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Iruka traced his fingers over Kakashi’s palm, the back of his hand, his arm. He slotted their fingers together, holding hands, then slowly dragged them apart again. Kakashi watched, and let Iruka move his hand and arm around as he pleased, seemingly fascinated by touching Kakashi in that small way. He didn’t really mind, comfortable as he was laying shoulder-to-shoulder with Iruka on the bed. It was strange, having someone else touch him like that, intimate but not erotic; out of personal interest rather than medical concern. Strange, but Kakashi found himself liking it, watching the play of Iruka’s fingers over his skin, trying to predict his next whim.
Iruka lined their hands up, palm-to-palm, fingers splayed - comparing them? - then dragged the pads of his fingers down Kakashi’s, across his palm, and wrapped his hand around Kakashi’s wrist. Iruka’s thumb brushed over an old scar there.
“Do you remember how you got any of them? The small ones I mean, not-” Kakashi could see out of the corner of his eye Iruka make a gesture at his own face, his left eye.
The scar on Kakashi’s wrist was from a Mist nin who had gotten too close when Kakashi was chakra depleted, his kunai slicing into tendon and grating across bone. Kakashi replied, “Kushina once threw a shuriken at me because Minato and I wouldn’t get out of her kitchen when she was trying to cook.” Iruka’s warm peal of laughter washed over Kakashi and settled somewhere between his chest and stomach. It felt like guilt maybe, or anticipation. Kakashi was still working out what his body’s reactions to Iruka meant.
Iruka leaned up on an elbow, releasing Kakashi’s wrist with the hand propping him up to grasp it with the other instead. He looked at Kakashi with a smile and asked, “Any others?” His loose hair slid across a cheek and he shook his head in an obviously well-practiced gesture, tossing hair out of the way with an economy of motion Kakashi admired.
Kakashi slid his wrist in Iruka’s grip until he could move Iruka’s hand, pulling it to trace Iruka’s fingers across a scar low on his hip, that wrapped around back-to-front. He’d gotten it on an ANBU mission years ago, a sword wound that had bled for days as he limped home. “One of Gai’s challenges got out of hand and we destroyed a weapons store while wrestling.” Iruka huffed a laugh, head falling forward, fingers clutching Kakashi’s hip, over the scar. His eyes were bright with mirth when he raised his head, a smile teasing across his lips. The sensation in Kakashi’s stomach curled lower, heating his skin where Iruka’s fingers pressed. That feeling was a bit more familiar than the last.
Iruka lifted his hand to reach, arm stretched, fingers just brushing against Kakashi’s calf. “And this one?” The pleasant warmth he’d felt evaporated as Iruka touched the silvery scar that looped around his leg, snake-like. The whip-like weapon the nin had used was capable of chakra-infusion, and Kakashi had learned the smell of his own own flesh burning, could still imagine the whip searing the skin of his leg as he was hauled upside down into the trees.
“Unfortunate incident with a leash during ninken training,” Kakashi said. Iruka didn’t laugh. He pulled his hand back from Kakashi’s leg, slid his fingers lightly across the scar at Kakashi’s hip again before reaching to touch, delicately, the scar on Kakashi’s cheek, the bottom edge of the scar bisecting his eye.
“Are any of those stories true?”
Kakashi wasn’t sure what the right answer would be. Iruka obviously knew they weren’t, but why was he asking? Did he really want to hear Kakashi’s gruesome battle stories? Did he just want Kakashi to admit he lied?
“No,” Kakashi said carefully, “But I wish they were. Iruka you know the kinds of scars shinobi collect. Our stories aren’t funny, or cool.” Kakashi’s eyes traced the scar across Iruka’s face. He wondered if Iruka would think of his own marred back, the scar tissue against his spine where he’d blocked Mizuki’s shuriken. “I’ll tell you, if you really want to know. But are you sure you want to know?”
Iruka’s fingers traced over his face, down his cheek, across his jaw, brushed over his lips. “Your scars are a part of who you are. How you got them, how you dealt with them. I want to know you, Kakashi. Whatever you’ll tell me.”
Kakashi noted a tightness in his chest, his increased heart rate, heat across his face. It was another new sensation. One Kakashi had classified as solely Iruka-induced. “Okay,” he said.