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How To First A Date

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Iruka slammed his shoulder satchel down on the bench in front of his companion. “Alright asshole, this is how it’s going to go,” he said, irritable and caustic, before sliding onto the nearest stool and turning to glare daggers at the greying idiot. “You are going to put that damned book away. You are going to buy me lunch. We are going to have an intellectually engaging conversation. There will be no talk of -” Iruka paused, raised his fist to face level, and began striking out fingers one by one “-adult literature, genin, past missions, current missions, Gai-sensei’s missions-” he held up a second hand “-any activity that involves the use of Genma’s senbon, pigs, Gai-sensei’s Youthful Passion, last week’s incident with the tanuki, last month’s incident with the gerbil-” both hands dropped to his lap “-or the colours orange, pink, or blue-

“Is that all?” The emotionally-maladjusted man-child beside him interrupted.

“No.” Iruka spun forward to face the counter, waving a hand for Ayame’s attention.

Ayame lit up with a warm, heartfelt smile. “Just a moment, Iruka-sensei!” She called, setting off to serve a pair of chuunin sitting at a small, private table.

Iruka nodded to her retreating form and shifted back to his… partner. “No, that is not all. We are also not going to talk about the creepy, psychoneurotic, snake-kissing hentai sitting at the end of this bench spying on us because she thinks I’m incapable of making it through a single date without -” He twisted left, snatching a spitball from the air just inches from his ponytail. “ANKO if you think for one second I won’t swap out all your clothes with bright green tortoise onesies,” Iruka snapped, hastily dropping the saliva slick wad of parchment to the ground.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Anko gasped.

He watched her raise hand to heart, scandalised.

“With matching silk panties that say sour puss,” Iruka hissed through clenched teeth.

Anko slapped the bench with both hands and pushed herself up and away. “Why do you still have those?” she hissed right back. “Why are you so bitter and hateful? Why won’t you accept that I’m a font of wisdom and wonderment? You… you ingrate.” She stomped her foot, theatrically offended, clapped her hands together and disappeared in a whirlwind of purple smoke.

“I never wanted a sister,” Iruka grumbled at the dissipating purple haze. “...and yet there she goes.” With a sigh, he turned back around only to come face to mask with an expression of immense amusement. Iruka squinted. “How do you-” he twirled his forefinger in the visible one-third of a face “- do that look with so little-” he crinkled his own face up, wiggled both eyebrows and blinked long and slow “-landscape?”

The only visible eyebrow on that one-third face arched. It seemed a little judgemental. “Mah, sensei, is this how you treat all your first dates?”

Iruka rested his left elbow on the bench, hand dangling over the edge, and shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. He glanced over to Ayame who was still patiently waiting for the young chunin couple to make up their minds, and turned back. “Maybe,” he offered, and then added sardonically, “Buckle-up, jounin-sama. If I haven’t punched you in the nose by the end of this farce, we’ll be married by June.”

The one-third face looked positively gleeful.

Iruka sat up straight. “Kakashi-san, no.”

Gleeful rocketed up to undeniably smitten.

Iruka’s jaw dropped. Oh, fuck. “Oh, fuck.” He spun forward, staring in abject horror at the chalkboard of ramen specialties. “We’re going to be married by June. That little shit was right.”

“Uh, uh, uh, sensei.” The smug, monocular bastard sounded delighted. “You just broke your own rules.”

“I really wanted to punch you,” Iruka whimpered. “Ugh, no.” He leant forward, face making a dull thud as it connected with his satchel. “I was happier when I thought it was unrequited, but you like me back. What is wrong with you?

“This is wonderful,” the wrong-headed idiot replied in an overly jovial tone.

Iruka groaned. “This is awful.”

“Does this mean I can ask you about the-”

In one deft motion Iruka slapped out his right hand, dug his fingers into the jounin’s vest and gave it a sharp tug forward then a solid push back. He released his grip instantly, felt the whoosh of displaced air as arms no doubt flailed, heard the unmistakable half-shout of surprise and the clatter of stool and body as they both went crashing to the ground.

Without lifting his head from where it rested, Iruka grinned.

“Oh, goodness! Hatake-sama!” Ayame shouted from across the room. “Are you alright?!”

“Mah… fine, fine. But - that wasn’t a punch, sensei,” the stubborn jackass drawled from below. “It doesn’t count.

Iruka frowned.