Pairing: Shikamaru/Temari
Theme: accidental sext
Temari is washing her hands the first time her phone buzzes, but sheβs hardly paying attention to it. The water is a little too cold, and she has the kind of soap that foams when it comes out (from an accidental purchase a few months ago) that sheβs desperately trying to work through because she canβt justify throwing it awayβ¦. Whatever. The point is: sheβs hardly paying attention.Β
She doesnβt need to check her phone to see what itβll say. Something about her being hot. Something about how sexy it is when her thighs shake when she comes or how he wishes he were there to fuck her through the orgasm. Itβs nothing he hasnβt said before. Just platitudes that would turn her on if she were still goingΒ β but sheβs done now. And has no specific interest in watching whatever video he sent back.Β
Another buzz. And another.Β
She ignores them. Sheβs not paying attention to her phone. She has about fifteen minutes before she has to leave. Maybe less.Β
Leaning over the counter, Temari presses her fingers under her eyes, blinking at the mirror. With her thumbs, she fixes some of the mascara that has bled onto her skin throughout the day. Sheβs a little worn down post-work, but she looks okay. Itβs only drinks. They never even schedule a full dinner (though often people end up eating anywayΒ β either through the fries bought with their first round or after as they pass the rows of food trucks waiting outside). But itβs not dinner. Itβs drinks. Friday night drinks sheβs attended most of the time since theyβd started the tradition.Β
She looks fine. She looks good. Sheβs not even going to change. Sheβll just put her jeans and underwear back on.Β
Hands still wet, Temari stands back from the counter, watching, fingers tugging the bottom of her top down as she evaluates herself in the mirror.
Okay. Maybe sheβll grab a new shirt. Her blouse is a little too Office. Maybe a white tee. Yes. The one thatβs loose enough to not put her in a skintight outfit, but thin enough that a black bra will be visible through it. Perfect for a bar. She washed it last week, right?Β
With a small sigh, Temari wipes her hands on the towel behind her and bends down to pick up the noisy device.Β
The messages are on her lock screen, a minute or so between each.Β
Passcode in, her phone opens first to the video sheβd just sentΒ β a short video of her finally climaxingΒ β and then opens her texts to see her new messages.Β
No ninety-second clip of her orgasm.Β
Just his messages waiting for her to send the video she was sure sheβd sent five minutes ago.Β
She goes back to see her texts andβ
Oh. Fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuckβΒ
Temari falls back against the wall, knees locking as she slides down gracelessly to the floor.Β
What the fuck did she just do?!
Yes. There it is. Open in the text. From her to him. One video.Β
The thumbnail shows it: legs spread, vagina hidden by the PLAY button.Β
There are no prior messages. Sheβs never texted him. Sheβs never had reason to. The fact that she has his number itself is a fluke. An accident! Theyβre not even friends.Β
And thenΒ β as though life cannot get any fucking worseΒ β the stamp of Delivered on the bottom of the message changes to Read 17:13.Β
This time, Temari flinches back, squeezing her fingers so hard to keep from dropping her phone that she accidentally re-locks it.Β
Black screen. Okay, good. Nothing damning here. Maybe she made it all up. A minor bout of insanity. A brief streak of fantasy. There were weird greens in the salad she ate for lunch, werenβt there? Yeah. They had a bitter, unfamiliar taste. Was she drugged? Was she hallucinating now?Β
She had to imagine that a nonconsensual ingestion of illegal substances (or maybe legal?), despite being terrifying, was still preferable to the alternativeβ¦.
With held breath, Temari opens her phone again.
Itβs not a full crush. Sheβll maintain that on her deathbed. Itβs just a regular, lower-level, garden-apartment, pedestrian kind of interest. He has these good-sized hands (yeah, whatever, theyβre big) and a sharpness to his gaze that perfectly juxtaposes his perpetual air of ennui that she finds arousing in an infuriating sort of way. But she doesnβt have a big crush. She hardly even knows him. She just thinks about fucking him. And even thatβs only every now and then. Sheβs maybe said his name with her hands between her legs onceΒ β maybe twiceΒ β when sheβs a bit too far gone and not thinking things through clearly. Soβ¦ yeah. Small tinge of interest that amounts to almost nothing. A sliver of passing acknowledgment. So innocuous she hardly even thinks about it.Β
Thatβs what sheβll maintain. All the way to her death. Dying on this hill holding this stick aloft or whatever they say. Itβs what sheβll say nowΒ β if she is forced to explain anything at allΒ β as she furiously hovers her thumb over Inoβs number.Β
(who else can she call? who else could steal his phone and throw it into the river? no, fuckβ¦ theyβre past that (see: READ 17:13)β¦ who can she call that could throw him in the river?)
Her hands are shaking again. The entire phone is vibrating with the quake of her wrists. She feels lightheaded. Not just because of the orgasm still pulsing in her knees or the cold tiles against her bare ass or the salad sheβs now half-convinced is causing some currently-undiagnosed delirium (though she wishes that if there really was poison contributing to this situation, she would be blessed with the never-wake-up kind and not just the could-be-fun-trip kind).Β
Maybe she can get drunk right now? The kind of drunk where they find her too late to pump her stomach and Shikamaru, the subject of her very, very small crush, attributes the naked video heβd already seen (!) to an accidental drunken misdialΒ β which, in a way, it is!Β β and not because of her small crush. The kind of drunk where she doesnβt wake up again.Β
Okay. She needs to stop theorizing her potential [and theoretical and eventual] ingesting of extrinsic toxins as an actual Game Plan on how to deal with the fact that she just sent an actual minute and a half-long video focused on her legs spread wide as she brings herself to orgasm.Β
Belatedly, Temari tries to Unsend it, but the option doesnβt even come up. Itβs too late, probably. Not that that was a failsafe anyway.Β
No. The best thing she can do is explain it to him (or murder him, whichever feels more natural in the moment).Β
This is okay. It will be okay. Accidents happen all the time. The video obviously wasnβt meant for him. Theyβre not even friends. Itβs completely innocent and he (maybe) is one of those good men who will simply abide by her follow-up messages to delete the attachment without ever viewing it and let her go without any follow-up questions.Β
Yes. Thatβs what she should do.Β
Hey, this is Temari. I know I just sent a hugely inappropriate video to you, but it was a genuine accident. And I am so sorry for that. I cannot apologize enough for that. But can you delete it and pretend it never happened and we can maybe never think about this again?Β
What could he say? She doesnβt know him well, but heβs a reasonable guy. Kind of cocksure, yeah, but surely capable of a little grace. Kind of an asshole, but notβ¦ inhumane. Heβd agree. Wouldnβt mention it again. Right?Β
Fuck. Heβs probably at the bar already. Probably sitting in their usual booth between his usual friends drinking his usual whiskey (βneatβ) and wondering why the fuck heβs getting sexts from a woman heβs directly spoken to only a handful of times.
He finds her unreasonableΒ β that she knows. Heβs said it to her before. Itβs only half-justified, but thatβs neither here nor there.Β
No. She should bite this in the bud. If she doesnβt confront it now, it will only get worse.Β
Temari isnβt a coward. She doesnβt like him. And he doesnβt like her. Thatβs really it. Sheβs not asked him out because she doesnβt want to. Her crushΒ β pedestrian!Β β is hardly more than a blip in the scheme of her sexual reference. She doesnβt want to call him not because she isnβt sure of herself βΒ
She justβ¦ Honestly. What would she say?Β
I was sexting some guy I donβt even really like and was instead imagining it was your hand on me when I came and I think that image was just so in my head and I was so out of my head post-orgasm that I typed your name in without even realizing and thatβs the only explanation that even remotely fits the crime even though I struggle to comprehend the fact that I would do something so pitiful and egregious?Β
Sheβs supposed to tell him that?!Β
Sheβll go tell him in person: it was an accident, please delete.Β
Temari thumbs open the video again. Really, he might not even realize itβs her. She has his number, but he seriously might not have hers. And looking at this video, unless he knew what her bathroom looked like or knew the shirt she was wearing or knew her voice like thatβ¦ he wouldnβt know who it was (and β well. he wouldnβt know any of those things. there is no reason for him to).Β
Actually, she wouldnβt be surprised if he didnβt recognize her at all. Theyβve never talked seriously. Theyβre not friends. She only has his cell because sheβd needed to contact him once, but ended up changing her plans. Not friends!Β
She needs to do something.Β
Him not knowing is not an excuseΒ βΒ apart from the humiliation of him recognizing her, what she has done really is egregious. Egregious, | iΛΙ‘rΔjΙs |: Adjective, 1. outstandingly bad; shocking: egregious abuses of power. Right. Honestly, is there a difference between this and her receiving an unsolicited dick pic? Is this not unsolicited nudity? Is this a versionΒ β minor, accidental, hardly inculpatory, lacking all forms of intent and mens reaΒ β of an assault? Β
Okay. Sheβs reading too much into it. Heβs a heterosexual man (from all sheβs heardΒ β which isnβt much, but she knows heβs no monk), it is (honestly) a pretty hot video. And heβs an adult. He can delete it if he wants. Itβs clear, from the thumbnail, what it is. If he doesnβt want to view it, he can delete it.Β
And he should! He will! It was an accident and he wonβt recognize her and he will delete it.
Sheβll text. Thatβs best. And then later, if sheβs wrong and he has her number, she can apologize in person. She will have already made clear where they stand (which is Nowhere. Theyβre not friends. He doesnβt even like her).Β
Temari gets up. Her fingers arenβt shaking anymore.Β
Sorry! She texts, imagining the flippancy of how sheβd say it if she were speaking. Wrong number.Β
She watches it to ensure it gets delivered. And immediately, as though heβs on his phone waiting for a message: Read 17:16. She waits another moment, but no response comes. Not even the three dots that denote the consideration of one. Okay, not going to respond. Good. Easy. Okay.
She goes back to the messages from the guy sheβs been hooking up with to quickly type: ugh, sorry to leave you hanging. something came up. Then she exits the app, locks her phone, and leaves it on the counter to go get dressed.Β
Itβs only when she exhales that she realizes sheβd been holding her breath. It had made her a little dizzy.Β
Shikamaru, as he always does, hardly looks her way when she slides back into the booth after stepping out of it to let Sakura leave. Itβs a corner oneΒ β the kind that wraps in an L shape. And, even though something in the universe is clearly divinely conspiring against her (how else could one explain how, for the first time, every single mutual friend of theirs has either failed to show up or suddenly thought this bar was a good place to dance despite there being only a poorly-maintained jukebox and no open area to move around), the length of the booth at least presents them with some space between them, even though theyβre currently the only two sitting in it.Β
People are there and then theyβre not. And, when she exhales, itβs just them.
Temari keeps her distance, settling toward the long end of the cushion while Shikamaru sits unmoving around the corner, vaguely facing her profile.Β
β¦heβs not looking at her though. He never is.
Sheβd thought heβd been, earlier β all throughout the night, really β but she was wrong. It just feels like he is. But sheβs putting her own worries onto him. He clearly didnβt know sheβd sexted him a little over an hour before; whether because he hadnβt recognized her or because she had the wrong number, she isnβt sure. But either way, as far as he seems to be aware, nothing untoward has passed between them.Β
Heβd been there when she arrived, elbows on the table and whiskey halfway gone. His cell, unlike the other ones on the table before their owners, was nowhere to be seen.Β
Good, sheβd thought at the time. Despite the read receipts (and ugh of course heβd be the type to leave them on), she still probably wouldβve found a way to drop his phone into the water jug in the center of the table had it been readily available to her. Just to be safe.Β
But heβd been quiet, as he usually is, his phone put away, his eyes lazily moving over the rest of the group; only engaging when asked a direct question. His voice, as it often does Friday nights, carries a light hint of exhaustion. He always sounds tired. A bit reluctant. A bit amused too, though. Β
ReallyΒ β this was all as usual; all as it always was. He really had no idea. Absolutely nothing bad had transpired.Β
It should be a reliefΒ β it is! But, instead of feeling the assurance unwind in her stomach, all she finds herself doing is knotting her organs further. Squeezing against her core. And not in the good way. She feels pent up. She feels exhausted.
βThat bad?β Narutoβs voice cuts through whatever sheβd been thinking.
Huh? Temari blinks. βWhat?β
Naruto laughs from the front of the table. βJeeze, Temari.β
From behind her: βYou were yawning.β Β
She snaps her head around to Shikamaru. Heβs looking at her now, lips a little thin.Β
Swallowing, she nods; looks back at Naruto. βYeah, hard day.β
βLet me get you another drink,β Naruto reaches over for her glass. Heβs smiling (he often is) and had been in the dancing group, so there is sweat at his forehead.Β
βIno! Whatβs that oneββ
βNo, really, Iβm okay.β
But Ino bounds over, landing perfectly on both feet as though sheβs made one long leap to the table, and, through some rapid exchange Temari barely catches, her empty glass is taken away and then she and Shikamaru are alone once more.Β
βI donβt need another drink.β
He flicks his wrist and she catches it out of the corner of her eye. βTheyβll bring something.βΒ
βYou seem to be misunderstanding me. I donβt want anything else to drink.β
A pause. She doesnβt think heβs going to respond. They donβt really have anything to say. Then: βare you going to get up?βΒ
She scoffs, surprised. βWhat? In protest of your friends? Itβs fine.β
βOur friends. And no. To dance. Or get something to eat.β
Temari narrows her gaze as she glances over at him for only a second before refocusing on the empty table before her. Is he prompting her to leave?Β
βAnd too tired to dance.β
She says it to ignore whatever heβs getting at. To talk past him the way heβs been talking past her. Heβs often difficult. Itβs why theyβve never really gotten on. Itβs why theyβre not really friends. It always feels like heβs looking at her but he never really is. She doesnβt like being near him.
Shikamaru yawns too, openly and deliberately, as though triggered by her clipped sentence. Itβs loud and seems closer to her ear than she knows he is.Β
Hm. Would his voice sound the same when he fucked her? Would he lean over her and groan in her ear about how long the week had been? Would he push into her slow and deliberate? That same edge of amusement in his tone as he complained about how tired he was even though he was still inside her?
Ugh. Sheβd roll her eyes if she were alone. See? Even her misguided sexual fantasiesΒ βNo. No! One passing momentary thought! Not fantasies, plural β portray him as thoroughly exasperating. Heβd probably be just as difficult in bed as he was everywhere else. She really needs to stop this; to get her mind back level.Β
Temari opens her mouth to say something, but nothing useful comes.Β
Itβs ninety seconds from start to finish.Β
Sheβd cropped the beginning and end out (which was mostly just her leaning forward to start and then stop the video). For the aesthetic. And to keep her face out of it.Β
The final version, the version heβd maybe received, starts with her touching herself and ends the same way, her working hand settling on her inner thigh after the come down. Sheβs leaning back on her other hand, only visible in the space between her thigh and the floor.Β
Sheβs taken better, more intimate videos before. Sheβs not even saying anything during this. It doesnβt even show any of the build-up (which she finds much more interesting than the climax itself). Itβs just an orgasm. And a minor one at that.Β
The man sheβs hooking up with is fine. They meet rarely. Neither ever spends the night. Soon, sheβs sure sheβll meet someone else and just transfer the easy casual sex to them. Heβs nice andβ¦ easy. Easy. So goddamn easy. He fucks her from behind a lot too which is, of course, easiest. She can imagine sheβs fucking whoever she wants then.Β
Boring. Yeah. But easy. Fine. Itβs fine.Β
Shikamaruβs second yawn is louder than the first, prompting her to look over at him.
He works for the mayorβs office. Sheβs pretty sure he just answers phones all day. Two yawns in a thirty-second period is a little much. Heβs being dramatic. Or maybe heβs making fun of her. She canβt really tell.Β
When she opens her mouth this time, itβs to ask which it is, but before she can, a drink is being placed in front of her by a woman wearing an apron. Itβs two seconds. And then theyβre alone again.
Temari frowns, looking at it. Thereβs a dusting of cinnamon powder, she thinks, atop the foam. She slides it over.Β
βWhatβs that? A fancy espresso martini?β
The drink looks completely at odds with the heavy line of his brow and stubble along his jaw. Sheβs grown so used to his small tumblers and single fingers of whiskey, the martini glass is near-impossible to reconcile with the man before her.Β
Shikamaru shrugs. Then yawns again. She fully rolls her eyes this time.Β
βOh,β Temari finds, watching his mouth close, βreally? Work so exhausting you need thisββ she gestures to the glass heβs currently twirling by the stem ββto take the edge off? The whiskey will put you to sleep before the coffee even hits.βΒ
She huffs, mostly at herself for even getting involved. Then frowns. And then straightens and refocuses her attention back to the empty table before her. Thereβs not another glass in sight. Maybe Naruto had actually listened and not ordered her anything else?Β
βItβs possible, though it can take the edge off. But you know all about taking the edge off, donβt you,Temari?β
βI never understood the point of irish coffees as a pick-me-up for that reasonΒ β because doesnβt it just cancel outβ Wait, what?β She stops and turns her whole body his way.Β
βWhat did you just say?βΒ
Shikamaruβs mouth works over something. Heβs really looking at her now. Itβs not just the feeling. She sees it now too. βI said: Itβs not whiskey. Itβs just coffee liqueur. And Espresso. Not just drip.β
Oh. Right. Her chest unclenches. Sheβs being paranoid; imagining things.
She has a bad number. Or he didnβt recognize her.Β
βWant to?β He pushes the glass forward with just two fingers pressing on the base, split open over the stem.
Temari shakes her head, but pulls the glass toward her, careful to not touch any part of his hand as she takes it from him and takes a sip. Huh. Good. A bit sweeter than an espresso martini, though not as nice (or warm) as an irish coffee. But itβs nice. She likes it.
Shikamaruβs still watching her when she puts the glass down, his gaze certain but a little distant. Temari licks the foam from her upper lip and looks away, thoughtful.Β
βYeah, actually,β she gives, working to pull their regular incompatible stand back into focus. βThatβs pretty good.βΒ
The coffee liqueur still coats the back of her tongue. Heβs still looking at her. Her mind feels sluggish. She feels like somewhere down the line of tonight she lost the control she didnβt really know she even needed to have. She feels a bitβ¦ well. Hungry.Β
She hasnβt made it far into her night before sheβs looking at her phone again.Β
Itβs exactly the same as it was when she left her place. And now, shoes off and legs crossed beneath her on the couch, sheβs still staring at the same video, the same apology, the same instruction to ignore, same (maybe incorrect) name at the top of her message.Β
The read receipt says it was received and read hours ago. She remembers. She watched it happen.Β
Okay. Look. At this point, he obviously doesnβt recognize her. Or, worse (or maybe better?), she really has just sent some form of a sex tape to a random stranger who will (hopefully) totally ignore it. There isnβt anything identifying in it. So. Good. Right?Β
Nothing has changed. Temari hasnβt eaten. She has only had water to drink for at least the last eighty minutes. The sun has long set. And the message is exactly the same β Sorry! Wrong number. βΒ as it was when sheβd first sent it.Β
But she keeps looking at it.
And then β three dots.Β
She doesnβt move, but the spike through her makes her feel like sheβs doubled over.Β
Theyβre there. Then away. Then there. And then, suddenly,
Yes. Yes! Sheβs sure. It was a wrong number. There was no intention! Oh fuck wait β she didnβt even think! Is it illegal if it went to a kid? Likeβ¦ if she sent it to a kid, isnβt that a crime?Β
But yes (sheβs definitely sure) that it was the wrong number. Sheβs completely innocent.Β
Her mouth is dry. No three dots for the respondent. It takes less than a second for her to type and send:Β
Oh. Well, if you change your mind, will you send one with your face next time? Iβd like to watch you, Temari, if thatβs alright.
The phone falls out of her hands.
ty for @twnj for the extra help and @weirdcreepies for her six-month consult
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