#ssm15d17

Realization hits you immediately, and for a moment, you're speechless. You never thought she would talk to you like this. She was once so shy, so hesitant, all blushing cheeks and sheepish smiles and suppressed moans and eyes tightly shut. 

But that was months ago, when your relationship first started, discreet dates and awkward hand-holding barely left behind. Now, things are changed. Now, you have seen her bare in every sense, and vice versa. There is nothing to hide, no need to be shy, no secrets between the two of you.

“First of all...” Your fingers hook on the waist-band of her shorts. “I want you naked.”

She folds both her legs, helping you get read of the two garments covering her lower body. Then, wordlessly, you grab her shirt and pull that off, too. When it's done, you run your hungry eyes over her naked body – her skin creamy, her curves soft, her nipples puckered, her chest rising and lowering rapidly – before locking your gaze with hers again. The green has become a shade darker.

“Now what?” she asks, breathless, prepared, and you feel your stomach flip at the lust in her voice.

Licking your dry lips, you pull away and sit up in front of her. “Open your legs,” you command.

Still watching you attentively, she obeys.

You are devouring her with your eyes. You wish you could do it with your mouth already, but you can see she is liking this; you see it in the glistening fluids dampening her slit. You have to wait for a bit longer, until you are driving her crazy. You love driving her crazy.

You lean forward, nearing your face to the sweet spot between her legs, and you hear her moan loudly.

“Sasuke-kun,” she pants, eyes fluttering shut and hands falling upon her breasts. “Sasuke-kun, please.”

“I want you desperate,” you say, “begging me.”

“I already am.” She opens her eyes briefly, and moans at the sight of your smirk. “Oh, please, please, please, just – Ah!”

She tastes like honey mixed with something else; something uniquely hers.

“I want you whimpering,” you murmur into her flesh, causing a slight vibration that has her doing exactly what you just said.

Minutes later, she comes with a shriek, thighs quivering and fingernails raking your scalp.

You kick your pants off and crawl upwards, until you're face to face with her. She looks exhausted, but content. The green of her eyes seems almost black now.

“I want you,” she whispers, weakly wrapping her arms around your neck as you align your hips with hers.

“How do you want me, Sakura?”

She kisses you, deeply and sensually, and after a few moments, she pulls away to answer. “Deep inside me.”

You put your arm around her waist, sit up again, and pull her onto your lap. Swiftly, you sink into her, and both groan at the feeling. You realize then that you do not want her anymore: now, you need her. 

A low and long creak sounds behind her, and Sakura turns to see that the door given up and come to a final stop.

With the lower hinges gone, there is very little she can do to fix it. So very little indeed, but Sakura leans the door as upright as she possibly can before continuing forward.

This is the first year Sasuke has been in Konoha on the anniversary of the Uchiha massacre since learning of councils’ guilt, and the Uchiha manor shows it.

The inside of the house is in even worse disrepair than the outside. Seat cushions are strewn across rooms, and the stuffing has even been ripped out in some cases. Glass covers nearly the entire floor, and it is nearly impossible to deduce where it all came from. Windows, glasses, teacups, picture frames, plates—they’re all broken.

Holes litter the walls. Large slashes indicate Sasuke’s kusanagi has been at work. Small, deep wounds implicate Sasuke’s very own fist. At one point entire portions of the wall are missing, making it seem like Sasuke had simply grabbed a torn edge and pulled. Just before the stairs, a single picture frame sticks out of the plaster like a shuriken.

It doesn’t budge at first, but Sakura dislodges the picture on the second try and gently blows the insulation and plaster dust off to see what about this particular picture set Sasuke off.

When she realizes what she’s looking at, her breath catches in her throat.

A very, very small Sasuke smiles up at her. His eyes—bright, innocent, and expressive—send Sakura rocking back on her heels. He’s holding a paper in his hand, showing it off to the camera, and while Sakura can’t make out what it is, the red “100” at the top of the paper makes it easy to guess why it was featured in this picture. It’s the hand resting atop Sasuke’s head that clues Sakura in on why the picture was thrown, though.

The owner of the hand has been scratched out—not recently, however. Even the white of the paper beneath the photo has begun to age due to sunlight exposure. All that is visible of the person is a green, chunin vest and standard, black shinobi pants. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who the person is and why his image has been so mutilated, but the wisp of a black ponytail hanging over the chunin vest confirms it.

Uchiha Itachi.

It’s as though her heart speeds up and stops at the same time. Suddenly dizzy, but vibrating with anxious energy, Sakura grabs onto the staircase railing. She’s taking deep-breaths, focusing on inhaling through her nose and exhaling though her mouth, but that’s being regulated by her medic side.

At the forefront of her mind, the only thing Sakura is thinking is Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke. On an endless, frantic, loop.

Then Sasuke’s chakra spikes and expands with enough intensity that she is sure every ninja in the village, from the academy students to the hokage, felt the surge—the silent cry for help. Perhaps they simply feel the intimidating power that the last Uchiha holds, but, to Sakura, the desperation and loss and overwhelming pain flooding through Sasuke is as clear as day.

I’m here! Sakura answers him with a chakra spike of her own. She can’t tell if Sasuke felt her respond, doesn’t know if he’s in the state of mind to even comprehend her presence. Regardless, the intensity of Sasuke’s chakra lowers, and even if it’s dangerous and erratic, it’s still there.

She’s at the top of the stairs before she even knows she started to climb them. Every cell in Sakura’s body is screaming faster, so she pushes harder. Runs faster. The chakra she channels into her feet for traction threatens to scorch the hardwood floor, but that is her very last concern. With all the blood that has soaked into it, why should a few scorch marks matter?

All Sakura knows that if she doesn’t get to him soon, doesn’t pull him back from wherever he’s gone, it might be too late.

His bedroom is empty, as is his parents’ room, but at last she finds him collapsed on Itachi’s floor. Items are strewn across the floor, but this mess looks more deliberate—as if Sasuke had been searching for something. In a semi-circle around him lays pictures—hundreds of pictures. But it is a single picture that rests just before him.

A single picture that Sasuke sits bent over with his face clutched in his hand.

Sakura skids to a halt, definitely marking the floor this time, and forces herself to relax. As he is now, wrapped up in his mourning trance, there is a good probability that rushing in would shock him into attacking. Instead, she approaches slowly, like she would any wounded shinobi, and continues to call to him with both her voice and her chakra. He doesn’t so much as flinch until she is a couple steps away, and even then he doesn’t raise his bowed head.

“Sasuke-kun?” she tries once more, dropping slowly to her knees in front of him. Several discarded pictures stick to the bare skin of her knees, but she ignores them in favor of tentatively shifting closer to Sasuke.

Finally, Sasuke raises his head to look at her, and the expression he wears sends a lance piercing straight through to her core—much worse than any other impalement she’d suffered.

For once, there is no expressionless mask. There is no blank shield to guard his emotions and thoughts. There is only Sasuke. Only Sasuke and the raw, unbridled loss and guilt that are coursing through him.

Sakura is used to relying on small tells—like the muscle in his jaw that twitched when he was embarrassed or the minuscule furrow that appeared between his brows when he was worried—to determine what Sasuke was feeling. Next to Naruto, she can probably read him the best. But this, Sakura has never seen Sasuke this exposed.

Without even thinking through her actions, Sakura draws him into a hug. It is awkward, as most sitting hugs are, but thankfully Sasuke doesn’t reject her.

“It’s the only one where I didn’t scratch his face out,” Sasuke croaks from within her embrace.

Sensing the importance of this statement, Sakura pulls back to examine the photo Sasuke now cradles in his single palm. He extends his arm to her, offering the picture, and Sakura gingerly accepts. The pads of her fingers barely skim the edges of the image, and she brings it just close enough to see.

“Oh,” she breaths simply.

Sasuke is small once more, but this time it isn’t just he and Itachi in the picture. It’s a family photo, or, at least, everyone has gathered as if they are preparing to take a family photo. Sakura has always preferred candid photos to posed photos because feel more real to her. Not just a façade that people show to the world, but what they’re really like.

The feeling holds true here.

Rather than pose nicely for the camera, Sasuke is holding his forehead in one hand and glaring playfully at his older brother. Itachi grins mischievously and one hand is slowly retracting from Sasuke. Their mother—Mikoto was her name, Sakura remembers—is laughing, and Sakura can tell it must have been a full-on, body laugh because her eyes are clenched shut and she’s holding her stomach as if trying to give her abdominal muscles some relief. Behind them, standing stoically with his arms crossed, is their father. He’s easily the most subdued, but the eye-crinkle and slight upward tilt of his lips shows him for what he is: happy.

In this picture, Sasuke’s family is happy.

“I’m glad you found this picture,” Sakura tells him, shifting to sit by his side rather than in front of him. She offers the picture back, and Sasuke takes it gently in his hand once more. “You all look very happy.”

“We were.” A pause. The family photo is set on the ground. “At least I thought we were. I had no idea that my parents were planning a coup, or that my brother was planning to kill them all, or that the council was planning to frame Itachi. I just, how could I not know?”

Sasuke’s hand is clenched tight in his raven hair, and for a second Sakura is scared he might pull it out in frustration. His mismatched eyes are wild. Old tear tracks run down his cheeks, and fresh tears threaten to spill over again. She has never seen him so broken. Insane with loss and guilt, yes—instinctively she tucks her chin to protect her neck at the memory—but never this heartbroken.

Guilt and grief have scrubbed away his pride and left him here before her, a raw, tangled mess of despair.

“Because you were just a kid,” Sakura consoles him, “You weren’t even a genin, yet. You were too young for clan meetings and secrets. There’s no way you could have known.”

Tenderly, Sakura pulls Sasuke’s hand from his hair. It’s slow work, and she has to loosen each finger’s hold before he’s not in danger of hurting himself. She had planned to let his hand go once it was out of his hair, but Sasuke’ tightens his hold on her desperately, and Sakura consents to being his anchor.

She’ll always ground him, for as long as she can.

“I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have doubted him,” Sasuke chokes out. His words are broken up by silent sobs. “I blamed him. I killed him. I scratched out all his pictures, and it wasn’t his fault.”

The keening noise that escapes Sasuke sends shivers up Sakura’s spine and makes her hair stand on end. All she wants to do is take away his pain, but she knows it’s impossible. Eleven years may have passed since his clan’s massacre, but the loss of his brother is a fresh wound.

So, Sakura doesn’t offer meaningless words of comfort. She holds his hand and leans heavily into his side to let him know she is there—just like in the Forest of Death so many years ago. Eventually, Sasuke’s grip lessens, and Sakura takes that as her cue to start speaking.

“You didn’t kill him, Sasuke-kun. He was already dying, you know he was,” she tells him, gently stroking his hair with her free hand. “And, and I think it’s okay to be mad at him for killing your clan, but that doesn’t mean you’re placing the blame solely on him.” Sasuke doesn’t pull away, so she tentatively continues on. “As for doubting him, he gave you every reason to doubt him. His plan was for you to doubt him. It will probably always hurt that you didn’t see through him, but that doesn’t make it your fault.”

Silence reigns as Sasuke processes her words. She has more to say, but Sakura plans to wait until he’s ready to hear it. This is a crucial moment, and how she handles it is critical. While Sasuke thinks, Sakura continues to rub his head. His usually silky locks are sticky with sweat, but it doesn’t deter her—doesn’t even phase her. After all, as a medic and kunoichi she’s dealt with far worse, and Sakura will endure anything for Sasuke.

“What am I supposed to do?” he whispers after some time, his voice scratchy, “What am I supposed to do?”

Sakura’s heart breaks at the pain in his voice, and she pulls her hand from his hair to hold him close to her instead. She buries her head in his shoulder and it isn’t long before Sasuke’s head collapses to rest on hers.

“Live,” Sakura murmurs into his shirt. It occurs to her that her words have been muffled, and she raises her head enough that Sasuke can hear the importance of her words. “You’re supposed to keep living. Your parents, your brother, everyone you’re mourning would have wanted you to continue moving forward.”

Downstairs, someone pounds across the porch and skids across the glass on the floor, but Sasuke doesn’t move. Sakura immediately recognizes Naruto’s chakra, and it isn’t long before the blonde stands in the doorway of Itachi’s room. Wide blue eyes take in the scene before him, and Sakura motions him toward them with her head before continuing on.

“I’m not saying it will be easy, Sasuke-kun, but you’ll get through it. Just take it slow. Step by step.” Sakura’s soothing words are punctuated by the circles she is rubbing into Sasuke’s back, and Naruto takes this moment to sling his arm across the Uchiha’s shoulders. “We’ll be right beside you.”

Sakura isn’t sure if it’s the second arm across his back or the fact that she said “we’ll”, but Sasuke looks up to see Naruto.  The blonde’s expression is as serious as either of them have either seen it, and sincere worry is etched in his face. For a long moment Sasuke and Naruto stare at each other, silently communicating in the way that always came naturally to them—to all of Team 7, really. Some friendships are just too close to need words. Finally, Sasuke nods to Naruto and turns his gaze back to Sakura.

“So, what’s the next step?”

“Well,” Sakura pauses, searching for the least threatening step for Sasuke to take, “How about we get your house back in order? Naruto and I can take care of the big problems, like those holes in the wall, and you can work on putting all the details in place—like these pictures.”

Slowly, the corner of Sasuke’s mouth pulled up in a smirk. It was still tinged with melancholy, but it was a grin nonetheless.

“Teamwork?”

From over Sasuke’s head, Naruto and Sakura exchanged a look and grinned. It was slow, and kind of unsteady, but they were finally making progress at rebuilding Team 7.

--

it’s like returning to square one except not. 

it’s confusing -- her and sasuke-kun’s relationship has always been so confusing. so many terms and gestures and names that she can’t really pinpoint where they stand. 

he’s quieter again. 

they eat fried squid in a small inn room. it’s quiet but it’s not choking. sasuke-kun stares at the wall and out the window for the most part. sakura settles into studying her meal.

usually, she brushes past these moods, after a while. she always finds something to say, trivial or not. but now she feels like if she so much as opens her mouth she’ll be intruding.

they’ve been traveling for days and even a week if not two. in that time, sasuke-kun has managed to put down some of the walls he’s so set on keeping up. he spoke to her, explained things... he let her in.

in turn, she mentioned things about her training. she even suggested they should spar some time in the near future. as if his life isn’t on the line in this quest to fight his brother, seek revenge, quiet the demons that whisper things inside his head.

sakura looks up at him at that thought and startles when he’s already watching her.

--

“he’s here,” he tells you later that night, when the streets are alone and nothing but the lanterns and the moon keeps them illuminated. he sits on the edge of his bed, his attention on the ground and sakura wonders what’s going through his mind.

whatever it is, it’s making her anxious. a bug that’s nestled itself in the center of her chest and is carving and carving its way in, leaving a hole and a way of escape for her fast beating heart.

“how do you know?”

“i can feel it,” he says and he does not elaborate. but he’s palming that spot again, where the cursed seal is. “i know he’s here.”

sakura studies him, feels fear and anxiety well themselves so deep inside her. “what do we do?”

sasuke-kun looks at her with his dark eye filled with so many emotions but all muted by pure rage. he does not respond.

--

it’s close to midnight when sakura finally says something.

they’ve sat in silence for the majority of the night and, though she’s annoyed with herself, she’s dozed off a bit but never enough to fully fall asleep. her unease won’t allow her that luxury.

sasuke-kun hasn’t moved much since they’ve arrived unless its to scratch or rub or palm the cursed seal. each time, she’s noticed, he does it more discreetly, as if noticing that she’s paying close attention to him.

she doesn’t know where her question comes from, doesn’t even think much on it before it’s out her mouth. “will you come home?”

her voice is quiet and soft. in the silence of the room, she’s almost too loud and sasuke-kun looks up at her, his expression unreadable.

“i have no home.”

“yes you do,” she is quick to say, a feeling in her chest that’s far, far too familiar for any comfort. “you have a home. konoha -- that is your home. that’s where you belong. with team seven.... kakashi-sensei... naruto...”

he looks at her, his stare heavier.

“with me,” she whispers, closing her eyes and feeling the way her tears still manage to slip out. it’s happening again, isn’t it? this is the same feeling that ate at her insides the night sasuke-kun left the village.

sakura is too smart for this. too smart to be able to fool herself.

history... is repeating itself... he’s going to leave.

“will you?”

“i don’t know.”

she shakes her head and sniffs in her attempts to hide her sob. “that’s not good enough, sasuke-kun.”

“what...” he sucks in air. “what do you want from me, sakura?”

sakura can answer that with so much ease, without thinking. there is never enough things she can say of what she wants from sasuke-kun. what she wants for sasuke-kun. “i want you to be okay... i want you to come home. to be okay. to... to stop living in the past. i want you to be able to live in the now. there’s so many things you’re missing, sasuke-kun. and if this... if this fight and this revenge is what will finally unchain you from the tragedy of your family, then fine. but please...” she pauses, not trusting herself in that second. she’s crying again, like she always does when it comes to him. but these tears are different.

there is the familiar ache, the familiar anger with herself, the familiar resignation. but there’s also that familiar hope. and it has a bit of want. and so much love. these days and weeks with sasuke-kun have been nothing special.

they’ve been sweaty and muddy. quiet and angry and sad. but they’ve been so domestic, too. the two of them, just living together. coexisting. 

it’d been so... nice. more than that. it’d been more than she could ever hope for.

“please come home after.” she sniffs and looks down at her lap. “please come home with me.”

for the longest moment, sasuke-kun doesn’t respond. silence falls around them yet again and all that’s audible is sakura’s tears. her sniffles and her soft and quiet sobs.

“we’ll see.” it’s steady. quiet. low. soft. for sasuke-kun, it means yes.

--

sakura wakes up in the middle of the night and even through the darkness she can see his figure as he makes his way for the door. 

she sits up quickly, stares up at the crescent moon as it peeks into the room. taunting her.

“sasuke-kun!”

he stops but he does not turn to look at her. sakura stands up from her bed but stumbles as deja vu hits her. this has happened before. long ago; two years ago. when they were younger and sakura was weaker and sasuke-kun was out of options.

“y-you’re leaving me behind...”

“yes.”

sakura feels the way her breathing picks up speed, shoulders rising and falling quickly, chest heaving. “b-but why... you said you’d let me help you!”

“you did,” he says. he still does not turn to look at her. “it’s how i got here.”

“but...” she stops, closing her eyes and noticing that she’s crying again. she’d been crying that night as well. “please... let me go with you. we can go back together. i--i can heal you. please. you’ll need my--”

“sakura.”

“sasuke-kun,” she sobs, her hands clutching at her chest. “i... i love you so much, i can barely stand it.”

last time, she’d yelled it to him. tonight, it’s a broken whisper. sakura opens her eyes and stares at his back, tries to keep herself from wondering how he’ll manage with only one eye. it’ll only serve to make it all hurt more.

“i love you,” she repeats, just as softly. just as desperate. just as true. “please... take me with you...!”

sasuke-kun finally turns to her, then. his upper body twisted so he can look at her from over his shoulder. he’s smirking at her, his eye straining, his expression, despite the haughty little smile, almost looking pained. 

“you...” he begins, letting out a soft sight. “are so damn annoying.”

sakura gasps, eyes growing wide when he disappears from where he’d stood in front of her. he’s behind her, she knows. she can feel him, the way he stands closer than last time. the way she can feel his breath on the back of her neck.

it comes even before she can anticipate it, the hit. she lets out a soft gasp, a last whisper of his name before her eyes roll back and her mind eases down as darkness comes in to take over.

--