East Coast Gazette

Is there any chance anybody has the scans of volume one of Boku no Koe? I know, I know, long shot, but by Youko Nitta, and I cannot fucking find them anywhere. I fully intend on rushing out to the Borders and buying it as soon as Be Beautiful pries it out of their shipping department (release in JULY? YOU FUCKERS), but for now, I NEED IT OH MY GOD. IT’S ABOUT SEIYUU. IN LOVE. COME ON GUYS.

In other news, I have started an atrocity: aka, Naruto fic titled “White Wedding,” pt 1/?

Hidden Sand and Leaf had been unofficial allies for near a decade already when a courier from the Kazekage came, bearing an ornate scroll asking for a more binding, official treaty of cooperation. Most everyone agreed it was a good move, and long overdue, and Tsunade made the three-day journey to Sand with an entourage of ten ANBU and five jounin escorts, a small bureaucracy of chuunin negotiators—and Naruto, who had been request as a special guest of the Kazekage.

“Don’t shame the name of Konoha, Naruto,” Iruka said.

“I know,” Naruto whined, shoving another wadded-up ball of underwear into his bags.

“And that means staying awake during official functions, and—”

“I know!” Naruto whined again, and flushing, he said, “That’s not why I said I needed your help!”

Blinking, Iruka asked, “What did you need my help with then?”

*

Kakashi dragged into the house covered in leaves and mud and dirt and some questionable organic matter, missing one sleeve. He also had a hickey.

“Yo,” he said, and limped toward the bathroom.

Iruka maintained his prostrate position on the living room floor, staring at the slowly-ambulating blades of the ceiling fan. “Hey,” he said, disconnected.

He heard the sound of water running in the bathroom, and over it, Kakashi yelled, “You know, I have a hickey. On my neck.”

“I saw,” Iruka shouted back. Naruto will have hickies soon, he thought, fighting off an instinctive desire to curl up into the fetal position.

Kakashi came back into the room and stood over him—hitai-ate and mask and all his clothing abandoned. He also had a hickey on his shoulder. Iruka raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re dripping on the floor,” he said.

Scowling, Kakashi demanded, “Do you not care that I have hickies? Bruises? From others sucking on me?”

Iruka smirked. “Pakkun brought your mission report to me.”

Kakashi looked mortified.

Schooling his face, Iruka said, voice solemn, “I petitioned on your behalf to receive hazard pay for nearly being sexually assaulted by your particularly amorous client, jounin-sama, but I was voted down on account of your attacker being a 17-year-old boy.”

“The honeymoon is over,” Kakashi told him darkly, and stalked off for some pants.

That night, after dinner, when Kakashi demanded compensatory sex—“Of the very filthy kind,” he said resolutely—for wrongs against his person, Iruka shrugged miserably and said, “I can’t. I had to explain safe sex to Naruto today.”

Kakashi clawed at both his eyes—but particularly at Obito’s. “Gah, argh,” he said.

“I know,” Iruka agreed, shoulders slumped.

*

Tsunade was gone for two weeks, during which Kakashi and Iruka spent a lot of time pausing at random intervals to say inane things like, “He’s not a kid anymore,” and “At least he knows how to use a condom.” There was silent agreement that Naruto’s apparent sexual preference would keep Iruka from spiraling into catatonic schizophrenia worrying about him getting some girl in a family way.

“Yes,” Iruka said, voice acidic, “this is much better—now I only worry about him having sex with the Kazekage.”

“Please,” Kakashi begged. “I was hoping it was anybody but him.”

Pillowing his head on Kakashi’s shoulder, Iruka sighed. “Now I know how Sandaime felt when he found out we were dating.”

Pausing, Kakashi glared down at him. “Am I Naruto or Gaara in this scenario?”

Iruka pulled up the sheets and went to sleep.

*

At dawn, on the first day of the third week, Iruka stumbled out of bed to get the door.

Still tugging a robe over his t-shirt and pajama pants, he pulled open the door, asking, “What the hell?”

Gaara stared at him from the front doorstep, face intensely blank—wearing the full ceremonial robes of Hidden Sand and holding a fruit basket. He extended it toward Iruka.

“I am told you are my future in-law,” he said, bland.

*

An hour later, Iruka was serving the Kazekage tea in a chipped Totoro mug and wondering if there was anything in the refrigerator other than those erotic ice cube trays Kakashi had won in an Icha Icha write-in contest. Kakashi—that coward—had only appeared briefly before making up an excuse about going to hunt missing nin and escaping, but Gaara had nodded approvingly and said to Iruka:

“It is good that Naruto’s father and mother are a teacher and the great Copy Nin; I would be honored to join with your family.”

Iruka sincerely hoped that the ‘thud’ he’d heard was Kakashi falling off the bedroom windowsill—painfully.

Flustered, Iruka said, “Ah—Naruto and I aren’t actually related.”

Gaara gave him a flat, penetrating stare, utterly unaffected, and then turned back to his Totoro mug, studying it curiously as he said, “Naruto thinks of you as family.” He looked back at Iruka. “I shall as well.”

And then, “Oh,” was all Iruka could say, struck-silent and pleased.

“It is traditional to ask permission of your intended’s family,” Gaara said, rote, and Iruka tried very hard not to have some kind of seizure when the Kazekage arranged himself in a traditional kneeling position, hands on his knees, “I seek Naruto’s hand in marriage, if you’ll allow it.”

“Uh,” Iruka choked.

“I promise to provide for him,” Gaara continued, voice the same monotone as always.

“I’m sure you will,” Iruka agreed, feeling faint.

“Then you agree?” Gaara pressed, voice intense.

“Sure,” Iruka said, strained. “Why not.”

Looking almost happy, Gaara said, “I am proud to call you mother.”

TBC