Kakashi dragged himself fully upright to force his hands through the seals that would allow him through his front door - fortunately supplying the 'key' required no more than a ping from the wards against his chakra - and slouched inside. Exhaustion and a soul-deep weariness this time, rather than laziness, whether real or feigned to keep up the impression he chose to give.

He was slow, but still steady on his feet, as he made his way through the house to the bedroom. He could have used a shower, but he was clean enough once he shed his outer clothing. Later. He was spent and he felt burnt under his skin from forcing too much from his chakra.

He half climbed, half fell into the bed and pulled himself closer to the centre, and then he didn't have to pull himself any more because strong arms wrapped around him and did it for him. Kakashi turned his face into Iruka's shoulder and sighed, feeling the steady warmth of both his body and his banked energy.

Familiar. Safe. Belonging.

Things Kakashi had forbidden himself a long time ago, but somehow come to fall into all the same. This man.

Kakashi's lips twitched. No one would believe he was the bad influence on Kakashi, rather than the other way around. Kakashi occasionally got dirty looks over their relationship, in fact, not that he particularly minded. No doubt all manner of assumptions were made as to what the perverse Copy Nin was doing to corrupt the upstanding Academy sensei.

Kakashi let himself be shifted and squeezed into a tight hug, his body draped against his lover's. A kiss at his throat made him go painfully tense, then relax again almost instantly. The bite that followed made him almost pliant, melting into the comforting possession it asserted.

"Love you." Iruka said against the vulnerable curve of Kakashi's throat, rather than 'mine' or 'you're back' or 'what do you need?' but it might as well have been own you.

Kakashi let go of the deep-down ache his mission had left with him and clung to his lover's waist - but not fiercely, not until it hurt, not desperate, because he didn't have to be. Iruka had him and wasn't letting go. Kakashi didn't have to fight for this. It was his.

And he was-

There were a hundred things Kakashi wanted to say, but none of them needed saying, and Iruka only hushed him when he tried to speak. Kakashi curled into his arms, breathing deeply and taking in his warmth and care and the faint smell of paper and ink and metal he always carried. Iruka stroked his back, a gentle touch but firm enough not to put him on edge, and held him close.

Iruka offered love and confidence and fearlessness, the open arms that drew him in as though jutsu-bound.

Settled in their bed, Kakashi hid his face against skin and muscle rather than beneath fabric, and let himself be owned, and loved it.