The Kissing Game

The first time Genma kissed Iruka, he was twenty, and Iruka was only thirteen. He had to bend down was nearly crouching, because Iruka was small and slender and so delicate, almost like a girl, and when Genma closed his eyes, he pretended that Iruka was a girl.

"What is it?" Iruka asked, naive and innocent and such a little killer, with those angry eyes and bloody hands, and Genma shivered.

"It's game," he said hastily, visions of pretty little girls with ribbons and curls stamped out by angry boys with bruises and curses.

"A game?" Iruka scoffed, sounding older than Genma, and Genma felt sick. "A game?" Iruka repeated, and this time, he kissed Genma back.

"A game," Genma said, and he wondered how many times those words had been said today.

Genma kissed Iruka, Iruka kissed Genma, and then Genma went home to Raidou, pale-faced and biting his lip. He'd lost his senbon, and he was sure that that little brat, that little monster of a boy, had stolen it.

"What's wrong?" Raidou asked curiously, standing in the kitchen, searching for something to eat. "You're pale."

"Am I?" Genma rubbed his forehead distractedly, then smiled at Raidou. "It's hot out, can tell it's nearly summer."

"Maybe it's just the heat?" Raidou supplied helpfully, handing Genma a glass of water. "You were supposed to help teach the genin today, weren't you?"

Genma's stomach twisted and fell, dragging his heart and lungs along with him. "Yeah, I did." He thought of thin wrists and short fingers, and set the glass of water on the counter, still full. "I'd forgotten how little the genin are."

"Any good ones?"

Genma thought of wet skin, of slippery tongues, and swallowed, smiling at the worried Raidou. "Yeah, a few."

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