IMPORTANT disclaimer: I will mix up human ejaculation and badly thought out xenophilic plantmonster reproductive processes in whatever unholy combination I please. Don't test me and don't look at me
The scent of grass hovered around Sakura in a pleasant haze as she drowsily worked her jaw. The legion of tiny seeds that filled her mouth, gathering up in her gums and skittering across her tongue as it moved, came between her teeth in twos and threes and popped, loudly. Between each little chorus of ruptures, her chin bumped gently against the top of Zetsu's head.
He was weirdly nonwarm. In the heavy summer air, the points of contact between their bodies didn't feel hot; they didn't feel like anything. His hands on her back—fingertips on the left, knuckles on the right, and then the heels. Arms sandwiched under her own arms. Legs not even intertwined with hers, just touching them, lying next to them in sloppy parallel. Sakura felt their mass, but even her own body heat was muted by Zetsu's white skin. He felt more like furniture than a person, except his face, smiling and smushed against her chest. She cracked more seeds. When she stirred her fingers around in his hair, the grassy smell strengthened, and she breathed it in deeply.
The first time she had brought Zetsu to climax, it had been in her mouth, too, and Sakura had torn herself away immediately, gagging on—what the hell were they?! Countless little beads of something; they were hard, and the thick fluid carrying them was lukewarm and sweet, and she was so astonished that it had taken everything in her to spit and breathe and spit instead of vomiting. When she brought herself to look, transparent pools of saliva mixed with—what?—had gathered on her floor, brimming with dark little spheres. She touched them and they stuck to her fingers. Sakura peered up at Zetsu, who, although he might have been concerned to some small degree, primarily appeared confused.
Grinding the beads between her fingers and thumb, Sakura had shot him her most powerful, quizzical stare, her eyes shining with leftover tears in the afternoon sunlight.
"They're seeds..!"
Smiling at the memory, she closed her eyes, then pressed a brief kiss to the top of Zetsu's head—barely pausing in her slow, controlled destruction.
Practically asleep, here, in the blessed heat of summer, with Sakura's warmth seeping into his aching body, his cheek pressing hard against her chest, her throat undulating rhythmically as seed after seed after seed popped and disappeared—swallowed—Zetsu felt distantly that he had never once been happier than this.