[ bird. ] (ex_hitokiri) wrote in copycock,
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Crappy way to answer challenge fic



By: Enkidu


Rating: PG


Pairings: Sasuke+Kakashi (And if you look through very yaoi-tinted glasses, some Sasuke+Itachi)


Warning: Shounen-ai. Weirdness. Possible product of my brain being fried. Poorly beta-ed as usual.


Summary: My horribly-conceived answer to “peeping” challenge.


Notes: Takes place while Kakashi’s training Sasuke for the Chuunin exam. Don’t worry if certain details don’t make sense at first.




For a long time, all he could register was heat. Heat seared through his lungs, suffocating him, making it difficult to breathe, sleep, move. Heat spread across his stomach, raced along his skin. Heat danced on the tips of his fingers, danced on the tips of his toes, swirled around his mouth like a prowling lion.


The world was encased in a furnace, burning him everywhere at once, stroking feather-like along delicate nerves, whispering across the vast inches of his body. In every direction he was buried further into the hot sensation, drowning and choking in a sea of thick cloth that rubbed brutally at his damp skin. Fire spiked up his thighs, slithered down his throat, swam around his head, scorching him, slowly stripping the flesh off his body.


He couldn’t breathe. With every choking, hard gasping breath, he struggled.


…so hot… why is it so hot?


It was a feeling he loved but couldn’t stand. His body was too young, too sensitive, but he loved wild fire moving through him, ripping out of his pores, surrounding him and dragging him deeper into fire.


His world was fire. His heritage was fire. His clan was fire. Everything was fire. Uchihas bred and thrived on fire.


He loved it wrapping around his throat, cutting off air, cutting off life. He loved it clenching his heart, burning and breaking the flimsy tissue. He loved blood pouring freely from his chest, warm blood burning down his skin, mutating into more savage flames, flames burning within and without him.


Hips shot straight up, and a loud gasp tore out of his throat, sounding raw and heavy as it crawled out of his unwilling body. The world was still encased in heat, unbearable heat.


He couldn’t sleep.


Slowly, Sasuke pushed himself up to sit, wiping tiredly at the sweat that clung to his forehead. Wet black hair hung around him, obscuring his vision and clinging stubbornly to his hot skin. Absently, he brushed the locks away.


For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of his own breathing, fast and loud. It was uncontrolled, tugged out of his throat by involuntary survival mechanisms. He hated the sound of it.


His vision was out of focus, the area around him bent and distorted by the sweltering jungle temperature. Blinking didn’t improve the atmosphere, only shifted the location of the trees, bushes, vines, everything. He glanced at the other three bedrolls and noted Sakura and Naruto were still asleep.


It bothered him slightly. Naruto was asleep so peacefully, curled up on his side, fingers wrapped around the edges of his bedroll and blond spikes clinging to his eyes. The feel of hair touching his nose would have instantly woken Sasuke up. Sakura, too, was asleep. Sound asleep. Her mouth was left open partially, breathing in a rhythmic pattern. Her cheeks were slightly flushed with the heat, and pink hair matted against skin developing a subtle tan from thriving in the sun too long.


Sasuke felt a little weak, a little annoyed. His teammates could adapt, could sleep soundly, drop into another world easily while Sasuke, who always slept like a log and awoke like an alert predator during missions, couldn’t bear the heat.


It was the way his clothes clung, bunching and sticking to his moist body. The turtle neck strangled him in places, closed around his throat and cut off his breathing. Every shift pulled the material tighter against his body making it grip and catch at his skin, rubbing against it uncomfortably.


There was sweat on his back, little beads rolling uncaringly down his spine, nestling in between vertebrae. Hair gripped his face like a trap, tendrils licking and stroking his skin. It tickled and made him feel hotter, too warm in vulnerable places.


Sasuke hated anyone touching his face, touching his skin, touching him anywhere. It bothered him that his own sweat was freely roaming over his body, touching him everywhere, making him writhe helplessly.


It was absurdly self-destructive. The sweat came from his body, came from himself. He was keeping himself awake. Sasuke hated himself.




With a soft sigh, he sat up and furiously wiped at the drops that dotted his arms and forehead. Sleep wouldn’t come to him, and he refused to beg for it. It was easier to find somewhere to cool off and relax, his pulse still racing from the dream –nightmare? It couldn’t have been a nightmare. Sasuke didn’t have nightmares. At least not on missions.


Nightmares were a luxury he couldn’t afford, not while in the tense, dangerous context of a mission. He needed to concentrate, to keep his head focused on his objective. His sleep was usually blank and dreamless, sunk deep into dark oblivion. Only in hospitals, only in repose did he allow himself nightmares. There he saw blood and fire. There he dreamt in red –scarlet red.


To experience a nightmare here in the middle of a mission was a constant reminder of his weakness, his humanity. Even he couldn’t seal off the things which plagued his mind constantly, couldn’t become a complete weapon –Konoha’s weapon. He was still Sasuke, an Uchiha, an avenger –someone who lived solely on blood, fire, and hatred.


Something about that nightmare seemed different, though. It wasn’t unpleasant –not at all- and it didn’t have the same frightening effect of his usual nightmares. There were nights where he had woken up with blood, curling screams scrambling painfully loose from trembling lips wet with his own saliva. There were nights where he had woken up drenched head to toe in sweat, bed sheets tangled around his legs like large snakes and his heart banging furiously against his ribcage.


Tonight, he had woken up with no fear, no panic, just that unbearable hot feeling –warmth seeping upward along his thighs, curling around his stomach, spiking through his chest and lungs, blossoming outwards to lick every tender spot on his body. It left him tense and edgy, panting uncontrollably as the night sky swirled around. He was unsettled by the heat, disturbed by the accompanying night silence.


His head whipped around, half expecting an attack, wishing his own body reactions could be accounted for by genjutsu. Even the air was thick with tension, making it near impossible to breathe normally while standing still.


One bedroll had been empty he remembered. Eyes shot to the bedroll in question.


…Kakashi? Where is Kakashi?...


The grey-haired Jounin was gone, and everything was too quiet except for Sakura’s soft breathing and Naruto’s near-snoring. Sasuke was tired still, barely-rested. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened to their teacher or where he ran off to. He just wanted to be back in his bedroll, sleeping blindly and obliviously for a few more hours. His body could and would function on no sleep, but it was easier to rest his muscles, rest his over-active mind.


Not a second more was wasted on pondering where Kakashi was. Sasuke knew very well the older man could take care of himself. He was more concerned about his own disturbingly heated state, his thoughts already drifting towards the thin stream they were camped near. It was a relatively peaceful, safe-looking stream with few fish. Sasuke had bathed in it earlier with Naruto while Sakura and Kakashi went hunting for lunch. The water had been very enjoyable then, nice and cool against his skin, making him shiver pleasantly as the sharp coldness sensually stroked his naked flesh.


Bathing with Naruto had never bothered him, provided the other boy respected his personal space and stayed a good ten feet or more away from him. Of course, that never prevented the blond from splashing him playfully or sometimes trying to yank his feet out from under him. Needless to say, Sasuke had ended up with a mouthful of water more than a few times.


Bathing with Kakashi was always tense, always quick. Sasuke would keep himself turned away, scrub harshly at his skin and count in his head to keep himself distracted. He didn’t know why his muscles tightened, why curiosity nipped at the base of his spine, just knew he had to keep his eyes focused on the water, on the rocks, on his own body, on anything but Kakashi. The worst part of it was the unnerving sensation that those lazy eyes were fixated on him, watching him –not with lust, not with interest, not with perverse fascination- just watching him like he was an event of nature –something to be observed with detached curiosity.


Sasuke didn’t want to know what Kakashi thought of his body, or rather, he didn’t care. He himself had no concern for his own body. It was just a vessel, a mass of flesh and pieces of tissue strung together only to focus chakra within a certain area.


The back of his neck tingled the more he thought about it. Eyes were a dangerous thing. Perceptions could be skewed and biased. Perceptions could be memorized, used against him. Itachi’s eyes were especially dangerous even without the Mangekyou Sharingan, even without the regular sharingan. Sasuke was always stripped naked in front of his eyes.


Kakashi’s eyes –both of them- sometimes reminded him of Itachi’s eyes –analytical and tired. He never looked Kakashi in the eye.


All thoughts were shoved away, filed as a mere distraction to his current goal –reaching cold water. He needed it like a starving man. His skin needed it, still tingling like flames crackling beneath the surface, pushing upwards as if trying to escape. He felt like he would burst, and it unnerved him.


Feet swayed, trembled and nearly buckled as he trudged tiredly towards the soft sounds of flowing water. One hand shot out to bear his weight against a tree. He was grappling blindly in the dark, snapping twigs and forgetting to be stealthy like a true ninja. A tree bark met his chest too quickly, and he reclined against it, forehead touching the tough but aged wood.


After scouring the area once again to make sure he was still alone, he continued trekking towards the sound of water. As he started to regain his senses, his steps became lighter, nearly invisible as he drew nearer to the stream until his presence had vanished without really vanishing.


Only a few more steps… so close…


The sound of water was so near and so soothing like silk stroking against his ears. It was odd and a little ethereal, but he didn’t dwell too long on the feeling, wanting to submerge himself in the coldness immediately.


As his hands gripped the hem of his shirt, he had to pause, feet locking on the ground and heart locking in his chest. Before he could think, his body submerged into the shadows, slipping itself behind the security of a large tree. Carefully, he controlled his breathing, though the air was threatening to rush out of him all at once if the light-headedness was any indication.


He had found Kakashi.


He had found Kakashi waist deep in the water, had only seen his naked back, or rather, had only seen the moonlight playing across twitching back muscles.


It was rather absurd that he actually hid out of sight. It wasn’t as if he had done anything wrong. He couldn’t sleep and walking to the stream to splash some water on his feverish face was entirely logical. There was nothing wrong about this he reaffirmed.


However, he still remained hidden, still remained out of sight. His heart thundered madly in his chest, fingers clenched at his sides, and the air choked him even harder. He hated this feeling, the nervous-ness dictating his actions and not letting him think straight. He needed to think straight.


There was a small shift in the water, a light sound that could have easily been missed. Sasuke didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to think about the way the moonlight danced over his teacher’s back giving the pale skin an eerie glow.


His head turned just enough to peek around the tree. Thankfully, Kakashi hadn’t noticed him or maybe pretended not to notice. Sasuke wanted to hope Kakashi hadn’t noticed because he still felt wrong staring at him. It was just… it was just that he wanted to stare because he never stared at anyone before, never studied another’s body.


No, that wasn’t exactly true. He had studied Itachi’s body plenty of times before and used it as a measuring stick, the perfect example of everything he had to achieve with his own body.


Perhaps, Kakashi’s body was the same –something he wanted to measure himself against. Sasuke couldn’t think of a better image of strength, exertion, and compacted power. He’d known for a long time that Kakashi had suffered in his body –had suffered through every scar and wound that littered it, had suffered for every muscle that spiralled tightly and thickly around his bones, had suffered for the deadly chakra that pulsed through his channels, savagely throbbing with the urge to be released.


His eyes traced along those scars like fingers ghosting shyly over them –a long thin one ran down his spine, a gash planted at his left hip, another thin one swiped along the back of his neck. Those were the only ones he could detect from his spot. His fingers itched with the urge to touch them for real, wondering if they protruded grotesquely or if the skin was raw and smooth, attached together with dead nerves.


He had once believed scars were trophies, proof that the battle was won and the wearer of said scars had survived. To him, scars had been symbols of strength and suffering. Scars had been things to be admired and praised.


Sasuke remembered seeing his father naked. The man had few scars on his body, but they were there, hidden beneath tanned skin that Sasuke had never inherited. Sasuke’s mother had few visible scars, one particularly on her right ankle that didn’t caught  much attention. He had never seen her naked, so that one scar had always been particularly notable. Itachi had very few scars, the least he’d ever seen on any human body except for maybe Naruto’s. There was a small cut on the side of his neck that Sasuke had to squint in the light to see. A shuriken cut too close to his jugular, and Sasuke remembered being very worried, thinking his brother would die from such a wound. It was a child’s foolish naïveté.


Sasuke had a lot of scars, more so than his father, his mother, Itachi, Sakura, Naruto, maybe even Kakashi. There were pinpricks from Haku’s needles, Orochimaru’s bite mark, the curse seal, claw marks, burn marks, too many marks. It didn’t necessarily mean that he was stronger than anyone. It just meant he was vulnerable, more susceptible to attacks.


He now knew scars were a sign of weakness, an inability to dodge properly.


The scars on Kakashi’s body suddenly made him sick and angry. Kakashi was too strong to take that much damage, and now he was left with the constant reminder of his failure while Sasuke was left with the constant reminder that his teacher was expendable just like everyone else.


The moonlight continued to play over his teacher’s streamlined body, and Sasuke noticed too acutely the way his muscles moved, twitched, vibrated, the way the shadows shifted with the movement. He lost himself in those shadows, watching them dance and slide erotically over firm, hard muscles. His fingers were still itching uncomfortably. Belatedly, he wondered if he would ever have those kinds of muscles, thick with strength, tightly winding around every inch of his body. His hand pressed against his own stomach, hard and flat with developing muscles, gaining a vague sense of satisfaction.


The water swished again, and Sasuke tensed, air lodging in his throat and fingers piercing his stomach as they curled.  Heat was still thick in the air, still making his clothes stick and wrinkle against his skin. He hated it so much, and the desire for water had never been more intense. Suddenly, he wanted to drown, fall into cold, piercing fluid and be hugged by ice.


His mind was focused on little things, obscure details that barely made sense and were probably the product of some bizarre feverish state. He hadn’t even noticed Kakashi was mask-less. It was something that caught his attention quite suddenly when he was struck with the vague feeling that a certain detail was misplaced –he finally noted the blue cloth was absent and skin that shouldn’t have been exposed was exposed.


Sasuke could only see the back of his neck, and even that surprised him because he had never seen it before, at least not in its entirety. There was nothing unusual about the back of his neck. It was like every other back of a neck that Sasuke had ever seen. It was only special, only interesting because it was Kakashi’s.


His hands tingled with the urge to touch it, to tighten his fingers around the sparse hair that touched that spot on his neck every day. Sasuke knew if Kakashi only rotated his head a bit, he’d get a good view of his face, or at least enough to assuage his curiosity. At the same time, he didn’t want to see his face, was afraid to see it. The constant mystery kept a firm barrier between them. Sasuke had no desire to know his teacher that closely. Sasuke didn’t want to know anyone that closely. Being the only one to see his face was far too …intimate, far too frightening.


Every nerve in his body shuddered with the instinctual urgency to leave the vicinity, but his feet were stiff, firmly rooted to the ground. He couldn’t move, couldn’t shift his eyes from the back of his neck, the one area where his hair ended. Water drops dotted Kakashi’s back, and the moonlight twinkled off them, making them look like stars scattered over a night sky painted on his back. He was a mural, and Sasuke felt stupid for making that analogy.


Kakashi’s head shifted subtly without warning, not making a sound as he glanced over his shoulder to stare in the direction where Sasuke was. Their eyes met, and Sasuke heard himself let out a panicked, shuddering sound, felt his body jump, rattle, and tremble all at once. His head whirled with comprehension –without really comprehending anything. For a long time, he couldn’t connect his vision with any available thinking mechanism, only seeing, seeing without thinking, without understanding.


He saw a nose, thin and sloped. He saw lips, full and pale. He saw a face, a complete face. The face was Kakashi’s but not Kakashi’s. The face was someone else’s, someone he couldn’t identify as Kakashi.


His body sweated and trembled with irrational fear. It wasn’t Kakashi. He was convinced. It was an attacker, an assailant, an enemy. Sasuke wished he hadn’t left his weapons back at his bedroll because he had nothing to throw, and his body simply wasn’t moving. The man that was not Kakashi wasn’t moving either, only looking at him with both eyes, two eyes burning straight into Sasuke’s.


The heat rushed straight through him again, flames grabbing harshly at his skin, scorching him mercilessly from within like he had just swallowed his own fire-breathing technique.


“Well…are you going to come in?” the man that wasn’t Kakashi asked, and Sasuke could feel the voice so close it was tickling his ear.


He was too tempted to agree. His legs really wanted to move toward the water and the cold, cold sensation. The lips were still moving in his head, moving in his sight. He watched them intently, hypnotically pressing together and separating. It was very entrancing.


His own lips mouthed the name “Kakashi” over and over, dazed, obsessed with the name dangling on the tip of his tongue, the name spilling out of him, the name becoming real. Where was Kakashi? Where was his teacher? He craved to see him masked, craved it more than water. Thighs trembled and grew hot with the craving to see him covered, hidden.


His mantra suddenly ceased when something sharply freezing and painfully moist cold touched his mouth. Wet lips moved against his own lips, soft, pliable, kissing him as if offering the breath of life. A sharp, cold sensation poured into him, rushed through his throat like a water fall, filling his insides. He felt nothing but cold, slithering water sliding through him. He was trembling and clutching flesh that may have been his own as cold spiked through him, cold settled inside of him, cold spread to his lungs, curled up in his stomach, swam to his toes. It was every euphoric sensation he could have ever imagined.


He drank the kiss greedily, like a parched man starving lost in a desert. He drank and drank, throat muscles working furiously to engulf the chilled fluid. Goosebumps rose up in his body, nerves being tantalized by the cold that touched and moved just as sensually as fire.


Pleasure exploded in every pore of his body, rocked him until his legs gave out from under him, but he barely noticed. All that mattered was consuming frigid ecstasy, consuming until he burst, back arching from the tree, fingers digging into his own shivering, frosty flesh.


Sasuke had never heard himself moan, not the way that he moaned now, so loud and pure like a body-trembling-knee-buckling-toe-curling orgasm racked through him, like his soul had been ravished to the very core. His world was reduced to darkness, everything too intense, too rapturous to keep his eyes open or to remain still. There were no names, no sounds pouring forth from his mouth but that one moan, born in the depth of his stomach and ripped out of him just as the heat had been torn away.


When Sasuke next opened his eyes, the only thing in his sight was the sun’s piercing whiteness, tiny rays squeezing through the canopy of the trees to blind him. He groaned, squirmed, and struggled uncomfortably, tossing an arm over his eyes to block the white. Vaguely, he registered something warm, something shaking and twitching against his back, something a little too obviously human.


“Do you want more water?” that something asked softly.


Sasuke took comfort in the sound; he wasn’t alone.


His face twisted to the side, pressing back against sticky, damp clothing, feeling heat again seeping through the thin material. He mumbled as he writhed insanely, said anything that came to his mind, mostly said nothing.


“Relax. It’s okay,” something –no, someone- whispered, that voice tickling his ear again. 


There was a cold, wet pressure against his forehead. It felt very nice, and he almost instantly calmed down. Silence and stillness reigned over his body for just a few seconds before he started trembling profusely with chills savagely running around, tickling his joints.


He was moaning again but not out of pleasure, maybe out of fear. His neck jerked back, head tilting up awkwardly to glance at the one holding him. Bleary eyes focused on blue, savoring blueness. Blue covered flesh, blue hid everything. He liked blue –especially dark blue.   


“Kakashi!” Sasuke gasped, ragged and raw with the peculiar ache in his throat.


His upper body coiled to one side, long, shaky fingers clawing and grabbing at the older man’s shirt, only vaguely noting the absence of the vest. He was so cold now, cold like ice hardening around his bones and freezing his skin from the inside.


A warm hand ran down his back, brushing against the moisture that beaded along his spine from his profuse sweating. He couldn’t help the shudder that ran through him, couldn’t help the half-lidded pleading look he gave his teacher. He was so confused, couldn’t bring himself to ask what was happening, but Kakashi had read the clear puzzlement in his face.


“Just rest for now,” Kakashi told him, continuing to gently stroke his back and remove the uncomfortable sweat that dotted his bare skin. “You collapsed in the middle of training yesterday from a high fever.”


…fever?...I’m sick?...so was everything… a hallucination?


His mind spun so hard, so fast his head throbbed with unbearable pain.  


“…but…but I saw you…in the water…,” Sasuke choked out, breathing hard and fisting his hands in the jounin’s shirt, tugging almost frantically.


Kakashi looked at him thoughtfully for a few seconds then tightened his arms around the small, sweat-covered trembling body. “Did you like what you see?” Kakashi teased, seemingly grinning beneath his mask.


The question passed through too fast for him to register it or even formulate a proper Sasuke-like answer. Sasuke drooped against him tiredly. The weight of his eyelids, the weight of his weariness was too much. His head lolled heavily against the firm chest, taking comfort in the relaxed heart beat thumping next to his cheek.


The warmth was pleasant this time, hugging around him like being submerged in a hot spring. He nestled deeper into the warmth, uncaring if the action was completely vulnerable and childish, only desperately wanting to escape the numbing cold. He couldn’t remember a feeling like this, couldn’t remember the feel of his mother’s arms around him, of his father’s arms around him. The memory of Itachi’s arms around him was always lingering thickly in the back of his mind, always making him feel colder.


Kakashi’s arms around him made every thought disappear, drove the coldness away.


…don’t stop…please, don’t stop…


The unspoken plea was heard. Kakashi only moved to gently stroke the wet cloth over his face and wipe off the sweat. One arm was kept tightly wound around him, protectively holding Sasuke to himself. That warm, protected feeling was the last that thing he felt before he completely slipped into the dark oblivion of dream-less sleep. 




Days passed, and Sasuke had healed quickly under his teacher’s care.


Sasuke never knew if anything that had happened while he was sick was real -if the visions had been real, if he had watched Kakashi bathing in the water that night, if he had seen Kakashi’s true face. Kakashi hinted that Sasuke had moved around a lot, couldn’t stay still in his hallucinating state and had often traveled away from his bedroll, which was why Kakashi had taken to holding him down in a manner too intimate for the both of them.


Sasuke preferred to pretend it wasn’t real -that he hadn’t watched anything, had never seen that face –had never felt that kiss- because the pictures were too vivid and alive in his mind. The feelings were too real. It was something that haunted him, awoke him in the middle of the night, made his skin tingle hotly, made him break-out into a full-body sweat.


It was something he dismissed as inconsequential.






I wrote this while being very hot and sticky in my room over the course of the night. Also insomnia-produced if that’s any explanation as to why this is so weird and trippy. Urgh…originally wanted to write multi-chaptered smut. I gave up rather easily. *Grumbles* I blame the heat.


Tags: challenge: peeping, content: fanfic
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