Chapter Text
Kakashi
Kakashi still remembers that fateful night. The rain fell heavily that night, hammering and washing away the blood and mud from the battleground beyond Konoha's gates. The storm was the only sound loud enough to drown out the pounding of Kakashi's heart as he carried Minato in his arms, sprinting through the trees toward safety.
Minato was limp in his arms but conscious, his usually bright blue eyes dulled with exhaustion, a faint trace of blood staining his lips. Minato had taken a kunai to his leg, which was actually aimed for Kakashi’s head. Their mission had gone wrong very quickly, an ambush with traps laid too perfectly, enemies far too prepared for their team’s arrival. They had survived, but only barely.
And now Minato, the Fourth Hokage Candidate, his Sensei, his Omega (well not exactly), was hurt. Kakashi tried very hard not to think about that last part.
Kakashi had spent years locking those instincts away, burying them deep under duty and discipline. Minato was his Sensei, his superior, the unattainable sun in his colourless life. Kakashi was just the broken weapon left behind from a too-bloody war, the ANBU hound who lived in shadows. He had no right to want someone so bright and full of life like Minato.
But instincts didn’t care about rights. Minato’s scent, soft, warm, threaded through with the faintest hint of vanilla hit Kakashi’s senses like fire. Rain only made it worse, washing away the metallic tang of blood and letting Minato’s natural scent rise stronger amid the scent blockers.
“Kakashi,” Minato murmured weakly as Kakashi pushed into the small mission cabin tucked in the woods. “Put me down. You’ll exhaust yourself.”
Kakashi ignored him. He laid Minato gently on the bedroll, peeling off the man’s soaked jonin vest with hands that shook despite himself.
“You’re hurt,” Kakashi said, voice rougher than he intended.
“It’s just a cut,” Minato replied with that calm composure he always wore, even when pale and bleeding. Always smiling, always steady, as though nothing could break him.
It infuriated Kakashi. Because Minato was breakable. The bastard just refused to act like it.
Kakashi bandaged him in silence, jaw tight, tried not to look at the way Minato’s golden hair clung wet to his face or how his throat moved when he swallowed. Tried not to notice that Minato was trembling faintly from cold and exhaustion.
Take the bedroll, Kakashi. You’re soaked too. You need rest,” Minato said softly once Kakashi finished.
“You’re injured, I’ll stay on guard” Kakashi snapped, standing and moving towards the door.
Minato sighed, a quiet sound in the storm. “You can’t keep carrying the whole world on your shoulders, you know.”
Kakashi froze. He hated when Minato talked like that, like he could see right through Kakashi’s armour to the mess beneath. He didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.
Because Minato was shaking harder now, his scent spiking suddenly, sharp sweetness curling through the cabin like smoke.
Heat. Oh hell.
Kakashi’s entire body went rigid, his Alpha instincts roaring awake so violently it hurt. He smelled it before Minato even realized, that faint Omega heat-scent coupled by a gourmand and rich vanilla scent barely suppressed by suppressants and exhaustion.
Minato stiffened, biting his lip. “Damn it,” he whispered under his breath. “I thought I had more time before —” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.
Kakashi had already yanked his mask higher over his nose like that would help, like fabric could hide the way his pulse thundered, the way his Alpha instincts demanded claim, protect, bite, mate.
Minato had looked at him then and something in his eyes cracked. It was quiet after that. Too quiet, except for the rain and both their uneven breaths. Minato swallowed hard. “You should stay on the other side of the room. It’s fine. I can handle it.”
No. Every instinct in Kakashi’s blood howled no. He wanted to say it, but words jammed in his throat. Instead, Minato shivered again, his hand clutching at the blanket, the heat making his face flush pink. He was trying so damn hard to stay composed, to pretend he wasn’t in pain from fighting the biology and instinct clawing through him.
Something in Kakashi snapped.
In two strides he was at Minato’s side, kneeling, hands braced on either side of him before his brain caught up. Minato stared up at him, wide-eyed but not afraid. Never afraid of Kakashi.
“Kakashi…” he started.
“Tell me to leave,” Kakashi said hoarsely. “Tell me to walk out that door and I will.” The silence that followed felt like a knife. But Minato didn’t tell him to leave.
Instead, with a tiny, shaking motion, Minato tilted his head back, baring his unmarked throat. It was instinctive, a motion older than words, one that sent white-hot hunger roaring through Kakashi’s veins.
Kakashi leaned in before he could stop himself, lips brushing Minato’s pulse point, heat scent rolling off him in waves.
One bite. One mark. One second, and Minato would be his. He wanted it so badly his hands shook where they gripped the blankets. But then Minato whispered, almost too soft to hear, “Don’t.”
Kakashi froze. Minato’s eyes were glassy but clear when they met his. “Not like this Kakashi because heat makes us stupid.”
Kakashi jerked back like he’d been burned. His instincts screamed, his body ached, but he obeyed and nodded. Because Minato wasn’t just some Omega in heat. He was Minato. And Kakashi would never take what Minato didn’t freely give.
“But you don’t have to stop,” Minato whispered, voice trembling, vulnerable in a way Kakashi had never seen. “Not if it’s what you want.” The words cracked something open in Kakashi. His heart slammed against his ribs, a mixture of want and fear that this was a dream, fear that Minato might vanish if he reached for him.
The storm outside did nothing to drown out the sound of their ragged breaths as Kakashi leaned closer. The warmth of Minato’s body, the soft curve of his neck, the heady scent of Omegan heat, they were all too much. His hands hovered near Minato’s waist, hesitating for the briefest second before the world narrowed to just them.
Minato’s lips parted in a quiet invitation, and the restraint broke. Their bodies pressed together, urgent and desperate, and Kakashi let himself be drawn in. It was soft at first, a tentative exploration, but the tension that had been simmering for years now exploded all at once.
Kakashi moved carefully, conscious of Minato’s reactions, and Minato, shaky but willing, wrapped his arms around Kakashi’s neck, holding him close. Nothing was rushed. Every motion, every touch, was deliberate, slow, and intimate. Every kiss was unsteady, broken by breathless laughter and quiet gasps. His pulse thundered against Minato’s skin, as though his heart was trying to leave his chest just to reach him faster.
And then, with the storm raging around them, they gave in fully to the heat, to the desire, to the connection that had been simmering silently. For the first time, Kakashi allowed himself to need Minato, and Minato despite his exhaustion and the world pressing down on his back needed him back at this very moment.
When it was over, they collapsed together on the bedroll, wet, tired, hearts still racing. Kakashi pressed his forehead to Minato’s, trying to read the man’s expression, searching for a sign of regret.
Minato’s breath was even, but his eyes held something deeper, something raw and aching. “You didn’t have to,” he murmured. Kakashi shook his head. “I wanted to. You…” He swallowed hard. “You make me feel alive. So don’t ever think I regret this.”
Minato’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “Nor I.”
Neither of them slept that night. Minato’s heat wrapped around both of them, and in its haze they reached for each other again and again, the cool night stretching on in a rhythm of whispers, touches, and quiet gasps.
And when dawn broke, the distance between them was both greater and closer than ever. Greater because the world outside was still cruel and unforgiving, and closer because they had crossed a line neither could forget.