AN: Wowie I haven't written in awhile! Don't expect me to start pumpin out new fics, my main focus is on poetry at but this idea just came to me. Note the rating and categories; it is what I said it is.

Disclaimer: Yaa, no ownership of anything, and the idea is pretty much simple and overdone. Bite me.

Summary: Sakura reminisces about her late-night visitor, and the events that burned her. "For a moment she was lost in his lips moving against hers, the warmth of his tongue. It was incredibly odd, blissfully loosing control…"

It Had Nothing to Do With Love: one shot

Sakura's eyes tore open. She lay motionless beneath her blankets, staring at the shadows on the wall. A scratching sound crawled across the room and into her wide-awake ears, and she suddenly sat up—hands before her ready to fight. Her face softened, hands dropping onto her lap. One door of her window hung ajar, a branch from a tree rubbing against the glass in the wind. She sighed, the lonely feeling snuggling back into her gut as her memory washed back in like high tide. It had nothing to do with love. She slowly slid back under the covers, body remembering its aches. Her mind ignored her mental pleas as it brought up every detail like a needle and thread pulled through her flesh, only to pierce a new and sensitive spot with every memory. No, it had nothing to do with love.

He had tapped on her window, image distorted through the pane. She had jumped up and opened the lock, not before tripping over her own feet on the way. His face was shadowed by the moonlit backdrop as he fluidly entered, cold hands holding her cheeks as he stood an inch away. His dark eyes searched hers, leading her like a tango dancer—his step forwards met by her step back. Her knees buckled at the tap of the edge of her bed and she struggled with her numb mind for consciousness. This was her dream, what she had been waiting for since the day she had met him, and now that it was finally happening her heart was beating in her ears so loud she couldn't hear anything else. The fear of something, what she could not say, was racing through her blood like a drug.

He smiled then, looking down at her. The dim light seemed to bounce off his frame and cast a glowing halo around his pale skin. He sat and pulled her, one hand on the back of her neck and the other behind him, onto his built frame and further onto the bed—lying against the many pillows. For a moment she was lost in his lips moving against hers, the warmth of his tongue. It was incredibly odd, blissfully loosing control…

His hands did not hesitate in their forwardness and lifted her loose sleeping shirt to her shoulders and then off. The cold night air hit her back but she didn't care, running her own small fingers across his muscles. Soon she found herself barely clothed beneath him, strangely inviting him to do as he wanted, which he did. She didn't have much say in anything, she found, but it wasn't as if she cared. His touch was electric, sending pinpricks all over, and she wouldn't dare stop it. A pressure on her stomach made her breath catch, his being filling her senses. Without knowing, she knew. Her knees found his hips, his face dipping to her neck where his lips burned holes like acid. Her eyes squeezed shut.

And then, in what seemed like only a few seconds, but an eternity at the same time, he was breathing heavily into her ear as he lay limp on top of her. She had raised a hand into his hair then, hugging him to her tight. He was already slipping away, so close to her he couldn't get any closer. He was leaving and she desperately clung to him, whispering the words that came to her tongue.

"Love me?" he repeated, a hint of disgust in his hoarse voice.

He sat, no expression on his features as he wiped at the sweat-dampened hair sticking to his forehead with the back of his hand. She cried out to him as he picked up his shorts and hopped as he pulled them on, fastening the button. She pulled the sheets to her form as he got dressed, and after he had finished he stopped before the window and turned to look at her.

"I'll...see you later." he offered, and then he was gone.

Now, alone in the night with the ghost of him on her skin she lay, tortured tears slipping from her lashes. Love him? How dare she love him. After all, it had nothing to do with love.

AN: So there you have it. One depressing, life inspired fic. Please review!