Always Something About

There has always been something sacred to him just by watching her get dressed.

Maybe it's the way her hair brushes her naked shoulders, or the way her clothes hug her lithe figure, or the way her eyes tease — it always makes him feel serene.

He doesn't know how to describe it, really. It's like entering a holy temple or church or whatever, and that you know that what you're experiencing at the moment is godly; so godly that it makes him pray to all the gods out there to let him experience watching her dress every single day of his entire life.

He watches as she cranes her neck sideways, back and forth, and hear her lovely bones crack. He watches as she closes her emerald orbs and opened her mouth to release a soft moan of relief. He watches as she turns around and opened her eyes, letting her gaze found his in the mirror on her dresser.

There has always been something about their eye contacts, even when they were still children. It only takes one look, and they already know what they're thinking about, their battle tactics, their feelings.

It only amplified when they became more than friends. One eye contact, and she's blushing and his cheeks are dusted pink and his pinky curls on hers.

It's at its peak when they became husband and wife. One glance from his dark ones to her vivid eyes, and she's biting her lip and he's fighting for self-control and they clash together as one, as they have always been.

One look is all it takes now, and he is on his feet, his eyes still on hers by the mirror, and she's giving that soft smile reserved only for him, and he's reaching out by his sole hand, and he found grace and redemption and home in those pink locks and that creamy white naked back.

He towers over her as he wraps his lone arm around her naked form, relishing the warmth and glow of her beautiful body against him. He missed this so much.

No words are needed. He knows that his wife knows of his habit of watching her get dressed. He usually do it by the bed, only his eyes following her every move. But now he has this need to touch, and feel, and worship.

He watches through their reflection the whole time she's putting on her clothes. Those pretty little panties and that tight little skirt. He helps her hook her black little bra and salivates when she puts on these red little blouse that perfectly accentuate her beautiful little body while giving him that perfect little smile that made his fragile little heart skip a beat and his knees go a little weak.

He's so overwhelmed by beauty and passion she radiates that he steps back until his legs bump the bed and he sits down just to admire his wife's beautiful back profile. His wife turned around to face him, her gorgeous face all in its naked glory. Not even a speck of anything but a constant blush from being with him and the natural pink of her plump lips, he's captivated.

How can she look so beautiful after all this time? How can she look like this after all the shit I've put her through? How can she look so much like a dream?

It runs through his head every morning like this one ever since they got married. Even after 12 years of being husband and wife, he still asks himself what good did he do in his lifetime to deserve her; to deserve her undying love and loyalty and devotion.

It must've been reflected in his eyes for she gave him this achingly beautiful smile and she walked towards him and ran her hands through his hair. He closes his powerful eyes and bathes in her comfort and understanding, his hand finding its way to her thighs and hips and waist, back to her shoulder blades and nape just to pull her down and receive his love the only way he knows how.

He kisses her. He kisses her full and soft and true. He kisses her with reverence and faith and love. He kisses her because she's the only person he couldn't live without. He kisses her because she's the only woman he has ever loved next to his mother when he thought he could never love again. He kisses her because she, and the family they made, are the only reasons he's kept grounded on this earth and that he's forever thankful for them.

He kisses her because she's the only woman he's ever been inside of and if he could only choose, he will never leave her body for the rest of his life. He kisses her because she's the only person capable of getting him on his knees if it could only mean she'll never leave him. He kisses her because only she can make the great Uchiha Sasuke blush and beg and feel loved with just one look.

He kisses her because she is his wife, and she is Uchiha Sakura.

There has always been something sacred to him just by watching her get dressed. But there will also always be something more just by watching her undress.

This is his religion now.

~fin~

(A/N: And SasuSaku is mine! Lol 😂)