久良

  —

  He is far away from home, in an unknown village decorated with colourful garlands and flooded with stalls of all sorts. The chatter of vendors and civilians, childrens’ giggles reach the top of a mountain where Sasuke is sitting, observing carefully. 

The soft grass between his fingers reminds him of home, the shade of it resembling those beautiful eyes he had fallen in love with so long ago. 

A screech echoes somewhere above him, a loud and distinctive sound calling for his attention. Sasuke turns his head to see his hawk above the tree crowns, descending rapidly as it flies towards him. The bird lands on his shoulder, a small scroll attached to one of its feet.

The letter is short. Naruto’s messy handwriting makes it hard to read the words so obviously scribbled down in a hurry, as if he wanted to get them out as soon as possible.

  Return to the village immediately. It’s about Sakura. 

She is gone.

  Sasuke stares at the letter for long moments that feel both like an eternity, and like the span of a single breath. He stares until the words seem to undulate about the page, blurring and spinning together as a fog takes over his vision. 

Slowly rising to his feet, he clutches the scrap of paper and sends a gentle thrum of chakra through his hand. Next he engages his sharingan and searches for details that would signify some code, some hidden message, an alternative meaning. He finds none.

With a pivot he begins moving, taking slow, heavy steps in the direction that will take him back to the village, to home. His attempts to channel chakra to his feet and imbue speed to his steps and take to the trees seem fruitless. 

All he can do is walk.

He inhales sharply, his heart thudding painfully within the cage of his ribs. The scrap of paper slips from between his shaking fingers and he gasps for his next breath, his knees meeting the cool wet of the grass below.

Gone.

“Sakura,” he rasps. His entire body shakes, a coldness seizing his form from the top of his head to his toes, spreading like a sickness to his extremities. 

He can hardly feel his fingers as he fumbles for the letter, reading it over and over again, cycling through the three short sentences. The tomoe in his eyes zoom onto each individual character and his muddled mind fixates again and again on that specific word–

Gone.

The next utterance of her name comes on the current of a sound unlike he has ever heard before. A moan, groaning as if from the very depths of hell, a keening that harkens from well below the underneath of the underneath. It echoes his surroundings, drowning out all the noise of nature and of the people going about their daily lives at the bottom of the hill. His chest aches, his ears ring with it and still all he can hear and recognize among the cacophonies is her name.

“Tsuma,” he croaks. And despite being a man of realities rather than dreams he hopes, hopes for his voice to summon her from whatever beyond had taken hold of her.

She does not come. 

Not even when his groaning devolves into sobs, into screams, into soundless, breathless shapings of blood-chapped and tear-salted lips. 

The world around him fades from light to dark and he is alone, and she is not there.

Gone.

Hours pass, or maybe an eternity, before he comes to awareness again. His eyelids feel as if they are made out of lead, too heavy for him to simply open and face the reality that resembles his very worst nightmare. 

His heart is pounding still, helplessness spreading through and lodging itself in each of his pores, just as it had when he had fallen to the ground in front of his brother, after having witnessed the carnage the village officials had brought upon his family. 

The piercing chill breaches his innards, tearing through the layer of fat and muscle until it settles deep inside his bones. He is freezing and Sakura isn’t there to fix it, isn’t there to provide him with that warmth that would always radiate out of the soft smile that adorned her face whenever she looked at him.

She cannot be gone.

How much more does Konoha plan to take from him? How much more is he to give, willingly or not, before the universe decides he has finally atoned for the sins of his youth?

Slowly, he stands, gripping a nearby tree for support, pieces of the crumbling bark sneaking underneath his fingernails as he looks at his surroundings. The crumpled paper still lays on the ground, ink smudged from moisture that seeped from the grass into the porous material. He watches how it disappears under the sole of his sandals, sinking into the mud. 

He races in the direction of the village, his feet falling from one branch to another, shaking off the half-dead leaves still clinging onto dry branches. An image flashes before his eyes—one of Sarada, mourning the loss of her mother, inconsolable and alone. With no one to console her, except for Naruto, the only other person he had ever learned to trust.

Naruto, who turned out to be a liar.

Because his Sakura must be on a mission, perhaps reporting late or staying undercover. In danger somehow, maybe, and likely in need of his support. Whatever it is, he knows she is not gone. 

She is not gone.

Sakura is just fine, as she always is.

She would be waiting, anticipating Sasuke’s return. She had promised him such, many times over and over. And his Sakura, his wife has never been a liar, and she never breaks a promise. Not to him.

  —

Naruto’s cerulean eyes shine with the gloss of tears, his face pooled red with blood as Sasuke’s fingers clench about his throat.

“Tell me where she is,” he says sternly.

No less than ten anbu crowd the perimeter of the room, creeping about the edges of the Hokage’s office, daring not to draw any closer to the wall of caustic chakra nor the half-crazed man who wields it.

“Sasuke,” Naruto croaks, his bandaged hand gripping at the fingers tightening about his jugular. “I…I can’t imagine how bad you’re hurting–”

“Usuratonkachi,” Sasuke snarls. He drags the man closer, until he can make out the rows of his yellow-blonde lashes and the faint lines shaping his eyes and temples grow stark. “Tell me where my wife is.”

Droplets of red drip down, splashing over whiskered cheeks. At the same time, Sasuke feels liquid slipping wet and hot down the right side of his own face, pooling in the corner of his mouth and bringing the faint taste of iron to the edge of his tongue.

“Teme,” comes the hoarse reply. His hand spasms as bandaged fingers loosen their grip, sliding to curl around his wrist. “I told you. She’s gone. I’m…I’m sorry.”

With an infuriated sound that seems mixed between a growl and a cry, he shoves his friend away. The force sends Naruto careening into his high-backed chair which promptly crumbles under the weight and sends him crashing to the ground.

“Clear the room,” Naruto rasps. “Now.”

Any other day, Sasuke might have found the lack of hesitance with which the anbu operatives flee fairly humorous. 

But now he can only suck in shallow, too-quick breaths, chest heaving and forehead throbbing with a splitting ache. The room flashes through hazes of red, grey and blinding white in dizzying increments, the trickle of thick liquid from his remaining eye near-constant.

He can no longer tell how much of that liquid is tears and how much is blood. At this point, they might as well be one and the same.

“If you do not tell me where Sakura is,” he says, his own voice almost unrecognisable in his ears, “I will ruin everything you have built. Everything you and this fucking place has taken from me, I will repay tenfold.”

Two hands raise in the air; one bandaged palm, one bare point toward him. 

“Easy,” the man across the room mutters, his voice soft and tone placating. 

“The peace you fought for will be left to ashes,” he hisses. His fingertips dig into his chest with bruising force, as if they could scrape over the aching, bleeding organ within. “The peace I bought with my blood and blade will crumble to nothingness if you do not explain what has happened to my wife.”

Naruto’s features twists like the roots of rotted and gnarled trees, his eyes growing red as the area around his frowning mouth pales. He creeps forward a few steps before pausing, his back hunching as if under the weight of the very mountain his face has been etched on.

“There is only so much I can say,” he whispers. 

“Say the truth of it,” Sasuke growls.

An eternity passes, the sound of his beating heart thundering in his ears, the rush of blood through his veins like an angry, crashing tide. Naruto’s waxen mouth trembles and shapes around the beginning of words, each time faltering until his lips finally twist into the sourest, most pitiful expression, water spilling in rivulets over his rough-hewn face.

“Sakura-chan’s dead, Sasuke,” Naruto chokes. “She is dead.” 

His breath stalls, his vision blurring before the red haze seeps away from the edges, leaving him to blink with a regular eye at the man standing (just barely) in front of him.

“No.”

“I’m sorry,” the man croaks, voice thick. “It should have never happened.”

The room begins to spin, weakness usurping the tension that had overtaken his limbs, loosening his coiled muscles. 

“Liar,” he whispers. Naruto stares at him with wide, wet blue eyes and frowns. “Liar.”

“Sasuke,” Naruto calls brokenly. “I would never lie about this.”

“Where is my daughter?” Sasuke demands. His palm throbs with a distant pain as his nails dig into the skin there, warm blood coating his fingertips.

Pain and rage swirl in his gut, burning like acid in his throat. He feels madness slithering about in the recesses of his mind, an awakening of ghosts he believed long laid to rest. They lurk about the edges, whispering to him.

It takes every modicum of his strength to hold it all at bay, to grasp onto his sanity and remain present as images of his child’s face take over his mind. The sudden desire to see her, to take hold of her and take her away from this hellish place seizes him, slides beneath his dermis and spreads like stick pestilence.

If she has been tormented by these lies, Sarada needs him.

“She’s at Sakura– at your house,” a voice cuts through the chaos of his thoughts. “Hinata is watching over her.”

  —

  As soon as he steps a foot inside the house, Sasuke feels like an intruder. 

He does not recall how long it’s been since the last time he saw this place—doesn’t think he even had a chance to yet—but somehow it feels just as lifeless as his childhood home used to, right before it had been razed to the ground.

Ironic, how this brand new house was supposed to become their solace, the place where they would be able to finally find some peace once he retires from the shinobi force and ends his travels. 

Now, it feels like nothing more than a concoction of bricks and wood. A curse, reminding Sasuke of what he had lost.

Sarada is holding a photograph, their old family portrait, cradling it to her chest. She walks over to the sofa which faces a big window overlooking the garden. 

Small tomato plants appear, growing vibrantly in his peripheral vision, making him nauseous. 

He ignores Naruto and his wife as they murmur quiet condolences before making their exit. All he can do is trace his eyes over the space dazedly for a brief moment, before his attention is drawn to the young woman standing quiet and sad nearby.

“Peanut,” he says softly, never one to know how to handle any sort of delicate situation. That was always her expertise.

His daughter’s head turns towards him, her eyes glossy with tears, the smudge of dark circles underneath. Sasuke wonders how many nights she had to cry alone, helpless and scared, before the letter reached him and he was able to come back to the village.

“Papa,” she croaks. “You’re back. I guess the…news finally reached you.”

At this moment, he is selfishly glad that he had not been forced to deliver this ‘news’ himself. Watching her now, as her pretty features twist slightly despite the blankness of her expression, he knows he would not be able to bear seeing Sarada’s face when she was told her mother is gone. To see the utter devastation she must have felt, losing the person who loved her unconditionally, openly and cared for her when he could not.

“Sarada,” he murmurs, fingers shaking and mouth tightening as a wave of agony threatens to fell him once again. He pushes past the ache, takes slow steps in her direction until he can kneel before her, bracing a hand over one of her wrists.

It was Naruto who had to look into these eyes while saying those words–and Sasuke is almost glad for it, thankful even. It vindicates that wretched, festering part of him that wants to see the blonde-haired man punished. For the pain his darling child suffers now, her inky lashes clumped together with tears, face pale and drawn like someone well beyond her years.

It is the minimum he owes, Sasuke thinks, for casually delegating his wife as another casualty in his foolish attempts at achieving an everlasting peace.

The thought in itself causes his blood to boil. He clenches his hand more tightly over her wrist. “I will fix this, I promise.”

“There is nothing to fix, Papa…” she replies hoarsely, sniffling. “Mama is gone. You can’t bring her back.”

“Shh,” he hushes, feeling something break in his chest that he thought had already been shattered beyond repair.

Sarada’s eyes fill to brimming and her throat bobs in a swallow. She utters a word under her breath, calls out a quiet Mama and Sasuke uses his hand on her wrist to tug her forceable into his chest. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he tucks her head under his chin, curls his body around her and buries her into his embrace as she dissolves into wrenching sobs, soaking through his shirt with her grief.

“It hurts, Papa,” she gasps out. A keening sob rings in his ears and he gathers her impossibly closer, blinking as wetness begins to spill forth from his own eye.

“I know,” he whispers. “Papa will make it better, Sarada. You’ll see.”

Hours pass before his child finally cries herself to exhaustion. He manages to carry her to bed with his single arm, tucks her under the blankets and washes her tear-stained, flushed face with a cool cloth. 

When he is sure she will not wake again, he exits her room, knees buckling as he catches sight of Sakura’s touch throughout the house–her favourite paintings on the walls of the hall, photographs of all of her loved ones framed and displayed throughout. He is gritting his teeth against sobs by the time he breaks free, stepping into the cool night air and finding Naruto waiting.

“I hope it was worth it,” he growls. The other man stares at him, face shadowed but blue eyes near-glowing in the moonlight. “To torture my child like this… You will give me an explanation. Now.”

“I’ve told you all that matters, teme,” Naruto whispers. “But it’s not what you want to hear. So I have no choice but to show you.”

“Show me.” His fingers twitch with the urge to throttle his friend, to shake him until he purged the secrets that he keeps.

A rough hand clasps his wrist and with a rush of air and the flurry of leaves they find themselves in a room that is ice-cold, illuminated by buzzing, fluorescent lights. A long metal table is at the centre, covered in a lumpy, stark-white sheet.

“I asked you to show me where to find my wife,” Sasuke says, the cold slipping between the layers of his skin and freezing everything that dwells inside, “and you bring me to the morgue?”

“I’m sorry Sasuke,” Naruto says raspily. “I’m so sorry. This should have never happened. I should have– I didn’t have to let her go. She insisted but I should have said no.”

“Naruto,” he says cooly. “Where is Sakura?”

“Damn it, bastard,” he practically whimpers. “You have to accept this. For Sarada, for yourself. She is dead.”

“Sakura is NOT,” he shouts, the sound echoing off the pristine tile and metal, “dead.”

“Look,” Naruto says, breathing heavily. “Just look.”

Before Sasuke can think of turning away, Naruto snatches the sheet off of the table between them. A figure is revealed–pale, naked, marred by bisections on each portion of her limbs and the sides of her face.

Bile burns his throat, tears pooling in his only eye. He stumbles a half-step back, forced to bow his back to maintain his standing position.

“You shouldn’t have to see this,” a voice whispers, the words slurring and reverberating through his mind. “But tomorrow is your wife’s funeral. And you have to face the fact that this is reality and that Sakura is dead and she is not coming back.”

“Liar,” Sasuke breathes.

“WAKE UP, SASUKE!” Naruto roars. In the next moment he is sobbing, clutching his face and pressing his fingers into his leaking eyes. 

“Where is my wife, Naruto?” he asks, sparing one more glance at the horrid, disgusting thing that lay prone before him. A pathetic, malignant mimicry of his own wife’s corpse.

“Sasuke, please.”

He turns away then, unwilling to stand in this room with this man any longer. He turns away from the body laying on the table, away from the familiar pastel locks and faded lavender rhombus so stark in that pale, dissected face.

“When I have my wife again,” he pauses, refusing to turn around as he throws the words into the silence of the almost-empty room. “There will be hell to pay.”

__

  The next morning, the sun shines bright as if to mock him. A crowd of no less than five hundred gather, his peers and former classmates occupying the first rows of mourners dressed in black. Many people have tears on their face, a specific woman with platinum hair and icy-blue eyes sobbing openly and violently, clutching a handful of long-stemmed flowers.

Sarada stands in the embrace of both of her teammates. Each time her breath hitches on a quiet cry, his heart breaks.

Naruto officiates. Barely able to speak through his own grief, he welcomes mourners to pay their respects. 

Sasuke makes sure he is the last of them. And he engages the sharingan on his approach.

“Sasuke,” Naruto says. His voice is rough like gravel, his blue eyes shining and bloodshot. “Don’t do this here.”

“Traitor,” he whispers. 

“Let me lay my friend to rest,” the other man cries, voice raw and resonant. “You can fight me later. Take all of your pain out on me, but not here. Not now.”

Sasuke stands still, his single arm relaxed at his side, fingers twitching every now and again. Behind him, he can hear his daughter sobbing, the rustle of the crowd of mourners and observers as they try to make sense of the scene before them.

“She was my wife,” he states. His voice carries in the space, despite the volume being no higher than one would keep a normal conversation. “She was the mother of my child. The love of my life.”

“I know, teme,” Naruto replies brokenly. Everyone around can surely see and hear the thick swallow that works its way down his throat.

“She is dead,” he rasps. The words fall like a weight in his stomach, settling deep in his bones.

A quiet sob breaks through his best friend’s twisted mouth. “Aa, she is. She shouldn’t be, but she is.”

“You did this.” 

Grey clouds swirl above them, dark and ominous. Naruto looks up when the first clap of thunder resounds from the sky, concern painting itself on his pale face. 

“Sasuke,” the Hokage tries carefully, his palm raised up as if begging for peace. 

Only peace is what took his family and then continued taking bits and pieces of happiness throughout his lifetime, to finally snatch the only person that mattered away from him, for good.

He takes a step forward. 

“You did not deny it,” he says, his calm tone foregone and replaced with something more akin to a growl, “didn’t even try to give me a reason not to take my revenge.”

“Do whatever you have to do, but do not do it in front of Sarada. Don’t force her to lose both of her parents, like we did.”

Sasuke lurches forward, a current of lethal electricity formed in the palm of his hand. 

Gasps sound all around, then a few scattered screams. They are ultimately drowned out by the roaring thunder, the buzz of lightning bolts crackling and carving lines through the expanse of the sky.

His lips tug slightly to the side, a dark mirth creeping about the edges of the chaos of his mind. How convenient, that on the day of his wife’s funeral, the gods would bless him with such a mighty storm.

His hand raises, palm facing up and fingers curled as if he could cradle the rolling, rumbling clouds above. The electric bolts fizz and crackle more intensely, until they begin to take shape, forming into the gaping maw of a fierce, terrifying dragon under the influence of Sasuke’s chakra.

Influenced by his pain and hopelessness, it might be the most horrifying sight anyone has ever seen.

“ Papa,” Sarada’s voice screams bloody from behind him and for a single moment he nearly falters.

But then the lightning flashes, casting a hellish glow over the marble of Sakura’s tomb and everything he is, finally, is lost.

“A life for a life,” he whispers. 

Naruto’s eyes grow wide, the pupils narrowing to slits as the creature of pure energy and wrath falls upon him, consuming him with electric currents that cause his limbs to jerk spasmodically and the air to fill with the scent of burning hair and flesh.

“No,” a voice cries, another roars and he is forced to jerk away from his place to avoid a barrage of jutsu sent his way.

The electricity stings and singes at his own skin as he reaches through Kirin’s maw before it fizzles away, clutching his hand around his best friend’s throat and squeezing until he can feel muscle and tendon begin to bend under the force.

“You saved me once, only to torture me with a fate worse than death in the end,” he chokes. 

Blue eyes glazed with water and fogged by agony and disbelief blink up at him, a bandaged hand latching onto his wrist. His own fingers tighten further around Naruto’s throat until blood coats the digits and leaks down his cheek. The other man only stares up at him, prone in his grasp.

They both know he could fight. Yet the Kyuubi is no more, and Naruto’s power cannot compare to that of Sasuke’s now that his restraint has been wrecked by this otherworldly circumstance. 

And he owes him a debt in blood, and flesh.

“Sakura w-would hate to see y-you like this,” Naruto croaks, barely audible around the thick of blood and lack of air.

“Aa,” he breathes. “She would.”

A sickening crunch, and his soul brother exhales his last. 

Blood curdling shrieks erupt around him, finally reaching past the thundering storm and the rush of blood in his eardrums. Footsteps thud, a wave of ninja charging toward him, but he looks over his shoulder, sharingan swirling and catches them in a genjutsu so powerful that they all immediately falter and collapse to the ground. Most stare with blank eyes into the distance, while some jerk with spasms, and others dissolve into screams and sobs.

He catches sight of his daughter standing amongst the piles of unconscious bodies. Her entire body quivers, lips bitten raw and pale, both eyes swirling dizzyingly with a new, terrifyingly beautiful pattern. 

Red seeps from her lashline and drips from her jaw. Sasuke catches her horrified gaze with his own and swallows past the lump in his throat. He traces his eye over every single one of her features, mapping a path where he and Sakura had fallen in love, had created a being so beautiful, a perfect balance of everything he is and she was.

For once, he prays to the gods who had cursed him, that he might have the chance to see her again. Many, many years after this moment.

“Till next time,” he rasps. “Forgive me, my Sarada.”

And with all the mastery over his cursed blood-line limit he has, he pushes her into an illusion where the world is painted in greens and pinks and golds and red. Where blossoms and grass and lazy rivers trickle by, a sweet voice lulling her into a restful, safe sleep.

When Sarada finally slumps slowly to the ground, he stumbles over to the shining, ornate tomb, dragging the limp form still in his grasp until he is forced to drop it and reach to sweep away the pile of long-stemmed flowers.

With a ragged, painful breath, he curls his fingers around the cold, heavy stone edge and pushes back the lid.

  —

  “What have you done, Sasuke-kun?” she whispers. 

Sasuke’s lips tremble, even as he attempts to pull them into a smile. She stares at him, her eyes wide, pupils stained an inky black. He searches for the bright viridian of her iris, and finds them pale.

“I forgot your eyes wouldn’t be the same green,” he says thickly. He lifts his quivering hand, tracing his index over one of the fine cracks that mars her beautiful features. “I…I had hoped to see them one more time.”

“Anata,” Sakura murmurs, cupping his face between her hands. “Oh, my love… I’m so sorry.”

Her palms feel just as he is accustomed to, only cold, so cold. 

“Tsuma,” he chokes, chest heaving as he clutches his hand around her nape, pushing his forehead against her forehead. “Sakura.”

As tears start to stream down his face, Sakura’s own expression morphs into one of concern. “Sasuke-kun.”

He cries out when she says his name and realisation slowly settles; he will never again have it whispered in his ear as he holds her kisses down the expanse of her neck as her pulse vibrates softly underneath his lips.

The question about her motives behind accepting the mission so willingly sits right at the tip of his tongue, ready to roll off and fall between them. Only the possible answer scares him, enough that he chooses to keep his mouth shut, instead.

“Why am I here?” she asks, her tone soft and cautiously gentle, taking Sasuke right back to that day on the bridge, to that moment that marks the peak of his madness. 

Everything had changed since then and yet somehow those feelings managed to crawl their way back into his heart, poisoning it once again with profound hatred towards the Hidden Leaf village and the entirety of the shinobi system.

“I had to say goodbye. I need you to–” take me with you. “I need you to tell me it’s going to be fine. Sarada…” His voice cracks as he forces himself to swallow the bile that forms inside his throat. “She will be okay, won’t she?”  

Sakura watches him silently and Sasuke cowers under the weight of her gaze. His chest grows heavier the longer he looks into those dead eyes as they slowly move about his face in search of an answer.

“What have you done, Sasuke-kun?” she inquires again, only this time the question resonates with hidden authority.

This time, she does not ask as his wife, but as a shinobi of Konoha.

His jaw ticks, taut with rage that bubbles anew in the pit of his stomach, threatening to strip the last of his restrain, to ruin the safety and calm he usually finds in Sakura’s presence. Now, all that is left is a bitter taste coating his tongue.

“I did what needed to be done.”

Coldness settles between them, so akin to the dread he felt in the forest upon first hearing the news about Sakura’s departure.

A startling clarity overcomes him; he realizes that he had been clinging to the delusions of a man made sick with grief. He had believed, hoped by some miracle that it was not true. That his wife, his precious Sakura, was not dead, simply…lost somewhere. Still within reach. . Seeing her now, like this, tears that hope away, leaving a gaping wound behind.. He feels nothing but anger mixed with a painful grief, so great he knows it has changed him on an atomic level. Forever.

Because Sakura is gone.

And with her gone is the last thing keeping broken pieces of Sasuke together.

“Anata–”

“You,” Sasuke rasps, words scraping his throat on the way out, “you knew it was a suicide mission. You knew you were not coming back.”

A sigh leaves her, so quiet it is barely a whisper of air flying past them. She holds his gaze still, although Sasuke notices the way her fingers tremble when she clasps her hands together in front of herself. 

“I did,” she admits. 

The tears rolling down his face are scalding. They sear his skin, leaving permanent marks on his cheeks. Sakura’s touch burns even more, the hand on his nape once again bringing him close, until his forehead is buried in the curve of her shoulder. 

They stand there, stuck in a limbo, on borrowed time.

“You left me.”

“You have spent your whole life leaving me, Sasuke-kun. I know you understand the reason behind it. The village–”

“The village took you from me!”

“ Anata,” Sakura says gently. “It is our home, Sarada’s home.”

“You are my home,” he all-but roars, his insides feeling like they are crumbling to dust. He fists his hand in her pastel locks, buries his face deeper into her neck and grits his teeth when he realises there is no pulse beating there.

With a ragged gasp he repeats, “You are my home, Sakura. What was I supposed to do without you?”

She groans painfully, shaking him slightly by her grip at the back of his neck.

“Not this, darling,” she whispers. “Never this. You must…you have to be here for Sarada. For the village and for N-”

Her words stop all together and Sasuke hears only the sound of his own laboured breaths and the ambience of the woods and its creatures. He pulls away slightly, enough to look at her pallid face, watching as her beautiful features twist into a frown.

“Who was it?” she asks hoarsely.

Sasuke only stares, tracing each dip and curve and line of her face. Absorbing and consuming all he can, this last time.

“Sasuke-kun,” she says urgently, gripping at his right arm and the stump of his left with bruising force. “Who?”

His mouth trembles, and he bites the inside of his lips. Each second passing seems like an eternity, but also no time at all as she stares up at him with eyes that are not quite hers.

“He has taken many things from me,” he finally says, his voice rough like a grinding stone. “And I let him, because I owed him a debt that could never be repaid. But this…taking you. That, I simply count not endure.”

Sakura shakes her head furiously, abject horror bleeding over her face.

“No.”

Sasuke smiles a bitter smile. His hand, trembling and grasping, reaches in her direction. Suddenly, through the haze of his rage and grief, the full weight of his actions, of his reality presses upon him. 

“You probably believe I’m a monster,” he whispers, “now that I’ve killed my best friend.”

“Sasuke-kun,” she gasps out, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. Her shoulders hunch forward and she sways side to side with a small whimper. “I- this can’t be true. Please.”

“I had to see you again,” he breathes. When her sickly-pale eyes fly to his face again, he shrugs one shoulder weakly. 

“Oh,” she chokes out, clutching her fingers to her forehead. “What will you do? You…I won’t be there for you. And Naruto? He-”

Her words cut off for a moment as she sobs, crying even as no tears trickle down her face.

“Who will you lean on?” Sakura questions, her voice laced with such pain. It makes his own heart thud in his chest, a weak organ attempting to pump its last.

He shakes his head, simply staring at her as she laments the loss of their very best friend, their brother in arms and most precious teammate. Not for her own sake, but for his because even beyond the grave, she loves and cares and worries for him.

Moving fast enough to shock him, Sakura moves in close, reaches out and drags him close by his cloak. With rougher motions than he is accustomed to, she shakes him violently.

“What will you do without us, Sasuke-kun?” she cries. The cracks lining her face seem to deepen and elongate around her squinting eyes, the edge of her frowning mouth.

“My love,” he murmurs, tracing the tip of his middle finger over the edge of her hairline, shaping the faded diamond on her forehead. “You won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

There is a voice of doubt ringing inside his head—not about what he is planning to do but about how. It doesn’t seem fair to taint Sakura, with the darkness he never quite managed to rid himself off.

Only this isn’t Sakura.

The person before him isn’t his sweet, loving wife but merely a poor imitation brought about by the worst crime he has ever committed (many they are)that did not offer him the closure he so longed for.It does not offer him the closure that he so yearns for, that he expected. Instead of diminishing his burning desire to continue with the carefully crafted plan, seeing her like this—so cold and lifeless—only further fuels his resolve.

Sakura’s eyebrows are drawn together so closely they almost become just a single curved line running across her forehead while she searches Sasuke’s face for answers.

He presses his lips against her slightly parted ones in a chaste kiss, tasting of despair instead of affection. 

Closing his eyelid, he focuses on summoning all of his chakra to fuel the very last jutsu he is ever going to perform. “You will never have to worry again.”

The Sharingan swirls, a bright reddish glow bouncing off her white-greyish completion when he captures her gaze. 

Her gasp comes too late, too delayed for it to mean anything. Before the echo of it dissolves into buzzing and then calming nothingness, Sasuke has her will restrained with chains of his genjutsu.

Sakura stares at him, eyes wide, her hands shaking violently as she clutches a dripping kunai between her fingers.

Sasuke smiles, blinking past the wetness in his eyes, “Thank you, my love.”

“No,” she moans. Her hands jerk forward, the tip of the blade grazing over his chest and leaving a fine, bleeding line behind.

“We will see each other again,” he whispers. His hand, tremulous as well, slides over her cheek, heart thudding as bits of skin flake away like dried paper.

“Don’t make me do this,” Sakura sobs. “Please, anata. Think of Sarada, what will she do with both of us gone?”

He inhales shakily, tightens his grip on her face.

“She will do better than I ever did,” he says quietly. “She will surround herself with friends, and lean into community with her grief. She will succeed in protecting her loved ones and make a name for herself as a hero, someone strong and bright.”

Sakura’s face crumbles, her eyes blinking furiously as she sobs, dry cries with no tears.

“Sasuke-kun,” she chokes.

“Free me, tsuma,” he breathes. He strokes his fingers through her hair, grasps the back of her neck and brings her forehead to his. “Let us rest now, hn? Don’t we deserve it?”

Her shoulders heave and the sharp point of the blade sinks into his flesh, blood pooling warm around him as it slides in, slow.

Not even for one second does he think his wife has welcomed someone else into their bed-- because he trusts her, and also because if there were someone else making love in his home, he would have detected the unfamiliar presence before even walking through the front door.

That means his wife is pleasuring herself in the dark of night, in their bed, alone. 

And that simply would not do. Not when she has a perfectly good husband willing to lend his single helping hand.

He lingers for a moment longer, letting his eye slip shut and ears home in on the sound of panting breaths, of rustling sheets. The sweet moans spilling just barely under the gap of the doorframe conjure up so many images that gooseflesh rises on his skin, his insides becoming liquid heat. When his eye reopens, red has bled over his vision.

With a flick of his wrist the door is swinging open and he has crossed over the threshold. The sight before him was more than he could have anticipated.

It’s only for a split second, but with his dojutsu engaged it could have been an eternity-- his gaze falls to the deep flush spreading upwards from pert nipples to the high points of her cheeks, pink hair spread messily about their pillows. The comforter is pushed to the very edge of the mattress, leaving him to gander freely at the muscular thighs spread wide and trembling, shining with wetness. 

Those same juices cling to the fingers sliding through her pinkened folds.

Within a blink of his eye, Sakura’s hands have flown to cover her breasts as her sensual moans morph into a piercing shriek, legs snapping shut with an audible smack.

“Sa-Sasuke!” she gasps, voice off kilter and thick with what he knows must be residual pleasure.

He continues to watch her quietly as he pulls the bedroom door shut behind him and takes slow steps toward the end of the bed. The flush on her face has darkened and green eyes flit around to land on everything in the room except him. 

“You’re home early,” his wife says in what can only be described as a squeak. Sasuke notes the way her gaze darts to the crumpled covers before shooting to his face and back again-- as if she is weighing the cost of making a dive for it and burying herself in the pile of fabrics.

“We got done sooner than expected,” his voice is huskier and heavier than intended when he finally responds. But he can still see the swell of her breast over the cover of her hands, and the sweet spot cradled between her tightly clenched thighs.

“O-Oh,” she replies shakily. “Um, d-do you want something to eat?”

As she scrambles into an upright position while attempting to keep her form covered, Sasuke fights the smile threatening to tug at his mouth. He had never imagined seeing his wife so flustered, stammering and all would be so endearing.

He never imagined it would arouse him so. She is just about to snatch up her discarded nightdress -- and he is moments away from taking a dive onto the mattress to stop her-- when a wicked thought takes hold of his mind.

“Don’t let me interrupt what you were doing before,” a thrill shoots down his spine and settles in between his hips as her form freezes. 

“Um,” she murmurs, gazing at him helplessly. Her mouth is reddened and he can even see the imprints of her teeth in the swell of her lower lip. 

“Since my wife could not wait for her husband to return and take care of her needs...” he drawls, delighting in the way her eyes widen impossibly further as he begins the process of unbuttoning his shirt.

“Wait,” her hands fly out and wave around spasmodically. Sasuke zeroes in on the perky breasts now exposed fully to his view. “I didn’t expect you to be home and I… it was a long day…”

Her voice trails off as Sasuke’s shirt slips from his shoulders, soon accompanied by his pants as he lets them slide down and pool at his feet. Eyelids lowering, her eyes slide down his form, locking on the spot where his arousal strains below the waistband of his underwear.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, caring for yourself in my absence,” he murmurs. “So, continue.”

There is a dazed sort of look in Sakura’s eyes as she gazes at him that makes him nearly dizzy with want. It takes a long moment before she seems to register what he has said.

“What?” she questions, eyes shooting back up to his face. 

“Continue pleasuring yourself,” he clarifies, “as you were doing before.”

Silence. That pretty red mouth is gaping in shock and the clothes he still has on fit tighter for it.

“You want me to...touch myself?” she eventually whispers, weakly. “Right now?”

He shrugs, taking a lazy step forward until his legs are nearly brushing the foot of their bed.

“Isn’t that what you were doing anyway?” he asks quietly, reaching out to run his index finger gently over the delicate bones of her ankle.

Sakura’s mouth opens and shuts a few times before she sputters, “But you’re here.”

He tilts his head and arches a brow, “Can’t a man watch his wife?”

“But-,” she nearly chokes as he leans in, palm sliding up the inner part of her leg and wedging between her tightly closed knees. A quiet whimper spills from her, “ Why ?”

It’s a gargantuan effort to pull his hand away from her warm, soft flesh and straighten once more.

“Why not?” he murmurs. “It isn’t every day that I get to see what happens when I’m away and you are in need. So show me, tsuma.”

Sakura’s entire body is trembling and her gaze drops to her lap as she curls her arms around herself protectively. 

“I don’t-,” she swallows thickly, bringing her gaze back to his with visible effort. “I don’t think I can...do that, with you watching me.”

Sasuke gazes down at her for a long moment, eyes flitting over her pinched features. Fine brows furrow and pink lips flatten into a line as her cheeks darken impossibly and a tinge of guilt creeps down his nape.

“Tsuma,” he says gently, reaching out again to grasp her ankle. He tugs gently until she slides close enough for him to run his fingers over her still-warm, slightly damp cheek.

When she tilts her face up toward him, he can’t resist bending down to claim her lips. He kisses her soundly, nipping and sucking at her mouth until it darkens from shell pink to cherry red. A sweet, breathless sigh falls from her lips when he finally frees them to nip at her jawline, mouth sliding backward until his lips hover next to her ear.

“I want to watch you make love to yourself,” he rasps, delighting in the way she shudders. “And then, after, I want to fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

“Sasuke-kun,” she whispers, shifting her weight so she’s leaning closer to him, grasping at him with warm, soft, sensual hands. “ Anata …”

It takes more effort than he cares to admit, plucking her hand away from his chest as he moves to rise from the bed once more. Her eyes shine like green flame as they slide over his form hungrily.

“Will it help,” he asks slowly, hooking his fingers under the waistband of his underwear, “if I let you watch me, too?”

Sakura’s eyes snap up from the hardness standing at attention between his hips to his face with an expression of shock. Her pretty mouth is open, eyes blown wide and Sasuke nearly throws his entire plan to the wind.

“Would you like to watch me, Sakura?” he asks, pulling down the last of his garments and grasping himself as he swings free from his constraints.

Sakura swallows visibly before nodding her head shakily, gaze fixated on the lazy stroke of his hand over his rigid length.

“Hn,” he inhales deeply, tightening his grip slightly at the sight of her nipples perking and thighs shifting once more. He halts the movement of his hand, pinning her with his burning gaze. “Then show me what you were doing before.”

There’s a moment when he thinks perhaps she will say no, that what he is asking of her is too much. Her lids lower over her bright eyes and she sucks in a deep breath, and Sasuke prepares himself to stop what has not even begun.

Then she’s laying back slowly, knees rising to her chest before opening slowly, spreading wide for him to see every inch of her center.

“Is this what you want to see, Sasuke-kun?” there’s the slightest tremble to her voice and her fingers, too, as a single hand slides down her torso to rest just above her glistening mound.

“Aa,” he replies huskily, zeroing in on the way the slender appendages slide painstakingly slow between her petal-like folds, spreading them open so he can see into her entrance,

Sakura begins a gentle circling motion, focusing on the pearled nub peeking between her nether lips. The insides of her thighs are quivering and her breaths come out in shaking pants. Sasuke glances upward, sight falling on her face. Her eyes are squeezed tightly shut, teeth sinking deeply into the fullness of her lower lip.

Sasuke calls to her quietly, “Open your eyes, Sakura.”

Pale lashes flutter, but her lids remain tightly shut. The hand at her core never stops its movements, but the rest of her form looks too stiff; this is not the Sakura he had seen in the throes of pleasure when he had first entered the room.

“You’re supposed to watch me, too,” he says, voice low and as gentle as he can manage. “Remember?”

Just as she pries her eyes open, Sasuke leans over, reaching between her legs. He slides his hand up her center, from the base of his palm to the tips of his fingers, slipping through the juices accumulating below her own small appendages.

Sakura gasps loudly, jaw dropping as he brings his slickened hand back to his arousal, squeezing gently and sliding up and down the length with increased ease.

He sighs deeply, gaze locking onto hers as he spoke once more in a tight voice, “You have no idea how I yearn for you while I’m away. I dream about your eyes when they first open in the morning, how your voice sounds when you moan my name.”

His wife’s eyes are flitting almost comically between his mouth and his hand, and were it not for the heat sizzling in his lower belly and the pressure building in his center, he might have let loose a slight chuckle.

“Did you dream of me, tsuma?” he asked, fisting himself more firmly and stroking down from his tip to base in an achingly slow, fluid motion. 

“Aa,” she mumbled, eyes fixating on the lazily movements of his hand. “All...all the time.”

“And?” he murmured, lips pulling at the edges in an almost-grin as Sakura’s hand began to stroke lazily, almost at the exact pace of his. The flush on her cheeks spreads all the way to her budding nipples; Sasuke bites his lip at the tingle creeping upward from the base of his spine.

“I would feel...so lonely,” she breaths, bringing her other arm up and allowing her hand to splay on her upper chest. “When I’d wake up, and you weren’t there to-”

Her words break off on a breathy moan, and Sasuke notes how her hips shift and curl toward her fingers as they strum over the tiny nub peeking between her blushing folds.

“Weren’t there to what?” he urges, ripping his gaze away from the treasure between her legs to look at her barely-open eyes. 

“To touch me, make love to me” she says, sounding so helpless Sasuke lost his own rhythm. “You were gone and I just wanted to be touched …”

He forces himself to shake off the guilt trying to creep about the edges, instead focusing on the way her fingers speed up, whirling around in fast, tight little circles as she loses herself to her own musings and her own pleasure.

“Did you touch yourself, then?” he questions huskily, taking a step forward as his hand increases its pace against his own rigid flesh. 

Sakura nods, eyes flitting over his face before she looks to the side, almost bashfully. Her hand maintains its movements, and as her chest heaves with quickening breaths, Sasuke finds his wife’s gaze creeping back to the work of his own hand. 

The hand on her chest slid down slightly to cup her breast, squeezing firmly before her thumb began to flick over a pert nipple. Her fingers pressed more insistently at her core, resulting in a high-pitched moan and delicious arch of her back.

“I imagined it was your hands,” she panted, wetting her lips with a flash of her pink tongue, “or your mouth. I’d imagine it was you , reaching deep inside me…”

Slickened fingers creep lower before one presses into her entrance. She glides in and out before a second joins the first, followed shortly by a third. Sasuke’s gaze darts between her fluttering lashes and the wetness that spills from her with each languid thrust. 

His wife is panting now, glistening with sweat and her own fluids as the hand at her breast tugs insistently at her peaks and the one below thrusts in and out steadily. The sound of her building moans and the wet glide of her fingers filter to his ears like a song, sending his blood to burning. Fluid gathers at the very tip of him, dribbling down his pulsing shaft as he dazedly follows the speed of her thrusting hand.

“And would you say my name when you came?” his voice sounds rough, an effect of his building pleasure and wavering restraint. 

“Yes,” Sakura whimpers, cherry-lips parting on a sharp cry as she sinks her fingers into herself faster.

Sasuke groans lowly as his own hand follows suit, “Let me hear it.”

Moans and cries are tumbling from his wife’s lips consistently now, and Sasuke is not sure if she’s heard him from the way she carries on, gazing dazedly at his pumping hand and the rippling of his abdomen and chest.

“ Say my name , Sakura,” he grits out, hips swaying into the thrust of his hand as more precum spills to lubricate the motions. “Show me how you make yourself come.”

“Sasuke-kun,” she whispers shakily, head falling back into the mattress as a violent shudder takes over her body and a deep moan rips through her chest. “ Sasuke-kun .”

With his dojutsu engaged, he experiences each millisecond of her release as if it were a slowed-down portion of a film. The thrust of her fingers becomes sloppy and desperate, her hips curl inwards before pressing deep into the sheets as her spine arches high off the mattress. The toned muscles of her abdomen quiver and tense and her lips open wide as his name spills forth from her mouth in a shout that reverberates in the very marrow of his bones.

Sasuke has to grip the base of his shaft tightly when the air finally rushes back into his lungs, his entire form trembling as he watches the way his wife squirms in the aftershocks of her climax, wet fingers falling away from herself to grip at the sheets. He clings to the edge of his own orgasm by the skin of his teeth.

Green eyes meet his and he feels as if he’s burning .

“Anata,” she pants, reaching for him with a trembling hand. “Come here, please. I need you.”

He takes a kneeling position at the end of the bed, using his knees to spread her thighs wide once more as he gazes down at her hungrily. 

Sakura looks at him in utter confusion as he reaches out, grasping her hand and bringing it back down to the still-quivering, glistening spot between her legs.

“Sasuke-kun?” she chokes slightly as he applies pressure to her fingers, fixing them at the top of her mound and brushing his own lightly over her sensitive folds before he moves his hand away.

“Don’t worry, tsuma,” he murmurs, fixing his eyes on her form greedily as she lay panting and boneless before him. “I’ll take care of you.”

He sucks in a deep breath as he takes hold of his arousal once more, offering his dazed wife a tiny smile. The tomoe in his eye spin faster.

“Just let me watch one more time. Indulge me.”

End.

The air is so cold it feels like tiny kunai scraping against his cheeks as it whips by. Water is falling in sheets toward the ground and in various directions. Freezing droplets splash against his scalp and the exposed skin of his throat, dribbling down to soak under his clothes. 

He glances to his side, single hand tightening over Sakura’s trembling fingers as she blinks up at him through spiky, wet lashes.

“It’s really coming down, isn’t it?” she murmurs. Sasuke is sure she is likely speaking at a normal volume; it is only that her voice is drowned out by the sound of the pouring rain, and the whistle of wind slashing through the trees and brush around them.

“Come on,” he says at an elevated volume, drawing her close to his side. “There should be a cave nearby to shelter in until the storm passes.”

A fizzling crack of lightning followed by a thunderous boom makes her flinch. Sakura shoots him a sheepish smile before shuffling closer to his side and ducking her head against the onslaught. Sasuke frees her wrist, fanning out his cloak to fall around her shoulders in a last-ditch attempt to shield her from the downpour. It is useless, he knows, as they have both been practically soaked to the bone already.

With her pressed this close to his side, Sasuke can feel the way her entire body is shivering. His hand unconsciously firms in its grip, fingers tightening at the curve of her waist. The bit of skin exposed by the cropped nature of her top is riddled with gooseflesh. He is attuned enough to her after weeks of close-contact that he can tell she is circulating her chakra in an attempt to keep warm.

He inhales deeply, the scent of rain, soil and Sakura filling his nose. As he exhales, he begins to follow suit, kneading his chakra beneath the surface of his skin and concentrating it in the palm of his hand at her side, where his hip is flush against hers as they tread heavily through the thick mud and water.

She shivers again, tightening a fist in his cloak and bringing it close to her chest. Her other hand snakes behind his back, fingers splaying at the center of his spine. He flits his gaze down to hers again and sees her pale cheeks tinted with the slightest bit of pink.

“Thank you,” she mouths, offering him a smile. Her soft bangs stick against the frame of her face, colored a dusky rose from the moisture. Her eyes somehow look brighter against the dark and the gray around them, shining like two jewels in her face.

“Aa,” he breathes. Another streak of lightning and clap of thunder sounds and then the rain begins to fall impossibly heavier.

Facing forward, he quickens his pace to a jog, clutching her absentmindedly to his side all the while.

~

By the time they reach the mouth of the cave, Sasuke and Sakura are dripping wet, pale and shivering. The storm rages outside, rivulets of water flooding the ground. Luckily this place is carved out of a ledge a few feet above ground level, high enough to avoid flooding and deep enough to protect against the violent winds and icy rain.

Sasuke drops his pack near the edge, venturing deeper while clutching a damp scroll. He unfurls it, using his sharingan to make things clearer in the darkness; with a click of his teeth, blood beads on the tip of his thumb and drips slowly onto the scroll. He murmurs a summoning jutsu and a pile of dry kindling appears.

He uses his katon , exhales a stream of flame to bring the fire roaring to life. He finds stray stones on the ground nearby and uses them to border the fire. A small sigh falls from his throat at the rush of warmth.

“That’s smart,” Sakura stutters from behind him. He turns to see her lingering near the mouth of the cave, dripping and shivering violently. “Storing firewood in a summoning scroll…genius.”

“Come closer to the fire,” he says, brow furrowing at the way her lips seem tinted purple even in the low, flickering light. “You’re freezing.”

She shakes her head, “I’m too wet. I need to change these clothes, and you do too…”

Her voice trails off as she drops shakily to a kneeling position, opening her pack and fumbling around. After a few moments she curses weakly and Sasuke rises to approach, peering down at her as she pulls out handfuls of wrinkled, wet fabric.

“Everything is soaked,” she sighs, cursing quietly again. “I wore the last of the clothes I had stored in my own scrolls. I should have known better. Fuck.” His lips almost quirk into a small smile; the very first week of their travels had brought the shocking realization that Sakura, sweet-voiced and angelic-faced as she was, cursed like a sailor.

His concern over her trembling form and blue-tipped fingers quickly kills any mirth he might have indulged.

“You’re going to get sick if you don’t get out of those wet clothes,” he says quietly. “I’ll check if there’s something in my bag that managed to stay dry.”

“Oh, Sasuke-kun…” she begins to protest, but Sasuke is already kneeling beside his own pack, rifling through his belongings.

Blood rises to his face slowly as he finds everything inside his bag is wet as well. He glances up at her apologetically.

“I have nothing dry enough,” he sighs, rising to a standing position. “I keep some bedding stored in my scrolls. We’ll have to make do with blankets alone.”

Sakura nods slowly, lashes fluttering as her gaze falls to the ground, focusing on the shadows cast by the dancing flame feet away. She fidgets for a second before reaching down to peel off her knee-high sandals, then, her tiny, pale toes flexing over the rocky ground.

Sasuke swiftly summons another scroll, pulling from it a small pile of thick blankets, and two thin sheets. He saunters toward the fire, laying the blankets as close as possible in the hopes that they would take on some extra warmth. He sheds his dripping cloak, tossing a kunai so that it wedges into the cave wall and hanging the garment from it. Even standing nearby the fire, a chill snakes down his spine as he levels a line of other kunai the same way, creating a space for them to hang up their clothes to dry.

He turns back to see Sakura clutching her arms around herself, shaking like the leaves being torn about by the racing winds outside.

“Here,” he says sharply, snatching up one of the thin sheets and walking briskly to stand in front of her, “take this and dry yourself. Then come wrap yourself in a blanket and sit by the fire. I’m going to quickly set up a few traps outside.”

Her teeth chatter as she said, “Sasuke-kun, I can help. Just let me-”

“Please,” he intercepts, stepping slightly closer. He can smell jasmine and rain and something sweet like berries standing this close. A hard swallow works down his throat before he urges her again, “Get warm. You’re shivering hard enough to break your bones. It will only take a moment, and it’ll give you privacy to…undress.”

Understanding lights her eyes and the tiniest pink flush dots her pallid cheeks. She nods again, creeping deeper into the cave and closer to the fire with her shoulders hunched forward. 

Sasuke exhales a slow, heavy breath before pivoting on his heel and trudging out of the cave into the chaos outside. Rain pours over him, icy and feeling almost solid with the force of the downpour. He moves as quickly as he can about the perimeter, anchoring traps where he can only hope they won’t be swept away by the tiny current building on the ground as it floods with water. He casts an area genjutsu, wide enough that he thinks the traps will be a last resort anyway.

It takes him all of a handful of minutes to secure their area, but he dawdles anyway– he tells himself it is to ensure Sakura has time to dry and remove her clothes in peace. But the staccato of his heart behind his ribs and the sharp breaths puffing steam in the cold air cue him into his own desire to avoid being in close quarters for as long as possible.

The first few weeks of their travels had been maddening; they both were awkward and stilted, him being moreso, of course. His attraction to her only intensified in proximity, causing him to struggle every moment to not stare at the way different levels of light cast over her face, to lean in to capture the tinkling of her quiet laughs. Sasuke had nearly embarrassed himself on multiple occasions with the urge to sniff at her sweet-scented hair and overall pleasant aroma, because it called to him so.

Now, these reactions were more tame. Exposure had served them well, lulling them into an ambience of comfort–an anticipatory stasis at best. Sparing a glance did not seem such a monumental feat, and he did not feel the need to study her for hours, as if he would not see her again at any given moment. 

Yet, all of the struggles of their early days alone rushed back and did so tenfold at night. Whether they sheltered in a cave like the one he loitered outside of now, or in adjacent rooms at a small-village inn, the late hours brought with them traces of insanity, a yearning so intense it would cause him embarrassment that would linger until the morning. 

He hesitates now, shivering and drenched because he is achingly aware that when he returns, Sakura will be bare save for one thin swathing of fabric. She will be close enough to breathe in her scent, to feel the essence of her chakra against his senses. 

He realizes that she is likely huddling close to the fire now, cold and trying to sap in warmth with only a blanket and a meager flame.

Inhaling deeply once more, Sasuke turns and makes his way back to the mouth of the cave, slowing his steps once he is deep enough to not feel the rebounding splashes of water as it ricochets off the ground. He pauses, glancing upward at Sakura who sits mere inches away from the makeshift fire pit, curled in a ball so tight her form seems tiny, insignificant among the looming shadows dancing over the walls.

“Sasuke-kun,” she says, each consonant trembling as her teeth chatter lightly. “You’re back.”

“You’re still cold,” he replies, browns pinching as he notes the shudders wracking her form. 

“Yeah,” she stutters, bobbing her head in a slightly disjointed manner. She attempts to give him a smile, nonetheless and his heart skips a beat. “It’s freezing. I’ll warm up soon, though. Hurry and get changed!”

He nods slowly, taking a few more steps before pausing again. His gaze falls to her small fingers clenched in the fabric at her chest, the still-damp locks of her hair falling waywardly around her face. 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll close my eyes,” she snaps her lids shut, whipping her chin to the side so her face is turned away from him. “I won’t peek, promise.”

Sasuke chooses to believe the shiver that works his way down his spine is the result of the damp and the cold, and definitely not his body and mind traitorously reacting to the thought of Sakura choosing to watch him change, openly, instead.

She begins rocking back and forth as he makes quick work of slinging off his clothes. Her shoulder twitches under the blanket when his shirt falls with a wet smack onto the hard ground. He can see her visibly sucking in a deep breath when his pants follow suit. If he were not shivering from the low temperature, he is sure his face would be burning as he brusquely scrubs at his skin with a thin sheet, tossing that to the side before hunching, positioning his arm in front of his pelvis as he creeps forward carefully, inching around Sakura’s possible line of sight as he reaches to grab one of the blankets folded near the fire.

He tucks the fabric around him, relishing for a moment in the initial warmth before kneeling on his haunches as close as he can to the fire. As he positions himself, his shoulder brushes against Sakura’s and she perks up slightly, still turned away.

“You can open your eyes,” he murmurs. 

She swivels her head to face him, eyes blinking open slowly and fixing on his face. The green of her eyes is slightly marred by the orange glow of the fire, her lashes looking more red in the dim light. The flames glow is the only thing bringing color to her cheeks, her lips tinted with lavender in their pallor.

Sasuke stiffens, mind swirling with solutions to bring her temperature up high enough for the danger of hypothermia to fade. He considers giving up his blanket for a moment before realizing that Sakura would only expend her energy fretting and he would likely become sick with cold and burden her even if he managed to convince her to take it. 

“Tea,” he sputters, gnawing at his lip and blinking his eyes closed for a moment in humiliation when Sakura only tilts her head in confusion. “I’ll brew tea. Hopefully it’ll help us get warm more quickly.” 

“Oh,” she bobs her head vigorously. “Yes, tea. That’s a good idea, Sasuke-kun.”

Sasuke springs to his feet before she is completely done speaking, glad to be doing something useful, yes, but also to create some distance even if shuffling over to his packs near the cave wall takes him away from the warmth of the fire. He sucks in a few quick breaths, trying to calm his thudding heart as his fingers fumble for the small muslin pack holding his herbs. They are soaked and wilted, but hopefully useful enough to brew a decent, if not so flavorful tea. He holds the sack gently between his teeth, reaching once more for the light, steel teapot. He hooks the handle over his pinky finger and wrestles out his water tin before straightening with a small huff.

When he turns, Sakura is watching him over her shoulder. She offers him a small smile when their eyes meet and he nearly stumbles despite standing motionless. Heat makes a valiant effort to pool in his cheeks and he dips his gaze, watching his frigid toes as they tap across the rough, hard floor back toward the fire and his companion.

She murmurs a quiet Thank you, Sasuke-kun as he goes about preparing the brew. By the time the teapot is stabilized over the burning logs, Sasuke is left with nothing to do but to clutch his blanket around his shoulders and stare at the water, willing it to boil faster. Despite his own trepidation, he had sat down so close beside Sakura that he could feel her shoulder brush against his arm with every breath either of them took. 

His gaze wanders to the side for the umpteenth time in a handful of minutes, flitting over her pouty, chill-paled lips, the gentle arc of her brow and sweeping curve of her jaw. The freckles that are so faint in the natural light of the daytime seem stark, sprinkles of brown across the bridge of her nose and high points of the cheek due to how pale she has become. A shiver wracks through her and Sasuke tenses against the urge to reach out to her.

“Still cold?” he murmurs, pinning his gaze on her more fully. The fire was blazing strongly and most of the chill had faded from his own bones.

Sakura shivered again and scooted around slightly to face him. 

“Yeah,” she whispers, lips tilting in a sheepish smile. “It’s much better than before, though. I’m just a wimp when it comes to cold weather.”

As she says those words, a clap of thunder sounds, loud enough to echo into the cave. A whoosh of cold air sweeps in, causing the fire to bend and flicker before it rights itself again. Sakura’s teeth chatter.

“I’m sorry,” Sasuke-kun says, a frown creeping over his features. “I shouldn’t have taken us the long way around. I wasn’t expecting a storm like this so soon in the season.”

Sakura shakes her head quickly, “No, no! I’m glad you did, the scenery– it was a really beautiful route. I enjoyed it a lot. I’m sure that’s not why you took us that way, of course, but…”

“It was,” he interjects, clearing his throat when her wide, green eyes shoot up to peer into his face. He can see the flames dancing about her pupils, casting an orange tint in her iris. “It was why I…took the scenic route. To show you. I thought you would like it.”

“Oh,” she says quietly, the word more of a sigh. Her lips curve upwards again, into a shy, sweet smile. “I liked it. Loved it, really. The river and the flower fields were so beautiful.”

“Aa,” he mutters gruffly. “Good.”

He turns quickly, rising to his haunches to stir at the bubbling liquid in the pot, hoping the flames would cast glow enough to camouflage the red tint of his cheeks. 

Behind him, Sakura whispers, “Thank you for showing me, Sasuke-kun.” 

The spoon he is holding catches against the rim of the teapot with a loud clang as he grunts some unintelligible response. He can feel a blush burning from neckline to temple, but he sets about pouring tea into two travel mugs with the straightest face he can manage. Sakura’s thanks and her bright expression seem to replay on a loop in his mind; he is left wondering, briefly, if he had managed to capture the moment with his sharingan, not even knowing it had been engaged.

A quiet sniffle causes him to snap out of his thoughts, resting the teapot back over the fire and reaching to offer one of the steaming cups to his trembling companion. She grabs it with both hands, soft, cool fingers brushing over his before drawing back slowly. 

Sakura clutches the tea to her chest, shoulders hunched and head tipped downward to let the warm steam wash over her face. She sighs softly disturbing the whitish translucent stream rising about her cheeks for a second before inhaling deeply. 

“You make the best tea, Sasuke-kun,” she mumbles, leaning in closer and closing her eyes as she breathes deeply once more. “This smells nice. It feels good, too.”

Sasuke nearly chokes but forces out a quiet scoff, “You’re just happy because it’s warm.”

She lifts her head long enough to throw him a grin and a quick wink. Sasuke nearly tips over, fingers clutching tight around the mug that nearly slipped from his grasp. 

Pale, slightly chapped lips part, making a small o as Sakura begins blowing on her drink rhythmically. He finds himself mesmerized with the way her mouth puckers, the skin wrinkling slightly, soft folds looking like delicate petals. Her cheeks puff slightly, some of the color gradually returning to her flesh. It looks supple, so smooth and soft despite having spent time in the chafing cold. The fine hairs at her temples have begun to dry, curling slightly away from her forehead from the heat and steam. Sasuke has to bite the inside of his cheek to restrain the absurd urge to reach out and tap the rhombus on her forehead, the only thing that mars the perfection of the smooth expanse of skin.

Shutting his eyes, he lifts his cup to his lips, not even bothering to blow before chugging half of its contents. It’s hot, and burns going down his throat. But he mentally shrugs, because he breathes fire routinely and a little hot tea is not so bad in comparison.

The liquid is warm sliding down his throat, and he can feel it pool in his belly, chasing away most of the last dredges of cold from his muscles. Without his express permission, his eyes reopen and immediately come to rest on Sakura’s huddled form once more. He watches with apt attention as she blows gently once more, before bringing the cup closer to her mouth.

The metal rim rests on her plush lower lip, steam gathering at the top before she tilts the cup and slurps carefully, pulling the brew into her mouth. After the first tentative sip she sighs, humming quietly as she treats herself to a longer drink, tipping her chin back so that Sasuke catches a glimpse of the delicate column of her throat. It undulates softly with each of her swallows and his mouth runs dry, skin suddenly feeling rather hot beneath his blanket.

Bare skin. Just like hers is, hidden behind the thick layer of cloth. 

He swallows thickly, quickly throwing back the rest of his tea, hardly even tasting the earthy, if slightly bitter, flavor.

“Mmm,” Sakura hums, the sound between a relaxed exhalation and husky moan. Sasuke’s fingers tighten around his empty container. “That feels so good .”

She could have very well pulled those very words from his dreams, an echo of one of the many, many imaginings that had circulated through his psyche when he let himself indulge in the deepest, most unguarded kinds of rest. It was these same imaginings that would cause him to awaken suddenly, sweating and panting, aching so much that he would be forced to flee from whatever sheltering space he shared with Sakura to wait out the effects of his own torturous fantasies.

“Aa,” he croaks. 

Mechnically, he reaches to drain the last of the teapot’s contents into her cup, unable to prevent himself from openly staring as she repeats her process again. Curling into her own body, pursing her lips, blow, blow, blow , blow , inhale, exhale,  slurp, slurp, swallow. He watches as a deep shudder works its way down her body, her muscles visibly relax, shoulders falling away from her ears. A healthier flush takes residence high on her cheekbones, creeping slowly across the bridge of her nose. Her lips look moist now, more red than pink, soft and full with the blood finally rising to the surface.

She drains this portion quicker than the first, setting down her cup with a satisfied sigh. Delicate fingers come up and sweep through the nearly-dry strands of her hair, raking them back away from her forehead. A few chunks of her grown-out bangs slip down slowly to frame her forehead, and Sasuke’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch them, to brush them back and secure them behind the pretty pink shell of her ear.

“Thank you, Sasuke-kun,” she says, voice stronger and more chipper. “Your tea pulled me away from death’s door!”

“Don’t joke like that,” Sasuke snaps, mouth flattening. Sakura only laughs, rocking back slightly and adjusting her grip on the blankets wrapped around her shoulders.

“Sorry,” she snorts quietly. “But really, I was starting to not be able to feel my toes. My body temperature has always run a bit on the low side… I thought maybe I was anemic or something. Tsunade says it’s just how I’m made. But it really sucks in situations like this.”

Sasuke only nods. He runs his eyes over her with a more critical eye, focusing on the digits peeking out from underneath the blanket at her chest and below, at the ends of her small feet. They have lost that palish blue hue, to his satisfaction. 

Sakura continues, as always, so gracefully undeterred by his lack of responsiveness. “You always run hot, isn’t that right?”

“Aa,” he nods in the affirmative. “Uchiha thing. Didn’t think you’d noticed.”

Red fills her cheeks and she chuckles, rubbing at the side of her neck, “Ah, well, I’ve had to look at you medically quite a few times. And running your vitals, too! Your natural state is like a low-grade fever. You’ll be happy to know I finally put a permanent note on your file, so no one else will force you to go through illness screenings because of your temperature.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes, “It’s not like anyone else will ever be treating me.”

Sakura huffs, casting a disapproving glare at him that was more cute than ferocious.

“Sasuke-kun! None of our medics would ever turn away someone in need of medical care. It is against our code of honor.”

“Aa, I suppose they wouldn’t,” he says absentmindedly. Her flush has deepened and she chews on her lips in the most hypnotizing fashion. “But I’ll only ever want you.”

The words slip out of his mouth too easily, naturally. It is possibly the boldest thing he has ever said to anyone–to her – before but it feels so commonplace, so true , in all contexts, that he takes a moment to realize just how intense it is.

And by that time, Sakura has become so red that Sasuke fears for her health. He is caught between intense embarrassment and concern as she gapes at him for a split second, before clutching her blankets tighter to her chest and looking away from his face.

“O-oh,” she stutters, hands shifting under the fabric. “I’m flattered, then. And…I’ll always do my best to take care of you, Sasuke-kun. Whenever you need me to.”

Sasuke’s heart flutters then pounds in his chest. Always , he thinks. He knows he will always need her, but he has exhausted his bravery for the night and cannot bring himself to say it. So, he only nods, leveling her with a meaningful look, hoping that she will catch on to the things left unsaid between them. 

There are many of those things–but slowly, they rise to the surface and reveal themselves to the light. With each day, each evening spent side-by-side, he grows to know her and open up to her better. And she is patient with him, granting him the chance to meet her where she has already been at his own pace.

He is pulled away from the soft train of thoughts by a quiet cough, followed by a sniffle. Sakura throws him a small, light smile even as her hand rises to cover her mouth and she coughs again.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he frowns. “Here, take my blanket. My cloak should be dry enough.”

“No!” she seems to startle herself with the volume of her own voice. Her lips are beginning to tremble again, but she says, sternly, “Your cloak is definitely not dry, and I’m not going to let you catch pneumonia and die because you want to sleep with wet clothes on you. Keep your blanket, Sasuke-kun.”

Sasuke feels adequately chastised for a short moment, very close to being surprised at the tone she takes with him. He has heard it before, of course, usually when in the dobe’s company. Never had it been directed at him.

He is both amused and slightly pained by the experience.

Sakura shivers again and he forgets all about his wounded ego. He shoots a glance into the teapot, agitation gnawing at his insides.

“You’re cold again,” he states, wincing when the teapot is as empty as he knew it was. “At least I can brew more tea, though it’ll be weak…”

“No,” she interjects with a harsh exhale. “I can tolerate it, Sasuke-kun. I’ll just have to sleep it off–I’m tired anyway.”

The less than reasonable part of Sasuke’s mind immediately flashes to the worst-case scenario, Sakura freezing into a block of ice while they slumber. He submits himself to the idea of staying up throughout the entire night, keeping a vigil to maintain the fire as well as push his blanket off on her once he is sure she won’t awaken to scold him.

“You get rest, too,” she says. Sasuke nods stiffly, knowing he won’t. “ Seriously . If we spread out by the fire, it’ll be fine. Even better, if we…” 

Sakura trails off, pulling away Sasuke’s struggle against his newly developing morality which weighs the eternal cost of slipping Sakura into a slight genjutsu so she’ll sleep more heavily and not notice if he stays awake and gives her his blanket in the night. He tries to catch her gaze, only to find her studying the woven fabric in her lap.

“If we?” he prods. Her shoulders twitch and she hunches forward.

“Nevermind,” she mumbles.

“Sakura,” he says firmly. She flinches slightly but rolls her eyes. He has been firm with her in the past (many of those times to his deep regret).

“It’s silly,” she starts, sighing heavily. “But I was going to say, ‘even better if we lay close to each other’. Sharing close quarters means sharing body heat means sharing warmth. But, it’s not necessary and you burn hot enough already. So forget it! Good night.”

Sakura nods once, before unceremoniously flopping onto her back, then turning to her side and curling up in a tight ball facing the fire. Her form quivers slightly, drawn taut as if she is trying to staunch her reaction to the slowly increasing chill. 

Sasuke can only watch as she fidgets for a couple of minutes, bunching a portion of the blanket so it forms into a sort of makeshift pillow. Her body looks so small, curled up as it is, drowned in the thick fabric she has cocooned herself in. And yet he can still make out the small quivers.

With a deep breath, he turns his back to her, clicking his teeth at his thumb to draw forth a bead of blood. He summons three empty scrolls, unfurling them and tearing them into medium-large pieces with his hand and teeth. He can feel Sakura’s eyes on him from behind, but focuses on his task of tearing the thick, pristine paper until he has a hefty pile of scraps at his feet. Squatting close to the fire, he crinkles and stuffs wads of papers between the gaps of the burning logs. With a deep inhale, he breathes out a small stream of flame, urging the fire to lick higher, blaze hotter. 

Rising as smoothly as possible, and ignoring the eyes peeking at him from over the bunched blanket, Sasuke walks until he is but a single step away from where Sakura lays. He kneels behind her, watching carefully as her shoulders stiffen, her form ceasing any movement as if she is not breathing. 

He holds his breath, too, as he pulls the blanket from his shoulders, swiftly fanning it out so half of the large cloth falls over Sakura. Consequently, it covers her head and he uses that bare moment to dart under the other edge, securing it over his nude form just quickly enough before a pink head emerges and whips around in his direction.

“If lying close together keeps you warm, then that’s what we’ll do,” he says quietly before her parted lips can spew whatever words were brewing. “Sleep, Sakura.”

She looks as if she will protest, but he gives her his best blank stare. With a heavy sigh, her body relaxes incrementally and she casts only one more cursory gaze over her shoulder as she turns to face the fire once more. Sasuke clenches his jaw as she wriggles about under her blanket, and now part of his. A few times, he thinks her hip or elbow will brush against him, but she eventually settles, bundled tightly in both blankets.

A small yawn spills from her mouth before she utters softly, “Thank you, Sasuke-kun. Good night.”

Quicker than he thinks should be possible for any ninja, Sakura’s breaths even out and her body slumps, fully relaxed as she slips into slumber. He indulges in a tiny smile, shifting carefully until he is on his side, her back a mere six inches or so from his chest.

Sleep evades him; he is too aware of her proximity, her scent, the warmth of another body in his space. She is closer than anyone has been in a long time–perhaps ever in his life. He can smell the rain in her hair, residua of the herbal tea they drank. The scent of burning wood and ash tickles his nose, but still the sweetness that he can only name as Sakura reaches him. For a long while, he simply watches the rise and fall of her slender shoulders under the blanket, the shadows of the fire dancing against the small visible part of her cheek. Quiet snores begin to whistle through her nose and a sensation so endearing, compelling in its combined simplicity and intensity rises up from his belly, spreading through his chest. 

Sooner than he anticipates, his heartbeat slows from its frantic staccato, his breaths growing deeper and longer. His eyelids grow heavy, blinks coming more frequently by the second before the sounds, sights, smells and feeling of Sakura lull him, too, into sleep.

~

A violent shaking causes him to jerk awake. First, he notices the dark, only the barest of dim orange flicking in a sea of blackness. Then, he notes a weight against his chest, the cause of the quaking that drew him into consciousness in the first place.

It is not even an hour since he finally succumbed to sleep, he guesses. Yet the air inside the cave is frigid cold, heavy with moisture as thunder booms and wind sends rain thrashing audibly outside. 

Sasuke's eyes manage to focus on a head of light-colored hair, and he leans forward to peer into the face pressed into his shoulder. Pale brows are drawn tight, pearly teeth peeking between pale lips, chattering. A tiny whimper falls from that mouth and his chest grows tight.

He shushes her quietly, emitting an unfamiliar, husky coo as he reaches to loosen her iron-clad grip on the blankets slipping haphazardly on down his torso. The fact that he actually manages to free the fabric and himself from her grip (with quite a bit of effort, despite his desire to be careful) cues him into the fact that she is still asleep, albeit freezing.

Moving as swiftly as possible, he rises to his feet, situating both blankets around her as they have slipped down her back in favor of being clutched to her front. Next he stalks close to the dying fire, grabbing handfuls of his pre-cut, makeshift kindling and stuffing it over the struggle coals. He blows gently until it catches a tiny flame, inhaling deeper and pouring from his mouth in a spherical katon . The fire blazing strongly once more, Sauske returns to kneel by Sakura’s shivering form, hand shielding his pelvic area.

“C-cold,” comes a hoarse murmur. He jerks in surprise, activating his sharingan to peer down at her face. Her eyes remain closed, lashes fluttering but never sliding open. “So cold…”

His heart squeezes before beating wildly against its cage. Biting his lip, he fights against his own shiver as the cold creeps over his skin. Making sure to keep his gaze fixed on her tightly-drawn face, Sasuke reaches his hand out to Sakura, gripping her shoulder lightly before rubbing his hand up and down the side of her body. He hopes, desperately, that the brisk motions would bring her some additional warmth.

Shudders wrack her frame and he can feel the muscles bunching under his hand, fighting to curl even more inwards onto herself. She thrashes suddenly, rolling dangerously close to the fire, with her back turned to him. The blankets nearly unravel completely, tangled about her legs and covering her only to the hip. She cries out painfully as the cold of the cave bites at the exposed skin of her back, sprouting gooseflesh and bringing forth another violent shiver. 

“Sakura,” Sasuke breathes, snatching the blankets up over her once more. She struggles still, seeking warmth but preventing him from situating the blankets effectively in the process.

“I’m freezing, Sasuke-kun,” she moans, voice too sluggish and slurred to be fully lucid. “Freezing, freezing…”

Sasuke grinds his teeth nearly to dust. Before his logical mind can fully catch up to the action, he is ripping the blankets away from her form completely. Her startled cry does not even manage to echo into the cave before he is pressed up behind her, throwing first one blanket and then the other over both of them. He curls his right leg over both of hers, using it to drag her closer, nestling the stub of his left arm under her head and slipping the right between the two blankets to curl over her waist.

“Shhhh,” he hisses into her hair, exhaling heavily onto her neck in the hopes that his breath would aid in his efforts to warm her. “Rest. It’ll be warm soon.”

She sniffles, shaking and shivering as she burrows further into the blankets, further into his embrace. 

He endures a few long minutes of her wriggling, his mind torn between extreme concern, embarrassment and distant elation before she stills slightly and releases a relieved exhale. As if in a faint, her muscles loosen all at once, her body relaxing into his. He breathes in short inhales and long exhales, fingers clenching and unclenching at her waist, torso stiffening with each minute shift she makes as she slowly falls back into a deeper sleep. Her skin feels cool against his, and soft, so soft . Were he not in such a daze and so on edge from her frightening condition a few minutes before, he might have fixated on the suppleness of her waist or the press of her thighs in front of his. 

Instead, he focuses on the sound of her breathing, relaxing bit by bit as it filters through her nose easier and more slowly by the second. Eventually her skin seems to feel warmer, his own body growing quite hot with the weight of two blankets over him and another human body lying just so. He nestles impossibly closer, anyway, hoping to emanate as much warmth as he can.

Exhaustion grips him and he finds himself falling more deeply into sleep, irresistible with the weight of Sakura’s body against his own, and the feeling of her safe and secure within his grasp.

~

Sasuke feels hot. His skin is prickling with the sensation of licking flames, his blood simmering in his veins. The heat is centralized in his core, pooling low in his belly and radiating throughout his form.

He exhales, fingers clenching over something soft, smooth. The smell of jasmine, cherry blossom, her , fills his nose with each inhale.

Ah, this dream again.

Sakura is fitted snugly in his grasp, her back to his front. He can feel her hair brushing over his collarbones, the plush flesh of her buttocks cradled in his hips. Her thighs rest flush against his, a slim, smooth calf hooked around his knee. 

A slight shift causes white-hot pleasure to shoot down his spine, and Sasuke shudders. He feels as if every one of his nerve endings is at attention, soaking in the sensation of her skin against his, the breath expanding her chest and a slow, rhythmic motion rocking him back and forth.

The feeling of something warm, slick, soft slides over his shaft and he sighs deeply. His hand slips down, squeezes a plush handful of flesh before slipping back up to dance over her ribs. Her skin is like silk, his rough fingers sliding so easily. She shifts again, forward , back , pressing into him with a curve to her spine, straining against his grip at her front. It all feels so real that Sasuke nearly succumbs to the pull of a deeper slumber, tempted to stay asleep and continue to see where this fantasy leads. 

It is different this time. His surroundings are not so clear as usual– his imaginings usually for vivid, visually stimulating than this new, physical stimulus. A faint orange glow flickers at the edge of his awareness, a rustling sound like shifting fabric and cracking embers filtering in slowly.

He shakes himself mentally, painstakingly forcing himself into awareness. The dream grips him, forcing him to remain locked in his psyche where Sakura is clutched against his chest, where she is soft and warm and wet and…

Sasuke’s eyes fly open and he chokes on a gasp. The first thing he sees is pink obscuring his vision. Blinking away the wayward strands, he sees next a roaring fire, the rough cave wall washed with shadows.

And then he feels , a slow drag over his achingly hard member, slippery and hot, cushioned between two walls of warm, firm flesh.

Then he hears a sigh, sweet and underscored with a high-pitched wine.

“Sasuke-kun…”

A startled groan falls from his mouth as the dragging sensation comes again, and he drops his gaze down to the form in front of him, only partially shielded by a blanket that is bunched haphazardly about his waist. 

“Sakura,” he chokes. 

I must be dreaming, still. Sasuke nearly gives in to the urge to stay asleep when another quiet, gasping moan spills from her lips as her hips rock back into him before curling forward, his throbbing shaft trapped between her thighs. His hips flex in response to the motion, white flashing over his vision again before he shakes his head violently, willing himself to wake up .

“Fuck,” he rasps, yanking his hand away from its spot on her ribs, disturbing the blanket further with the motion. 

Red bleeds over his iris, his eyes widening as he takes in Sakura’s bare form. Her skin is flushed, glistening with a fine layer of sweat. Muscles bunch and ripple under the skin of her back, the knobs of her spine peeking through with each rolling grind of her waist. She writhes against him, her head falling back into his chest and revealing a face with features twisted in a distant expression.

Her eyes are closed. His, on the other hand, are definitely open which means that he is not dreaming. 

But Sakura…is.

“Sakura,” he calls hoarsely. His hand shakes, floating uselessly in the air as he attempts to control his ragged breathing, flinching as she makes that rocking motion once more and sends pleasure rattling down his spine. 

“Mm,” she murmurs, “Sasuke-kun…”

She’s dreaming of me , he realizes in a daze. His trembling fingers fall to her shoulders, squeezing more tightly than he intends as he attempts to rouse her with a gentle shake.

“No, no,” she murmurs, and his hand snatches away from her. Her thighs clench tighter around him and he sees stars. “Stay…stay…”

Arousal and heartache combine in a terrible mixture, swirling in his gut. Sasuke bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, letting his hand fall on her shoulder once more.

“Sakura,” he says firmly, making his voice as clear as possible even as the pace of his undulations increases, the wetness becoming more apparent against his turgid member. His pulse thunders, nearly drowning out her gasping whimpers and breathy moans. “ Wake up. ”

Sakura jerks, her hands fisting in the blanket that managed to get stuffed against her front. Her head whips in his direction, wide eyes falling on him from over her shoulder. 

The world seems to freeze around them as they both stare into each other with bated breath. The sound of the fire crackling and the winds outside seem loud in the silence, suddenly absent both their panting breaths and her unconscious ramblings. 

Her gaze darts away from his face for a flash of a second, flitting to their surroundings before swerving back to his. Her eyes grow impossibly wider and her mouth–Sasuke notes that it is moist, red and indented as if her teeth had sunk into the lower lip–gapes.

“Sasuke-...kun?” Sakura croaks, voice unsteady and breathless. 

He can only stare down at her, unable to form a full thought as he watches her glossy eyes blink up at him convulsively, her cherry-red lips plump and shining in the dim glow. 

“You were dreaming,” he manages to whisper, biting back a groan as a shudder works its way down her form. Even the slightest motion brings attention to their intimate contact, bodies still flush against each other.

“I- Sasuke,” she gasps, shaking in earnest now. Her chest heaves and one of the blankets slips to expose part of a full, pert breast. A dusky nipple peeks just over the edge, plump and distended and oh so… tempting.

“You were dreaming,” Sasuke raps, shifting his body and eliciting his own shiver as the movement causes friction between them once more, “of me.”

“I’m sorry,” she chokes. The flush on her cheeks darkens, her hands scrabbling over the blankets in an attempt to cover herself. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

Her words cut off with a gasp, lashes fluttering as she twists her waists to escape from his grasp, the motion causing the head of his rigid arousal to slip through her folds. A low, rumbling groan finally rips free from his chest and she freezes, panting hard as she tilts her head to meet his gaze once more.

Sakura’s lips are sweet, soft between his own when he jerks forward to suck them into his mouth. They part on a startled exhale, a soft tongue slipping out to join his as she hums a quiet, helpless moan. 

Their teeth clash and sink into giving flesh, tongues slipping, sliding and thrusting in a frenzied dance. He delves into her mouth as deeply as he can, tasting her essence and the remnants of the tea they shared, feeling each texture, ridge, bump of the insides of her mouth. 

When his lungs burn for air, he retreats slightly, tugging her lower lip with his teeth to its limits, opening his eyes to stare down at her in a daze. Her hands have lost their grip on her coverings, one reaching up to tangle in the hair behind his neck and the other shaping the underside of her breast. 

As if of its own accord, his lone hand plants itself at the beginning of the luscious curve of her hip, tracing a line up the side of her waist. His fingers creep upward until they meet the hand at her chest, sliding over the obstacle to splay over the globe of her breast, relishing the weight of it and the tickling brush of her pert nipple against his palm.

Sakura moans softly, drawing him back to her mouth as her hips sway into his again, backward then forward. This time, Sasuke is lost to the sensation, to his instinct and curls his own hips against her, rocking into her once, twice, then many more times at a building pace. 

Soon she is panting into his mouth, their lips grazing against each other sloppily, hardly kissing at all. His hips snap against the round flesh of her behind, his member throbbing and dripping with her arousal and his as it slides back and forth over her softest lips. 

Sakura , his mind chants. And perhaps between the tiny spaces and breaths between their dancing mouths, he calls her name aloud too. 

“Ah, gods,” she cries softly, gripping her free hand over the one resting at her breast. She squeezes their fingers over herself and bears down on his shaft, slipping back and forth until he is nestled deep into her slit.

His grip tightens and he pulls his hips back as far as they will go without completely losing their contact– when he careens forward again, the very tip of his dips into what he can only describe as a well of pure, liquid heat before slipping forward and through her folds again.

Sakura’s hips jerk and she loosens his grip on his hair, her face turning away as she lets out a sharp cry. 

He freezes, even as she continues to undulate against him, trying to blink past the haze that had taken his mind the last handful of minutes.

“Sakura,” he says breathily, swallowing thickly as the hand that was in his hair tugs at the blankets until they lay carelessly at the edge of the fire. “Should we…?”

“Don’t stop,”  she hisses, reaching back once more to cup her fingers around his nape, pressing her hips back into his pelvis. Her breast presses more deeply into his hand with the arch of her back and he grits his teeth.

“If we don’t,” he pants, dipping his face into the curve of her neck and inhaling deeply, “There’s no telling how far I’ll go.”

His teeth graze the soft skin over her racing pulse and he bites down, sucking and nibbling at the spot recklessly. Distantly, somewhere his logical self is screaming, banging against the wall of arousal and pent up frustration to call for control.

Sasuke’s inner consciousness is silenced for good when Sakura gasps out, “Go as far as you can, Sasuke-kun. Take me with you.”

With a sound resembling a growl crawling from somewhere deep in his chest, Sasuke loosens his grip at her breast, sliding his hand over a muscular thigh and heaving it up, and back to hook behind his hip. Then he braces his hand at the crease between her thigh and pelvis, swinging his hips back until his dripping tip notches at the source of the wetness that has made them both slick and glistening. 

The barest flex of his hip has the head of him teasing past the syrupy rim of her entrance and stars seem to take over his vision. He blinks to clear his head, sucking in deep breaths and restraining the urge to careen forward and sheathe himself inside of her as quickly as possible.

“Are you sure, Sakura?” he manages to grit out, gentling his grip at her hip and nuzzling his cheek against the edge of her jaw. “Is this what you really want?”

“Yes,” she breathes. Her hips tilt back, she opens herself to him more fully. “I want you so bad, Sasuke-kun. I need it.”

His breath falls out of him on a shudder and he grips her tightly again, brushing his lips over her shoulder, neck and jaw in what he hopes is a soothing manner. 

“I’ve dreamed of this, too,” he murmurs, slipping his eyes shut as he slowly curls his hips, pressing against her soft flesh slowly until it gradually gives and parts around him. She lets out a low moan. “Ever since you joined me, every night you lie by my side…I dreamed of this.”

Sasuke’s entire body is trembling with strain, his member throbbing with each centimeter it sinks into her depths. Her walls flutter around him, her core squeezes and releases in maddening increments. The urge to slam the remainder of his length into her until he is buried to the hilt is strong, but he curbs that instinct, unwilling to cause her pain. He feeds himself to her inch by achingly slow inch.

“If this is still a dream,” he gasps, stilling for a moment as her inner muscles spasm around him, her body bunching tight when nearly half of him is inside, “I hope I never wake up.”

“Sasuke-kun,” she begs, hips tilting back and spine arching severely. “Please. Please .”

With a deep, shaky breath Sasuke slips his hand up her body, bracing her throat with his palm and cradling her jaw with his fingers. He opens his eyes, shifts to catch her glistening gaze and slides deep, until he can move no further. 

Sakura’s head knocks back against his chin on a loud, guttural moan, and his tight grip on his restraint snaps. 

Flesh meets flesh with loud, wet smacks as he rocks into her, gripping tightly at her jaw and pressing his forehead to her crown. Choked groans and uttered curses spill from his mouth as his perception of reality slips away, his mind only able to hone in on the sound of her rhythmic cries, the snap of his hips against her ass and the tight, slick grip of her sliding over him, again and again and again .

Sakura thrashes in his grip, hips knocking backward to meet his thrusts as her upper body arches away from him. His hold on her face, at her neck keeps her in place to receive each unforgiving thrust, his pace as wild and untamed as the fire blazing through his veins. When he opens his bleary eyes, his irises swirl, taking in and cataloging the sheen of sweat on her skin, the ripple of her toned muscles beneath. Her cheek is warm and wet with a combination of sweat and the tears trickling slowly from the corner of her squinted eyes.  

Sasuke moans deeply, curling his body over hers to drag his tongue over her face, lapping at the salty perspiration before kissing his way desperately toward the corner of her mouth. He wrenches her head toward him so he can plunder her lips with his own, thrusting his tongue against hers in a pace matching the way his shaft burrows into her core.

“Sas-,” she slurs around his lips, sharp nails fixing themselves in the flesh of his forearm. His hips piston faster, more forcefully in response.

She is everything he has imagined, more . A culmination of every one of his fantasies, dreams and wishes made flesh. A keening whine builds in her chest and she gasps out his name, a shiver wracking her entire form as her nails dig more deeply into his flesh and prickles of pain sprout where her hand tugs at the strands of his hair.

“Let go,” he grunts, half desperate as he laves the skin of her neck with his tongue, sucking the lobe of her ear between his teeth. He smells jasmine, sweet fruits, rain, Sakura and now him all over her skin. “ My Sakura.”

“ Sasuke-kun! ” her voice is a shattering cry and her inner walls grip him so tight white flashes over his vision. Her hips stiffen before roiling in dizzying circles and waves, nearly dislodging him from her fountain. 

A rush of liquid coats his shaft and both of their thighs between them and suddenly the heat bubbling deep in his core bubbles over, a tingle forming at the base of his spine as his hips snap forward once, twice before tunneling him deep inside the third time and pressing tight against her. His shaft throbs, jerking into her depths as he spills everything he has inside of her until he is sure some of his own essence leaks out to join hers between their legs.

They jerk and pant together for long seconds that could be millennia before finally the aftershocks fade, the muscles of his abdomen relaxing as she falls, weightless into his chest. 

Sasuke cradles her close, squeezing his eyes shut as their breaths slow and the final twitches of his muscles cease. He can tell the air around them is beginning to cool but he still feels flushed, their skin sticking with their combined sweat and fluids.

He searches for trepidation, for guilt, but can find none. Only a deep-rooted satisfaction warms his chest, creeping into his extremities until he cannot resist a tiny smile from curving his lips before he presses them to the flushed skin of her shoulder.

“Some dream, eh?” Sakura breaks the silence quietly, emitting a small, slightly shaky laugh.

Sasuke hums in response, sliding his hand down, between her breasts to rest over her lower abdomen. 

“Aa,”  he says, huskily. 

“Should we…talk about it?” she asks, her voice still breathless with exertion but carrying a tinge of hesitance that sets a fire burning in his depths.

“If this is a dream,” Sasuke muses, slowly untangling himself and relishing in the shudder that works its way down his lover's spine when he slips free from her core, “there are still many things to be done. We can talk in the morning.”

Sakura squeaks when he grabs her thigh and tosses her gently to lie on her back. Green eyes widen up at him, a deep flush spreading from her temples to the tops of her full, delicious looking breasts as he snatches a blanket, fanning it around his shoulders and then plants himself on his knees between her spread out legs. His gaze slips down to her soft, dampened pink curls.

“This part, I fantasize about often,” he murmurs dazedly, peering down at the milky fluid dripping slowly from her folds. 

Sakura gasps before crying out when the blanket billows over both of them and he slides down to plant his face between her thighs.

End.