Hey there! I have not forgotten you, I promise! I’ve been a wee bit busy with school, which is tough this semester. I’m starting a new language—Korean—and it’s a challenge! Not entirely different from Japanese but some things, while they sound the same, are NOT and that can be really confusing! But I’m getting there, it’s just taking up time, which means writing has been, well, really slow.

That said, I *have* done some editing! This is an older story I started a while back and found on my hard drive. I found myself reading it (though some of it made me cringe!) and decided to edit and, eventually, finish it! It’s part of the Naruto fandom, so if you’re not familiar, you might want to skip this because some of it is very necessary to understand what’s going on. If you do, well… I hope you enjoy my Yamato/Iruka story!

A few things:

1. I do not own Naruto, any of it’s spinoffs, sequels, characters, world, etc., etc., etc.

2. I started this ages ago on AFF and Y!Gal. I’ve edited heavily and am posting it here. (If you’ve seen it on AFF or Y!Gal, this IS better. I promise!) I’ll be updating AFF but Y!Gal is, of course, gone.

3. I refuse to recognize canon after a certain point in the Naruto story (~ch. 614/ep. 364). 😛 This story doesn’t really deal with anything different. It’s after the war, before most things have changed, and they’re still rebuilding. Still, maybe consider this to be an alternative timeline.

4. I make no guarantees about finishing this. :/ I want to, but writing has been a challenge, at best. I’m in school again and it’s… not easy… to find the mental energy to write anything, including fanfic. (I have original, paid works I should be doing…) BUT! I have 10 chapters written, 6 fully edited, so there’s plenty of story to get started with. 🙂


Without further ado, What Is:

Waking up after a night of drinking in bed naked with a strange person wasn’t all that common to begin with. But when Yamato wakes up naked in bed with a man… Umino Iruka… he’s forced to face a whole lot of possibilities he never imagined. Iruka had never even considered he might be gay–or bi–and waking up naked in bed with Yamato was the last thing he’d ever expected. Now the two of them must decide if there’s more to this than a drunken mistake. If they can get past the embarrassment and their own hangups, they might just find something they’d never expected–and that could be the best thing they could ever want.



When Yamato surfaced to consciousness, the first thing he knew was pain. Brain-crushing, skull splitting pain. He kept his eyes closed so the bright morning sunlight didn’t hurt any more than it had to. Even with his lids closed, there was enough light filtering through them to make things worse.

If he could move enough to get the pillow, he could cover his face with it and maybe go back to sleep for a little while. He didn’t have to go anywhere that day. He was off, so he could afford to.

But as he started trying to figure out how to get to his pillow without moving his head, he became aware of a few other things.

First, he was naked. That didn’t surprise him too much, since he usually slept naked. He didn’t remember getting naked—didn’t remember coming home at all—and that surprised him. He very rarely got so drunk he couldn’t remember things.

Second, he was taking up much less space in the bed than he normally did. He usually sprawled, mostly on his stomach, which might help explain the severity of the headache. Waking up with a headache wasn’t typical, but sometimes when he slept on his back, he slept funny and hurt his head.

And he was on his back, which was the third thing he noticed. He was on his back because he wasn’t alone, which was even more rare. He didn’t remember bringing anyone home and under normal circumstances, he would have remembered that, but in this case, he didn’t.

What was worse was he didn’t know who it was. He’d have to open his eyes to find out and that meant seeing light. Oh boy. The only thing he could tell about the person without looking was that their head was resting on his chest at the shoulder and they had longish hair. That didn’t tell him much without opening his eyes.

Please don’t let it be Sakura. Please don’t let it be Sakura. With the current state of his head, he did not need to fly to the other end of Konoha. And bringing Sakura home, having sex with her, and forgetting that, would be a sure-fired way of taking a trip via Sakura Air. He swallowed hard and opened one eye. Brown hair. He breathed a huge sigh of relief. Okay. Not Sakura.

But, then, who was it? Who did he know with brown hair?

Anko’s was black, so it wasn’t her. Kurenai didn’t go to the bar since she had her kid. Shizune had brown hair. That… wouldn’t be too bad. But he didn’t want to cross her and he was scared to death of what she’d do when she found out he didn’t remember being with her. Those senbon needles she was so good with terrified him. He swallowed again. She wasn’t the only kunoichi with brown hair, though.

There was the younger girl, Tenten, from Gai’s team. He doubted he would have spoken to her, much less taken her home and had sex with her, but considering the total blank the night before was, it was possible. Think! There was the other woman… what was her name? Maiko! That was it. Maiko. She was the teacher that had asked him to show some of the younger kids his wood release techniques.

Okay, well. Shizune, Tenten, or Maiko. He couldn’t possibly think of anyone else. None of them were going to be happy with him, regardless of who it was, if for no other reason than the fact that he couldn’t remember them. Well, maybe the fact that he was ticked off at himself for it would defuse part of their anger.

Not likely, his inner-self said, and Yamato had to admit it was right. Women were awfully damned funny about that kind of thing. He sighed. There was nothing for it. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could go drink water, take some painkiller, and die quietly. After the screaming match, of course.

He swallowed hard and opened both eyes. He still couldn’t tell much, apart from the hair. It was long and straight and a very beautiful chocolate brown color. It smelled nice, too, under the bar smoke. Something citrusy. And what he could feel of it on his shoulder was very soft. Maybe, if she didn’t kill him, he’d ask her on a real date and he could spend some time with that hair.

The head was bent a little, so all he could see was the back of it. He moved his eyes down and stopped dead when he got to the hand laying on his stomach. He blinked at it several times, trying desperately to make his brain and his eyes work together. His eyes were telling him one thing, and his brain was refusing to believe it.

The hand was a man’s hand.

No no no. Not possible. It couldn’t be. There was no way he’d be in bed, naked, with another man. So, he had to be seeing things. That was it; it was his headache. The light was making things look funny, and it was making the hand look like a man’s hand. That was it.

Satisfied with his logic, Yamato looked up at his ceiling. But the light hanging from his ceiling didn’t look odd at all. It looked…normal. The morning sunlight coming in around the blinds was the same as it always was. There was nothing funny about the way the sunlight bounced off of the globe. He blinked at it a moment; then his mouth twisted into a frown of puzzlement.

Okay, well, huh. Maybe it was just the angle of it. He looked down again and tried to tilt his head just a little to see if it changed.

The hand didn’t, but he could have sworn his brain shifted inside his skull. Ow owowowowo!

That’s what you get for getting drunk, bringing a man home and having sex with him, then passing out and not remembering anything! his inner-self taunted him.

I didn’t bring a man home! he shouted in his head and actually winced. Even shouting inside his own head hurt.

Then what is that laying on you?

It’s a woman, dammit, he insisted to his inner-self.

Uh huh.

Yamato swallowed. Maybe… maybe they didn’t do anything. If it was a man—and he wasn’t even ready to admit it was—but if it was a man, maybe they just passed out and didn’t do anything.

Before he could be too worried about what he’d done, he still needed to figure out who he was with. And from his vantage point, without moving, the only two things he could see were the brown hair and the male hand. He was going to have to move.

He took a deep breath and braced himself. Then he started to move.

“Please don’t move too much. It hurts so bad.” An obviously male voice moaned. “Um, and why am I in bed with a man?”

Oh God. It was a man. He gulped. “Um…” Brilliant, Yamato. Just brilliant. “I have no idea.”

The person—man—looked up at him. Iruka?! “Yamato?”

Oh fuck. He was in bed, naked, with Umino Iruka. How the hell did that happen? He blinked down into the face looking up at him. And what happened? He got his first answer. He knew who he was in bed with, but what did they do?

He gave a faint smile. “Hi. Um… Do…” He closed his eyes. What the hell did he do? He never did this with a woman, much less a man. Shit. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Not a clue,” Iruka said. Okay, well, maybe it wasn’t so bad, then. They were naked and in bed, that was all. Maybe they didn’t do anything with each other.

“Fuck! That feels good!” Yamato moaned. “More, oh god, more.”

What the fuck? What was he remembering? No. No no no no no.

Yamato cleared his throat. “I don’t remember anything, either.” Iruka moved gingerly to sit up. That was when Yamato realized his arm was around Iruka. He moved it quickly, jarring himself and sparking a moan.

“I know. Oh god, that hurts. How much did I drink last night?” Iruka carefully perched on the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands.

Yamato closed his eyes. “I have no idea. I don’t know how much I did, either.” He started to sit up—taking care with his movements—holding his head as still as possible. “Water. We need water.”

Whatever his fears and questions about the night before, he couldn’t let Iruka be miserable and he was obviously about as miserable as Yamato was, himself. He moved to the side of the bed and stood gingerly. Yamato paused a moment when he realized he was going to be standing up in front of Iruka completely naked. He’d changed before around his team members—especially in ANBU, but somehow, with the half-formed memories of the night before, it felt a lot different. He shoved the thought aside. Iruka’s head was still resting in his hands and they had bigger things to worry about at the moment.

He stumbled into the kitchen and pulled two glasses out of the cabinet. Grabbing the little bottle of pain killer, Yamato filled the glasses, then walked back into the bedroom, taking slow, deliberate steps. He handed one of the glasses to an obviously very grateful Iruka and sat next to him, concentrating on opening the bottle of pills. He spilled a few onto his palm and held it out.

“Thank you. Very much,” Iruka whispered, taking them.

“You’re welcome.” Yamato took a couple himself and drank the water down. “Do you remember anything?”

Iruka stared at the floor between his feet a moment. “I vaguely recall talking to you for a while at the Krooked Kunai last night.”

Yamato started to nod before he remembered how bad his head hurt. “Yeah, okay, I remember some of that.”

He pushed Iruka against the wall, their mouths battling. Their tongues touched and slid along each other’s, bringing sounds from both of them. “Fuck, Yamato, you’re good at that,” Iruka moaned, sliding his hands up under Yamato’s shirt.

He blinked. Oh god, they did. He had no idea to what extent, but they did something. Glancing sideways, he caught a glimpse of the hair again. He swallowed hard, as another memory floated around about that hair. “God, how much did we drink? I don’t remember ever having a hangover this bad before.” Yamato queried his stomach. “I wonder if I can hold down food.”

“I wouldn’t try it. If it’s anything like my stomach, the water alone is starting to rebel,” Iruka said. “I think I’d be really happy if I could just curl up and die.”

Yamato looked around the floor and, spotting his pants and underwear, he stood and picked them up. “You’re welcome to lay back down. I’ll go out to the couch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is your house. How did we get here, anyway?” Iruka asked as he stood, too, looking around, undoubtedly for his clothes. His underwear was over by the bathroom door. Geez.

Yamato sighed. “I have no idea. And I’m not going to make you lay on the couch.”

God, but why was he here in the first place? Yamato pulled his underwear and pants on while Iruka had his back turned.

“Maybe we should make sure each other gets home okay,” Yamato said, finishing his bottle. He tried to carefully set it on the bar, but surface wouldn’t stop moving. “Why won’t the bar sit still?” he asked, turning to Iruka.

“Because you’re as me as drunk I am,” Iruka answered.

“Oh. Okay.” Yamato nodded, since that made perfect sense to him. He set the bottle down, anyway, hoping it would land somewhere safe and turned back to Iruka. “Come on, we should probably go home.”

“Right.” Iruka stood up and started to take a step, but stumbled. Yamato put a hand out to steady him and Iruka leaned into Yamato.

“Okay, a little bit of it is coming back. We… were going to make sure we both got home safe, somehow. Though, how we thought we’d accomplish that, I have no idea,” Yamato said, draining his water glass.

Iruka finished pulling his own pants on and gingerly sat back down on the side of the bed. Neither man’s shirt was anywhere in the bedroom. Yamato gulped. That could only mean they’d stripped them off near the front door somewhere.

“Drunken logic,” Iruka said.

“Huh?” Yamato looked over at him.

“That’s how we thought we’d manage to make sure the other person got home safe. Somehow, you could make sure I did, and I could make sure you did. Drunken logic.” Iruka shook his head slightly, but stopped and his face paled even more.

“Don’t do that. Don’t shake your head. You’ll end up losing your stomach contents that way.” Yamato pointed to the bed. “Lay back down. I’m going to get more water.”

Iruka looked like he wanted to argue, but apparently decided better of it and took the offered spot on the bed.

Yamato slowly walked back into the kitchen and braced himself on the counter.

Iruka pulled Yamato’s shirt off and fastened his mouth onto a bit of skin. Yamato moaned. “God, more.” He leaned in, pushing himself against Iruka, their arousals rubbing against each other.

“Yes. Oh god, that feels so good. More, please…” Iruka begged.

Yamato started to move against him, reacting to the feel of Iruka’s arousal. “Oh god, yes.” He found himself pushed back and then turned. Iruka pinned him to the wall and a few seconds later, the button on his pants opened and then Iruka wrapped a hand around his cock. “Fuck!”

He took Iruka’s mouth again, yanking at his shirt, popping a few buttons and tossing it away. Yamato pulled back from Iruka’s lips and bit down on his neck, instead, sucking on the skin. “Ah!” Iruka started to move the hand on his cock and Yamato let go of the skin to moan loudly.

They’d definitely had sex, at least to a point. He refilled their water glasses and stumbled back into the bedroom. This time, he looked Iruka over. There were bite marks all over his neck and shoulder and Yamato had a feeling he looked similar.

He’d never done that. Ever. He wasn’t gay, didn’t have sex with men. He had no idea what had prompted him to do so the night before, even under the influence of alcohol.

He perched on the side of the bed, and Iruka sat up a little. “Drink more water. Half the hangover is dehydration.” Iruka took the glass, and they stared at each other over it.

“I’ve… I don’t remember the last time I woke up next to anyone and not remembered what happened. And, um…”

“Never with a man. Yeah, me either.” Yamato said, drinking from his own glass. He swallowed hard. “Is anything coming back to you?”

Iruka glanced down from Yamato’s face to his neck and back up again. “Some.”

“Yeah.” Yamato turned to lean on his own knees. “I… I’m not…”

“Yeah, me either. So, um…”

“We’ll forget this happened.” Yamato said, glancing back over his shoulder. He wondered why the look of relief that passed over Iruka’s face bothered him.

“Right.” Iruka swallowed.


Why did that bother him? He wasn’t gay! Even if Iruka remembered some of the most fantastic sex of his life from the night before. And he remembered quite a bit, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to let Yamato know that. He just didn’t have that much sex. That was all. It wasn’t because he’d been with a man. No, of course not.

Iruka frowned, thinking about it. He remembered most of the conversation at the bar. They’d spent hours talking, getting slowly drunk, though he didn’t think Yamato realized that at the time any more than he had. He couldn’t remember what they’d talked about, just that they had.

He did remember, like Yamato did, both of them saying something about making sure the other one got home safely. Well, he suppose they did, to a point. They were safe and they were in a home. Exactly what all happened after they got in the door was still a little fuzzy.

He did remember the kisses. Remembered… he blushed. He remembered putting his mouth on Yamato. Oh god, he didn’t. No, he did. He’d sucked Yamato off.


Was he?

He took a breath to calm himself down. Doing that once, did not make a person gay; he was sure of that! He blinked down at the glass in front of him and drank a little more. Yamato was right about the water. He was starting to feel a little better. Physically, at least.

Iruka set the empty glass on the bedside table and laid back down. He had to get out of there, but if he stepped into the sun right then, he’d curl into a little ball right on the street. “Look, this bed is big enough, if I scoot over. You shouldn’t be kicked out of your bed for me.” So saying, he moved over as far as he could and, after staring at him a moment, Yamato laid down.

Yamato rolled until they were facing each other, as far apart as they could, making sure not to touch. “Do we… apologize?”

“I have no idea. I will. I mean, I am, to a point, at least.” Iruka sighed and closed his eyes. “That didn’t come out right. I don’t remember what we did, entirely. I remember some of it. I don’t remember deliberately taking advantage of your drunk state, and I can’t imagine I would have in the first place. No offense or anything. I mean, for a man, you’re definitely attractive…” Iruka’s mouth snapped closed, his cheeks heating around his scar.

“But yeah, you’re not attracted to men. I know. I mean, I didn’t do any of that, either. I… You’re attractive, for a man, but I don’t, didn’t, don’t… yeah.” Yamato sighed and gave up, his own cheeks bright red.

“Let’s just, um, try to get rid of the headaches. I think in a little while the pain killer and water will do the trick and I can get out of your hair,” Iruka said, closing his eyes.



Yamato tried to will his own headache away as Iruka closed his eyes. This had to be the most bizarre morning after in his life. He didn’t have a lot of them, but out of those he had, this definitely took the tops.

He remembered… He blushed. He remembered tasting most of Iruka the night before. Putting his mouth places Yamato had never have considered if he’d been sober. And he remembered enjoying it. And that was the most bizarre thing. He really wasn’t gay. He’d never touched a man before in his life except maybe to carry him because he was injured or to tie him up for interrogation or something.

He sighed and closed his eyes. He’d get rid of the headache and then put this behind him. Maybe… maybe he’d go ask Shizune out. Before he’d realized it was Iruka laying on him, he’d considered that. That would get rid of any lingering thoughts.

So decided, he fell asleep.


When he woke, Iruka was gone. He refused to recognize the minor disappointment with that, instead he turned his attention to being grateful the headache was mostly gone. His stomach had settled and he thought he might be able to eat.

So saying, he ferreted out some leftovers in his refrigerator and went about warming them up. He drank more water, then some tea for the caffeine and by the time he’d gotten through all of that, he almost felt normal.

He showered and dressed and cleaned up his place. His clothes were still scattered from one end of the apartment to the other. As he was picking up his shirt, he found two of the buttons that had popped off of Iruka’s shirt the night before. He blushed when he picked them up and set them aside. Maybe if he could ever squash the embarrassment about the night before, he could give them back to Iruka.

He sighed. He still had no idea what had prompted him to do that. As he worked on his apartment, he remembered most of the night before. He’d gone to the bar rather than sit home alone that night. Everyone on the team had been busy and he’d been faced with sitting home reading or going to get a drink. He figured he could at least watch other people get drunk, so he headed to the Krooked Kunai.

Iruka had been sitting at the end of the bar alone. They’d only ever said a few words to each other—usually when he’d stopped to talk to Naruto—but at least Iruka wasn’t a complete stranger. And the bar was busy, so Yamato took the open seat next to Iruka and got a drink.

It started out innocently enough. They talked about the team—mostly Naruto and Sakura, a bit about Kakashi and Sai, that was all. He’d discovered they read the same types of books, and they spent a good deal of time discussing those. After a few drinks, they both admitted to reading the Icha Icha series, and that spawned another long talk about them, this time about the series and Jiraiya’s writing style.

Somewhere along the line, they both realized they’d over-imbibed. That was when they’d decided it would be a good idea to make sure the other got home safely. He still couldn’t figure out how they were supposed to both do that, but that was a mystery he thought he’d probably just never solve.

When Iruka had stumbled in the bar and Yamato had put a hand out to steady him, Yamato had felt a funny jolt go through him. He had been unsteady too, so they decided it would be better if they held each other up. They’d put an arm around each other and carefully started walking home.

He remembered stopping at one point to cross the street and Iruka stumbled again. He’d caught Iruka and his face had ended up nearly buried in that amazing hair. The ponytail was falling out and for some reason, he’d pulled the tie out and let the hair fall.

Iruka had looked up at him and he swore—and would to his dying day—he didn’t start it, but a moment later, they were kissing. They leaned against the wall they were near and both of them got lost in the kiss. That had been one of the hottest kisses Yamato had ever had in his life. He could admit that much. They’d only been about a block from his place by then.

When they broke apart, neither said anything. They’d just turned and continued walking. He remembered having been insanely aroused from one kiss, and it had shocked him. His arm had still been around Iruka, and they were still leaning into each other.

And it had felt good.

He shook his head at the memories. He’d gotten his door unlocked, and that was when the drunken logic had faltered. He was home, but there was no way to then get Iruka home and make sure of it without him then having to walk home alone. So, he’d offered to let Iruka crash there.

But when they stepped through the door and kicked off their sandals, they’d bumped into each other again and this time it was Iruka that had steadied him when he’d almost fallen. And Iruka’s lips had been right there. Yamato could admit he’d started that kiss.

He blushed bright red, remembering the button-popping, shirt-tearing scene. They’d nipped and bit at each other all the way into the bedroom, and it was when they’d fallen, naked, into the bed that Iruka had first tasted him. He had no idea why it had felt so good to have that man’s mouth on him, but even now, even sober, he had to admit it was the best blow job he’d ever had in his life.

He shook his head. He’d then, in his drunken logic state, told himself the least he could do was reciprocate. Even sober, he would admit it was the right thing to do, regardless of the gender of the person he was doing it for. That didn’t explain the trail of bruises along Iruka’s skin, though, or why he’d enjoyed doing that to Iruka so much. Or why he’d liked the taste of Iruka so much.

Yamato stared at the book he’d picked up without realizing it and rolled his eyes. It was the Icha Icha volume where one of the secondary characters discovered he was gay. He didn’t even remember picking it up. He shoved it back onto his bookshelf and grabbed his vest. Fresh air, that was what he needed.