Endoh's back, baby! Figured I'd come back in style with this one. ;) Let me know if you remember this fic / want more of it. (Explanation at the end of chapter)
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A few quick disclaimers / warnings:
1) This fic will have dark elements, more so in subsequent chapters, and extended scenes of explicit sexual content. While this fic is unapologetically and overtly dirty, there is a plot driving it all. So if you find yourself wondering why characters are acting the way they are, why some things aren't quite adding up… Have faith, it's intentional. ;)
2) This fic was previously titled "A Night's Desires" 'cause that was the original from way back when. (Cringe) Wasn't a fan in 2008, wasn't a fan when I updated it this time around, sooo I finally just changed it to "Casuistry"—far more fitting, I think!
Casuistry has multiple definitions, of course: 1. Basically, at first glance, one's moral reasoning can seem pretty legit, given the situation and all. But if one were to look a little more closely, ...one might find it to have been specious and unsound all along.2. (And this is the more philosophical side!) Though there is a great deal more to it, 'casuistry' tends to have sketchy connotations, as it places an emphasis on practicality in questions of morality. So stealing—gasp!—might actually be acceptable...under certain circumstances. ;) If you're interested, Wikipedia's page on 'casuistry' did a pretty solid job expounding on it without a ton of jargon! ;)
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Jukebox:
"Oh Darlin' What Have I Done" by The White Buffalo—trust me, his voice is amazing.
Enjoy the show….
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"Casuistry"
Part One:
An Imperfect Escape
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The lights were dimmed perfectly. The cigarette smoke cast a miasmic, sensual mist. The alcohol flowed. The company was crude. It was a raunchy bar in an even raunchier part of this godforsaken town. It was exactly what she needed.
She eased down another shot as she waited to forget the man whose absence forced her to places like this. She'd come here to escape her sorrows for just one night, to just drown out the memories of her lost love—and the terrible mistakes she'd made since—in something cheap and distilled. And it was beginning to work; with every drop of burning liquid that seared its way down her throat, she began to forget—her sadness, her boundaries, her inhibitions, her conscience, her guilt. It all slid a little further away with every sip, with every shot. Finally, she started to relax. Finally, thoughts of him left her mind. Finally, the words Thank you stopped reverberating in her head. Finally, his face began to blur away. Finally, her anger, her love, her shame began to dissolve. Finally, she could breathe again.
"Another, please…" She gave a dainty wave of her hand to the bartender, batting her eyelashes sweetly and crooking her full lips upward.
She was too far from Konoha to cross paths with anyone from the Leaf. She wasn't wearing any identifying insignia or shinobi equipment. She could be whoever the hell she wanted, do whatever—whomever—the hell she wanted here.
"You can hold a hell of lot of alcohol, sweetheart," said the bartender as he slid her another glass of liquid amber.
"Practice…" she crooned, glancing to her left as a man slid onto the open stool next to her. "Hello, there," she murmured, not fully realizing how her voice had changed in tone.
Everything about him required a second look, and she did.
His pants and shirt were dark and loose, and they hung like seduction on his toned body. His long, black hair was tied back, save some strands left to frame his face. Fine indentations underlined his eyes, and long lashes couldn't hide the visible, familiar pain in those dark, dark eyes, glinting cynically in the low light of the bar. And the way he held himself left no room for doubts: he was a dangerous man, a shinobi for certain. He was mysterious; he was gorgeous; he reminded her of a person she wouldn't dare recall, not tonight.
"Hello," the man spoke indifferently. "Two of…"—he glanced at the merry line of shot glasses before her, their traces of bottom-shelf whiskey—"whatever she had."
Oh, now that won't do…. "You know, you remind me of someone," she said slowly, her index finger circling the rim of her shot glass as she leaned in his direction.
"Do I?" he said absently, downing the ocher drinks, one after the other, and nodding towards the thin bartender who quickly slid him two more.
"Yes, you do…. Seems as though I'll never escape him, not even in a bar in Timbuktu!" She offered him a hearty, sardonic laugh and a tantalizing grin. "Now you know my life story. So tell me: why are you here?"
The man's lips lifted slightly in an equally bitter gesture. "Similar reasoning… An imperfect escape." Another shot found its way down his throat.
"I knew it."
"Hn?" He finally looked her way, questioningly.
"Your eyes… They give away more than you might realize." She smiled, distracted, wistful. "I think we may have that in common…."
At last, she'd caught him.
He held her gaze for a few moments, and he found she was right: their eyes held such a similar pain…. Their similarities ended there, however: every other part of her was antithetical to him.
She was a beauty, after all.
Her pink hair made her a little too exotic. Her smile made her a little too inviting. Her scarlet shirt was a little too tight. Her firm breasts were a little too full. Her khaki skirt was a little too short. Her pale legs were a little too long. The muscles under her ceramic skin were a little too toned. Her barstool was a little too close to his. Her sweet perfume was a little too appealing. Her pink lips were a little too tempting. Her eyelashes were a little too long. Her viridescent eyes held a little too much comprehension.
Yet somehow, she seemed so innocent. How could that be when her eyes possessed the same silent grieving as his? Why was this delicate beauty hanging around a dilapidated bar so far from civilization? He could appreciate a woman with secrets.
He leaned casually on his elbow to face her directly. His deep, saccharine voice sounded, "Tell me your name."
"Sakura, and you?"
"Itachi."
She flashed him a blinding grin. "It's a pleasure, Itachi," she purred his name in a way that sent a scalding jolt through his body. Oh, she had learned to charm, to cajole, to wrap men around her little finger. She inattentively sloshed a little of her drink as she spoke to him. A small blush crept up her cheeks, which the stranger found a little too alluring, and she caught an amber pearl on the side of her glass with her thumb. "Can't let it go to waste…." She slowly lifted her finger to her mouth and delicately sucked it off, staring him down all the while—something the man sitting so close could not ignore. She had learned to arouse.
He tossed her a drop-dead sexy smirk before his shot. "May I buy you another drink?" So few women had this sort of hot-blooded effect on him….
"Please."
It was such an innocuous word, but not how she said it. It was damn indecent. He'd drag that word from her more than once tonight….
But a large, horribly drunk man chose that moment to flop down to Sakura's right, ...effectively breaking the spell.
Sakura's fists clenched under the bar top as the sour stench of stale alcohol engulfed her. Aaaand here we go…
"Ay, gorgeous. W-why are you wasting your time with…with this…"—the man struggled to find words in his stupor, thrusting his hands in Itachi's direction—"…this idiot? I can show you a good time, angel. I'd take you by a fistful of that pink"—he reached toward her face—"hair and—"
He never got to finish his slurred vulgarity. As Sakura intercepted the intruding arm in her death grip, the tall, dark-haired man to her left became a black flash. She'd always been too curious for her own good…. She smirked, deciding to let her suitor take care of the man, and slackened her fingers just in time. The drunk bastard's wrist flew from her grasp. She looked up to see her new acquaintance pinning the stout man by the arm against the far wall, and a picture frame joined paint chips on the floor from the force of the impact. Sakura took a lazy swig of her drink, swirling its contents languidly as she leaned back on the bar to admire her handsome stranger's handiwork, his foreplay for her. A feline grin spread across her pretty face. There was something so…deeply, uniquely satisfying…about that instant retribution, the power he clearly held back. It was suddenly so…difficult…to keep her legs crossed. She'd have to hold on to this heady memory for those lonely nights when she couldn't find a worthy adversary…. It was a lovely thought as she strode over.
So she was dangerous…. He had hoped as much. Itachi leaned in to speak his velvety voice into the terrified man's ear, "I suggest you leave and have your wrist examined. I believe the lady"—he tightened his fingers for emphasis—"shattered it." Just what else could this pink woman do to surprise him? And his mind joined hers in the realm of dirty, dirty thoughts as she wandered up behind him….
"Allow me." He heard Sakura's succulent tone. "I can fix that for you right now. I did break it, after all." She placed a small hand on Itachi's shoulder before gesturing politely at the drunkard. "May I?"
This woman was a minx. He should have guessed. He had guessed. And her insightful mind… How could he refuse her? It was such a considerate request after all, …and he could feel her nails through the black cotton of his shirt…. He closed his eyes as he tried to keep a smirk off his face, releasing the man to her mercy.
Before the sleaze could object, she none too gently placed her right hand underneath the man's wrist and her left hand above it, then lurched the two pieces back into place. A sickening crack echoed above the din in the crowded establishment, followed by an even more fulfilling howl from the lecher's lungs as he crumpled to the floor. "I'd get it splinted sooner than later, or it will heal very badly," she instructed sweetly, so sweetly.
The measured power in this small woman… She would be his perfect release.
She felt a large palm land firmly on the small of her back, and she let him lead her back to the bar, the inebriate left for the locals to remove. He guided her to the far side, where one end of the U-shaped counter met the wall; it was quieter, dimmer, more hidden from the eyes that followed her. His free hand extended to pull out her chair, but she leaned in close, as if to divulge a secret.
"A gentleman is such a rare find nowadays…"—her lips grazed his ear as she stood on her toes, her jade eyes half lidded—"Itachi…." She un-melded her body from his to look him in the eye, but only just. Between his long arms, the bar top, the wall, and the barstools, their proximity couldn't be helped if she'd wanted to.
"I'm no gentleman, Sakura," he warned, looming over her, his grip tightening on the lacquered wood. "I have no morals."
She barely held her game face, feeling his words everywhere. But she recovered, and her clever eyes widened in mock incredulity. "Then why rush in to aid a damsel, why come here to find that 'imperfect escape,' hmm? Guilt necessitates a moral or two…." Her voice lowered, her body pressed closer as she whispered on his ear again, "Regardless… Tonight, I'm not looking for morals." And she tilted her face just enough for him to witness the most suggestive, sexual grin he had ever seen.
He needed to hear his name on her lips again. His hand followed gravity down her sweltering, lithe body, over the curve of her ass, and as much of her silken legs as he could reach. Then he inched his way back up again, stopping only as his thumb settled on the rib immediately below her breast. He set her skin aflame—he could feel it. But could she, he wondered, feel how his cock reacted to her? He pulled her tighter to be sure she knew just what she was doing to him.
She let out a barely audible gasp. Her little breathes came quicker as she placed her small hand on his chest, feeling his muscles tense and then relax at her touch, feeling the excitement in his pulse. Fuck the drink he'd promised. She knew what she wanted, and she knew it well. "I never thanked you properly for defending me, Itachi," she murmured, so salaciously innocent.
With strain, Itachi managed to keep his honeyed voice level when he answered her, despite the dithyrambic hand stroking lower and lower down his chest, despite the magma pounding through his veins directly to his cock, "And what do you have in mind, sweet Sakura?"
The ridiculous, fervid heat between them flared again, sending an arousing jolt through her. Her invitation was a purr: "Join me in my room at the inn, and I'll gladly show you…."
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As with all the fics I've posted lately, you're not crazy if this seems familiar to you. I've recently gotten back into Naruto and FF, so I'm tentatively revisiting / reposting some of my deleted fics (we're talking from '08 for this one!) to see if there's any interest in my continuing them.
Lastly, let's just say the kid gloves come off in Part Two: Gratitude and Gratification—a little rough, a little dark; a lot of hot, a lot of heavy. ;) This fic could wind up a four- to maybe six-part short story, depending on how far we get into the backstory….
Thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts with me—nothing motivates an author quite like feedback!
XOXO
Endoh
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PS: In honor of Tumblr's MultiSakuMonth, I posted a fun lil' snippet from the next chapter over there! Search "xoxoEndoh."