Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, Masashi Kishimoto does. I just own this wierd oneshot idea.
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She looks around, terrified that someone might see her, though she has as much right as anybody to be wandering these streets at night. Still, her purpose is secret, hidden, unknown to anyone but her and the one she has promised to meet tonight, despite all her attempts to convince herself otherwise.
Though the gates are guarded, she slips out without a word to the guards - after all, nobody questions an ANBU Black-Ops - nobody. Except perhaps the Hokage, but she wasn't around to question her errant pupil.
He is waiting for her in the place he has waited for her ever since the first time they met like this - ever since he sent her that fateful note that made her the terrible person she is today. He is leaning up against a tree with an infuriatingly nonchalant look on his face, as though he happened there by chance, not called her there, and looking unbearably desirable, a look that he, Uchiha Sasuke, has utterly perfected. His face is still beautiful, like that of an angel - though he is a dark angel, of death and rage and destruction.
She saunters up toward him, trying but ultimately failing to copy his look of complete detachment. She doesn't want to admit to him that she wants this - needs it, even, as depressing as that thought might be.
When she is close enough, he catches her up into a kiss - his lips are scalding and delicious, and she can't help but become lost in her own feelings.
She knows she shouldn't be here - shouldn't be doing this, and especially not with him of all people. She doesn't even know why she came out tonight - she's getting married in the morning, to a man she loves absolutely. But even that doesn't stop her. And if the lure of a man who actually loves her, not simply desires her, can't stop her, she knows that the fact she's having an affair with a missing-nin sure as hell won't be able to stop her.
"Sakura," he breathes her name when they break apart for air, and it is like honey dripping from his lips, and she laps it all up reverently. He murmurs again, "Sakura…"
She fights to breathe, to draw air into her lungs one breath as a time, because she can't even do that simple act when he whispers her name to her like that. She is helpless, though she knows that she shouldn't be - she should be stronger, uncaring, cold, should kill him on the spot like any other self-respecting ANBU member would…
But as he nips her ear before drawing her in for another kiss, she doesn't give a damn about any of that.
The time it takes to remove clothing is so quick it's almost comical, though for her it's just another reminder that the only thing he's here for is sex and then he will leave, gone for an indeterminable amount of time during which she will swear never to meet him again, no matter what. But eventually she will receive his note, just the ones which have preceded it, tied in a black ribbon and with a date and time. And, inevitably, her resolve will waver day after day until the night they are to meet, and by then she can do nothing but go to meet him.
She knows she is weak, she reflects, as she quivers under his touch and cries out his name as a rush of pure pleasure runs through her body. It's a sobering thought to know that she is still this pitifully weak under his touch, especially after she finished her apprenticeship with the Godaime Hokage. But he is her narcotic, her illegal drug - she should be put into some kind of rehabilitation, but then again, she thinks, is there any sort of rehab for this type of drug?
By then she has abandoned all thought, as everything is light, color, movement, and pure, unadulterated feeling - like some kind of moving Impressionist painting without any way to immortalize it. All she knows is that his body is flush against hers, and he is rocking inside of her, and her mind is an absolute tangle of sensory overload.
She calls out his name again as she screams her release, and moments later he too falls over the edge before collapsing against her body. They are too tired to move, and so they lay there in a tangle of limbs and flesh, unsure where one body begins and the other ends, and not caring either, just simply exhausted. She feels like she has just been battered by a raging storm, a hurricane of emotions and feelings and sights and sounds, and much like a thrill-seeker she longs for more.
As she comes down from her high, she knows that she should end this before it continues any farther - she is already despoiled, but she doesn't want to remain unfaithful for any longer. She has love, good, caring, faithful love, waiting for her. She doesn't need nor does she want to continue with these sinful trysts. For a moment, she struggles to convince herself of that, before she once and for all steels her resolve.
"I'm getting married tomorrow," she tells him, turning to look into his obsidian eyes. She nearly loses her resolve staring into those reflective black pools, but somehow she manages.
"I know," he replies, and there is no flicker of emotion across his face, no sign to indicate that he cares one ounce.
"Then you know that I can't ever meet you again," she says, slowly, fighting to keep her voice steady.
He nods, and then frowns as though thinking about something. "You could leave with me," he says, quietly. "Tonight. We could leave together, live together. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
She very much wants to say that she'd like that very much indeed, that of course she'd become a missing-nin for him - she'd go to the ends of the earth for him. But it isn't as simple as that - she has friends in the village, family - even a fucking fiancé. She wishes, fleetingly, that she has more time to think about it, though she knows that this can only be a one-time offer, because she's getting married in the morning, and she has already steeled her resolve.
And so, though she would like very much to run away with him and live out some sort of twisted, impractical fantasy life, she calmly says, "No, I can't. This has to be the last time we'll meet."
He nods then, his face impassive as always. She wishes she could, someday, know what he's thinking. And then she remembers that there's never going to be a someday because this is the last time they will ever see each other.
He stands and dons his clothes, and then he leaves. She watches him go, hugging her knees to her and letting cascades of cherry-pink hair spill over her face to hide the tears she wants to cry. When she finally gets herself under control, she too stands to slip her clothing back on and to head back to Konoha, to face the day ahead of her.
When the morning comes, she is tired, and still feeling unsure. But despite all that she goes through with the wedding. And when she kisses her fiancé, now her husband, she hopes that she's done the right thing, because even though her brain knows that she has, her heart is still unsure.
But she still smiles, and everyone believes that any tears she might shed are tears of joy. Even she, for a moment, convinces herself that she is crying out of pure joy and love and not any sort of heartbreak or loneliness. But still she knows that she won't ever forget to run away with him.
And she wonders if she made the right choice.
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Authors Notes: So, didjya like it? Didjya? Didjya?! Hee hee, this is what happens when I get writers block on my other stories. I write wierd things like this. This piece was also partially inspired by the song Lips Like Morphine, but I didn't want to title it that because I title stories after songs way too much. But oh well. Umm, if enough people want me to continue this, I might, but I'm not sure yet. So thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed, and please review!