So I'm back for SasuSaku Month '13! :D Enjoy.
prompt one: holding hands
one: enchanted
Sasuke had hands like those of a pianist's. His fingers were beautifully structured, elongated and slim, and the fact that his skin was smooth and pale only added to the attractiveness of his hands.
It was one of the many things Sakura admired about him, during their genin days. More often than not, she'd catch herself staring wistfully at his hands-during training sessions and missions and team outings and even when she'd bump into him every now and then-dreaming about how those lovely hands would feel, tucked firmly into her own, or wrapped around her waist. Sasuke's hands, cupping her cheek as he leaned in for a kiss.
Her fantasies were short-lived. As things became so much more complicated (mist and senbon and curse seals and forests and suffering and Sasuke-kunwhoareyouIdon'tknowyouanymore), Sakura thought less and less about how those hands would feel against her skin; it was ironic how his beautiful, beautiful hands gripped her wrist and held her waist and caught her when she fell, caressed her hair and face with ghost-light touches, now that she could care less about them, more concerned with what Sasuke was becoming.
What she didn't know was that the night she was left on a bench, those same pianist hands that had graced the pressure point on her neck had cupped her cheek and wiped away a few of her tears as their owner placed a lingering kiss to her forehead, before he left her for what seemed like forever.
.
Three years later, Sakura saw him and his beautifulpretty hands again, this time covered partially in gloves, one resting on the sheath of his katana while the other stayed free, the fingers longer than she remembered. A fleeting image of those hands in hers, little girlish fantasies of bringing him home with their hands tucked in a small, shy embrace-and she shook her head vigorously, those hands were now wielding his katana, those hands were now crackling with the Chidori, those hands were now aiming for her; she couldn't afford to be distracted by such inconsequential things.
And so, Sakura clenched her own gloved hands into fists, glowing with chakra, as she ran towards Sasuke with new resolve to prove herself to him, to bring him back, to ensure a future for her childish fantasies of linking hands with him.
.
A year, and Sakura's hands trembled over Sasuke's back, the kunai poised over the Uchiha emblem shaking along with her as tears of defeat streamed down her face. Again, she crumbled, resolve withering as a clamor of Sasuke-kun, Sasuke-kun echoed in her head and then, "Sakura, thank you,"-and she realized that she never stood a chance against those wretched, everything-feelings of her heart.
He seemed to sense her presence-he always could, a part of her acknowledged with undertones of longing-and in a split-second, Sasuke's hands, his lovely, lovely hands, were wrapped around her throat.
The first thought that flitted across her mind was that his hands were rougher, more calloused, now. His fingers were possibly longer, easily circling more than half of her neck, and she was sure his skin was scarred now.
It was funny how here he was, trying to kill her, and all she could think about were his hands. Memories of her genin musings drifted through her brain as Sakura struggled in his chokehold, all the while reminding her of the bitter irony of it all-that those very pianist hands that she adored and dreamed of holding, that had treated her with tenderness unknown to her, were now touching her, embracing her in its death-grip.
Sakura briefly wondered what it would have felt like to hold his hand someday as her vision began to blur and her lungs screamed for air. And, no matter the situation, how utterly wrong it was to feel content now that it was his hand was taking the life out of her, because then, at least she would die by his hand.
.
It was the war that changed the both of them, painting Sasuke and Sakura as adults with priorities and realizations and resolves, both good and bad.
Sakura knew that Sasuke's sudden alliance with Konoha did not mean that he had left his past (lies and murder and poor, manipulated, broken boy and brother, brother, brother) behind. She knew that there were deeper, more sinister things to him still, she could see it in his eyes and in the way his hands, now toughened and hardened and somehow still beautiful, clenched and unclenched themselves, thirsting for battle, thirsting for blood, plainly showing his restlessness.
Her little fantasies were shattered completely by now, grim realities of war and grudges making her grow up too fast, too soon, and Sakura decided that she'd be damned if she ever thought about holding his hands again; she feared them a little, now, and of what they could do to her, and she knew Sasuke was too far gone to ever let his once-perfect hands entwine with her own.
.
The war ended, and Sasuke returned, to Sakura's mild surprise. She hadn't expected him to come so compliantly, but she brushed it off as Naruto's persistence paying off or as homage to Itachi, because he was back and that was all that mattered, and because she was weary of looking for reasons and explanations when none were ever offered to her.
She was an independent, fierce, acknowledged kunoichi now, an adult who gave little time to indulge in the wanderings of her mind as she did when she was younger. So, she treated Sasuke with polite indifference, building a relationship of "friends" with him, but never crossing the lines she drew for herself, because she refused to let herself get hurt again.
Until the light touches and brushes started.
At first, it seemed accidental when his defined fingers lightly bumped against her own when they walked side-by-side, or when his hands ghosted over her thigh when sitting next to her, reaching for something on her side.
But then, when Sasuke's still-beautifully-structured hands lingered on her own more than once when helping her up when she was sprawled on the grass, lazy to get up on her own, Sakura couldn't help feeling not only slightly suspicious, but hopeful and aghast (at her traitor heart, which began to renew itself and thump wildly every time his blessedly damned pianist hands were so dangerously close to hers) and a whirlwind of emotions that made her feel twelve again.
.
It was a rainy afternoon, months later, when Sakura, who was absorbed in a thick, fat novel, sitting on the floor leaning against the window of Konoha's enormous library, looked up after a while to find Sasuke seated next to her, reading a historical text, his lovelysmooth pinky finger achingly close to her own, that rested on the floor next to his.
She stared at it for a couple of seconds before lifting her green, green eyes to him, surprised in finding Sasuke's own trained on their almost-touching hands lying on the wood-paneled library floor.
Then, after what seemed like forever (but never was), his structured fingers reached out for hers and their hands were locked, palm against palm and skin against skin, as she watched their fingers intertwine, enchanted. Sakura whipped her head up as Sasuke's pianist hands and his touch made her blood pulse like a joyride off the edge of the world and feelings long subdued come exploding through the now-feeble walls that held them in. Her lips parted as she watched Sasuke lift their embracing hands, as if holding them up so that the dull light of the library could illuminate them.
He too, studied their holding-hands, and, in a voice that signed the deal, said quietly, "We fit. Perfectly."
And Sakura fell in love with him all over again.
~fin
Review? :]