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“I think he wants me too, you know? But he’s shy.”
Kakashi nods, resisting the temptation to roll his eyes. He doesn’t understand the appeal of dating civilians, given how much of their lives they have to keep secret.
Besides, anyone who isn’t brave enough to approach Iruka deserves their solitude. He’s only in this more civilian oriented bar because Iruka was nervous about going alone.
“Oh, there he is!” Iruka tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, and then finger combs the ends.
Iruka with his hair down doesn’t make Kakashi jump anymore, like it did the first time he saw it, but it’s still a nice look.
“He’s looking at someone else.” Iruka face is twisted in a moue, or as close as can be said for a shinobi.
A flare of irritation creeps up in Kakashi, although he’s not sure why exactly his ire is so vehement. The idea that this man would look at someone else when he’s been flirting with Iruka does make his chest tight.
He reaches out and runs his hand through Iruka’s thick hair, falling freely without the forehead protector in place.
Iruka looks at him, eyes wide, and Kakashi kisses him. He’s wearing his mask, which isn’t how he prefers to kiss people, but Iruka doesn’t stop him when he tightens his grip in Iruka’s hair.
He pulls away enough to press a kiss to the corner of Iruka’s mouth, trying not to feel smug over the fact that Iruka is staring at him, this other man at least temporarily forgotten.
If this is the only time he’ll get away with kissing Iruka, he may as well do it once more. It’s dark enough in the bar that if he splays Iruka’s hair, no one will see if he takes down his mask.
Iruka’s lips are soft and warm, a bit tangy with the taste of beer, and Iruka is kissing him back. Kakashi doesn’t think that he’s ever been this public with his own affection unless it was for a mission -- somehow he’s not surprised Iruka is the one breaking that standard.
Kakashi moves back, returning his mask to its normal position, and quirks an eyebrow at the expression of surprise on Iruka’s face.
“I’m sure he’s paying attention now,” Kakashi says, shrugging.
“Do you make a habit of kissing your friends?” Iruka asks, face close to vermillion.
“Sensei,” Kakashi says, “anyone too shy to approach you, or paying attention elsewhere, doesn’t deserve to kiss you.”
“But you do?”
“No,” Kakashi replies, “but it is a shame for you to fuss over your appearance and not get kissed.”
Maybe his reasons for kissing Iruka are more selfish than that, but Iruka doesn’t need to know.
“Oh,” Iruka says.
“You wear your hair down because you think it makes you more attractive,” Kakashi says, “but it’s a draw. Anyone who needs to see you with your hair down to realize they should be paying attention is a fool.”
The silence that follows Kakashi’s comment makes him want to use a jutsu to get the hell out of there and go straight to the mission desk for something that sends him out of town for a month.
“I think I’m going to head home,” Iruka says, reaching in his pocket for a handful of coins, placing them on the counter.
The shame of a misstep twists in Kakashi’s gut -- this isn’t his usual style, and his list of friends is short, and he shouldn’t have messed with Iruka’s status on said list.
Iruka stands but doesn’t walk away and Kakashi braces himself for the impact of a “you’re right, you don’t deserve to kiss me” sentence that must be coming.
Nothing happens, and Kakashi fidgets.
“Aren’t you going to walk me home?” Iruka asks. “Or are you suddenly shy?”
Kakashi fumbles in his pockets, slamming coins onto the bartop harshly enough that he gets a stare from the bartender.
“Absolutely not, Iruka-sensei, not when it comes to you.”
Iruka smiles, and Kakashi can’t wait for a goodnight kiss.