Rating is mature so read at your own risk.
A/N: I don't like how any of this turned out to be, but I'll still post it cuz ya. Took me a darn long time to finish that's for sure. *Flames will be ignored* Thanks.
Update: I fixed some things (ages, the time-skips, Kakashi being Hokage, and some minor spelling errors) that I thought needed to be further worked on. A BIG HUG TO ALL THOSE PEOPLE THAT FAVOURITED AND REVIEWED THIS PIECE OF MESSY WRITING. I GOT SO EXCITED WHEN I READ THE REVIEWS OF YOU BEAUTIFUL SOULS. I LOVE YOU ALL. Cof, 'k I'm done, you can keep reading now.
"I'll see you again," a sixteen-year-old Sasuke says as he pokes her forehead, gently, softly.
I
She smiles as he helps her get the bags full of food to her apartment and he tries to turn the corner of his lips upward too—only that it comes out as broken and rusty.
But she doesn't seem to notice. Either that, or she doesn't really care.
He sets the heavy bags down on the counter and she thanks him. He nods. She smiles again.
He hates smiles.
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III
He only hates those smiles because they remind him of his mother—and it shouldn't feel right that Sakura's smiles make his stomach turn and twist and his throat burns in need for water because it's too dry.
But it does feel right. And that's what he hates.
It's not just 'smiles' that he hates. No. It's not in general. It's not a total stranger's. It's not Naruto's, or Kakashi's, or any other person's.
It's hers.
It's only hers.
And as he's eating the usual ramen with the blonde and the pinkette, he can't help but take a look behind his long, black bangs, at Sakura's face.
But she's smiling.
Her eyes are sparkly again and her laugh feels like melody to his ears, and he blinks.
Once. Twice.
And then his palm is sweaty and his throat is dry as the desert he was once in and he needs to get out.
So he hides again under his hair and continues eating for the time being.
Sakura never noticed his ogling. For that, he notes, he is glad.
He takes a cold shower as soon as he gets home for reasons unknown to him.
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II
"So?"
He stares at her, waiting for an elaboration.
He doesn't know how she knew about it. About this. About the exact moment he was going to step out of his apartment.
She battles long eyelashes and looks at him, opening her mouth. "Well, when are you coming back?" She asks so innocently, but he knows she's hiding under a fine mask.
Traveler.
That's what he is now. That's what he had been for a long time. That's why she's here—in front of his house, staring at his black, over-sized cloak and waist-length bag. She frowns at his lack of response.
She's scared that he might leave forever. Like so many times before. But she's been acting the same way since he started coming to the village less often. Now she thinks, one day, he might leave and as well never come back.
He sighs as the strap of his bag rests a little bit heavier on his shoulders.
"I never know when. You know that." He tries to turn on his indifferent mode and he knows he's got it when her eyes shine bright for a moment before she blinks back the concern.
"I see." She takes a step back and looks down.
He doesn't know what's happening in her mind right now, or what to say. The male crosses his arms and looks her up and down, from head to toe.
She looks ready to jump like a scared bunny and flee the scene.
She wants to say something else, he knows that much.
So he takes a few steps forward and raises his hand, slowly, to the edge of her shoulder, touching her skin softly—but rough, rough to hers—and not noticing her aghast look.
He has to say something.
He opens his mouth, but the words are stuck in his throat and he curses everything that's in his line of sight—even the tree behind that pole. Oh, yeah, the pole too—for his sudden nervousness.
Because nothing makes any sense when it comes to Sakura anymore.
I mean, c'mon, it's just Sakura. What the hell is wrong with him lately? Sakura from team 7? Sakura his teammate? Sakura, the girl that shared most of his days as a shinobi with him? Sakura, the woman that could shatter the earth with one little punch? Sakura, the one person that loved him till the very end? Yeah, that Sakura.
And right at that moment he could finally understand what Shikamaru had meant all those years by women being "a drag."
Yes, they are—
"I'll be back." He breathes and then he's gone.
He never looked at her in the eye. He walks faster.
—But Sakura; Sakura's something else.
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IV
"Y'know, teme, you should ask Sakura-chan out."
He averts his gaze from the scroll he'd been reading and looks at Naruto, trying to figure out if he was serious—which would be weird for the blonde.
He finds him sitting cross-legged on the floor rummaging through a bag of chips.
Sasuke raises a brow questioningly.
"I mean, it's not like I'm stalking you guys or anything, of course not," liar, "but I've noticed, you know, the sexual tension between you two is pretty ob-!"
He wasn't able to finish his sentence because in less than a second Sasuke had thrown a punch at his face.
"Auch!-What the hell teme?!" He was rubbing his head, chips scattered around the room and pouting at the glare from his supposed best friend.
"Dobe."
"But it's true!"
"Why do you even sit on the floor when your chair is right there?" He's pointing at the space between the desk and the wall, right where the chair is located. Naruto shrugs. And then, after a long and endless moment of silence, he looks at Sasuke horrified. "Oh, I see what you're doing! Tryin' to change the topic, uh?"
"I—" Sasuke struggles, but to no avail. He was indeed trying to. "You should be studying; training to become Hokage in a few years."
A wide smile spreads across the young, soon-to-be hokage's features. "It's funny, I always thought you to be gay or something. But then again, Sakura is too cute, eh, Sasuke?" Sasuke sighs.
He eyes him accusingly through narrowed eyes and, seeing as Naruto wouldn't stop whining, why not make the best out of it?
He sighs and skips to the balcony of the hokage tower with Naruto's bag of chips as he hears a loud reproach from the blonde.
"Hey! Why'd you do that?"
"I'm hungry."
Sakura's topic is not touched anymore.
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V
He's sitting on a chair and looking out the window when he hears a faint knock on the door.
He frowns when he sees it's her. "Sakura," he breathes.
She looks up at him with a smile and a fierce blush and he frowns even more. "I heard you came back yesterday," she takes out a small bento from behind her and opens it carefully, "so I thought, with the people and the Naruto behind your back..." He sighs, knowing where this was going. "Maybe you would like something warm to eat."
"I'm not staying long," the words are out before he can really think about them.
She keeps smiling, though. He doesn't know if the knuckles of his fists are white because of her smile, or because of the action in itself—smiling like a fool after his statement. He was leaving again, soon.
Fortunately, Kakashi had let him keep a small apartment for the time being, at least until he stopped travelling and settled down in the village.
He lets her in, nonetheless, and closes the door with ease as she sits on the couch, bento in hand.
Nodding in gratitude at her, he sits at a fair distance from the pinkette, and takes the chopsticks offered by the small, feminine hand.
Then, they eat.
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IX
Maybe it's the way her hair sways with every twirl she makes. Maybe it's the way her hips move from side to side without a care in the world as she dances in the center of the room by herself, but with hundreds of people around her.
Maybe it's the way her eyes are closed as she laughs and laughs with what seems to be a random stranger.
But, for whatever reason, he wants to go to her.
He feels the urge to stand up from his position at the bar and walk over to her.
He feels the need crawling up through his veins.
He wants to touch her; to break her; to take her in and breathe her whole. And it's pissing him off to no end.
This isn't him. He's not like this.
His fingers twitch in an attempt to restrain himself from going to the dance-floor, yanking her away from all those hungry eyes, from men who didn't know her—who didn't deserve her.
He wants to touch her. But he can't.
And so he leaves.
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VI
The food was not bad.
Not that day. Not the other thirteen more.
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VII
Somehow, someday, he finds himself at a place full of music and bright, coloured lights. And alcohol.
Somehow, someday, he finds himself surrounded by people dancing. Mostly, people he doesn't know. People he doesn't care about.
Except her.
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VIII
"Sasuke."
He looks at the person, the middle-aged man in front of him, and his eye twitches without him wanting it to. He looks around the living room of the dobe's party—don't ask why, Naruto just likes to throw parties here and there, especially when he's "only turning nineteen once"—and wonders what she is doing here.
Did Naruto invite every shinobi in Konoha?
"Aa," he mutters, turning his attention back to him.
"How's everything going?" He watches as Kakashi takes a sip of whatever is in the cup he's holding; he'd prefer not to know. It looks nasty.
"Everything's fine." He watches from the corner of his eye as something pink and warm enters his vision and his eyes are set on the girl with the nice, red dress, some meters away from him. But oblivious to his staring.
Kakashi notices this and turns his head towards Sakura, scoffs, and looks at Sasuke again. There's a glint in his eyes that the Uchiha doesn't miss. "Would you like a copy of my Icha Icha Special Edition?"
"Uh?" His trance is broken as the words enter into his system and he's back to normal again. He stiffens. "I do not," he states, serene.
He thinks he hears a sigh from his former sensei, from all those years ago, but he doesn't really care. "Oh," he whispers, knowing more to the story than that.
Sasuke doesn't bother asking why he was at the party when he probably had stacks of papers to be filled at his office, as Hokage. So he doesn't receive any answer.
He glances at the woman a few meters away from him in the tight red dress. Sakura doesn't even notice him that night—surrounded by an orange blur and all of her friends.
He grabs Kakashi's cup with patience when he doesn't notice—too engrossed in reading the orange book he's holding (he hopes it's not the Special Edition).
His eyes burn at the back of Sakura's head as he swallows the liquid faster than usual.
Nasty.
He orders two more that night.
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X
"Sasuke-kun?"
Her voice resounds in his mind and stays there, echoing through the brain. He releases a breath, knowing he shouldn't be next to her; knowing he shouldn't be talking to her; knowing he shouldn't have her cornered against the wall of his house, after returning from a long, tiring journey.
Knowing he had to be traveling, looking for places, observing people. Knowing he should be redeeming himself; getting rid of his major sins. But—
But she had been waiting for him there—probably entered through the open window. The bento lay on the floor now, food dirtying everything.
He shouldn't be this close to her.
He shouldn't.
"Sas- Ah! Wait, what are you-"
But he is.
He finds that her cries aren't what he really wants to hear, but the soft moans she exhales whenever she finishes training—sweaty and tired and so stupidly beautiful—with him; whenever she's lost a challenge with the dobe; whenever he envisions her writhing under him, mangled around white sheets. He usually pushes the latter thoughts away.
"Shut up," he grunts out.
He bites the skin of her neck (softly) slowly, as if testing himself, but then they become hard pulls of skin between his teeth and soon, he promptly notices everything is quiet; still.
He stops for a moment to look at her, bare inches separating them, both panting. She quivers, trying to get free from under him, deep, sea-green eyes hurting silently. "Why?"
Sasuke has always been a strong child; man. But he lacks the strength he needs when dealing with emotions. He's insecure; he can't voice what he feels; he never can.
So, in turn, his defence mechanisms awake and in rationalising, he tells himself that this is happening because of the glass of sake he had drunk on the way home.
But just a glass wouldn't even make the cold Uchiha flinch. When did he stop being so aloof around her?
Seconds pass by and the silence makes its presence once again. But nothing had ever hit him harder before. "You want this, Sasuke-kun." He feels his hands being directed to her chest—to her breasts—and his breath hitches in his throat as soon as he sees her face.
She smiles, sadly, and then he's being pushed away, gently, as if he was going to break at any minute.
"But you don't want me."
The door slamming shut makes him flinch if barely anything. If he had a heart, it would be breaking by now. Every little piece falling apart.
All he can see are those sweet, green eyes staring into his rotten soul, and her broken, painful smile.
He unconsciously clenches his fists.
He hates those smiles.
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The following days are a blur to him, and to her.
They barely ever looked at each other when with friends. He kept his distance like never before, no matter how much he wanted to get close.
But he felt he had crossed an invisible, dangerous barrier. And now there was no turning back.
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The days turned into weeks, then.
Eventually, without any of their friends noticing, weeks turned into months.
Months in which he visited most of the small and large villages in fire country—but not once stepping into Konoha. Months without exchanging any words. Months without any type of physical contact.
He suddenly hates to wait.
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He returns to his natal home eight months after the incident in his house. He doesn't even try to report to the Hokage, or pay a visit to Naruto, or greet people, in a way to amend his wrongs, on his way to a familiar apartment. He returns—wishing to see her only.
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XIII
He falls from the tree with a silent thud on the fine wood of her apartment's floor. And then he approaches her, slowly.
But as soon as his genjutsu drops, and his chakra is visible—vivid—again, Sakura is already pinning him to the wall with a kunai in hand, against his exposed neck.
"Sakura," he whispers against her mouth, his rough tone making her eyes widen for what seems like an eternity. "Sasuke-kun..." Believe it or not, the suffix feels like paradise, the idea of her keeping it after all this time makes him want to smile nostalgic. He doesn't.
"What do you want?" She's serious, but confused. She drops the kunai on the floor when he turns her around, once again, to have her under him. She unconsciously licks her lips, frowning, against him.
Now, he thinks. Now: say it. Say what you've been planning to say from the start. Say what you're supposed to say. Tell her—tell her now.
One.
Two.
Three.
He takes some oxygen into his system; it's now or never. Then, he locks his piercing eyes on her disorientated ones in the gleam of the moonlight, finding the courage to say the words. "I'm sorry," he mutters under his breath.
"It's not that easy, Sasuke," she says back, meeting his scowl. As if she was already anticipating the words. As if she had already thought about what she was going to say back, before he had the chance to even speak his apology.
He knows why.
"No." She's bucked against him.
She frowns in confusion. "No." And now it's more gente. And now she feels his voice caressing her skin. He places a hand on the crown of her head, placing away all the strays of hair covering her vision. "Don't call me that."
It felt too perfect to be real, he thinks. She was missing his honorific.
She gulps, looking away. "I meant that," he breathes, gentle, and she wonders what's happening with her life. This doesn't sound like the Sasuke she knows at all. The words barely register in her mind. "Sakura."
"I know."
She refuses to speak, and he narrows his eyes.
Sighing, she bites her lip again. She looks at him, holding his stare. "I'm sorry," he tries again.
Watching as her pretty, big eyes sparkle, like so many times before, he thinks he has hurt her enough in the past. Yet he can't move away.
Instinctively, without thinking, his hands find the curve of her cheekbones, the soft curve of her shoulders, down to her arms. Moments pass. Their breaths mix together. Her mouth makes a sound of pure bliss. "Sasuke-kun..." It's just a mere whisper above everything else but his ears catch it pretty quickly. She's hesitating.
Then he stops.
He glances at her lips, hesitating too, for an instant. Then, when their lips brush in the most ardent touch, he takes hold of her robe. The knot is pretty easy to open as it is lose, but he still struggles, halting in his tracks as he glances at her for approval. "Can I-"
"Yes." It's too clear for him after that moment, she wants him.
He can't help his hands from wandering over her body and sliding down the robe she sleeps in, this time slowly. He can't help but glance down at her nudity, taking in every curve and admiring her astounding beauty.
You're perfect, he feels her eyes open wide at his silent statement, and then she starts moving her head from side to side: no. "You don't have to do this." His Adam's apple throbs when he gulps down all the words he'd like to say. He stays quiet, though, placing his inexperienced hands on the back of her neck, inching her forward to him. "Stop it. Please. You only want this to-"
"I want you." Serious, stern, dark. And when she gasps, he quickly takes the opportunity to press his lips against hers and slide his tongue inside her mouth, with no hesitation.
"I want you."
She tastes like poison, and when the slim, almost-invisible tears roll down her cheeks; when she gives in; when she starts to feel him, and quickly takes his clothes off; when he's pressing her hard against the wall, and he places his hand under her thigh to keep her weight up; when he enters her with a low grunt, and she moans in pain and pleasure because this is a sin and she's the sinner; when she kisses him hard as he moves his hips more and more each time she whispers his name; that's when he knows. She's toxic to him. He's toxic to her. But neither of them care.
He doesn't love her; he's not in love with her. But he loves this. He loves her pressed up against him, squirming, moaning his name. He loves the sounds she makes—the sounds that are not of pain, but rather pleasure, for once. He loves the way she feels around; loves how she scratches his back in an attempt to hold onto something.
And maybe that's just enough for now.
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He leaves, after that. He leaves for months—long ones.
He doesn't see her until spring—she's already twenty. And so is he.
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XIV
"Ahh..."
"You like that?" There's hesitation in his voice, but there hasn't been a time when he'd been totally confident about his actions with her. These kinds of actions.
He knows he wants her (a fact that took him more than fifteen years to admit). But he's not an expert on this topic, and neither is she. So, maybe, that's why it isn't as awkward.
They're in the same situation.
"Yeah..." She purrs, biting her lip. He can tell she's embarrassed.
A ghost of a smirk makes its way on his lips at her flushed face, watching as she arches her back and moves her hips closer to his hand, urging him to continue.
He takes out his one finger and plugs in two in a swift motion that makes her see white for a moment before everything turns back to the normal quality of her 20:20 vision. She moans even louder. His smirk widens a little, seeing as his ministrations were giving him the results he'd wanted.
He takes out his sticky fingers, moistened by her insides, and direct them to her mouth. Maybe she's too into this, or maybe she just wants to know what it feels like. But, for whatever reason it is, she opens her mouth, slowly.
His mouth goes dry, she's licking them. A light shade of pink adorns her cheeks. She touches his hand and moves it forward to her lips, making it easier for her to suck on his fingers. His sole eye shines red for a moment before taking his hand away, and crushing his lips on hers, tasting the bitter taste of her juices on his tongue.
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XVI
Being with Sakura is something he would've never thought about, years ago.
Her bright, sweet persona; her green, big, and sparkly-looking eyes; her sharp mind; her demanding personality, shy and bossy at the same time; her pale, silky and smooth skin; her beautiful face, beautiful soul; her angelic voice, as she's talking to him, as she's breathing his name.
All of her attributes and traits contribute to what she really is: annoying.
He feels as if, in the short spam of two weeks, he's got to know her more than the ten years he's been spending at her side as her teammate.
It's ridiculous.
She likes to take walks with him, he finds one day, at night when the moon is rising up in the sky like a queen.
She prefers her ice cream without any toppings, and preferably with lots of chocolate.
She's founded a children's clinic; hospital. Orphan children lost and without any place to stay after the war, found and rescued by her expert, healing hands.
She loves animals—yeah, that he'd known. But, this time, as he was watching her pet a tiny cat and giving it some food, he gets to see her soft side. Something he'd never really paid attention to in his genin days.
He watches as dimples form in her cheeks every time she smiles at him, with soft and caring eyes, and wonders how much she was going to keep pretending. Keep pretending that everything was fine.
He contemplates her; studies her.
If he were an artist, he'd tell her to sit on a chair, look at him, and then he'd paint all the smooth contours of her naked glory; of her face; of her viridian eyes. If he were a musician, he would write songs about her own magical aura that follows everywhere she goes, and the glowing light sparkling off her skin in the first hours of the day.
If he were a better person, he would love her.
But he's a killer. His hands are dirty and rough. He can't write about something beautiful when he can only see darkness. His sins are still haunting him at night. He's not a good person, he thinks.
And, unfortunately, the only thing he can do is hurt her.
And as he's watching her water the colourful flowers at her backyard—with the sun creeping slowly to meet her cotton hair, and her petite body covered in just a plain shirt of his—he really wishes this would never end.
It's the closest he's ever come to feeling something akin to peace.
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XV
She laughs.
It's a sound that makes his heart ache; it makes him cringe; it makes him happy—if he can ever be.
She laughs when he tickles her into the bathroom, "stop!" But he does only does stop when he sees her smile.
That damn fucking smile again—the one that makes his stomach turn and twist and his breath leave his soul.
She stares into his flaming eye, bright with the sharingan activated. And then she kisses him, hard; fiercely.
He quickly turns on the hot water with his hand, later using it to roam over her skirt, under it, slightly. But he doesn't stop kissing her. For a long, long time.
She feels her head spinning, biting on his lower lip, making him growl lowly.
She takes off his shirt. She takes off her blouse. He doesn't waste time taking off her panties slowly, he just rips them out. She gapes at her broken, lacy panties laying on the floor. "Hey, those were my favourite!" Her pout makes him want to rip all the other pink panties inside her drawer, just to see it again. "You've got more," he mumbles under his breath, making his way to her again.
"Oh, don't you think I'm going to be okay with that. They cost me a fortune! I just don't—"
"Annoying."
A slow blush creeps on her hot cheeks. Sometimes, it was so easy to change her mood.
"Whatever," she huffs and slides inside the bathtub, covering her bare body behind the curtains. He can see the outline of her hands over her head: she's wetting her hair.
He strips down from his boxers and enters the hot tub. Somewhat expected and soon, he's looming over her, pressing her to the wet crystals of the wall, and breathing her in. "Sasuke-kun..." She lets him kiss her, hand fondling her breasts in an attempt to arouse her. But, boy, as soon as he enters one finger in her warm, tight core, he knows she'd been aroused long before. "Sasuke-kun, I'm—"
"Shit, Sakura." He enters two fingers, quickly lifting her up to meet his own hard length. She looks down, and swears she can see the outstanding veins trailing along his groin.
But he hasn't entered her yet, and she knows why. Opening her mouth, she gasps. "I love you," and then he keeps still.
She lets a moan escape her lips when he enters her, rough and uncaring. His mouth slants over her lips before closing his eyes, savouring the way he enters and slides out of her cavity with so much ease. "You're so fucking wet." You're so fucking tight, he thinks, too.
She came hard, that night.
Twice.
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He needs to leave Konoha again, soon—he scowls in bed at the thought—but he doesn't want to leave her. Sasuke decides to stay just for a bit more as he sees her sleeping form under him. Not yet, he thinks.
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XVII
"No!"
Her pale, fragile finger pointing at the man, as if threatening him, makes him raise a brow.
You think you can stop me with that?
"Ah!" He catches her by surprise, raising her up by her hips with his two hands, one wrapped in bindings and still fragile, and makes her sit on the kitchen's counter. "Spread your legs," he demands, looking at her eyes without flinching. "What?" She almost chokes on her cereal.
"I said," he gets closer, until his breath tickles against her ear, "spread your legs." She responds immediately by doing so, only curious about his sudden demand.
He then positions himself in between her silky legs, and looks her up from where he's standing.
She takes his face in her hands, and kisses him—just a peck on the lips. He starts trailing his hand along her bare leg, slightly under her white shorts. She looks at him, wide eyed with astonishment. "On the counter?"
She smiles, leaving the small bowl of late-night-cereal to her left, abruptly forgotten. He tenses up.
With one more kiss and a squeeze above the clothes on his back, he smirks. "On the counter."
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XVIII
"Won't you stay?" She asks, although she already knows the answer. She still hopes that he will stay with her; let her make his breakfast in the morning; let her kiss him before he walks away and out of the village; let her love him.
But he doesn't let her.
He's always leaving her behind. She's always asleep when that happens, so he leaves without a word and it goes unnoticed. Unnoticed until she wakes up to an empty room.
Today she woke up to the sound of water running in the bathroom. Gathering all her clothes and putting them back on, she fixed her hair and looked at the door of the bathroom being opened—a dressed Uchiha stepping out with an indifferent expression on his face—small drops of water falling from the tips of his hair to his shirt.
But as soon as she asks the obvious, his expression darkens considerably. "I can't stay," he states, voice scratching at the corners of her heart, taking his belongings and putting them in the pockets under his poncho.
They're in her apartment. Her parents had gone on a mission for the weekend, so Sasuke had taken the oportunity to drop by a few nights.
But it was just that. Nights.
He never stayed until morning, never visited in the afternoon, never dropped by when it was daylight.
She watches as he steps on the window-sill, ready to disappear, ready to leave her as if nothing ever happened—as if they hadn't had sex hours prior.
She bites at her lower lip, "don't, Sasuke-kun..." He looks at her, slightly puzzled at her interruption, but he lets her continue, "you always leave..." She takes four steps towards him, cautious but sure, until her chest is almost touching his back, she inhales. "Stay?"
Then, he turns his head to look at her, and immediately turns it to look outside once again. Those pleading eyes will be the death of him one day. "I can't," he whispers, raspy voice coming out of his throat. And then he's gone.
Sakura is left alone in the coldness of her apartment, thinking that, maybe, Sasuke would never change.
Did she even want him to? Was she ever expecting him to be another person?
No.
That was him, and she respected him for that, no matter how much he'd hurt her, she will always be there for him, like she has always been. He was to redeem himself of the wrongs he had done in the past, and she was okay with that.
But she's a masochist.
She'd known the answer all along.
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XIX
"Lay still." She lets him explore her; lets him touch her; lets him savour her; lets him know her deepest secrets. She stares at him—longingly, with desire—from the dark sheets in his bed. He stands next to the bed like he owns her; looks at her like she belongs to him.
And she does.
When he's with no clothes on, he climbs up on top of her, with the patience of a lion, and starts taking her every undergarment off.
She stiffens, still, with her hands being pressed on top of her head with a gentle touch.
"What are you-"
"Just," he takes an intake of breath, trying to control his instincts, "let me do this, Sakura."
The way he pronounces her name makes her weak, making her close her eyes, slowly, as he proceeds to take off her bra; her panties.
She lays naked against him, with her eyes closed, when she feels him stop everything he'd been doing.
She looks at him, noticing his pupils were dilated, staring right into her soul. She doesn't waste time in arching her back to reach up and press her lips onto his, hard, in an attempt to stop the hunger in her system. "I love you." That's his guilty pleasure.
But he kisses her softly, gentle, and slowly. Sweet.
Maybe she felt him parting her legs, or positioning himself, or leaving her hands to hold her waist while he leans in close to continue kissing her. But she only remembers when he enters her. It's slow, it's patient, it's what makes her see the stars.
She remembers when he moans her name at the top of their climax. She remembers when she whispers sweet nothings in his ear.
He falls asleep moments after the sex-
But then she gasps, knowing that this had been more than that, more than rough and uncaring sex.
They had made love.
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.
"Who told you?" Sakura asks, walking next to Ino toward the hospital, renewed after years of hard work, after the war. Ino shrugs and Sakura swallows.
"Naruto. He's pretty sure you are, though. Don't ask me how."
"Oh."
"So? Is it true?"
"What is true?"
"Are you sleeping with him?" Sakura looks away as if interested with the squirrel that was trailing up a tree, its graceful nature making it appear fast and flexible. She glances ahead of her, and internally smiles as she eyes the building she was craving to enter and work herself 'till night, a few meters away from them. "Mm?"
"You damn well heard me, Haruno!" Sakura doesn't mind her hands sweating cold and her legs ready to make her tumble to the ground at the insinuation that Sasuke and her were sleeping together (which was true), coming from no other but her best-friend.
She doesn't mind. She laughs. The whole ordeal was quite funny; Ino made the best expressions at her.
"Maybe..." She whispers, knowing it would anger the blonde.
"Forehead! Come back here, what does that mean?"
The pinkette skips through the people on the busy street and waves goodbye, "see ya'!" She enters the hospital in less than a second, sighing in relief when she's surrounded by the protective, white walls. If Ino finds out, she muses, then everyone in Konoha would know in the span of a day.
Ino crosses her arms and laughs at her friend, already lost past the glass doors.
Finally, she thinks.
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.
After one long week and three long days, he entered through the window of her room.
She was already sitting in bed, waiting for him, and found herself in a state of shock when she saw him after so much time.
He came in, made love to her, and left. Just like that.
Sakura had never been so confused—and hurt—in her entire life.
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He came to her when he found himself in the dark corners of his healing mind.
He came to her—a silent apology written on his face.
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XXI
"What are we doing?," she whispers one night, against the white sheets, caressing the hand that's wrapped around her.
The darkness in the room, plus the late hours of the night make his eyelids heavy, making the words barely register in his mind. "Mm...?"
She seems to stiffen, removing his arm from her abdomen, slowly. And then he opens his eyes, trying to pay attention. She looks at him, wriggling out of his embrace and sitting herself in front of him.
"What are we?"
He sits up, raising a questioning brow at her.
She takes a deep breath, looking down to her hands, "Are we even together?" Goosebumps run along his arms. "We are."
"As in a couple?"
He stares at her, blankly. What is there to say? Are they are a couple, are they together, are they an item now? He can't find it in himself to utter the word. Instead, he finds confidence in holding her hand against him, tracing lazy circles along the soft skin. He looks at her straight in the eye.
At twenty-one years of age, in the new apartment Sakura had finally bought, he lets his emotions speak before his mind for the first time.
"Yes." His throat feels constricted; she smiles.
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XXII
Her cries echo through the room and that's the only sound he can hear. It's like a sweet melody, the perfect lullaby.
He grips her hair, pulling it back, making her back arch and for a moment he thinks he sees her bite her lip. She moans louder, higher.
He's taking her from behind.
The friction between their bodies, plus the sound of their laboured breathing and her high, sweet moans, makes him want to go faster. A guttural, low moan comes from the bottom of his throat. He leaves her hair, grasping her hips fully, and she lets her head down, closing her eyes shut from the pleasure.
And then he spanks her.
"Ah!"
She has the perfect ass. As well as the perfect back, the perfect skin, the perfect touch. She's perfect.
He spanks her again, this time harder, leaving her to gasp for air.
"Fuck."
"Mmm..."
The red marks on her white, porcelain skin are almost surreal.
He moves faster, trying to maintain the pace, trying to find his release.
She whines louder with each thrust, making him grunt and growl and bite back his own low moans.
It's coming to an end already, he knows. He feels her walls close around his cock, making him moan a little louder than usual, gasping for air when she lets out a long, tired moan at the top of her climax.
He keeps her in place; not stopping until he's feeling himself almost there. "Sakura."
He digs his nails into her skin, frowning in concentration as he looses himself for a moment and his thrusts become more animalistic.
"Sakura—fuck, say it."
He's almost there. She's whimpering from under him, finding her second orgasm near. She knows what she needs to say.
"Say it!"
With an almost inhuman, low roar, he collapses on top of her, finding it hard to focus on just one thing at a time.
Sakura wriggles out of his embrace, turning her body around to finally face him, and taking his face in her palms.
He looks at her, breathing in her scent, helping himself up on his elbow on one side of her head.
She smiles, and kisses him.
"I love you."
And maybe, in his mind, those smiles were not that awful after all.
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XXIII
"Sasuke-kun?"
He sighs contently as her arms snuggle him closer to her form, in the brink of morning. They're both awake, twenty-two, and content. "Mm?"
Her lost warmth feels like a crime to him, and he's forced to open his eyes at the sudden coldness of the room. She's already looking at him from her position sitting up. He narrows his eyes in confusion; it's too early in the morning, he muses. "Sakura." She keeps staring at him, a blush on her cheeks and her teeth biting her lower lip.
Then he thinks that, maybe, just maybe, something was wrong. Her palms are sweaty with nervousness. But her eyes are happy in thought. He grows impatient. "Sakura, tell me." She doesn't say a word.
He sits up and grabs a hold of her trembling shoulders, speaking more demandingly. "Sakura, what is it that y-"
"I want a child." She sorts out her hair in an attempt to hide her nervousness.
His breath hitches; his mind wanders; his hands are shaking and his world is falling apart. Or together. He can't know for sure. A child?
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
He grabs her hand in his, entwining their hands together, sighing in bliss at the thought of her carrying a child of their own.
He looks at her, and she smiles. She's the most beautiful she has ever been, right at that moment. "Then, we'll have a child."
He'll still have to leave for his journeys; still have to redeem himself; still have to let go of his past sins. But he'll stay. He'll stay longer periods of time, and leave for shorter ones. He'll find a way. They'll find a way.
He's sure.
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Her eyes shine wide at his next words. Words that hold—held—so much meaning. "Thank you."
He leaves to come back. Soon.