Oasis
By Mokora
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Speak up. Do something. This is so weird. Not so tight. Don't dig your fingers in.
His heat trailed vapor up her neck and candidly, he buried his nose in her candy hair. His fingertips searched aggresively for something to grab hold of, leaving little, rosy marks across the canvas of her flawless back. She arched, her spine like a question mark, as he slipped her earlobe past his bottom lip.
His hand traveled up over her shoulders and feather light, down between the valley of her breasts. She sucked the cold air in, startled, but didn't object. She could barely do anything at all.
Fucking helpless. It's what you've always wanted, Sakura! Now enjoy it!
Every part of her ripened to a tangy pink as he lay her down onto the sheets in one slow motion. She could see his face now. His skin was almost white, and under the fierce flourescent lights, he seemed to glow. His tone contrasted nicely with her toasted peach skin, but now, as he hovered over her in such a way, she felt most like an anxious, troubled child. Every move he made had her heart stopping and starting, and the suspense of not knowing just how far this would go was destroying every thought, every intelligent impulse she might have acted on in this situation.
His eyes didn't explore her nude frame, but only the way her eyes mirrored his. The way she looked into them, past them. Almost ashamed. Already guilty. Always ready.
She'd always been ready for this.
She blinked and swallowed the fearful lump in her throat, still maintaining that intense stare. The silence, the stillness; it all asked 'What now?'
He wasn't thinking straight. Even when Sakura was younger, and most intolerable, she had those all-consuming eyes. They looked like something you'd put on a golden band and present to your fiancee. They were this shocking ocean color, with flecks of topaz and jade all over. Even if the world lost its beauty all at once and everything turned to sickly gray, he'd always remember seeing her whirl about in the phantoms of his own room, all the light from one miniature reading lamp attaching to those eyes.
The room echoed white. The walls were white, the lights white, the tiles white. The curtains in front of the windows were whiter than the walls. The bed, however, was black. The same deep ebony of his eyes. He had thick, black lashes that lined his eyes in coal, and though the darkness of his eyes was once intimidating, it seemed much softer now. Everything seemed softer now, illuminated in bright ivory light.
She shuddered as a minute ticked by on the soundless clock, above the door. She wanted nothing more than to pull the opaque sheets over herself, to smother her embarrassment.
How did we end up like this? It's surreal.
He braced each muscular arm aside hers and allowed his head to fall, until their noses delicately touched. With anticipation rising, her breath came ragged. Her eyes stung from forgetting to blink and never losing contact. Her body ached to move, to respond in some way, but stayed painfully still, like she were made of stone.
Their breath mingled as he watched her. She drank in the moment, her eyelids becoming weights, her lashes fluttering like moths' wings. She inhaled his scent. He smelled of spices, or maybe even firewood. He smelled like a library would smell with the windows open. He smelled like he always had, and she was suddenly drunk off the memories.
She saw the battle, the curse seal, the suffering. The way his smile never stretched as far as Naruto's, but was just as sly. The way he always seemed to be looking for something, somewhere away from Konoha; something or someone that was never her. That look in his eye, everytime he had to save her. That way she wanted to die when he left everything for something much darker than home.
As those films played against the black of her eyelids, her hands moved upwards. Her palms flattened upon his chest, which expanded and shrank with each calm and collected breath. Feeling him for the first time, she allowed her fragile hands to move up, onto his neck, into his tangled, inky hair. Her eyes shut still, she played invisible piano keys on the nape of his neck, now dragging her fingertips across his face, his cheekbones like dull knives.
The cushions of her thumbs found his lips. They were untouched, without callouses like Ino's. She opened her eyes to find his looking back, just as she felt they were. There was another short moment of uneasiness, but with one graceful movement and the aid of her increasing courage, she arched upwards to capture his lips.
She riddled him with kiss after kiss, rise and fall of each mouth, and for a long moment, they simply savored each other in a hungry way. She'd lusted for this moment, even when she'd known nothing about him. Even in the beginning, when they were both fools. Now, she wanted this so much more, so much that every day she spent worlds away from him, no meaningful words said, no connection at all, made her want to feel loved more and more.
That day she'd entered his office, after an awkward greeting and a mentioning of the weather on her part... He'd shattered a mug, launching across the room and violently past his desk to pin her against a bookcase. She cried out in alarm, but then everything became silent, as if the world had stopped on its axis. He said nothing aloud, but buried his head in the crook of her feminine neck, his rough hands grasping her shoulders in a desperate way.
She'd encompassed him in an instant, dropping the paperwork that danced down like feathers around them.
He pinned her once more now, beneath him. She let her fingers cascade down the muscular curvature of his stomach and to the insets of his jagged hips.
"Sasuke."
The word seemed to ring in the reverberating quiet of their oasis. It wasn't a question or a beckoning. It was power. It was the explanation for all of her teenage years, spent in solitude. All of her dating failures and social catastrophes: he was to blame. But how could she blame him when she'd done it so willingly? How could she blame him when she was so gladly putty in his hands, tending to every wound he'd given her?
He welcomed the chill that ascended each vertebrae. He welcomed every foreign sensation that came with her uttering of his name. He ran a solitary finger along the tender flesh of her inner thigh, tracing patterns and circles. She shivered in response, and slowly, he pulled one of the dark sheets over them.
The only thing that kept him from his forceful urges was the way her eyebrows met in worry. Now blanketed, she still trembled with subtle apprehension. She couldn't look away. She couldn't seem serene.
He trailed kisses light as dust along her jawline. She pawed at his back, his wide shoulder blades, encouraging him. Her hands dropped lazily to the drawstring of his pants, where she stopped and took a moment to make a decision. Tugging at it, she wondered if she could love anyone or anything more than this, and if so, would she be able to keep it inside or would it just spill out, like too much water in a bathtub.
No. The answer was no.
She could just burst with anxiety, hooking her fingers within the loosened waistband.
"Sakura," His voice caught her off guard. She stopped moving altogether.
He had that feeling in his gut; the same feeling one might get when the elevator they're in stops at a high elevation. That feeling where gravity is gone and the only thing tethering you to this world is exactly what's in front of you. What's real.
In the meek silence of this room, he also makes a decision.
"Yes?" She asks finally, almost too quiet to be noticed.
He collapses beside her, his arm draped across her in an affectionate way. His lips are closer to her ears than her own hair, which is splayed out around her and tousled. He moves his lips even closer, until she can hear the rasp of his breathing. Still steady, still calm.
In the meek silence of this room...
"Marry me."