| Off the Edge of the Map [Kakashi and Ginta] | [Feb. 9th, 2011|08:25 pm] |
[Follows immediately afterwards Tiny Little Fractures, on May 3rd.]
It had been more than three hours.
Kakashi blinked awake and found himself wrapped like ivy around Ginta, one arm thrown across a lean chest, forehead pressed hard against an ANBU tattoo. Every breath drew in a throatful of hard-sleeping scent: sweat and lead and charred flowers.
Slowly, Kakashi lifted his head.
Ginta was turned slightly towards him, laid out in an oddly contained sprawl. One leg kicked out, one hand curled loosely around Kakashi’s wrist. Every soft exhale clouded visibly in the cold air.
Without moving, Kakashi slid his gaze over to the tent flaps. Pakkun was curled up there, close to their feet, ears cocked towards the outside world. His eyes were closed. Outside the tent, dawn had given way to early morning, bright and grey and cold.
It had been six hours at least, probably closer to eight, and Kakashi had spent it asleep in the arms of the wrong man.
He ripped himself out of Ginta’s hold, biting down a snarl. Ginta shot upright in a flail of blankets, hair and hands everywhere, grabbing for weapons. Pakkun bolted to his feet, fur rising in a brown ridge down his spine.
“What?” Pakkun demanded, looking wildly around. “What happened?”
“You didn’t wake me,” Kakashi snapped at both of them. “We’re losing daylight, there’s probably a team on our trail, and you let me sleep.”
Pakkun’s little body went rigid. “But--” he began.
Kakashi knifed him with a glare, and Pakkun shut up. To one side, Ginta’s scent flared like a miniature supernova, twisted with shock, dismay, and anger. Pakkun glanced at him, ears flattening down tight to his skull.
Ginta didn’t say anything. Pakkun didn’t offer an explanation.
Kakashi grabbed his cloak and ANBU mask. “We’re going,” he said. “Right now. Get moving, both of you.” |
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