This drabbly thing came to me while I was sitting at work bored today. I may not really ship Narusasu or Narusaku (or even Sasusaku), but damn it if I don't ship Narusasusaku. Everyone needs a little Team 7-cest in their lives.
I don't own Naruto. You see what would happen if I did.
Usually, after one of their romps, she slept like the dead. However, when she was brought to consciousness, an emerald eye opening blearily, she was able to quickly identify the culprit. No matter how tired she was, her shinobi instincts always won, and the soft rocking of the bed was enough to wake her from her slumber.
Between the three of them, there was a constant battle for dominance. Her boys usually let her top when the mood struck her, but between themselves, the battle was unrelenting. Their lovemaking was more often than not as volatile as they were, a power struggle filled with biting and scratching and wayward limbs. Now, it was gentle, mouths swallowing any unavoidable noises, and she knew that they were trying not to wake her.
For a second, she considered announcing her presence and joining in on the festivities. But she found herself unwilling to move, to shatter the moment. She was entranced by the pale back—the lean curve of it, the way the muscles rippled under taut skin. Tanned hands clenched in dark, dark hair. A stifled gasp sent heat straight to her core, her naked skin flushing despite the coolness of the sheets. She couldn't help herself—she shuddered.
Immediately, two pairs of eyes were on her—blue widened in surprise, red calculating. The tomoe of the Sharingan spun lazily at her, and her breathing shallowed, extremely turned on.
Then the whiskered face grinned, limbs already untangling from their pale counterpart's and reaching for her. She welcomed his kiss, gasping into his mouth when an ivory hand found its way in between her legs. And then, when the dark-haired one moved closer, she kissed him too, letting him swallow her tongue.
Growing up, none of them had ever felt like they had truly belonged. But she knew that here—pressed so flush against them that there was no distinction between black or pink or blond, breath mingling as they panted, fingers interwoven and roaming and grasping for purchase—here was where they were all meant to be.
A/N: Let me know.