Happy birthday to the lovely Ryoma Kadou
Here's some ShikaSaku fluff!
Word Count: 662 words
~Unchained~
The light brush of the back of his fingers on her cheek is what wakes her up. It comes gradually, like the rising sun, gentle then grows warmer, firmer. He's tracing her cheekbone, her jawline, the fullness of her bottom lip, as cautious as he is tender.
She hums softly, heart thrumming in tandem with the chirping of the birds outside her window. The feeling of fullness in her chest makes her heart stutter and stumble, just like the feeling of his smooth skin beneath her fingertips is reassuring and grounding to her senses. She becomes gradually aware of them too, senses the sun on the soft of her exposed belly, sending tendrils of warmth creeping up her spine. She smells his scent on her sheets, in the warmth wafting off his body that was pressed against hers, on her skin, embedded deep in her pores.
She thinks this is what happiness is. That this is the fairytale she often used to dream of.
The soft of his lips on hers finally pulls her from her slumber, waking her body and mind with the soft strokes of his tongue that she languidly reciprocates.
She thinks this is what love is as he whispers good morning into her mouth; the taste of him on her lips, and the security of knowing he was hers, of the comforting reassurance of his hold on her waist.
Sakura scoots closer to him. He's deliciously bare against her skin, and she feels every smooth, sinewy muscle aligned with her side. The splay of his fingers on her belly makes something inside her wound taut and when he breaks away from their kiss, she opens her eyes to be greeted by the sight of his lazy smile.
He's dishevelled, ravished, mussed and beautifully unmade. His hair is in long, tangled strands down his shoulders and over his face, cheeks covered with red kiss marks, neck full of hickeys and broad chest full of scratches. And he's smiling, like he knows he's the most beautiful mess in the world, smelling of pine and aftershave and his smoke.
His thumb draws soft circles on her hipbone, distracting her from admiring his profile, "'Someone slept well."
The smile widens until the sharps of his teeth are pressing softly into his lip and she's overcome by the never-seizing, insistent urge to devour him whole, over and over and over again until all he knows is the sound of her name on his tongue and the feeling of her skin beneath his touch. "It's noon."
She smiles too, for he is right. "Someone somewhere is having a heart attack because Shikamaru Nara awoke before noon."
"Someone right here is too busy admiring their girlfriend to care." He retorted, and he knows he could be a bastard of a sweet talker if he tried and Sakura can't help the fluttering of her heart at his words, or the need that zaps inside her.
"Well," she says, "someone else right here is too busy wondering where their morning kisses are."
"Yes, of course, my bad." His chuckle reverberates through her and is lost in her mouth the way his fingers are lost in her hair.
Sakura marvels at the way his body engulfs hers as he pulls her beneath him, at the way his fingers fits every dip and edge of her body like she was crafted just for him to touch.
"I love you." She breathes into his kiss, overwhelmed by the intense emotions in her chest and gods, she was never afraid of shouting her feelings from the rooftops and she wasn't about to starts now, "So much."
He's smiling as he kisses her and it's messy, sloppy, straying to her chin and cheeks and he's holding her so close and she feels whole, "What's gotten into you? You know I love you too."
She returns the smile and their teeth clink together. Yeah, he makes her feel whole; and she loves it.