Work Text:
Kankuro loved winter. The temperature grew cool enough that people moved their whole lives outdoors: relaxing on rooftops, sharing meals on stone verandas that were too hot to even walk across in summer, and going out on excursions into the desert. Great thunderstorms would roll in, and all the shinobi of Suna would climb the walls to watch the curtain of rain sweeping across the desert, cheering it on until it washed over them. It would turn the dusty streets of Suna into shallow rivers for a few minutes and make the sandstone walls gleam like polished metal. Then it would be gone as quickly as it came.
Winter in Konoha was an entirely different matter. Kankuro and his siblings were here for a week as the Hokage took his turn hosting the regular meeting of the alliance’s leaders, and Kankuro could imagine nothing more unpleasant. He had been awakened by his brother in what should have been the hour just after dawn only to find that it was still dark outside. The sky had remained coal black as they groggily ate breakfast, dressed, and bundled themselves into their borrowed winter gear.
Gaara and Temari had taken off in the direction of the Hokage Tower while Kankuro had set out into the village with his long list of errands and chores. The sun had only finally climbed sluggishly over the bleak, grey horizon as the academy students started to emerge from their homes and make their way through the snowy streets towards their classes, swathed in hand knitted scarves and brightly coloured hats, mittens trailing by their strings.
It had begun to snow as Kankuro finished making arrangements for shipments of lumber to Suna, and the snow had only fallen heavier and faster as he continued about his day. Fat flakes of it fell into his eyelashes, clumped around his hat and melted down the back of his neck. The snow crept over the tops of his short boots to freeze his skin and rub his ankles raw before seeping into his wool socks. He could barely feel his toes anymore.
His nose ran, his eyes watered, and his fingers inside his gloves were immobile with a painful numbness. His damp clothes hung limp and heavy about him, and the cold had seeped through to his very bones. At least the snow started to slacken a little as he made his way back towards the hotel in the afternoon, his list of tasks completed and the rest of this dull, empty day stretching out in front of him.
He thought again about Suna, about all the young shinobi who would be out now competing to decide which one had the sharpest aim with a kunai as a cool breeze whipped across the training grounds, about the stall near the Kazekage Tower that sold heaping plates of luqaimat dripping with date syrup. He wished he could go home. Everything in Konoha reminded him of the one thing that was missing; the cold was a constant nagging taunt that there was no warmth waiting for him at the end of this miserable day.
He had run straight to the Inuzuka compound after checking into the hotel, and was greeted only by Hana. Kiba was still out on a mission somewhere up in the mountains, she had told him, and with the winter storms sweeping through the area, he wasn’t expected to make it home for weeks. They wouldn’t even send a messenger hawk out in this weather unless it was an emergency. By the time Kiba returned to his village, the snow would be waist deep and Kankuro would be back in Suna again. Whole months might pass before they got another chance to see each other.
“Just had to go out on a mission, didn’t he?” Kankuro muttered under his breath as he stomped along the snowy path that would lead him past the training fields. “Knew I was coming, but that stupid mutt just had to go out and get stuck on a mountain in a blizzard. Serves him right.”
He kicked at the snow and scowled. It was deep enough here that walking was twice as tiring as it should be, and his pant legs were sodden almost to the knees. He gathered his cloak more tightly around himself and wiped his nose on the back of his glove.
The path curved around the middle of a steep slope, and Kankuro slogged along through the snow, his thoughts far away with tattooed cheeks and sharp teeth bared in a crooked grin. Normally, when he arrived in the village, the first thing that Kiba would do was jump at him and hold him in a tight bear hug with his face shoved as far into Kankuro’s hood as he could manage, taking deep breaths against his hair, the side of his neck. It didn’t matter how many days Kankuro had been traveling in the desert or how many battles he’d been through on his way, Kiba never seemed satisfied that he was truly there unless he could smell him. Ridiculous mutt.
But this time his arrival hadn’t been greeted by a cool nose and hot breath on his neck. There had been no arms to hold him so tightly he could barely breathe. There hadn’t even been Akamaru jumping in circles around him, yapping and trying to lick his face. Kankuro never thought he would miss that so much.
“Look out!”
The shout startled Kankuro out of his reverie just in time for him to fling himself out of the path of the sled. It careened past him, crossed the trail, and skipped over a ridge of shoveled snow beneath the fresh powder. The sled soared into the air amidst a chorus of whoops and shouts from its occupants, then it crashed back into the snow and continued on down the slope at breakneck speed.
Kankuro sat up in the snowdrift, brushed the slush out of his eyes and watched it in bewilderment. It was not a sled at all, but an old wheelchair with a pair of wooden skis haphazardly strapped to the wheels. Gai’s booming laughter echoed up the slope. He was holding on tightly to Kakashi who was sprawled in his lap. Kakashi’s snow boots stuck straight up in the air, he clutched his hat of office against his head, and his green scarf whipped out behind them like a banner.
“I guess the meetings are finished for the afternoon then,” Kankuro sighed. He staggered back to his feet, wincing as a lump of ice slid down the back of his pants. If any part of him had still been warm or dry, his dive into the snowbank had put an end to that. He swiped at his icy hair with numb fingers and, after carefully checking in both directions for more sledding diplomats, he continued limping on towards the hotel.
He should be happy that Kakashi and Gai were having fun, he told himself. After everything the two of them had been through, and all the responsibility that rested on Kakashi’s shoulders, he shouldn’t be as annoyed as he was that they were somehow enjoying this foul weather. But instead, he couldn’t help but find them personally responsible for his deepened misery and the slush in his underwear. It didn’t help at all that if Kiba were here he probably would have shown up at the hotel with Akamaru pulling a sled. He would have laughed at Kankuro for complaining about the cold, and mocked his grumbling. He would have hauled the sled to the top of that hill and made Kankuro sit on the back with his arms around Kiba’s waist. They would have gone careening down that hill just the same way Kakashi and Gai had, with Akamaru gamboling along beside them, and maybe Kankuro wouldn’t have minded so much that the cold wind stung his face if he got to hold onto Kiba like that and listen to him laugh.
Not that he would ever tell Kiba that.
More shouting drifted to Kankuro’s ears from further down the path, this time so loud that it seemed to shake snow from the branches of the barren trees and disturb the downward drift of the snowflakes. It was a voice he knew well, and he hunched his shoulders as though to shield himself from its exuberance.
The path led him out from among the trees, onto the edge of the training field where he found his brother struggling to defend himself from an onslaught of snowballs. Gaara was caked from head to foot in a crust of ice so thick it almost hid the red of his coat. A green blur zig-zagged back and forth across the field, hurling snowballs at inhuman speed and shouting at top volume about the youthful vigour of winter.
Kankuro’s ears hurt from the sheer noise of Lee’s joyous screeching. His eyes hurt from trying to track Lee’s movements and the barrages of snowballs. Hell, his whole damn head hurt. At least Lee was too intent on destroying Gaara in their snowball fight to notice Kankuro and try to drag him into it.
Suddenly, a snowball as large as a melon slammed into the side of Gaara’s head, knocking his hat clean off and clinging to his hair in clumps. His eyes widened and he turned slowly towards Lee. Kankuro clapped both hands to his mouth, caught somewhere between laughter and horror.
Gaara disappeared.
Lee slid to a halt and stood panting in the snow, turning in slow circles. His eyebrows knit together and his mouth hung open in confusion.
“Gaara!” he called.
Silence.
“Gaara,” Lee pleaded. “Come on out! I did not mean to hit you in the head. I am sorry!”
There was still no answer. Kankuro began to feel uneasy. What if Gaara was hurt or upset? Lee should know better than to mess around with him like that.
“Gaara, please!” Lee tried again. “I promise I will make it up to you.”
There was a long, echoing silence. Lee’s eyebrows drew further together, as though clinging to one another for comfort. His lower lip wobbled.
The snow beneath his feet erupted and something hit him squarely in the middle of the chest. Lee fell back, shrieking, and Gaara landed with his knees pinning Lee’s shoulders down. He began scooping up heaping handfuls of powder and flinging them across Lee’s face as Lee yelled and thrashed and begged for mercy. By the time Lee managed to get his arms free and pull Gaara down in the snow with him, Gaara was red faced and laughing so hard he made no sound.
“You win this time!” Lee declared. “But next time I will not be tricked so easily!”
“Are you sure about that?” Gaara asked. He pulled one of his gloves off in his teeth and stuck his hand under Lee’s jacket. Lee’s screech startled birds out of the trees and left Kankuro’s ears ringing.
“You are freezing!” Lee shouted.
“Well, yes,” Gaara agreed. “We’ve been rolling around in the snow for a good hour.”
“You will get sick!” Lee cried. He sprang to his feet, swept Gaara up in his arms and dashed away so quickly that Kankuro blinked and they were gone.
He hoped they were heading back to Lee’s place so he wouldn’t have to put up with them at the hotel. They made him want to barf.
Kankuro stood at the edge of the kicked up snow of the training field and looked out over the village below. The lights of the hotel were a blur through the snow. From this distance, they seemed warm and inviting, but all that awaited Kankuro there was an empty room and a lonely dinner. He caught sight of a familiar apartment, with a long, thin balcony jutting out. The balcony railings and the windows were decorated with multi-coloured lights that twinkled merrily. Naruto was always good company when Kankuro was in a bad mood. He was annoying, sure, but nothing kept him down for long and it was difficult to be depressed in his presence. He would drag Kankuro out for ramen, and his constant chatter would keep him distracted from the cold and thoughts of Kiba and Akamaru in a blizzard on a mountainside. Not that he was worried about that idiot or anything.
He hurried down into the village proper, holding the front of his cloak closed against the bitter wind that whipped up the path. He took the stairs to Naruto’s apartment two at a time and thumped one soggy glove against the door. There was no answer.
Kankuro tried again. “Hey, Naruto! Are you in there?”
The door opened just a crack, and one wide blue eye appeared in the gap.
“Naruto, it’s me. Let me in,” Kankuro insisted. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”
The door opened slightly wider to reveal disheveled hair and a reddened face. “Oh, well you see, the thing is that Sasuke just got home yesterday and. . .”
Kankuro backed away from the door, his hands held out in front of him. “Say no more. I’ll leave you to it.”
A pale arm snaked around Naruto’s waist, pulling him back into the apartment.
“We could go for ramen tomorrow!” Naruto called after Kankuro as he turned to flee back down the stairs. Kankuro waved, but did not so much as look over his shoulder again. If Sasuke was here, there wasn’t a force on earth that could drag Naruto away from him, and Kankuro wasn’t particularly keen to try it.
He continued trudging along the street, his boots, his pant legs, and his heart growing heavier with every step until he reached the main street of the village. As depressing as the hotel would be, he could at least have a hot shower and put on some dry clothes. There would be a warm meal and a blanket, and maybe no one would mind if he just went to sleep. It got dark awfully early here anyway.
A cafe door opened and the scent of hot chocolate wafted out, bringing with it a puff of warm air. Kankuro paused, his mouth watering. He moved closer to peer through the foggy glass. His sister sat with Shikamaru in the booth closest to the window. They were sitting on the same side of the table, their arms around each other, heads close together as they talked. Two steaming mugs of hot chocolate and a tray of cakes sat on the table in front of them. Temari grinned at something Shikamaru said and leaned closer to nuzzle her nose against his.
Kankuro made a face of disgust and turned away.
He and Kiba had never been on a proper date. Unless you counted a brutal mission that had ended in Kiba kissing him on a bloodstained battlefield as a date. Which, come to think of it, Kiba probably did. He’d always been a bit of a nutcase.
All of their time in each other’s villages was usually spent in either of their houses. Occasionally Kankuro would walk with him out into the surrounding countryside to let Akamaru stretch his legs. It was hardly different from when they had just been friends really, except. . .
Except for this horrible, aching void in the centre of his chest when Kiba wasn’t there. Except for the way that everywhere he looked in this frozen village, he found something else that reminded him of Kiba and his absence. Except for fact that he knew that tonight he would dream of wild, tangled hair, sharp teeth against his skin, and a rough, easy laugh.
He hadn’t said anything about this feeling to Kiba. He figured that to some extent, it was probably implied by the fact that he kept choosing to spend all his time with him whenever he got the chance, wanted to be so close to him, to kiss him like that. But at some point, he was going to have to tell Kiba about the way he made him feel. He worried that if he didn’t, Kiba would think they were just messing around, and that idea had begun to upset Kankuro more and more lately.
He wanted to take Kiba out to dinner and laugh at his horrible table manners. He wanted to take him to festivals and get way too competitive about the games. He wanted to force Kiba to put on formal clothes and come with him to all the stuffy functions he had to attend as the Kazekage’s brother so they could whisper jokes about the bureaucrats and dignitaries in each other’s ears. He wanted people to see them together and know they belonged together.
This train of thought carried him all the way back to the hotel. The receptionist in the lobby gave him a look that let him know his mood was as visible as a black cloud hanging in the air around him. He avoided her eye and stomped up to his room, not caring that he was leaving puddles of slush on the carpet as he went.
He found the room he was meant to be sharing with Temari and Gaara mercifully empty and slammed the door shut behind him. His cloak fell to the floor with a nasty, wet plop and he left it where it lay. His boots went next, scattering a sludge of mud, snow and salt across the floorboards. He sat down heavily on the floor and began the disgusting task of peeling soaked wool socks off his wrinkled, blue feet.
The window blew open behind him, letting in a gust of frigid air and a flurry of snowflakes.
“For fuck’s sake,” Kankuro bellowed, leaping to his feet. “I just want to be warm for two minutes, dammit!”
He started towards the window only for something to leap through it and land on the floor in a crouch. Kankuro took a step back, and the intruder launched himself across the room. Kankuro tried to put his hands up to defend himself, but it was too late. A pair of strong arms wound around him, holding him so tightly he could barely breathe. The intruder’s hot breath wafted across his neck, and an ice cold nose was shoved beneath the collar of his sweater to nestle into the spot where his neck met his shoulder.
“Kiba?” he breathed
“Were you expecting someone else?” His voice was weak and scratchy, and the laugh that followed made no sound, just huffed warm breath across Kankuro’s skin.
“I . . . what? They told me you wouldn’t be back until the storms passed,” Kankuro managed to say. Kiba’s coat was crusted with ice and dripped on the floor. His hair was frozen in wild, curling icicles, and when he finally drew his face back to look at Kankuro, he had several weeks' growth of hair on his face, closer to a beard now than stubble. His lips were blue, his nose red. There were deep, dark shadows under his eyes, and the longer he stood there, the more he leaned against Kankuro as though he needed the support to remain upright.
Something was wrong. Something was missing.
“Where’s Akamaru?” Kankuro demanded. All his senses were on high alert, and he kept one arm protectively around Kiba while the other hand reached for his chakra threads.
“It’s okay, relax,” Kiba laughed. “He went home to tell Mom I’m back all in one piece. Didn’t think you’d have anything here he’d want to eat, anyway.”
“You haven’t even been home yet?”
“Do I look like I’ve been home?” Kiba scoffed.
“You look like you’ve been living in a den of wolves,” Kankuro told him. “Smell like it, too.”
Kiba punched him in the ribs, but there was no aggression in it, and a worrying lack of strength behind his fist.
“How did you get here?” Kankuro tried again.
“Ran,” was all Kiba said. He dropped his head onto Kankuro’s shoulder and sighed.
“In the snow? I thought there were meant to be blizzards?”
“You’re full of stupid questions today,” Kiba mumbled. “Yeah, there’s blizzards. Did you really think that would keep me away?”
“You idiot,” Kankuro hissed. “You could have died out there.”
Kiba lifted his head to glare at him. “Akamaru and I aren’t exactly delicate, you know. It was nothing.”
He turned his head aside and sneezed violently.
“You might not be delicate, but you’re not exactly glowing with good health right now either,” Kankuro pointed out, taking Kiba by the shoulders and steering him towards the bathroom.
If his siblings bothered to return to the hotel at all that night, Kankuro was sure they would be annoyed by the heap of muddy, dog-hair-covered clothes melting in the bottom of the bathtub, the dirty dishes all over the table, and the fact that Kankuro had laid claim to all three complimentary bathrobes and every blanket and comforter he could find in the room, plus several more he had ordered from the front desk. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to care what they might think.
He and Kiba were both wrapped in plush fleece and cocooned within a nest of blankets. Along with dinner, room service had brought them a pot of tea and a basket full of hot water bottles. Kankuro had tucked one into the front of Kiba’s robe and bundled several more into the blankets at his feet. Colour had come back to Kiba’s face, and his hair was starting to dry in soft, fluffy curls. He still sniffled and sneezed occasionally, but he had stopped shivering and looked relaxed and content. Kankuro finally allowed himself to relax as well, bundling the blankets tighter around both of them.
“Fucking winter,” he grumbled. “How do you stand it?”
“It’s not so bad,” Kiba murmured, leaning his head on Kankuro’s shoulder. “You Suna shinobi are just weaklings.”
“That’s bold coming from the guy who got heat stroke walking from my house to the market.”.
Kiba shrugged one shoulder and sneezed again, for once in his life too exhausted to argue.
“You ran all the way here in a blizzard,” Kankuro said softly. “Just to see me.”
“Was nothing.” Kiba shrugged again.
“You like me,” Kankuro continued.
“I do not, you asshole,” Kiba grumbled, nuzzling his head against Kankuro’s shoulder. “Fuck off.”
Kankuro didn’t argue with him, but the glow in his chest was warmer than the tea in his mug or the blankets that surrounded him. Kiba’s fingernails drummed against the ceramic of his teacup in a slow rhythm.
“I do too, you know,” Kankuro said finally.
Kiba sat up and scowled at him, animal eyes darting away to look anywhere but his face. “If I had known you were gonna get all sappy with me, I’d have stayed on that damn mountain.”
“No, Kiba. I’m serious,” Kankuro whispered.
Kiba turned to set his teacup down on the bedside table, then leaned close and pressed his lips against Kankuro’s. Rougher than necessary, always a little overenthusiastic, nails scraping across Kankuro’s scalp as he sank cold fingers into his hair. His nose was still cold as well, but his lips were warm. His wind-scoured cheek was rough and dry beneath the palm of Kankuro’s hand, and there was a deep, contented rumbling within his chest that encouraged Kankuro to drag him closer, hold him tighter.
“You’re so dense,” Kiba whispered when he finally broke the kiss. “You think I would have run all the way home in this weather if I didn’t already know that?”
Kankuro grinned and pulled him in for another kiss, as softly and sweetly as Kiba would allow. Winter in Konoha was perhaps not all bad. There was warmth here after all, of a type that even the desert sun could not replicate. And maybe when summer returned, and Suna grew drowsy under the baking heat, Kankuro would dream of snowflakes settling against the window panes and a cold nose pressed against his neck.