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Kiba wakes up to orange filtered light, slanted shadows inching in the room from between the curtains, pulled together tight in a daily fight against the sun. Arm thrown out as he yawns, his fingers trace across cold sheets and a fluffed pillow and an empty spot because as much Kankuro complains of being tired, he’s still always up before Kiba.
Toes wiggling beneath Akamaru, who is sleeping open mouthed, tongue lolling to the side and legs kicking in the air, at the bottom of the bed, Kiba sits up, resting his weight back on his hands. He can still smell Kankuro in the air, dry and warm and homey in Kiba’s senses, and he can hear the quiet intake of breath from somewhere in the apartment so he knows the boy hasn’t gone far.
“Guess it’s time to get up, Akamaru,” Kiba says as he slips out of the bed and lands bare feet on the cold floor, snorting when the dog merely rolls over and stretches out in the now empty space.
“Fine,” Kiba says, pointing a finger in Akamaru’s face, “But don’t blame me if there’s no food left when you get up.”
Akamaru kicks one leg in the air, brushing off Kiba’s words as he rolls even further into the middle of the bed. Kiba snorts again at the dog, tramping out of the room in search of deft fingers and a loud mouth and-
“Kankuro,” he mumbles when he steps into the bathroom, immediately snaking his arms around the boy’s waist, pressing his lips against the bare skin of his shoulder.
“No biting,” Kankuro gripes right as Kiba sets his teeth against the back of Kankuro’s shoulder. The tone of his voice, snappy and resigned and altogether warm, has Kiba pausing long enough to press a smile into the soft skin there instead. He feels Kankuro sigh and lean forward against the counter, dragging Kiba with him on his back. And then, as Kankuro’s hand is reaching towards him midair, he bites down anyways. Not hard, never enough to hurt the tall man wrapped so comfortably in his arms but enough to get a reaction that puts a flutter in Kiba’s heart as his smirk is traced into Kankuro’s skin and his tongue soothes over the newly sore spot. The hand that was reaching for him, slow and sleepy, now swats at the top of his head as Kankuro curses, “Ow, fuck dude, why are you like this?”
He sounds annoyed but when Kiba lifts his head to rest against him, chin digging into the muscles of his frame, and looks at Kankuro’s face in the mirror in front of them, skin unmarred by paint, he sees a small smile and disheveled hair and has to lean in closer to shove his nose against the underside of Kankuro’s jaw. Pressing kiss after kiss there, down Kankuro’s neck and then back up again, Kiba takes the time to breathe him in, lifting one hand from Kankuro’s waist up to his cheek to hold him still, to press himself even closer to the man in front of him. Chapped lips scratch against soft skin and calloused thumbs rub gentle circles into Kankuro’s hip and sharp teeth possibly snag against Kankuro’s jaw, his ear, his neck. When his fingertips dip too low on Kankuro’s hip, tracing the line of his pants, Kankuro begins to shuffle away, wiggling his shoulders roughly to break Kiba’s hold, all the while biting, “Alright, alright, you mutt, can I get ready now?”
“No,” Kiba growls into Kankuro’s back, cheek shoved unflatteringly against his shoulder blade, muffling his voice, “Come back to bed.”
“I am a dignified ambassador of Suna,” Kankuro says, straightening his posture, “I can’t spend all day in bed with one of the Leaf’s dogs.”
His voice is dripping with sarcasm, biting against the quiet air around them, and Kiba might be hurt by it if it wasn’t for the hand that slides softly down his side to meet Kiba’s, still rested on his hip, and tangle their fingers together. Besides, he’s well aware that the ornery bastard likes spending his day wrapped up in Kiba’s bed just as much Kiba does, they’ve done it before and Kiba has his mind set on trying to talk him into every morning for the foreseeable future.
“You spent all night with one,” Kiba grins.
“Yes,” Kankuro nods solemnly, looking down at himself, “And I have the fur on my clothes to prove it.”
“Hey!” Kiba snaps, pouting at the mirror, “Akamaru doesn’t shed.”
“Did I say anything about Akamaru?” Kankuro asks, meeting his eyes in their reflections and raising one eyebrow, smiling around a laugh at the indignant squawk that Kiba releases. He reaches forward to the cabinet where he keeps his face paint and says, “Now can I get ready?”
“Hmm,” Kiba hums and then removes his arms from around Kankuro long enough to turn the man around, leaning forward to grab the jar from the cabinet, “Let me.”
“You don’t even know how to do it,” Kankuro argues, crossing his arms over his chest, one eybrow still raised.
“You think I don’t know what your face looks like?” Kiba snaps back, “Of all the time I’ve spent-”
“Alright,” Kankuro cuts him off, tapping his foot impatiently, “Hurry up then. I do have meetings to attend, you know.”
“Ugh, meetings,” Kiba mutters, opening the jar and tossing the lid on the counter, “Close your eyes.”
It’s a miracle that Kankuro actually does as instructed and Kiba makes a mental note to thank him later but for now he dips his fingers into the jar, swirling around the mix that is decidedly redder than what he needs. It’s one of his own, blood red and thicker than the everyday purple one that Kankuro brings with him. He really should just lean forward, stretch his arm across the short distance to grab the correct bottle but Kankuro’s eyes are closed and his face is peaceful and Kiba realizes in that moment that he desperately needs to see Kankuro in red.
Dry fingers trace Kankuro’s jaw, pulling it down so he can see better and then brings his paint wet hand up to hover over his cheek. It’s not a decision, really, to paint wide fangs onto each of Kankuro’s cheeks with the pad of his thumb but it feels right and it looks even better. The color is nice against Kankuro’s soft, soft skin, and Kiba takes the time to make sure his lines are straight and sharp. He looks like a warrior, a peaceful face holding back the capability of ferocity. But mostly, he looks like home.
Kankuro, Kiba now realizes, had already long since felt like home too.
“There,” he mumbles, closing the jar and letting his paint wet fingers rinse under the faucet without looking because he can’t take his eyes off Kankuro’s face, “All done.”
“You barely even painted my cheeks,” Kankuro snaps, eyes flying open to glare at Kiba, beginning to turn around as he continues, “I thought you said you knew-”
He stops when he sees himself, leaning in close to the mirror, one hand coming up to hover just over the paint. Brows furrowed, he looks back at Kiba with a squint, “What’s this?”
“Now you’re an Inuzuka too!” Kiba half shouts, still unable to take his eyes off Kankuro’s face, delighting in the blush that is now lightly dusted there, warm and pink. It takes all of his self control not to reach out and trace the fangs with his fingers. He knows the paint is still wet.
“Kiba,” Kankuro says, face shifting around every emotion Kiba can think of. He frowns and blushes and furrows his eyebrows together and finally settles on a confused look that Kiba might consider a little scared on anyone else, “It’s...It’s almost like a marriage proposal.”
Kiba hadn’t thought that far ahead (he almost never thinks that far ahead) but as the words leave Kankuro’s lips it registers just how right it sounds, like everything Kiba wants. He wants to wake up pressed against the lanky man everyday. He wants to feel those long, dexterous, fingers scratching at his scalp every night. He wants to paint red fangs onto Kankuro’s face every morning.
He takes a step forward, crowding further into Kankuro’s space and says, “It could be, if you want it to.”
“You’ll have to move to Suna,” Kankuro argues finally, eyes still searching for something in Kiba’s face.
Kiba shrugs, thinks of the heat and the sand in Suna and decides in that moment that he can get used to it, “We’ll summer vacation in Leaf.”
“There’s not as many dogs there,” Kankuro points out, leaning back against the counter.
“Um?” Kiba starts, looking at Kankuro with unimpressed casualty, “I’ll have Akamaru.”
“You,” Kankuro begins, shifting his weight from leg to leg, “You’ll have to deal with Gaara and Temari.”
“Pfft, you’re siblings don’t scare me,” Kiba laughs around a smug tone, smiling at the man in front of him. When Kankuro raises an eyebrow at him, he relents, mumbling, “Alright, Temari is a little scary but I can deal.”
Kankuro is quiet for a long time after that, staring down at the ground between their feet, feeling the paint dry into his skin as he thinks. Kiba reaches out for him but Kankuro stops him with a wave of his hand, closing his eyes and sighing, “You’ll have to deal with me, too.”
“Uh.”
“Everyday,” Kankuro says, eyes opening to watch Kiba’s face, “Not just when I’m in town. But all the time. And I’m not a nice Leaf nin. We’re meaner in Suna and that’s not going to change just because you’re there.”
“I didn’t expect it to,” Kiba snorts, hands flying out to grab ahold of Kankuro’s elbows, yanking him forward, “I know how marriage works. I want to deal with you everyday.”
“You say that-”
“Besides,” Kiba interrupts, leaning in close enough that the grin on his lips nearly presses itself into Kankuro’s chin, “I like that you’re a cranky brat.”
“I am not-”
“Who wears all black in the desert,” Kiba laughs, this time closing the distance and kissing the tip of Kankuro’s chin, “Who yells at children and hates noise and loves his sister and little brother more than anything else. Who gripes at me all day but won’t ever let go of me. Who feeds Akamaru table scraps when he thinks I’m not looking.
“Yeah,” Kiba smiles, the corner of his lips meeting the corner of Kankuro’s, tickling the skin on Kankuro’s face with every word he speaks, “I’m going to like being married to you.”
“I haven’t said yes yet, mutt,” Kankuro snaps, half strangled, but his hands have found Kiba’s hips, pulling him in closer and holding him there.
“What, do you want an invitation, your highness?” Kiba snaps right back, one hand sliding up Kankuro’s neck to cup his jaw, “Hurry up and answer.”
“Gods,” Kankuro sighs, long and drawn out. He makes Kiba wait for one more quiet moment, two, and then says, “You’re going to be the most annoying husband. I can already tell.”
Kiba pulls back to grin at Kankuro, eyes lit up as his nails dig into Kankuro’s skin, yanking him close to press their lips firmly together. He presses himself tight up against Kankuro and tangles his fingers into shaggy brown hair and nips at plush lips.
“I’m going to paint your face,” Kiba mumbles in between kisses, “Every morning.”
“You’d better,” Kankuro mutters back, dragging his lips across Kiba’s cheek and down to his neck, “Someone might forget I’m an Inuzuka.”
“They won’t,” Kiba vows to Kankuro, to himself, one hand holding firm to Kankuro’s shoulder, “Because I love you.”
Kankuro’s face is sappier than Kiba has ever seen it, eyes soft and gooey, smile small but real as he says the words back. And then they’re kissing again because Kankuro is here, and they’re clan now and Kiba feels like his entire body might burst with the way his skin is buzzing.
They only break apart when Akamaru starts barking from the bedroom and Kankuro gasps, “Fuck, I’m so late.” and rushes through dressing and stumbling his way out of the apartment, leaning in for one final kiss before skipping out of the apartment for the day.
He calls a quick bye over his shoulder to Kiba as he makes his way into the village, fangs still painted sharp and red and proud on his cheeks. It feels right for him too.