’s still so swamped lately, so you’re off the hook. For now.”
The last bit is delivered with narrowed eyes; Kakashi wants to roll his. Maybe he should send the menace on a mission, a couple weeks long at least. Give Kakashi a break, some time to think this into the ground. Outwardly, he pouts.
“Maa, lunch was quite lovely today: must you tarnish it with threats to your Hokage?” Naruto snorts, standing with a stretch. Kakashi can’t help but look.
“It’s not a threat, it’s a promise, Hokage-sama.”
What a brat. With a flick of his wrist, Kakashi hums a bored, “Dismissed.”
Laughing, Naruto leaps onto the window sill, grin so achingly attractive Kakashi’s teeth ache and heart stutters. Terrible. “Someone’s on a power trip. See you later, Kakashi.”
And then he’s gone. The office is quiet in his wake. Dirt and sage and Naruto filter through his mask. Kakashi files away the lack of honorific on that parting remark for a later date and gets back to work.
Time passes as he meanders through paperwork like normal. Enough time passes that the soft “kill me” he mutters could ostensibly be about the budget he’s currently crinkling in hand and not anything to do with Naruto. Plausible deniability for the ANBU. Speculate all they’d like, they’ve got nothing on him.
He takes solace in the fact it’s just a stupid, pathetic, misplaced crush. Nothing more.