#ankokure

Anko throws her head back, gasping, fingers twisting in the bedsheets as Kurenai rises between her splayed thighs, hands braced on Anko's knees. Anko watches through her eyelashes as Kurenai's gaze trails over her body as though cataloguing the familiar territory. Kurenai licks her lips, catching Anko's attention there.

Even in the midst of battle, Anko has never seen Kurenai's lipstick so much as smudged. It's smeared across her mouth now, obscuring the grin Anko can sense through the shadows of the sweat-soaked hair cascading around Kurenai's face. Anko rolls her neck to look down the length of her body and her pulse jumps at the sight of the red marks scattered across her skin.

In the dim light of their bedroom, they almost look like welts; beads of sweat catch the color, standing out like drops of blood. Anko shifts, restless, nerves screaming for the razor edge of pain that her mind expects. There's nothing but the pleasurable burn of Kurenai's kisses, scorched in her memory.