THIS IS DRIVEL. Kakashi/Sasuke apronfic. OOC in the worst possible way and not edited nearly enough, but at least it sort of runs from start to finish. I think I need to cut out about half of it and make the transitions not suck, but that might take a while.
Naughty bits at the end and OH DEAR GOD WHY DID I WRITE THIS. *stabs self in eye like whoa*
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Sasuke was not a morning person. Very few people actually knew this, because his "I'm grouchy because I hate mornings" expression was nearly identical to his "I'm grouchy because I hate everything" expression. He still managed to function before ten in the morning, he just preferred not to and needed the help of an alarm clock to do so.
Kakashi, the bastard, was a morning person, and kept letting him sleep in. He came up with new excuses for turning off Sasuke's alarm clock every morning, each one more outrageous and unbelievable than the last. The first time he'd done it, the morning after Sasuke moved in, he'd tried feeding his student breakfast in bed. The sight of Kakashi holding a tray stacked with his favorite foods and radiating parental concern had prompted Sasuke to bite him. Afterwards, nursing some rather interesting cuts and bruises, Kakashi cautiously agreed that Sasuke was capable of foraging for food on his own.
When he found out that Sasuke's idea of breakfast involved either cold leftover takeout or plain, dry toast, he'd been almost comically horrified. (It wasn't that Sasuke didn't cook, it was just that he never trusted himself with anything more complicated than a microwave that early in the morning.) After that, Sasuke would wake up late to an empty apartment, but there would always be a stack of neatly compartmentalized containers in the fridge full of rice or fish or eggs, accompanied by precise, detailed instructions on properly reheating them if necessary.
Sasuke had taken to wandering aimlessly around the apartment, wondering when Kakashi had become his mother. This would remind him of his family and the fact that his brother was still alive; then he would spend the next few hours punching a practice dummy in the corner of the kitchen until his knuckles bled. When he couldn't curl his fingers anymore, Kakashi would come home and make disapproving noises at him, bandage his hands, feed him, and put him to bed. His own bed, where he would listen to his teacher moving around the apartment until the soft, familiar sounds lulled him to sleep.
Then he would wake up late, and it would start all over again.
It was infuriating. Sasuke almost wanted to storm into Tsunade's office and demand that he be put under house arrest in someone else's house. Naruto at least would have woken him up every morning, and wouldn't in a thousand years even think about cooking him breakfast.
And even if he did, Sasuke would have felt perfectly justified in refusing it, because really, who ate ramen for breakfast? (He had, on occasion, when there'd been nothing else in the fridge, but he was still clearly superior to that dead-last idiot.) And Naruto wouldn't give him that wounded look out of one eye that always settled an uncomfortable ball of warmth at the pit of his stomach- sure, Kakashi was being a passive-aggressive, condescending asshole, but at least he cared. On the other hand, Naruto also wouldn't walk around his apartment dripping wet in nothing but a towel every evening- or rather, Sasuke wouldn't have cared to watch him even if he did. (Somehow, despite all this, Sasuke still had yet to get a clear glimpse at his teacher's face.)
Having to put up with a certifiably insane and completely oblivious Kakashi every day was more than enough to make him regret defecting. His internal clock was drifting so far out of whack he barely knew what day it was anymore, and the monotony was starting to make him gnaw on things. Sharp things.
Sunday morning was the last straw. He knew Kakashi slept a little later on Sundays, and he took advantage of this fact by setting his internal clock as best he could to wake him up as early as possible. Kakashi was, of course, already awake and puttering around the kitchen. Sasuke wandered into the kitchen and blinked sleepily at the bright summer sunlight pouring through the windows. He wasn't often awake to see the sun at this angle.
He stopped in the doorway, looking a little lost in Kakashi's cast off shirt and pants. (He had clothes of his own, but not many, and nothing really appropriate for sleeping in; it would have been rude to reject Kakashi's gift of extra clothing, anyway. If he spent a few extra moments at night burying his nose in the extra folds of the shirt, imagining he could still smell Kakashi in them, well, what no one knew couldn't hurt them.)
Kakashi was at the stove. Sasuke's nose twitched, and his eyes sharpened, suddenly deadly, as the rest of the scene before him registered to his sleep-addled brain. "Were there home-making classes at the Academy, or have you always been an anal retentive fruitcake?" he snapped, trying to choose between rage and horror and arriving somewhere between the two. "Tell me that's not breakfast."
Kakashi gave him a slightly amused glance over one shoulder and turned back to whatever foul smelling concoction he was stirring on the stove. He was wearing a pink apron. There were ribbons. Sasuke's eyelid began twitching.
"Smoke bombs and acid, actually. Breakfast is in the oven, I'll let you get it in a minute."
Sasuke's eyelid relaxed when he realized that the apron wasn't entirely pink- more of a splotchy, faded reddish brown. It had probably been white once, but a combination of chemical spills and bloodstains had permanently darkened it. It was a proper ninja apron, too; the ribbons were actually garrote wires and there were pockets and loops for shuriken and kunai.
"Why don't you just use the standard issue stuff?" Sasuke perched on the edge of a chair, watching. He technically knew how to make his own smoke bombs, but he'd never been particularly interested in alchemy.
"The standard issue things cost money that I'd rather spend on kunai, toilet paper, and other things I can't easily make myself. I'm a little strapped for cash right now; haven't been taking any good missions lately." Kakashi carefully lifted the bubbling pot of pink liquid and poured its contents through a strainer into a glass flask.
Sasuke stared at his bare toes, feeling a slow blush crawl across his face. Kakashi couldn't take proper missions because he had to play babysitter to his former student. Of course, it wasn't his fault Tsunade didn't trust him enough to let him live on his own- well, maybe it was, a little bit. But there was no reason he should feel guilty just because Kakashi was reduced to playing mad scientist in the kitchen to save a little cash. No reason at all. Really, he was just worried that Kakashi was going to poison him accidentally.
Kakashi stoppered the flask and scraped the contents of the sieve onto a flat metal sheet, spreading it evenly and placing the whole thing on top of the burner to dry. He stepped away from the oven to the sink, and began scrubbing at his hands. "Help yourself to breakfast." He tapped the oven door with a foot, and Sasuke absolutely did not stare at the suddenly mesmerizing lines of his teacher's calf.
Instead he shambled to the oven and looked inside. His eyelid began twitching again. There were pancakes, neatly stacked and looking cheerfully fresh, despite the fact that they'd probably been in the oven keeping warm for a while. Something in his brain disconnected with a snap, and he slammed the oven shut.
Kakashi looked up, mildly alarmed. "Sasuke-kun...?" His student's eyes were swirling sharingan-red.
"Shut up." Sasuke ignored the sudeden sharp pain on his neck and darted forward, slamming his teacher against the edge of the sink. Kakashi's spine impacted the counter with an uncomfortable noise, giving Sasuke the opportonity to grab the jounin by the hair, rip off the mask, and shove his tongue down the older man's throat.
The part of his mind that hadn't snapped was screaming incoherently. He ignored it and did his best to lick Kakashi's tonsils before Kakshi put a stop to it- and, probably, a stop to Sasuke's higher brain functions with a chidori to the head. At least he'd die somewhat less unhappy than he'd been before.
He finally broke the kiss, gasping for air. "I'm not a kid anymore," he hissed against Kakashi's lips. "Stop trying to be my fucking mother." He pressed forward for another kiss, but Kakashi very gently and very firmly pushed him back.
Sasuke stumbled against the table, still panting. "I'm sure you'll make someone a very pretty wife someday, Kakashi-sensei," he spat, burning with rejection. The half-warning glance Kakashi gave him silenced him immediately, and he dropped his gaze to his feet in sudden, irrevocable shame. Kakashi didn't even look surprised, the bastard. He waited, shaking, for the lecture, the chidori, the perverted but disparaging remarks- anything.
Kakashi very slowly removed the apron, folded it neatly, and put it away. Then he turned off the oven and the stove, moving carefully, deliberately. "Sasuke." He was suddenly standing very close, and Sasuke trembled like a leaf. "Look at me, Sasuke."
He squeezed his eyes shut instead, and felt tears at the corners. Kakashi's hand was warm on his face, tilting his chin up. His lips were even warmer and Sasuke made a noise halfway between a gasp and a moan as Kakashi explored his mouth very thoroughly with an amazingly agile tongue. The rest of his brain finally gave up and shorted out as Kakashi's weight pressed him backwards across the kitchen table. Sasuke wrapped his legs around Kakashi's waist and continued making desperate noises into the jounin's mouth.
When Kakashi pulled away, he still looked completely cool and collected. Sasuke could only imagine how he looked, still sleep rumpled, flushed with anger and arousal, and spread out on the kitchen table like a five course meal. Kakashi's eye curved upwards in a smug smile. "Really now, Sasuke. Wife?"
"Shut the fuck up," Sasuke gasped, and pulled the older man in for another kiss, breakfast completely forgotten.
The next morning, he woke up earlier than usual to the rumbling of his empty stomach. He never had gotten breakfast the day before. He stared at the conspicuous empty space beside him and indulged himself in a long, creative string of profanity, including Kakashi, Kakashi's family tree, six different kinds of livestock, and twelve anatomically impossible suggestions.
He tried to find his clothes, but Kakashi, being the bizarre, perverted neat freak that he was, had picked them up and put them somewhere. He would have to do without temporarily; the gaping void in his stomach needed filling first. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror on his way to the kitchen; the angry red marks that liberally speckled his upper body sent a warm, fuzzy feeling to the pit of his stomach, but further hunger pains drove them away.
Kakashi was already in the kitchen, at the stove. Sasuke stopped in the doorway to glare. The older man was wearing the fucking apron again- along with a set of spectacular bite marks on his shoulder- and nothing else. He smiled over his shoulder at Sasuke, one eye curving into an unreadable smile. Sasuke stared at his mouth, and felt warm all over again. "Good morning, Sasuke-kun. Breakfast?" Kakashi gestured with a spatula.
Sasuke's eyelid twitched abortively. He had a thousand different stinging retorts to his teacher's nonchalant idiocy, but instead he hoisted himself up onto the countertop, flinching slightly at the feel of cold formica on his bare ass, and leaned back on his hands. He tilted his head back slowly and smiled.
"Yes, please."
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AARRGHFDSLDA;SDLKJF. *weeps* Oh, black, black shame. Sasuke, you little hor.
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