Gaara and Matsuri belong to Kishimoto.
About the story: Gaara is 14, Matsuri is 15. They're training (sounds innocent, doesn't it? But it's not). Gaara is yet to become the Kazekage, and Shukaku is still sealed within him.
Important note: All of my GaaMatsu stories are separate entities, not linked to each other in any way!
Enjoy.
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Please
"Please."
Gaara can't wait to hear this word, tumbling off her lips. It's hard to make her say it but he knows what he has to do. Pushing her hard enough always makes her surrender, and she finally says this word like she does at the moment; her lips trembling, her voice breaking, her breathing rapid, her knees buckling.
Hearing it, he feels briefly satisfied but it won't last long. The feeling will be gone too soon for his liking, and he will have to push her again. And again. And again. It becomes harder and harder because Matsuri continuously grows stronger. He's so proud of her even though he's aware that it's impossible for her to reach his level. She would have to be the tailed beast's host first, and this will never happen. Even though Gaara hates Shukaku, the beast's power makes him many times stronger than Matsuri, and it will always be this way.
"Please," Matsuri repeats in a shaky whisper. "Sensei, I—I can't take it anymore."
Her eyes are downcast as if she's ashamed of her weakness. She tries to supress her heavy panting by biting her lip, but it's in vain. Her chest is heaving, the glistening sweatdrops oozing out of her skin. One of them trickles down Matsuri's reddened cheek, and reaches the corner of her mouth. Out of her breath, Matsuri catches the drop with the tip of her tongue. She reaches for the water canteen with her hand quaking. It takes her a longer amount of time than usual to uncork it. Eventually, she lifts the canteen to her lips, supporting it with both hands. Drinking greedily, she even lets the thin streak of water escape, dripping down her chin. Gaara watches the trickle, as it goes down Matsuri's throat, disappearing under hitai-ate, wrapped around her neck.
Panting, Matsuri closes her eyes. She's all thirst now, focused solely on quenching it, as if the whole world has vanished into nothing. Mesmerized, Gaara stares at her, praying quietly for this moment to last for ever. Sadly, Matsuri takes the canteen away from her mouth, and puts the cork in its place, still avoiding her teacher's eyes. Gaara's gaze focuses on her wet lips, and the demanding voice in his head instantly urges. Make her say it again.
Gaara wishes this voice belonged to Shukaku but it's not the case. The one making these demands is not the tailed beast. It's himself.
The sand starts its dance around him at his silent command, and Matsuri stares at her teacher desperately.
"Sensei, I know that you—that you do not get tired easily like other ninjas do, but I—" Her voice is hoarse from all that effort. "I need to rest. Please. Please!"
Gaara knows that he should stop but he simply can't.
"Matsuri, the enemy won't stop attacking only because you asked them to," he says huskily, his arms straightened forward, fingers splayed wide, as if getting his ninjutsu ready. Matsuri nods obediently, because he sounded reasonable, didn't he? She tries to make a battle stance but her body won't listen to her. Her legs buckle as if they turned into jelly, and her hand can hardly carry the weight of the kunai, taken out of its holster. Gaara attacks nonetheless, aiming at her face. He strikes a blow, and she dodges it clumsily, brandishing the kunai in no specific direction. Gaara hits her forearm with the edge of his palm, and the weapon slips out of Matsuri's fingers. They are so close to each other that he can feel an addictive scent of her sweat, and it makes his head spin. Her chest heaving, Matsuri attempts to evade his kick but all she can do is block it poorly. The force of the hit makes her lose her balance, and the kunoichi falls down on her stomach. She wants to get up immediately but her hands won't support her. All her muscles contract spasmodically, and all she can do is roll over onto her back. Obviously, she has reached her limit.
Gaara walks closer to her, watching her as she lies on her back, her eyes closed against the glaring sun, gulping the air as if her life depended on every single breath.
"You did great," the jinchuuriki says approvingly, standing next to his student to shield her from the sun. He notices the blood pulsing in powerful jerks under soft skin on the side of her throat, and he feels the sudden urge to lick his lips. Matsuri's hair on the sand is like halo around her head, except a few strands, glued to her sweaty face. Her normally calm breathing is changed into the series of violent "ah ah ah", and it sounds like music to his ears. Matsuri is utterly incapable at the moment, and he could do anything to her... literally anything.
"I'm going to take you home," he declares.
Where nothing else could produce a reaction from her, these words did.
"Sensei, you don't have to," Matsuri pleads groggily, apparently embarrassed. "I'll be alright soon. Please, give me some time..."
Her eyelids flutter until her bleary gaze can finally focus on her teacher's face.
"You can't stay here," Gaara replies in a throaty whisper, putting his hands under her shoulders and thighs. "It's too hot."
Helpless, she lets her eyes shut, as he lifts her up effortlessly, carrying her bridal style. Her head inclines to his chest, and her apologetic whisper is almost inaudible. "I don't want to be a bother..."
"You're not," he emphasizes, as his fingers eagerly absorb the heat from her exhausted body. Swiftly, his sand takes them high, floating towards the building she lives in.
Snuggled against his chest, Matsuri looks as if she's sleeping. Gaara glances down at her, and shakes his head at the funny notion. Of course she's not a bother to him. She has never been. She's been great.
And he can't wait to train her again.