When Kakashi approaches the mission desk, eye curved into a gleeful arch, Iruka is suffused with a strong sense of dread. Historically speaking, Kakashi's patented eye-smile is a proven portent of tremendous pain. Iruka, who ends up as Kakashi's reluctant victim more often than not, views it with the same apprehension as he would a harbinger of death. He wonders if that look has ever been used for good rather than evil. If anyone has truly seen Hatake Kakashi rejoice in something beyond the expense of another.

Probably not.

Kakashi offers the scroll like a gift. Iruka pinches the edge carefully between thumb and forefinger, half-afraid there's an exploding tag inside, waiting to detonate at the right moment to induce maximum carnage. Kakashi's never technically destroyed property or done physical harm to Iruka himself, unless one counts the shortening of his life that's no doubt a result of consistently elevated blood pressure, but Iruka wouldn't put it past him to escalate beyond sloppy penmanship, surprisingly artistic doodles in place of words, and excessive abuse of figures of speech.

At least the mission room is practically empty at the moment, during the middle of the dinner rush, so Iruka won't have to restrict his language for fear of mentally scarring any fresh-faced genin.

Gently peeling back the edge of the scroll and unrolling it, at first Iruka is hard-pressed to find anything amiss. The kana aren't perfect but they're entirely legible, and there are no obvious sketches or flecks of blood or burned spots. The date at the top even shows that the report is being turned in on time. Iruka feels a tiny flicker of hope growing—within an enormous, overhanging, abyssal cloud of doubt.

He critically scans each section for errors, even something so small as a missing punctuation mark or passive voice. He finds nothing that even the most anal of editors would underline in red; until he gets to the description of a combative incident. Or, more accurately, the other shinobi involved in said incident.

'The missing-nin's long blonde hair flowed down her back like rivers of edible gold. Her eyes sparkled like the finest of diamonds, cut in a pear-shape nearly as perfect as the bosom she wielded with libidinous intent.' To say the least, that is an incredibly strange way to describe an enemy. Wariness for more than his own sanity begins to seep in. Iruka glances up at Kakashi, peering as if he can see the effects of a lingering seduction jutsu if he narrows his eyes just right, but Kakashi merely smiles innocently. That triples his suspicion. Looking back to the report, the next line jogs something in Iruka's mind, familiar in a way that stings the tip of his tongue. 'The curve of her exquisite hips could command legions. Rivers of blood may flow in her wake, but those were nothing compared to the rivers of desire that coursed through—'

"You can't quote Icha Icha Paradise in a mission report!" Iruka's indignant screech shakes the foundations of the building, followed by the loud crash of his chair rolling back to hit the wall as he stands, hands slamming on the desk for emphasis.

He has very rarely raised his voice to Kakashi, for the single reason that the man does always properly fix the reports in the end. But this offense is too grievous to comprehend.

"Oh?" Kakashi's eye widens in what seems to be genuine surprise. Then a gleam of mischievous mirth takes over. "Iruka-sensei, I had no idea you were a fan."

Iruka freezes, as immobile as an ice statue. An ice statue whose cheeks are aflame because mortification is causing the statue to consider breaking into the Hokage's residence, sneaking into the forbidden scrolls room to steal a time travel jutsu, and using it to kill Kakashi three days ago.

"You—what—of course I'm not!" Iruka denies the accusation with too many stutters to quite reach vehemence.

Kakashi cocks his head to the side, watching with an eye that practically sparkles in delight. He waves his hand up and down, as if batting away Iruka's seething rage. "Now, now, it's nothing to be ashamed of. We all have n—"

"I've never read it!" He realizes then that the half-octave his voice has risen, along with the vibrant tomato shade of his face, aren't particularly convincing. Kakashi's eyebrow, raised in wordless dubiety, also communicates that. "I—maybe I've skimmed the synopsis." Iruka admits in a slightly smaller voice, head held high and arms crossed defensively over his chest. He would like to retain at least a miniscule inch of the high ground, but his soapbox is being pulled out from under his feet with vicious glee. He's overly aware of his two coworkers/friends watching them with eyes as round as an Ichiraku bowl.

Kakashi chuckles. It's the first laugh that Iruka has heard, despite the childish elation he practically radiates when Iruka struggles for ways to express the depths of his frustration without being locked away for crimes against a fellow shinobi.

Kakashi's laugh is a low, rumbling sound, curling through Iruka's stomach and down to his toes; pleasant and warm, except for the way it's at Iruka's expense. "I'd be happy to loan you a copy, if you're curious."

There is no way Iruka's blush doesn't reach all the way down to his neck and chest and probably other regions. He crinkles the report with the force of his grip. He really wants to know why Kakashi has more than one copy of the book to begin with, but he isn't going to humor the man by asking. "No, thank you." Iruka replies through stiff lips. He puts his free palm to his face and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping he can pass it off as an act of frustration rather than trying to hide his utter embarrassment.

He can practically feel Izumo and Kotetsu struggling to hold in guffaws from the other stations. Pretty soon, Iruka will make sure they remember their intense fear of Anko's snakes, and how they happen to adore Iruka.

"This is an A-rank mission, Kakashi-san. The jounin commander sees these scrolls, as well as the Sandaime himself. Please take your job a bit more seriously, get your head out of your ass, and write a real report that—" He lowers his hand, having worked his pique back up to inferno levels, only to find the jovial bastard perched on an open windowsill. "Don't you dare—"

"Maa, you're right, I have no idea what I was thinking. I'll have a new report for you first thing tomorrow." Kakashi promises, and for a moment he actually sounds properly chastised. Then his cheeks lift in a smile under his mask. "Feel free to keep that copy for yourself, Iruka-sensei. You still haven't read the most fascinating part." His gaze darkens and his voice drops to take on the qualities of highly suggestive silk. "Feel free to find me when you're ready for the sequel."

Kakashi gives a little wave, either a blink or a wink (impossible to tell with only a quarter of his face exposed), and drops out the window before Iruka can stoke the flames of his ire within the other flames that have, for some reason, sprung up throughout Iruka's body like a fireball jutsu.

Izumo and Kotetsu's riotous laughter fills the room. At least until Iruka turns around. Then it's terrified pleas that comprise the cacophony. Iruka leaves the mission room a half-hour with the satisfaction of vengeance spitefully achieved.

There's another man who will suffer at Iruka's hands. The devious plan is already forming in his mind, gears and pieces slipping together like clockwork. He should have just enough time to implement the first step after school. The bookstore will be open until five, and Iruka knows exactly what he needs.

Sharingan or not, Kakashi will never know what hit him.