Ages:

Itachi: 25
Sakura: 20-ish

There's still time. There has to be an alternative.

As Itachi's pale skin shivered from the soft, warm breaths against his collarbone, he stared unseeing at the ceiling in his darkened bedroom.

If there was an alternative, we would have found it. He closed his eyes and swallowed as he let his fingers trail one last time down the sweet skin of his only lover. They had struggled to discourage their need for one another for so long; this was their only tryst and it was what had convinced him at last of what he needed to do.

Chest aching, he slid naked from the bed, kissing her equally naked shoulder with the barest press of his lips before tucking her in snugly and dressing.

He looked back at her only once, as the light from the hallway spilled into the dark room and illuminated her graceful feminine form like a blessing, reminding him of all that was good in the world.

Then he turned his back to it, closing the door behind him.

It was time.

Five Years Later

Darth Madara lazed on his throne as the prisoners were dragged before him. He rested his storm-maned head on his fist, his elbow propped up on his jutting armrest. His robes folded around him like ripples of water, flowing and cascading in sheets around his giant, seated form.

With a glance at one of his troopers, the doors into his chambers opened and the noise level skyrocketed as a trio of prisoners were delivered. His eyes rested on the leader of the group, taking in her ruffed appearance and long hair loosened from skirmishes and battles. Yet there was nothing of defeat in her proud shoulders or blistering language. The two men accompanying her were just as combative.

He had expected to feel more excitement at their capture. Instead, he was left feeling… disappointed.

"You'll never get anything from us!" Snarled their leader, tugging this way and that from her captor's firm grip. It took three of them to hold her still, and 'still' was relative. Her white teeth snapped at them when they came too close to her throat, and her forest green eyes speared them like the fletched greenwood arrows with which the Ewoks hunted.

"Let go of her!" Snapped the dark-haired prisoner who was frog-marched forward by another pair of clone troopers. His inky eyes promised god-like wrath upon any who mistreated his leader.

"Yeah! How dare you treat her like that! She's not a regular prisoner!" Shouted the third, a blond man with whisker-like scars across his face.

"Shut up, idiot!" The dark-haired one struggled harder and glared at his colleague.

Frankly this is pathetic, thought Darth Madara as they continued to struggle uselessly, cursing and spitting and wasting his time. These were the leaders of the rebellion that had caused him so much trouble? The sabotage? The misinformation? The false leads that led to the destruction of the entire far quadrant of his forces? This rag-tag group of miscreants? They couldn't be older than twenty five.

He wanted to sigh, but remembered then how his most promising protégé had come to him at twenty-five years of age, and how well he had performed once he had turned…

He regarded the trio before him before glancing at the guard minding the door on the other side of the room. The guard gave a subtle nod. Madara turned his attention back to the squabbling rebels.

"Be quiet," he said, bored. His smooth voice cut through their irritating back chatter like an elegantly engraved, razor-sharp sword. As one the three paused in their bickering and looked at him. "I have no interest in your petty foibles. You have a choice. You are welcome to join my ranks and surrender yourselves and those under your command in exchange for lenient sentencing and the opportunity to redeem yourselves in positions in our new order—"

He withheld the urge to roll his eyes at the blond's outburst, though he did sigh.

"—alternately you will be presented with corporal punishment up to and including death."

The roseate rebel's eyes narrowed. "How are we supposed to trust you?"

Darth Madara gave a laconic shrug. "That's up to you. This is all the time I'm willing to accord you. You have twenty four hours to consider your answer. Consider this my only show of respect for your… former… positions."

He caught the eye of the guard once more, who released the lock on the door on the far side of the room. With a whoosh it opened and a new soldier entered.

Like Darth Madara he was cloaked in midnight robes, though his samurai-style helmet hid his identity from them.

But the rebels recognized him on sight as their second-most-hated target, Darth Ketsueki. Five years ago after the slaughter of their fellow Jedi Knights, Darth Ketsueki had arrived on the scene and shifted the tide of the war; the Light were barely holding their own anymore. No one knew who he was or where he'd come from, but his battle prowess and strategy had decimated the Light.

And none hated him more than the Rebel Leader, Haruno Sakura, who had lost her only love in his first attack. Only her subordinates, Naruto and Sasuke, had any idea of why she had taken the losses during that assault so personally, and even then, all she would say was that she had lost the one who meant everything to her. They had known she was close to her Master, Sasuke's older brother and Jedi Knight, Uchiha Itachi, another casualty of the assault, and also suffered the losses of their own mentors that night. They had respected her request for privacy and let her mourn in her own way, and supported her through every step of the rebellion.

But seeing the monster responsible for the attack himself broke what little composure the rebels had possessed.

As if some silent trigger had suddenly released, Sakura shot forth from her captors, and with a cry of rage charged at Darth Ketsueki.

Darth Ketsueki stood there, silent, as memories rushed to the fore.

Their naked skin freshly revealed to each other for the very first time. The uncertainty drowning him as he lifted a hand and stroked her shoulder, feeling the sweet shudder that went through her as her lips opened against his in innocent reaction to his loving caress.

His hands shook as he undid the last clasp of her cloak, letting it tumble to the floor of his quarters. She was breathtaking. His stomach had clenched when she had bitten her lip and reached out to touch him for the first time not to spar, not to heal, but to explore him reverently with her fingertips.

He lifted a hand, the Force swirling within him, within her, and stopped her when she stood just out of reach. He slowed her pace until she spit and snarled at him, but was immobile.

To his surprise, she pressed on, and with hands shaking with rage seized his wrist. Her harsh, clawed fingers dug into his skin through his gauntlets and sleeves, tearing welts in his flesh as she focused on crushing him, even if she had to do it bone by bone.

The longer they kissed, the less controlled he became until he forced himself to slow down, his forehead pressed to hers, his eyes closed as he repeated his vows over and over in his head to regain his focus. His breath flew from his lungs when he felt her renew the kiss, but this time she pressed him back and down until he lay flat. Her fingers had played with the loose tendrils of his hair as she cooed sweetly, patiently at him, all loving words and calming tones as she took his hand and brought it to her outer thigh.

With his permission and her movements awkward with indecision as to the newness of the entire dance, she straddled his lap before resting against his hips and doing little more than rocking into him. Taking her lead, he coaxed her knees closer to press himself against her core; felt her stomach fluttering against his palm as he reached down and explored her with soft encouragement. Her delicate, hard-earned moans were beautiful. Her trust in him nearly broke him.

He couldn't let her disrespect continue. Already Darth Madara was eyeing him with interest.

He knows. Itachi swallowed.

With a thought he drove Sakura to her knees on the metal floor grating, outwardly uncaring of how sudden and vicious the rebuff appeared. Her curse was expected, as was her renewed attempt to break his control over her. It was almost jarring, and he was grateful for his helmet as it hid his dipped brow and wide eyes.

"Kneel," he commanded, voice cold and emotionless.

At this, Sakura's two companions took great exception and their struggles turned violent.

"Remove them," he said to the guards, who dragged them out.

He was left alone with Sakura and Darth Madara who watched them with far too much interest.

Swallowing his gasp he shuddered with emotion under her touch as she rocked with him deep inside her, feeling unworthy of her purity and devotion and love as she cried his name in her soft, sweet breath against his throat and shattered in his arms. Love exploded between them.

"Look at me", he begged her in that moment, voice tender and hoarse and thrumming with his struggle for self control as he cradled her wet cheek in his palm. Her eyes fluttered open to reveal stunning gems that reflected his own vulnerability back at him, and he drew strength from her. He swallowed her moans as he tasted her again and again, drunk on her.

With a last cry of frustration, she rose up and flung her fist at him from her kneeled position, knocking his helmet off.

His hand snapped out and yanked on her hair, tugging her back down again.

"Look at me!" He demanded, and she glared at him in hate…

Then he felt it as their eyes connected; her anger, her hate, her rage flowing off her in waves like a storming ocean. Her sudden confusion as recognition dawned. Then the surf of her emotions crashing down churned into fear and disbelief and his heart skipped a beat at the intensity of it… and how it all stemmed from her hurt… and longing.

"Itachi?" She breathed, going limp in his arm. "You're alive?"

He had never felt Darth Madara's stare on him before like he did now.

"Uchiha Itachi is dead," he forced himself to say, bottling up every ounce of emotion he yearned to pour into his mate. "I am Darth Ketsueki."

How long had he prayed that she already knew?

So, so long.

Every since that night.

But now all Itachi felt was Sakura's overwhelming sense of betrayal.

And all he could do was drown in her once more.

AN: FYI 'ketsueki', according to Google Translate is Japanese for 'blood moon'.

AN: HUGE thanks to Somebodylost-chan on tumblr for the fantastic "Smut Monday" prompt! This one is tame enough that I think I can post it here. This is the fic that started the ItaSaku Star Wars AU series. For more "Smut Monday" fics, come check out tumblr! My username is 'beyondthemoor'. Cheers!