Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.
X
For Naruto, Ino was always carnal – temporary, savory – and insensible. She was fleeting and momentary; they were caught in the wild passions of uninhibited evenings.
Ino wore shadow dresses that dipped, stretched, and molded over every curve of the hip, of the thigh, of the butt, and of the breasts which swelled behind luxurious pale hair.
Sakura was always the more logical choice. He loved her, and his attachment to her extended beyond primal lust. Naruto would give up almost anything for Sakura. Sakura understood him, loved him (he knew, although she wouldn't admit it), and shared his most intimate experiences with him.
One would think that sex, for a guy like Naruto, would be the ultimate expression of love and devotion. But it wasn't. He'd grind out through arousal clenched teeth, "Fuck, you're gorgeous. Please let me fuck you," to Ino as she undressed before him. He'd murmur gently, "I love you" to Sakura as they cuddled together at night.
Whereas Ino's mercurial blue eyes twinkled with mischief and cunning, Sakura's soothing emerald eyes billowed with compassion and tolerance. Naruto indulged in the electric excitement of peeling back Ino's nighttime dresses; consequently, he immersed himself in the acceptance of Sakura's warm embraces and condoling smiles the next morning.
X
He would never love Ino the way he loved Sakura. He hadn't much in common with Ino. She was the descendants of a long, illustrious clan whose skills were as terrible as they were valued. He was the son of nobody (or so he thought, for many unanswered years of his life) whose life was as pathetic as it was successful. Although they were both brash and loyal, their experiences together were limited to casual lunches, mutual friends, and waves from across the alleyway – that is, until they started having sex.
But even then, it wasn't much beyond fantastic and frivolous, a way to fill some satanic void created by the inhumanity of their ethically thankless job which no amount of sexual comfort could ever fill permanently. So it was always being filled and drained, filled and drained.
"That was good."
"Yeah," she grinned. "Ramen's in the cupboard. Help yourself before you leave."
"Cool."
Ino never asked for anything either. She never expected nor desired promises of love, fidelity, or stability. She'd easily choose Sakura over Naruto if she knew how Sakura hurt knowing of their moonlit liaisons. Ino wasn't loose, however. She only slept with Naruto to suffocate her own broken hearts: first Sakura, then Sasuke – although she never really cared for Sasuke beyond social obligations –, then Sai - because he called her gorgeous and she needed some encouragement because no girl has endless self-esteem -, and, finally, Shikamaru. Shikamaru, whose inert stare seemed transfixed on the realm of Asuma's ghost. Shikamaru, whose magnetic presence electrified her as it comforted her. Shikamaru, whose genius was as attractive – sexy, mysterious, feral – as it was cultivating, terrifying.
"You're not disposable."
"In the grand scheme of things, we all are, even you."
"Give me that cigarette, asshole. It's burning a hole through your heart."
Although she knew it was pointless - nobody could control the future -, she told Naruto on their first night together, "I love someone else, and I know you do too. So let's keep it simple and call it off as soon as it's not, okay?" Although he was usually the beacon of morality and justice, Naruto agreed because he was lonely at the time too.
X
When Sakura finally return his affections, Naruto somehow couldn't part with the idea of Ino. Their wild habits stayed with him. So he never stopped going to see her, and she never stopped inviting him in.
"Yes, yes."
"Wait, right there – don't stop. Please don't stop."
Even pushed up against the wall, her body grinding – pumping – frantically up and down his cock, hands rubbing sensuously through his hair as she moaned sultry encouragements in his ear, Naruto never loved Ino. Sakura was all he needed, in reality, but immoral habits, old habits, harmless habits are hard to quit voluntarily.
Sakura knew, but she didn't mind. She never asked questions, either. Not even when Naruto would ask if it bothered her, if she wanted him to stop. She'd lie through her teeth and say no. Naruto knew, he wasn't dense, but her lie made his lies okay. Time had matured her, hardened her against fairytale stories of love. Love didn't exist in a textbook definition like all those diseases she read about. There were no definite causes, symptoms, or treatments; governed by separate sections of the brain, lust and love coexisted, crossed, and conflicted habitually. And she didn't feel the need to tie the two together permanently. She loved Naruto and Naruto loved her, so she could accept that he lusted after Ino.
Because who wouldn't lust after someone whose body was like art and whose charm was alluring? Sakura is content being superficially inferior, because underneath is strength and skill which outmatched all her competitors. She is smart, she is strong, she is skilled; she can explain obligate intracellular parasites to a five year old perfectly, she can reduce boulders to fine sand, she can resurrect a person from death. She is dependable, respected, and superior. So she grinned and bared the humiliation of infidelity because she loved Ino as well.
X
So when Ino — who she betrayed in a fit of childish rage and arrogance – came knocking on her door, looking restless, with the storm in her brows, Sakura opened the door and enveloped her in her consoling hands. She whispered acceptance and apologies, although not obligated at all.
"He came all over me," Ino spat out, "and I felt so dirty." Sakura gave her a puzzling glance but said nothing at all. Ino, sleeping off her disgust, left a few hours later. When Naruto came home, Sakura slapped him told him to come back when he learned to control himself.
X
After that, Ino finally kissed Shikamaru with all the savage passion of unexpressed love and regret. Shikamaru returned the kiss because it reminded him that he was still alive even though he felt like all the corpses of his past.
Naruto returned every night to Sakura, wrapping himself protectively against the only girl who ever really cared, whose slap conveyed truth which had been veiled under a pile of self-pitying lies.
Naruto never indulged in Ino again because Ino never employed Naruto to stifle her pain again.
As expected, nothing changed. They – Ino and Naruto – were never about love; together, they filled the void which desperation for completion formed, but they were desperate no longer. Ino had Shikamaru, and Naruto had Sakura. They were incomplete, but that was okay.
When they saw each other again, all four of them smiled with all the civility of unfussy friendship and comradeship. Their lives consisted of crossed boundaries, moral ambiguity, and stubborn truth in any case. Because killing is wrong but the right thing to do, and obeying orders leads to merciless revenge, and one man's death is another man's righteousness; so it made perfect sense that love and lust were two separate things, sometimes colliding in explosive energy, sometimes joining in imperfect harmony.
X
Written as an excuse to write cheesy, amoral, sexual relationships. 20 minutes later, this unedited, vague, pointless, completely inferior abomination forms.