Work Text:
spring’s passion
The tent closed behind them with a befitting hush, leaving the two figures staring at each other as candles highlighted their features, the soft hue of a warm light casting shadows over their faces.
“We can’t keep meeting like this,” Taiga pointed out, face set into a tentative desperation.”We are on two opposite sides of a war… If anyone discovers us…”
“They won’t.”
“Still! I’m loyal to my people, to my country, to the beliefs I stand by!”
“I know. That’s all the more reasons for which I love you, silly man,” he stated resolutely, like it was obvious, like it was a given. “And tomorrow we will stand proudly as enemies of opposite sides but under this moon which I swear by? Tonight it’s just us.”
Taiga exhaled, some tension leaving his lithe body as he came closer to his lover.
He ran a hand through his short, thick, black hair, frowning playfully when the feeling of silky strands between his fingers interrupted soon — sooner than he was used to. “I miss your long hair,” he admitted.
Ren chuckled, bringing his lover's hand close to his lips; the words came out softly against his pale skin, “I’ll grow them out again, shall you ask me so.”
Taiga’s eyes softened against his better judgment, as a swirling feeling bubbled up his gut. “You’d do that for me?”
Ren shuffled closer, his hand pressing against the other’s nape and intertwining his fingers in his snowy white hair in a similar manner. “I’d raze the ground of the very Earth for you; I’d set fire to the sea and enjoy its burning; I’d climb over the highest peaks if it meant a single, lonesome smile to cross your rosy lips.”
He brought his lips in a passionate, sweet lock with his lover’s, losing himself in ardor of his love — after all, no clan has ever loved as fiercely as his, fire running through their veins as blood.
“Let me show you,” he whispered, “just how deep my devotion goes.”
Hands coming up to Taiga’s shoulders, he slipped off the light blue kimono the other was donning, fingers purposefully grazing along his pale skin as a lovely hush spread from his face. When the last of his garment fell to the ground, he wasted no time before reaching for—
Obito closes the book with dramatics he thought he had left behind when he’d stopped being a brat in face of the cruel, cruel world.
There’s something between a scream and a cry stuck in his throat and the distinct need to break something humming under his skin, making his chakra boil.
Someone has to pay.
The first person on his list is Deidara, for having the audacity to blabber about this new Icha Icha book for two hours straight during the semestral budget reunion — making Obito reluctantly impressed by his ability to talk over Kakuzu when money is concerned. He had preached on and on about the emotional depth of the characters, about the breathtaking world building of two opposing sides of a civil war, about the mastery in the word flow and artistically chosen metaphors, about just how nice it was to finally have a mainstream, queer novel hitting the most famous bookshelves around the world and—
And Obito, foolishly, had thought, Let’s read this! It’s gonna be great to tease Deidara with this! I’m sure it will have little to no impact on my overall psyche!
Wrong.
Because, of course, this forsaken world wouldn’t give him a break; of course, a single book is enough to rock his whole perception of reality off the hinges; of course, Jiraiya manages to be a thorn in his side even from countries away; because—
Because this book, this Icha Icha: Spring’s Passion, is definitely, unrevocably, surely about Kakashi and Obito.
Ren — his counterpart in the story — is the Commander of a tightly-knit faction struggling for control in a civil war, a frontline fighter that hides a cunning personality behind an angry and prickly persona, and prominent member of a powerful clan which carries an intrinsic eye-based ability that allows the user to enhance their vision to the highest degree.
After losing his sister at a tender age — and what does it say, that even after years the ghost of Rin seems to breathe down his neck? — he abandons his dreams of stopping the war that wreaks through his country for the desire to conquer the whole world under his command, and ruthlessly joins the army, quickly becoming the most dangerous force.
During an undercover mission that leaves him drained of chakra and vulnerable, he stumbles into one of the most powerful men of the other side; Taiga is a lean, pale man that is described to have hair as white as snow and eyes as sharp as a blade. Awaiting his demise, Ren is surprised by the other, who willingly patches him up, stating that there’s no honor in killing a defenseless person.
The two don’t really get along at first: Ren, with his sharp loudness and boisterous demeanor, and Taiga, with his quiet meanness and snobbish condescension — they clash in a fury of insults and physical skirmishes. But, stranded in a cave as a snowstorm rages on, the two slowly warm up to each other: Ren starts finding Taiga’s oddity quirky, his natural genius admirable, his passion for book interesting, his sharp humor enjoyable, and Taiga seems to enjoy his genuine charm and the shared experiences.
Together, they begin a whirlwind romance during stolen nights and hidden moments; while Taiga wishes, deep down, for their factions to come together in peace, Ren can’t help but think of greater dreams and bigger realities. Still, even their divergences can’t stop their feelings and every argument ends in hot, steamy, filthy—
Although the overall story isn’t exactly Obito and Kakashi’s, the similarities hit him like a punch in the gut: a mission that changes their view on the other, being on opposite sides while one tries for a futile peace while the other plans for something bigger…
And the characters.
Sage, the characters.
Ren, who lost someone very important to him, that took his dream for a simple peace to something bigger, who is part of a clan with a dōjutsu, who has black, spiky hair, who is the boss of his faction, and Taiga, with white, fluffy hair, with his sharp humor and love for books, with his biting sarcasm and natural genius.
It’s like Jiraiya took their most evident characteristics from their childhood as well as adulthood and meshed them together in a clusterfuck of emotional instability and tear-triggering trauma — which Obito is not, thank you very much.
This whole thing is a can of worms he has to carefully detangle lest he goes crazy.
First of all, this is worrying regarding the whole Infinite Tsukuyomi plan; Jiraiya must be aware of his existence — or its continuation, more properly — in the Akatsuki and his role as shadow leader.
He’s aware that the man has been investigating the organization for quite some time now but how he came across Obito’s identity is a mystery — his spy network must be truly insane and he is regretfully envious of it. His identity isn’t a secret that is fundamental to the plan; it’s useful to pass as Madara, especially when he’ll wage war on the Five Great Ninja Villages, but he can circumvent the problem with little bother. What worries him is how much Jiraiya might have discovered about his true goal, which, has he figured out the gist of it, gives them plenty of time to think about counter measures.
That is logical, of course. These calculations and worries swirling in Obito’s mind, though, are little less than an automatic response by his system, something the most aware part of his brain has little to no input to, because—
Well…
He and Kakashi are not like that.
Not even maybe! Not even close! Not even at all!
The whole thing is nothing short of preposterous and ridiculous and every adjective he can muster up to describe how his brain is a mess of alarm bells and error signals.
He activates the outward portal from kamui mindlessly.
Fucking Jiraiya. He would never dream of doing—that to Kakashi, that stupid, self-absorbed, ridiculously selfless little shit.
He swipes quickly between different locations, eye sharp.
(He doesn’t even want to put out in the universe the absurd image of them two, of Kakashi on his knees as his hands come up shyly at his trousers, tugging needily at the fabric, with plump, rosy lips shining with spit, a delectable blush spreading across his fair skin, and eyes wide, wide, wide as he inches toward—)
He peers into the portal but the clearing is empty. The man should be in Wave along the little nine-tailed brat, according to his spies, at least.
(Kakashi under him, painting loudly as his lean torso arches under the path Obito’s fingers are tracing over it, the dim light of a few dying candles casting teasing shadows over the nooks of his body, down to the jutting of his—)
Another empty one.
(Kakashi over him, disleveled and messy, the slightest fabric covering his bottom as he grinds down over Obito, whose hand grip tight a lean, defined waist as he tugs him closer, closer, and—)
Another empty one.
(Kakashi’s watery eyes as a makeshift gag covers his mouth and binds his hands together, blush almost as red as the fabric, as Obito’s mouth traces a path from his fair neck downward, and down, and down, and down, until—)
Another empty one.
(Kakashi’s broken voice, “Please, please, Obito,” pleading and begging as a stream of pleasured tears makes its way down his cheeks. “Please, Obito, just fuck m—”)
“HOW DARE YOU?”
His voice rings loudly in the forest clearing, a few birds scattering around from its fury.
Naruto, who was in the middle of attempting a rasengan, falls on his face from the surprise. Jiraiya, with his years-long experience, barely twitches in surprise from his spot on a tree branch; he quickly jumps down, putting himself in front of Naruto to protect him as his chakra flares up in warning.
“Akatsuki,” he hisses, eyes quickly flicking to his robe. “What do you wan—”
“How could you write that abomination!?”
Jiraiya blinks, once, twice, thrice. “What?”
“Spring’s Passion!” he shrills, running a frustrated hand through his hair and— Oh, he’s forgot his mask in kamui. Which doesn’t even matter since fucking Jiraiya already knows. “How could you write that?”
The older man stays stubbornly silent, simply gawking at Obito with a dumbfounded expression, as Naruto peeks at him from behind. “Pervy sage,” he murmurs, although high enough that even he can hear it. “I think he’s a fan…”
“I’m not a fan!” he screams, his body tensing up with unreleased energy and, embarrassingly enough, he feels a rare sting behind his eye from frustration. “How could you write that about me and Kakashi?!”
“Kakashi-sensei?” the blonde repeats, cocking his head. “You know him?”
“Of course, I do! I was that asshole’s teammate back in the day!”
That, at least, gains a reaction from Jiraiya. “Obito?”
“Took you long enough,” he snarls, crossing his arms. It must be hard to reconcile the bubbly, energetic kid to the scarred stranger in front of him, even though he’s cognizant of his presence in the Akatsuki. “More importantly…”
He takes a few anger-fueled steps forward, until he can ram a finger into Jiraiya's chest — who still seems too dumbfounded to react properly to the grave, rapidly-escalating level of danger he’s in.
“How dare you write that shit!? First of all, the last time we saw each other I was a kid, you selfish, creepy, opportunist pervert!“
He dumbly gapes at him, scrambles to say something before Obito barrels on. “Second of all, me and Kakashi—” He does not sound hysterical as he utters his name, he does not. “Have never happened, aren’t happening, and will never happen! You hear me!?”
“Also—how dare you put—put those images in my mind!?” he shrieks as those images, as he so eloquently put it, flash in his mind like a low-badget play. His face heats up — in anger, shut up — and his treacherous body… betrays his interest.
“What images?” Naruto pipes up innocently, looking between the two of them with a cocked eyebrow.
Obito splutters, remembering that the kid is twelve as a phantom pain akin to one of Kushina’s rolling pins flares on the back of his head. “That Kakashi—that he—It doesn’t matter!”
“You’re making me feel things I should not feel,” he hisses, glaring at the man who’s whole-heartedly at fault (albeit, maybe, Kakashi plays a role in this too, with his stupid, messy hair, his lazy gait, and his stupidly attractive voice.) “You and your stupid, cheap, romantic book.”
“Hey!” Naruto exclaims, offended, as Jiraiya stares at him — this time considering, more than dumbly.
“So you’re feeling… things,” he dead-pans.
“No, I’m not,” he squeaks, ignoring his slip-up of a second ago. “I’m infuriated that you went ahead and based two characters in love on two people that are definitely not!”
“…Sure.”
“Don’t make fun of me! This is a very bad thing, alright!?”
“Says the terrorist.”
“Says the creepy pervert!” he bites back. “Even if Kakashi is somewhat a fan of yours, he wouldn’t stand for this either! This is a gross invasion of privacy!”
“Are you bothered because Pervy-sensei wrote it or because you liked it?” Naruto asks and the worst part is that he sounds genuine.
“I didn’t like it!” he screams, wondering why nobody understands that. Just because his body is a traitorous mess — and, Sage, he’s half plant, why is it even reacting like that? — doesn’t mean he liked it. He didn’t.
He didn’t.
“I did not like that and I do not like the images it’s put in my head — they’re messing with my mind and you should take responsibility as its creepy author!” he bellows, as more heat rushes to his cheeks. “Such an abomination should be erased from the world and you with it! Even Kakashi would agree with me either, the bastard, and he’s even a fa—”
“Maybe—” Naruto interrupts him and when did he settle down crisscrossed on the ground? Doesn’t he understand how close Obito is to actually murdering the both of them? “You should take it up with sensei, then!”
“Maybe I should,” he bites back.
“Good!”
“Amazing,” he says back, his body still shaking with pent-up energy and murderous intent but—maybe the kid is right! Maybe he should take it up to Kakashi so they can commiserate together — maybe they can plan Jiraiya’s death to look like an accident!
Surely, if this doesn’t convince him that Infinite Tsukuyomi is the way to go then nothing will.
“I shall fucking go,” he murmurs, opening a portal to Konoha. “But you?” he hisses, pointing at Jiraiya as he glares at him one last time with all his fury for good measure. “Watch your fucking back.”
After he disappears, the atmosphere remains tense for a few seconds, a heavy silence permeating the air around the two.
“Pervy sage,” Naruto starts, “what the fuck just happened?”
(Later, around a campfire, Naruto looks up as he munches on his grilled fish. “Do you think he knows?”
“Definitely not.”
“Should we have told him?”
There’s a pause. “That the book isn’t about him and Kakashi at all, but about the sordid tale of Lord Second and Madara whirlwind romance?”
“…Yeah?”
“Nah, he’ll figure it out on his own — maybe.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he acquiesces. “I suppose at least that got him back to the village — although I’m not sure it’s a good thing.”
“Huh, I guess you’re right.” He falls silent for a second, in that way of his that only spells trouble. “Ah! You should write one about me and Sasuke! Maybe that’ll work!”
Jiraiya stares at him, long and hard and horrified. “Sage, what have I done wrong?”)