wait; they don't love you like i love you
The wedding ceremony is lavish. The Uchiha fan no longer brings fresh air into Konoha – not yet – but the Hokage herself attends, which is why most of the village follows. Sakura wears a heavy, white shiromuku kimono, with golden seams that glitter in the sun; Sasuke wears his father's montsuki kimono, a dark, simple thing that sheds no light apart from the red fan on its back. Their sandals clack against the wood as they make their way to the altar, as loud as Sakura's heartbeats, and the priest begins his vows with a stern voice.
On the front row, Kizashi quietly blows into a handkerchief, while Mebuki valiantly pretends there are no tears streaming down her face. Naruto, sitting a few seats to the side, wipes at his eyes, bringing Hinata's left hand with his.
Sakura smiles at them before turning, and then focuses on Sasuke's face – expressionless, closed-off, the shadows on his neck shifting with every second that passes. His hand brushes against her ear when he presses it around her jaw, and Sakura nearly shivers. But it is a warm, sunny day, and it fades.
The compound will offer them much needed shade, afterwards – there are long tables with sashimi slabs and other luxuries waiting for them in the bowls of the restored Uchiha complex, along with the decorations Mebuki ordered be put up. It's meaningless to Sasuke, probably – but he didn't say a word about it, and Sakura knows him well enough to have seen the offended look on his face when her parents offered to foot the bill. Despite all, the Uchiha's coffers are still bursting at the seams, and the lone heir doesn't mind emptying them. Dead money, he'd said once, drunk enough to lean on her while Naruto ordered more sake; it's just dead money.
The priest goes quiet with anticipation. Sasuke breathes in, presses his lips against hers chastely, and it's her first kiss. Disappointing, considering the circumstances, but Sakura doesn't mind. She kisses back, cocking her head and smiling.
It's not, she thinks, that she doesn't love him. She's never stopped, after all, despite the forced pause during the war. That was different; they were different. Now, though? Now Sakura hands over the key to her heart even as she keeps it open for his perusal. Sadly, it appears Sasuke has forgotten how to read.
"We don't—" Sasuke begins, expression hard. His eyebrows pinch, meeting at the center of his forehead. "We don't have to."
Sakura rests her hand on his shoulder. The fabric of his kimono isn't as soft as hers, but it still feels nice to the touch. She wonders where it had been; she imagines Sasuke searching through his father's belongings, all alone, and her chest clenches. Her hand does too, around his collar.
"And if I want to?" Sakura asks, smoothing out the wrinkles. Her voice sounds so small, not even echoing around the main room. It's still sparsely decorated, but she knows such decisions will fall to her. Sasuke has memories of this place – painful ones – and he likely wants to replace them with something different. She hopes she will be enough.
Sasuke brings his eyes to hers. In the dim light, the one she sees is as black as the night outside. Sakura feels her face heat, and she wants so very much to avert her gaze to the floor – but she doesn't. She leans into him instead, eyes closed and mouth parted, and kisses him.
For a long second, her heart breaks slowly, and then Sasuke finally kisses back – carefully, still chastely, his hand pressing softly into her hip. She can't feel its warmth through the heavy fabric of her kimono, and pulls back to untie the knots – until Sasuke leans his forehead into her stomach. It makes her feel warm and sad at the same time.
"Let me," he says, sounding a little muffled, and brings his hand lower.
It is a ritual, she realizes halfway into it, when the seventh piece of fabric slides off her body. It is a ritual of apology, and Sakura bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to sting (softly enough not to draw blood). If Sasuke notices, he doesn't say anything – he presses a soft kiss to the hollow of her neck as his father's kimono drops from his shoulders and leans over her with a guarded expression. Sakura's face goes hot again, but she presses her palms into his – their bed and looks at him in the eyes.
"The lights, Sasuke-kun?" she whispers, and Sasuke blinks. Does he think this is easy for her – to bare herself to him like this? Years have shaped them both into attractive people (though he's never had any setbacks in that department), but she's never – she's never—
Finally, Sasuke nods. He goes to turn them off, offering a mouthwatering sight of his shoulder blades, the dimples at the end of his back, and Sakura shifts her legs distractedly until the room is awash in black. Outside, the moon is a slice of white in the clear sky, and Sasuke's pale skin almost burns as he makes his way across the open window. Sakura's mouth is wet, and her tongue thickens as her nerve falters.
Sasuke's hand finds the hollow of her stomach, fingers curling inside the laced underwear she bought especially for today, and Sakura's knees raise in order to touch together. Sasuke's bad arm leans there, stopping her, and his fingers curl again.
"I've—" he says, in a tight voice, and then goes quiet. Sakura waits, feeling the warmth pool into her stomach. "If it hurts, tell me."
It doesn't hurt. It is uncomfortable, especially when he opens his fingers, but she's damp and willing, and only preoccupies herself with drowning out her gasps. Her hand presses into her mouth, digging her lip into the ridges of her teeth, and Sasuke stops, fingers curling around her underwear instead. It peels off her like wet paper, and makes a soft sound as it falls to the floor.
Sasuke kisses her on the inside of a thigh and Sakura feels her flesh jump at the same time her heart does, calf flexing and toes opening in surprise. Out of her throat flies a gasp; Sasuke's fingers close around the bend of her knee. He breathes slow and warm against her skin, and his mouth presses into her folds, open wide and hot and wet.
Sakura's back strains to arch, to accommodate him further, and she is unable to say no, legs opening without the shame of being seen. Sasuke's right hand cups her thigh, then the swell of her left buttock, and he sucks at her delicately. Sakura bites her knuckles as she comes, legs closing around soft dark hair, the smallest intake of breath as her mind leaves her.
Distantly, Sasuke sets one knee on the bed, beneath her own, and catches his breath. Sakura pulls him into her with dazed hands, until the heat of his dick finds the wet flesh of her slit and his own breath catches.
"Sakura," he says, and his voice is even. Sakura identifies the strain behind it, though, and a flush of pride ripples across her skin as she hooks one leg around his. "We don't—"
She kisses him, then, arms wrapping around his neck, and Sasuke gives in. This shouldn't feel like I'm winning a battle, Sakura thinks, feeling wretched as she pulls him into her. Feeling wicked as he fills her better than her fingers could ever, warm and thick and there.
The end of a three-act apology is neat, satisfactory, and practiced.
They move slowly, as if afraid to tip a balance that isn't mentioned, and the pleasure builds methodically. Sakura comes pressing her forehead into his chest, and Sasuke comes seconds before her, pulling back and easing his breath into something calmer. She gathers the pieces of herself he's so effortlessly scattered while Sasuke leans back on his pillow and looks at the ceiling. His profile, alit by the moonlight outside, reveals to her a parted mouth and a heaving chest, and Sakura – Sakura goes to the bathroom to clean up. In the mirror, she is red-faced and sweaty, but her mouth isn't bruised like she thought it would be.
They sleep without touching, after that.
She wonders if it was his first time. There was no real passion to his touches – just controlled mechanics, like the flick of a wrist when one throws a bladed weapon. It wasn't bad, her inner self hurries to correct. No, Sakura replies, feeling a little warm. It wasn't bad. But it wasn't what her expectations had lead up to, either. So is there anything else to do, other than to doubt? Did he learn with someone else? Did he learn from lessons, like she did? Or did he just follow his gut? Sakura wants so badly to ask, but knows better than to assume she'll ever gather the courage to do so.
She turns the page on a medical chart and looks out the window of her office. The sky is as blue as it was on her wedding day—the nurses were all but aghast at seeing her walk inside the hospital just a couple of days afterward—and only adds to the feeling that everything's the same. It isn't – it shouldn't feel like this. Stop whining, says Inner Sakura, waving a fist. Sakura only sighs, double-checking her notes, and bites at her thumb. The nail breaks and she curses loud enough that a nurse comes running.
Sakura makes breakfast; Sasuke makes dinner. They are both early risers, but Sakura has expressed the desire to spend the late afternoons at home, now that there is someone else to keep her company. Tsunade, inevitably unable to deny her former student, bumps her to the dawn shifts and waves her off with a badly-hidden smile.
Sakura has been getting a lot of those smiles, now. People might not like Sasuke, but they like Sakura, and they like a love story even more. She gets warm smiles from the old ladies in the fruit stands, soft blushes from the Academy students, and satisfied nods from the old geezers who play shogi in the streets. And it shouldn't bother her. But Sasuke doesn't kiss her when she gets home, doesn't speak much when they share a meal, and doesn't touch her when they go to sleep. It's not – it's not a very passionate story, not really. And Sakura knew what she was getting into, she's always known, but to be reminded of that every time a villager looks at her like she's the character in an epic romance … it's salt on a wound that she thought had already scarred over.
"I'm home," she calls out, force of habit, and Sasuke returns an open syllable. The smell of fried rice and fish wafts through the hallway and her stomach turns with want. Sakura sets her shoes down and makes her way to the kitchen.
"Welcome home," Sasuke says, looking at her over his shoulder. His jounin jacket is wrapped around the back of a chair, and he's rolled his sleeve up to his elbow – suddenly, Sakura feels a different sort of hunger, remembering the press of his knuckles inside her.
"Yeah," she whispers. Her face goes hot as she nods, letting her hair drift past her cheeks. It's been getting longer, lately, but she's been waiting for him to say something before she decides what to do with it.
Sasuke turns to the pan again, stirring the fish bits with a wooden spoon, and she deflates into the closest chair, wishing the flush on her face away. Heartbeats are easy to conceal, but any attempt to derail her chakra to hide the color of her skin is always uncovered – the always-there rinnegan is tricky like that.
"Naruto swung by earlier," Sasuke says, over the sizzling sound. "He needs your help."
"What about?" Sakura asks, palms pressed into her cheeks.
"A wedding ring," Sasuke says blandly, leaning over the stove to taste the grilled fish. He sucks at his thumb, pink tongue wiping across the curve, and Sakura blinks, feeling the heat burst across her forehead and ears. He sets down the spoon and turns to her, chewing thoughtfully, and his eyes stop under her own, boring holes through her fingers and mining the red from beneath the surface.
She speaks before he can ask, voice too high to sound the least natural: "H-Huh!" she squeaks, and stands up quickly enough that the chair screeches across the wooden floor. "Y-You don't—a ring, oh my, Naruto's all—wow—"
"Sakura," her husband says, frowning.
"Yes?" she replies, smiling at him like she isn't red and gasping. Her smile feels uncomfortable and must look even worse.
Sasuke frowns further, eyes switching from her cheeks to the ear she usually leaves uncovered, and Sakura needs to consciously keep herself from wiping her sweaty palms on her shorts.
Finally: "Nothing," he replies, turning away from her and grabbing the spoon again.
She supposes she should be disappointed, but she's far too relieved to do so.
"Don't know how you managed to convince her father," Sakura says, hiding her smirk behind a hand. On the other side of the coffee table, Naruto laughs loudly, smacking Sasuke's favored arm chair.
"Don't know either, Sakura-chan," Naruto says, and snorts with laughter. "But it was a lot easier than to ask her, would you believe it?"
No. She wouldn't. Sasuke had asked her without even employing a question mark, after all.
If you're not opposed, I'd like to make you my wife, and she'd read between the lines (found the resurrection of a clan there). Sakura had blinked stupidly at him, looking up from her noodles, and Sasuke hadn't looked away. His noodles are going to get soggy, she remembers thinking at the time, while her stomach clenched and her face went hot. From the back, Teuchi-san had fumbled with his bowls and hurriedly stepped back, bringing a gasping Ayane by the crook of her arm.
Eventually, Sakura had nodded erratically. Sasuke had nodded back, only once, and ate the rest of his noodles in silence, while she struggled to pick up her chopsticks with shaking hands and a blazing face.
"Mm," she says, sipping at her tea, because she can't imagine Sasuke turning that ring over and over in his hands like she watched Naruto do so many times. "Well, it's so obvious she loves you. Why would you think she'd turn you down?"
Naruto's cheeks tint adorably, a shade of baby pink not unlike Sakura's hair, and he mumbles something under his breath.
Sasuke's skin is pale, unscarred, and the only red on his face lies inside his eyes, somehow colder than any hot color she's ever seen.
Sakura smiles, leans over, and sets the cup on the table, feeling tired. Her wedding ring glints in the light.
He doesn't hate her or anything. She'd be stupid to think that. In his own way, Sasuke is fond of her. Naruto might be his destined soulmate, but Sakura doesn't fall far behind. The war shifted the dynamics – the years, too. They weren't friends, but now they have the potential to be, and that's enough for her. Because she might still love him, but she's not blind anymore, and Sasuke isn't as flawless as he wishes he could be. She uncovers pieces of imperfections as time passes:
She's been excused from her last shift on the account of health inspections, and gets home in time to watch him struggle with washed vegetables. It would be funny, a little, if it didn't break her heart. His expression is hard, his eyes averted, and Sakura grabs his wrist.
"I can do it myself," he says, stubborn as ever, and refuses to hand her the knife.
"Let me help you," she says, fingers tight around his arm.
"I said—" he begins, glaring at the carrots.
"Sasuke-kun," Sakura grits out, teeth pressed. It hurts, seeing him like this. Having only one hand hasn't diminished his battle prowess, but – how did he cook all this time, she realizes suddenly, frowning up at him.
"I use clones," he mutters, face turned to the side. He doesn't need his eyes to see right through her, and that brings a warmth to her face that Sakura isn't bothered by. No; instead of twisting her features into pity, Sakura thoughtlessly grabs him by the jaw and smacks a kiss into his mouth.
Sasuke makes a surprised, muffled noise, and the knife clatters against the counter until it falls into the sink. Sakura cocks her head and kisses him harder, full of want for this stupid man who can't even ask her to chop up vegetables for him, her hands lowering to settle on the nape of his neck.
"You idiot," she breathes, when she pulls back. Her face is aflame and he hardly looks affected, until he ducks his face away and the pink tips of his ears greet her from between his dark hair.
"I don't want to hear that from someone like you," he says, and unlatches her hands from behind his head.
Sakura bites back a grin, bites back tears, and bites back another kiss, when he hands her the knife without further complaints. She gallantly chops the carrots into circles, the onions into cubes, and then allows him to take over. Sasuke nods at her, eyes steady on hers, and she excuses herself to go take a bath, the embarrassment from acting so rashly finally catching up.
He starts waiting for her to come home before starting on dinner.
The day he finally comments on the length of her hair comes soon after he walks in on her stepping out of the bath. Sakura turns red under his wide eyes before Sasuke apologizes and walks out, dragging the steam after him as the door closes. It's stupid that two married people act like this, she thinks, dazedly staring at the dark wood of the door, and Inner Sakura heartily agrees: you should seduce him, moron. Get him used to your nakedness!
She wishes it were that easy.
Sasuke employs control in everything – from the etiquette drilled into him by a family long gone to a love for ceremonies that she's only seen in old people. For an ex-criminal, Sasuke is surprisingly by-the-book, and he seemingly wishes to extend that same courtesy to their marriage dynamics. Sakura, conversely, has been twisted by years of exposition to Naruto and Sai, and such things – while they have their place – no longer matter as much to her. Especially when used as an excuse for Sasuke not to want her. Especially when used as an excuse for Sasuke not to even bring himself to touch her. Is it really that hard? She's had offers, before, when Sasuke was only an ambition shared by a broken team, and she knows she's desirable. But she wants Sasuke to know it, too.
Predictably, Sasuke doesn't talk about walking in on her, and neither does she; dinner is awkward that night. Sakura struggles to fill in the silence, chattering about the hospital, the nurses, the beautiful flowers she saw on her way home—
"Your hair is longer," Sasuke says, eyes on his plate.
He's seen her naked, and all he can talk about is the length of her hair. Sakura goes hot in the face nevertheless.
"Um," Sakura says, blinking. He steals a glance at her, and then resumes gathering his rice between his chopsticks. "Yes, it – um. Yes, it is." Her heart clenches and there are butterflies in her stomach, as she asks: "Do you like it, Sasuke-kun?"
He sets down his chopsticks, and raises his eyes up to her face. Sakura bites her lower lip without meaning to, fingers tight around the wood of her chopsticks. A grain of rice gets mercilessly squashed.
"I do," he murmurs, and goes back to eating. Sakura does too, heart hammering in her chest.
"I'm glad," she whispers, full of heat, and offers to do the dishes for him when the meal is over. Sasuke analyzes her for a couple of seconds, and only accepts after he finds whatever he'd been looking for in the first place.
Sasuke doesn't particularly like it when she brings work home. He's never said it out loud, and he likely never will, but Sakura has devoted herself to figuring out his facial expressions, and she knows. Of course it still happens, despite her best efforts, and it's when she's curled up on the couch, surrounded by medical scrolls, that Sasuke's hand presses on her jaw and forces it to the side. Sakura looks up at him, leaning over the back of the couch with a frown on his face, and then he kisses her.
A pleasant tingle runs all the way up her spine as she stiffens in surprise. It's a light kiss; it would be nothing to write home about if it weren't Sasuke the one kissing her. As it is, Sakura eagerly closes her eyes and twists around to kiss him back, the scroll unrolling over the pillow and onto the floor.
Sasuke pulls back after a beat, straightening and pressing a hand against his mouth like he's concerned. Sakura goes pink, blinking up at him.
"What – what was that for?" she asks, voice a little high. A little breathy, too. Her fingers are clawing at the couch's fabric and she forces herself to stop before he notices.
Sasuke doesn't reply right away. He looks as if he's chewing the answer, fingers still pressed over his mouth, and then lets it drop beside his hip.
"I'm not sure," he finally says, looking – embarrassed? Sakura's heart does another flip as he averts his gaze.
"Oh," she says dumbly, unable to find any other words.
"Hn," he nods, eyes on the wall, and walks out the living room like there's something urgent he absolutely has to attend to.
Oh, she thinks, and can't focus on any medical writings after that.
She starts holding onto him when they go to bed. A simple thing, at first: a couple of fingers curled around the hem of his shirt. One hand fisted at his back. One foot intertwined with his. Her forehead pressing against his arm.
It's enough for her, even if she wakes up in a completely different position. It's enough for her, especially since Sasuke never pulls away. He doesn't touch her back, though – he remains still and calm beneath her hands, until— until he begins reciprocating.
She doesn't know when it starts; the first time she notices it is when she wakes up in the middle of the night and realizes he's curled his arm around her waist. It's warm, and his hand brushes against the underside of her right breast when she breathes – needless to say, it takes her a while to fall asleep again.
From then on, Sakura forces herself to remain awake for as long as she can. She finds a loose space in his shirt, holds onto it, and closes her eyes. And she mentally lists off every single human bone. Halfway into it (scaphoid bone), Sasuke turns over on his side. She hears the rustle of fabric and a soft sigh, and then she feels his arm pressing around the curve of her tummy, hand splayed out to bring her closer to him.
Sakura almost, almost cries. She doesn't, of course – instead, she does her best to look and sound asleep, and snuggles up closer to him. He smells nice – comforting and clean, despite the faded scent of singed wood – and she wishes she could press her nose into the hollow of his neck; wishes she could map out his collarbones with her tongue and then press an open-mouthed kiss on his lips. Sakura wishes, but she remains content with touching him like this. She breathes in and sighs, hand fisting in his shirt again.
Sasuke sighs too, leaning over to press a kiss on the small patch of skin between neck and shirt collar, and Sakura's insides clench with want, with need. It's not fair, Inner Sakura screams, grabbing fistfuls of hair.
And it isn't. But Sasuke hasn't always been fair; she supposes he's still learning how to play the part.
"I," Sasuke begins, standing by the door when she arrives. He closes his mouth afterwards, gritting his teeth.
"Sasuke-kun!" Sakura says, surprised and delighted as she takes off her shoes. Spurred by the fact he's seemingly been waiting for her, she presses a kiss on his cheek, then steps back to smile up at him.
"I," Sasuke begins again, averting his eyes, "would like to—"
Sakura waits. She shrugs out of her jacket and hangs it, then undoes her hair bun and slides the scrunchie into her wrist. Sasuke's eyes follow her hands, almost ravenous, and she drops the smile.
"What is it, Sasuke-kun?" Sakura presses, a little fearful that he'll close up and return to the kitchen. Despite the months passed, it still happens more than Sakura would like.
But Sasuke does not shut her out. He closes his hand, then opens it, then closes it, then brings it up to run it across his hair – and then Sakura grows tired of it all and captures it inside both her hands. Sasuke stares at them, eyes softening and tension dissipating, and leans down to kiss her. Sakura practically trips over herself to return the gesture, letting go of his hand only to wrap her arms around his neck.
And then Sasuke opens his mouth, licking at her lower lip when she fails to react. Inwardly, Sakura does react – both Sakuras do. Loudly and very exuberantly. But outwardly she only stiffens in shock, heat rising to her face as his hand presses into the small of her back, fingers inching dangerously low.
Thus Sasuke pulls back, the bridge of his nose dusted pink, and stares to the side.
"I shouldn't have," he says, the warmth of his hand leaving her, and Sakura kisses him with fervor, with the panic of someone who's been left high and dry before. Sasuke makes a small noise of surprise, stepping back when she all but barrels into him, but his hand returns to the previous spot and Sakura could come from that alone.
She licks at his tongue when he opens his mouth, warranting a groan she's only ever heard in her dreams, and lets one hand run through his hair, pushing it back. Sasuke's fingers press hard around her stomach, his thumb nestled in her hipbone, and she huffs into his mouth, trying to control her hips. It's hard – she wants nothing more than to wrap her legs around one of his and ride it, but Sasuke's never really been forward, and she doesn't want to risk scaring him off. Or coming off as a harlot – either way—
"Fuck," Sasuke mutters, parting to breathe, and she shivers at the thought he's cursing because of her. Her teeth dig into her lower lip, her hands holding onto his neck for balance, and Sasuke kisses her again, directing her into the closest wall.
Sakura goes willingly, scratching at his nape as he bites her lower lip, bringing it along when he parts. He huffs into her neck and bites there, too, and she can't help but gasp in his ear, knees bumping into each other as she tries to squeeze her legs together.
Sasuke takes an unstable step back, then, hand pressed into his mouth and eyes wide. Sakura leans back on the wall and catches her breath, licking her lips. His eyes follow the twist of it as it changes from upper lip to bottom, and they grow darker, fuller, until he looks to the side.
"That wasn't—" he grunts, and then clears his throat. His eyes return to her, stopping a little below her jaw. "That was unbecoming of me. I didn't mean to—"
Sakura closes the distance between them with a full, defiant step, and kisses him again, the fire in her belly too hot to extinguish. Sasuke thankfully doesn't step back – he closes his eyes instead and lets out another delicious groan, leaning over her to hike her leg around his own. Sakura trills at that, moaning into his mouth and bringing him closer, closer, she needs him so much closer.
"Not in the foyer, Sakura," Sasuke admonishes breathily, eyes closing when she peppers kisses across the line of his jaw and descends into his neck. He straightens, removing himself from her grip and mouth, and catches his breath. Before this moment, she has never disliked his height.
"You're right, dear," Sakura says without thinking, looking up at him with heavy eyes. Sasuke's cheeks grow red under her gaze, before he hides his eyes behind his hand, and the confusion spreads across her until she realizes what, exactly, she's just called him. "I, um—I meant—"
Sasuke doesn't particularly care to listen to what she meant. No; Sasuke only cares to hoist her over his shoulder and use a flash step to make his way to their bedroom. Sakura gasps when her back hits the mattress, and then gasps again when Sasuke covers her mouth with his, his hand pulling at the clasps of her shirt. They tear apart like water, revealing the skin between the folds, and she swallows.
"The – the lights?" Sakura manages to ask, shifting her head to the side. Sasuke leans back to smirk at her, looking exactly like he did at the age of thirteen, when he was callous and overconfident – and Sakura's thighs press into his ribs as her legs attempt to close. She needs the pressure, needs something—
"What about them," Sasuke murmurs, and bites at her neck again. The suction between his teeth garners a tingle and a gasp; she snaps her lips together so as to muffle a whimper.
That's what I'm talking about! Nakedness! Nakedness! crows Inner Sakura, smiling exactly like Jiraiya used to do. Flash that man, or I swear to god!
"No way," she gasps, too distracted to notice she's taking aloud. Sasuke doesn't seem to find it odd – he moves his oral attentions from her neck to the lobe of her ear without stopping to question what she's going on about. Sakura's back arches when his hand surrounds the swell of a buttock, and the sides of her shirt peel and curl away, until the warm air of the room nips at her flesh.
His shirt presses into her breasts; the fabric is coarse enough for her nipples to tighten, the difference in texture too sudden and too much. She can't help it; finally, she moans into his ear, legs tightening around his hips. Sasuke's reply is a low groan as he pulls back to watch her, one eye red and gleaming in the dim light.
"You're not wearing—" he huffs, face pink and hand tight around her bare stomach.
She never does, when she comes home from the hospital. She binds, usually, but today the afternoon was hot and she meant to slide into her pajamas – not end up under him like this. Don't complain, idiot, Inner Sakura hisses.
"I'm not," Sakura tells them both, resisting the urge to cover herself. It's not like it's the first time they do this, but it is the second, and now Sasuke has the advantage of sight. Sakura, too, though she won't be able to replay it frame-by-frame inside her skull – well, maybe if she asks him. She wonders, suddenly, what she looks like in his eyes. Flushed and pretty? Tired and sad? Desirable and perfect? How she hopes.
The answer, however, doesn't come. Sasuke presses his open mouth against the ridge of a rib, sliding his tongue against the skin there, and she twitches all over, feet curling. He's close enough to her breast that she aches, but he chooses to leave a pink imprint beneath, and then pulls back to watch again.
Uchihas, she figures, are probably the oldest group of voyeurs in history.
"Something funny?" Sasuke asks quietly, leaning over until the tips of his hair brush against her nipples. Sakura's hands close around his shoulders, leaving marks that won't be there in the morning, and he smirks as he kisses her on the mouth, languidly stealing quick breaths out of her.
A string of saliva fades between their lips when he pulls back, and she gets so embarrassed over it she covers her face with her hands. Sasuke sighs in amusement, nuzzling her wrist with the tip of his nose before he sits back in order to use his hand again. By the time she gathers her wits, his shirt has been thrown into the chair by the wall, and he's undoing his belt. It's – god, that's –
"Uh," she manages, swallowing thickly as she rests upon her elbows. Sasuke looks at her face, then at her breasts, and smirks again. The buckle glints in the ambient light and snakes out of the loops easily, falling to the floor with a clatter. And she finds herself pressing the button of his pants out of its hole, hands flat against the hot press of his dick.
Sasuke leans his forehead against hers, breathing hard for a couple of seconds.
"I've—I've never—I mean, technically I know how to—"
"Sakura," he says, eyes closing.
"Right," she replies, and delves into his underwear with careful hands. He's hot, smooth, and – above all, hard enough that she's sure he can go at it right now. Her face feels like it's steaming, and she has to press it into the crook of his neck to avoid his sharingan. Some moments are better off being unique and forgettable (even if she thinks she's never going to forget this for as long as she lives).
Sasuke's breath hitches when she pumps; his stomach ripples when she rubs the underside of his head; his hand grips at her butt like a vice when she fondles him all the way down. It's the most beautiful sound she's heard – his voice is already pleasing, but this … this is just …
"That's—" he manages, sucking air through his teeth, "that's enough."
Sakura certainly doesn't think that's enough. She wants to feel his hips driving into her hands for just a little more, wants to feel him glaze the inside of her palms with his—you're so nasty, Inner Sakura says proudly, wiping away a tear. Sakura lets go, face ablaze, and then he kisses her harshly, like he hasn't eaten in years.
She's pressed into the covers again; Sasuke's hand pulls her shorts down while he bites at the space between her breasts, leaving another mark. Sakura helps him with her other hand, and then obligingly lifts her legs to allow her shorts to slip out of her legs. The position is weird, exposing far too much of her than she feels comfortable with, but Sasuke's hand sets her left ankle on his shoulder and stops her from curling into herself.
"It's embarrassing," Sakura whispers, covering her face with her hands. The red gleam of his sharingan is visible through the cracks and her stomach quivers along with the inside of her thighs.
"No," Sasuke whispers back, lifting her other leg and placing it on his other shoulder, "it's not."
He leans into her, pressing her knees to his ribs and hooking her underwear to the side like she's not dying of shame. She should've had a bath – she should've worn a nicer pair of panties – she should've—
"Sasuke-kun," she gasps, the back of her head digging into the mattress as she throws it back. His hand cups her butt like one does to a watermelon, and he eats. He drinks, too, lapping her up like she's a glass of cool water in the summer, and Sakura bites down on her hand. Sasuke stops, then, breathing hard, and pulls her hand away from her mouth.
"Let me hear you," he says, a half-plea, and rolls her sodden underwear up her legs.
I am going to die, Sakura thinks, because her inner self has long since passed out. Sasuke obliviously presses an open-mouthed kiss to the back of one knee and then proceeds to eat her out, tongue flicking at her clit, lips closing around it when two of his fingers curls inside her. She whimpers at that, hands fisted in his hair until her knuckles go white. He likes it, from what she can tell; he groans into her slit when she accidentally pulls too hard and stretches her out with a scissoring movement. His fingers pad into territory that is too sensitive, tongue pressed against every part of her, and she comes.
Sakura honestly tries not to – he hasn't, yet, and she wishes she could hold out until he slides inside. But she comes anyway, legs closed around his head and a drawn-out, stuttered moan collapsing through her mouth. It might be his name – not even Sakura knows for sure. It's loud, though, too loud, and she covers her face again as she struggles with the embarrassment and the pleasure.
Sasuke clearly has no issue with it, if the color of his cheeks are of any indication. The sharingan spins as he wipes his mouth, darting from her open shirt to her twitching legs. He blinks quickly, like he doesn't want to miss a single detail, and slides out of his pants without the grace he usually possesses. Sakura tries to sit up with shaky elbows, and peels off her shirt – it smells slightly of antiseptics, and she'd rather not have it on while they have sex. While they fuck? While they make love? Which one is the right one? Or are all of them right?
"I'm going—" he starts, voice throaty, and she kisses him sloppily.
"Please," Sakura breathes, teeth dragging down his jaw and into his neck.
It doesn't take much, after that. Sasuke slides home like he's always known the way, and Sakura moans into his ear as her legs close around his waist. Beneath her, his eyes spin up and into her own, and she tightens, hips swerving down into his. Her heels dig into the small of his back, an attempt to spur him on, or maybe just an accident.
"Does it hurt?" he manages, breathing hard against her chin, and Sakura kisses him again, arms closing around his neck.
"'T feels nice," she mumbles, a gross understatement. Sasuke's hips thrust up and his hand forces hers down – a crash that sends her reeling and tightening enough that he groans low and long into her chest. It makes her want to tighten again, just to hear him, but Sasuke dips her into the bed and fucks into her, hand lifting her butt for easier access.
It is not slow; it is not methodic. Sakura sees stars. Red and white stars sprayed across her eyes, and Sasuke does it again, fingers kneading into her buttock. An attempt to keep her anchored, since with every thrust she slides up the bed and further away from him. She tries her best to stick to him, too, but eventually her legs give out and she only leans her knees against his sides.
"I can't," she tries, between rapid, stuttering breaths. Sasuke groans, then, and carefully slides one of her legs to the side, before he flips her over.
If she'd been embarrassed before, then now Sakura is mortified – but she still lifts herself on shaky elbows and tightens with each of Sasuke's thrusts. He groans at that, low things that accompany kisses to her shoulders and neck, a murmur of her name when his fingers go around her stomach to press and rotate against her clit.
The air rushes out of her lungs and it sounds like his name, however wheezy. Sasuke fucks into her twice in a row, hips hard against her butt, and then regains control of himself. His hand leaves her clit to twirl a nipple between thumb and index finger, and the moan that escapes her is almost a hiccup, her insides squeezing with every pinch.
"I'm," she manages, in a high, breathy voice, and comes harder than she's ever come before. It's bliss – it flows through her like the wind across a field of flowers, and she almost buries her face into the covers before Sasuke leans over and kisses her from behind, his thrusts as desperate as she'd felt only seconds before.
He doesn't call out her name when he comes. Then again, Sakura didn't call his either. No; Sakura whined and whimpered and moaned as she trembled beneath his weight, knees and elbows shaking as hard as her insides. Sasuke comes with a soft noise that sounds half-surprised, half-pleased, teeth biting at her shoulder and hips pumping into her once, twice, thrice, until the energy flows out of him and his knees give out.
She holds him up with the angle of her back, wrists strong as they anchor to the bed.
"I love you, you know," Sakura says, turning her head to the side so that he hears it loud and clear.
Sasuke finally manages to hold his weight in one shaking arm, cheek pressed to the clammy skin of her back. His breath is hot and unsteady still, but he presses a kiss against her shoulder. He doesn't answer, but Sakura doesn't need him to. She turns to the side on the bed and looks up at him instead.
"You know," she presses, lifting a hand and cupping one side of his face.
"Aa," Sasuke replies, eyes dark and soft as he leans in. "I know."
She grins up at him, and feels the warm path of tears as they trek over the curve of her cheek. They fade into the dark covers, like they were never there in the first place. Sasuke's thumb wipes at the underside of her eyes while she sniffles.
"That's all I need, then," Sakura says, and doesn't even need to pull him down into a kiss: Sasuke goes for it himself.
He says he loves her two and a half months after their anniversary.
It feels more like signing a contract than a confession. I love you, too, he says, handing over the vinegar as they split a salad. Sakura smiles at him and takes a bite of lettuce, hands cradling the glass bowl, while Sasuke attempts to use his prosthetic arm to help him slice open a tomato.
And then she – notices, and spends the rest of the day with butter fingers and pink cheeks.
Sasuke gets up from the table and goes to fetch the broom and dustpan, avoiding the glass shards on the way.
.
.
A/N: huh? what's that? sasuke travels all the time and leaves sakura and their only daughter all alone for years on end? pffffft, no way, man. you're probably just confused. because i'm pretty sure he sticks around konoha like a normal husband and they end up having two boys and a girl. honest!
anyway i hope you've enjoyed the smut. the latter half of this fic is just sasuke being extremely sexually frustrated and not realizing it lmao