Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
A/N: Uhh, smack me, I'm bad. I know I'm supposed to be updating my story, I know I'm supposed to be tackling my other scheduled writing projects, but my muse wouldn't have any of that! Thus I give you this one-shot, as inspired by the Chainsmokers' new song Beach House. :)
I had meant it to be a short drabble, but it turned out a lot longer than I'd planned. I like to leave some things in my writing open to interpretation, so I hope it's not too confusing.
P.S. This references the Gaara and Sakura Hiden stories (really, I've only roughly skimmed through the summaries. I drew from the main plot lines and manipulated some elements. So excuse me for bypassing the finer details).
A Certain Type of Fling
The fallout between them hasn't come as unexpected as his attraction toward her that'd blindsided him.
He should've known to dismiss her when she came into his office that one late evening looking for reassurance after he'd reported rather unfavorable news about someone dear to her, her face stained with manifestation of her untold heartaches.
"How sure are you that it was him?"
It didn't help that the brewing attention and admiration she'd garnered from him during her time in Suna working to establish the children's clinic made him more sympathetic to her state, perhaps humanizing him more in her view. That hand on her tense shoulder that was meant to comfort had ultimately tipped the balance of her mind, unraveled her of what he could only deduce was a prolonged buildup of frustration and restlessness.
He should've known to look away, when those glimmering colors of emerald were cast over him; her deep gaze, longing and considering...
He should've known to push her away, when she leaned in gingerly but resolutely.
He couldn't remember exactly where along the line things had gotten hazy, and a supportive gesture morphed into something more. As he lifted her over his desk, their frantic movements made a disarray of the papers that he'd intended to review and sign that night. Her hands roamed down his torso, coming provocatively close to the heat that began to pool between his legs. He felt suffocating in his clothes even though a loose robe was what he wore. Suddenly the funding strategy that was his top priority for approval didn't need to be addressed as urgently as a certain desire he felt in his pants. When her red top fell to join the messy piles on the floor, he decided that his work could wait.
Afterwards, dazed and disoriented, neither seemed to have regained enough lucidity for the appropriate words to reconcile what had transpired. While she zipped her shirt back up and smoothed out the wrinkles in her uniform, he temporarily let his focus return to his unkempt desk and the documents that scattered about on top. Ingrained in his mind instead was the small constellation of moles that adorned her waistline, among other features of her. Somehow, he wasn't particularly sorry about tarnishing the sanctity of the Kazekage's office.
It was but a brief moment before he looked for her again, and she was already slipping out through the door, leaving things between them undefined.
He should've known…
He was almost certain that if she hadn't spent most of the time trying to convince him and herself that they wouldn't work, they might have had a chance against all the odds.
The excuses came bombarding him from left and right before he could delve deeper and make sense of what it was that they shared. Every time he broached the subject with sincerity, she played her script on damn repeat for him. In between his meetings, appointments, and desk work, he'd let all those overused lines of hers invade his head: "we owe our allegiance to different villages," "we are too different…"
Too different, really? He didn't agree. They weren't so different from each other, being two lonely souls at the very core, yearning to be held, touched, loved.
To every one of her poorly constructed reasons, he had a counter. It was a great test of endurance that he kept them to himself, for he knew he'd only be wasting time with her hollow arguments that covered up a truth that she didn't want to share and he didn't want to hear. And each time he held back, he felt his inner tolerance chipped away more.
"We can't keep meeting like this," she told him, yet did nothing to stop the arm that snaked around her slim waist.
"You're getting married," she unnecessarily reminded him in between kisses. This had become her go-to excuse to brush him off as of late.
Though he had no one but himself to blame for giving her material to fuel her skepticism.
He had no reason to go against his council's bidding to tie him to a marriage union, not when he'd been wondering where she'd been all this time... just to realize then she'd been so obviously avoiding him like the plague since their encounter—one that was too intimate for them to remain platonic, yet too ambiguous for either to commit.
In her defense, she wasn't aware of his situation when she came to him for the first time in weeks. On his way back to his quarters one night, he found her wavering in the corridor outside of his room. He gave her no time to register, as he grabbed her from behind and shoved her inside. He didn't afford any thought on the broken lock that was the result of his forceful push at the door. His mouth was on hers before she could rationalize her way out of what they both wanted. Needed.
When Kankuro let slip of the news of his arrangement, she was livid, storming into his still lockless room with a sense of entitlement that he didn't mind her having. (He'd procrastinated on getting that lock repaired. Being a shinobi of his tier, he thought having a flimsy metal fixture to guard him against any trespassers was fairly… redundant. Alas, he digressed.) She cornered him in the small compartment that was his washroom, right about when he was emerging out of the shower. His state of undress unfazed her, as she spit fire at him, objecting how he'd made her feel like—for a lack of better term—a "whore." But as she persisted in her fiery soliloquy, it almost sounded like what she really took offense was her perceived notion that... he'd treated her as an option.
He clicked his tongue and listened in a sort of fascination to her tirade. He didn't understand why she was so mad, when she'd been doing precisely what she was accusing him of, always seeking him out like an afterthought.
"I could annul it," he said quietly but earnestly, letting his statement puncture through the break she needed to catch her breath.
One word from her, that was all he needed and it wouldn't be a hard decision at all.
But she couldn't give it to him.
"N-no." An unsteady rejection was all she could produce in response, as her ire fizzled. The recognition of the intent behind his suggestion seemed to rattle her, and she could only repeat herself, "No…"
"Then why are you here?" he questioned bluntly.
"I…"
"What do you want from me?" stepping forward and towering over her, he pressed again. The bit of hopefulness he had before had given way to swelling aggravation.
At a loss for answers, she swayed in her spot, seemingly unable to persuade herself to stay yet couldn't make herself leave.
Threading his fingers through his wet hair, he heaved a heavy sigh of defeat. It was unfortunate that he knew exactly what she wanted. Even more unfortunate was his irrational inclination to cater to her to his own detriment. This woman was his worst addiction, and he couldn't quit.
Contrary to her earlier riot, she didn't put up a fight when he reached for her. He swung close the bathroom door and pulled her onto the floor with him. The cool tiles chilled his still damp skin, but he knew he wouldn't be cold for long. As he let himself go in her presence yet again, he bitterly thought that she might just be his undoing one day.
And still, he had no reason to send away his marriage partner, a true dark-haired beauty, when she and her entourage set foot on his property; no, not when the woman in his arms refused to dignify what they shared by staying after...
Nevertheless, he's long learned to tune out her incendiary words. And he's learned to get back at her by lighting her fuse:
"It could've been you."
It worked. She was quick to succumb to her temper, so it wasn't entirely unexpected that she'd missed the hint of wistfulness in his tone. Anger uncoiled in her expression, and he almost eagerly anticipated the mostly one-sided shouting match that he's started to derive pleasure from like the masochist she'd turned him into. Interestingly, she decided not to give in to her impulse this time, depriving him of his entertainment. Inhaling and exhaling, she ground herself.
"Hakuto. She's beautiful." With her streak for stubbornness, he'd be naive to think she'd relent to him having the last word. "You should spend more time with her."
He resigned to silence from his part this time. He neither had the patience nor the sanity to continue another back-and-forth that was bound to get him nowhere. So, he did as he was told—if anything, just to spite her.
When he learned that the heiress of the Hoki family dabbled in the arts of chakra healing, he was all too eager to get a tour of the children's clinic on his calendar.
And when he found smug satisfaction from the mechanical manner in which the project lead at the clinic greeted their arrival, it was then he remembered that the motive behind this scheduled visit wasn't totally as scrupulous as wanting his fiancée to acquaint with one of the best in the field of medical ninjutsu.
"... You could benefit learning from her." He directed his speech at his betrothed, yet his keen eyes never left the pink-haired woman opposite to whom he gestured; and thanks to her, he'd gotten petty enough to want to ruffle her feathers:
"Sakura is, undoubtedly, very talented with her hands."
A smirk curled his lips, as he made his sly innuendo. Amused, he could make shape of the metaphorical daggers she glared his way with her eyes that didn't arc despite her smile.
"It would be my honor." The elegant young lady beside him concurred meekly, tilting her head in a small graceful bow and being completely ignorant to the stilted air that descended upon her company.
That night he wasn't too surprised when he'd found her in the clinic well past midnight, cooped up in her office and hunched over her desk, perusing the content of several scrolls of what he surmised were project-related statistics. There was a sense of déjà vu in the way she tirelessly conducted her work, and he appreciated the sight in the few minutes he took to study her with quiet content. Her passion and dedication was his turn-on, his weakness.
"What are you doing here?" A testament to her alertness as a kunoichi, she was quickly aware of his presence.
"Why ask a question to which you know the answer?" He toyed with her. Having felt triumphant in their exchange earlier in the day, he was in a somewhat playful mood. He'd noticed the furtive way that her eyes traveled with him as he and his dark-haired companion departed the clinic, not missing the trace of jealousy that'd seeped through her countenance.
"Go to your wife for that," she spat.
"She's not my wife."
"Semantics." She finally looked up just to give him the biggest eye-roll she could manage.
"I haven't touched her." He thought he ought to clarify. But it was only after the statement had left him that he decided "haven't" was probably not the best word choice there, for it implied an eventuality that he'd accepted but in reality had no appetite for.
"That's not of my concern." She'd forgone her concentration on her work and chosen to regard him with her twisted face.
"Why fight what we both want?" he implored, advancing toward her.
He circumvented her desk and was now at an arm's length from her, facing her directly. As he started to unbutton his shirt, she scowled in distaste. When he grasped onto her wrist, she flinched and tried to jerk back, unwilling to yield so easily. With his strength, he dominated her and yanked her hand toward him, forcing it flat on his chest, which effectively extracted her from her chair to a stand. Only a thin layer of his undershirt remained, where he parted the fronts of his outer garment. Against her palm, his beating heart vibrated.
"Tell me you feel this."
Eyes rounded, she went still, forgetting for a moment about her protest against his actions.
"Tell me you know," he urged.
He needed her to validate what he felt: the thrill, the heart-racing, the awakening… whenever he was near her, breathing the same air.
"With you, I feel alive."
He bared his canines at her, eyes wide and lit up with intense vigor brought about by the liberation of his emotions through his words of admission, raw and unfiltered. Exhilaration simultaneously pumped through his veins, and he desperately wanted to know that he was not alone in this experience.
She stared at him, agape and transfixed. Her lips quivered as though she'd been moved by something that was about to burst forth from within.
But, it couldn't break through. The inspiration was short-lived, and the green in her eyes dulled. She relapsed, defaulting to her usual cynicism.
"This… this…" The hand in his hold sent tremors through him, and he could feel his spirit start to deflate along with each syllable out of her mouth. "It doesn't last."
"When it fades, what then?"
There was a kind of melancholy tenderness in her expression, as she pored over him. Her doleful eyes searched his for an answer, a sign, a promise.
This time, it was him who couldn't deliver. His grasp on her loosened, allowing her hand to retreat naturally to her side. With her disheartening words, she'd instilled doubts in him as well about his own feelings. His momentary uncertainty was overcome with flares of unexplained rage, as he abruptly withdrew himself from her, leaving things between them without a conclusion yet again. Sending a softened and wistful look his way, she let him go.
In the coming days, he'd discovered that there was a fine line between devotion and resentment, and it was easy to cross from one to the other. He was tired and sick of her antics, constantly being paddled between states of ecstasy and misery. The cruelty of this woman had no bounds, and he hated her for having her cynical mindset. (And they said he was the misanthrope.) But he hated more that one person who'd poisoned her with doubts and lack of faith.
How could she challenge what he felt? How could she have so little confidence in him? He seethed. It was almost as if she was speaking from experience...
It was another week of sleepless nights before he could finally fathom what she'd tried to convey.
Perhaps, she was referencing her own experience after all. All of sudden, he'd been enlightened. It was the breakthrough he needed.
She'd indeed given him hope, maybe without even meaning to, that her notorious infatuation for the other man had begun to wane. And he'd dared to think he might have been the catalyst. She'd likened his feelings to hers in that fashion, but he could prove her wrong in her comparison and show that he'd go through lengths to keep their connection alive.
Yet in his folly he'd failed to seize the opportunity and provide her reassurance before she was gone without a goodbye.
He'd planned to approach his council to revisit the topic of his arranged marriage, but his resolve couldn't have been made up in worse timing.
And he was swept up in a whirlwind of events...
In the aftermath, his trip to Leaf a couple months later wasn't completely about ensuring that his ex-fiancée and her secret lover have settled into their life there under a new identity.
Under the pretext of "following up" on her project in Suna, he'd tracked a certain Konoha-nin down at her apartment on the other side of the town. He was mildly thankful that she didn't turn him away at her doorstep and played the role of a good host—at least, she tried her best. As he leaned with his arms folded by the entrance to her kitchen, he couldn't help but notice the tension that rolled off her shoulders, which made her task of tea-making seem rather arduous.
They both knew the discussion that was to follow would entail nothing about her closeout meeting with Suna's medics.
"Liar. Your engagement wasn't broken off because of me," she bristled upon the recount of his latest circumstances, and for a second he was distracted by the cracks that ran down the cup in her iron grip.
He was unflustered and merely took in the display of her agitation in his calm. She was still in denial at the possibility she was ever in the forefront of his mind. If that was what she believed, she was sadly mistaken.
The wise would tell him it was a lost cause, her with her mindless obsession for another. Still, he was undeterred in his pursuit. He'd come to understand that she was simply jaded from always giving and not receiving; had never gotten used to being reciprocated and had become fearful of what that might bring.
It was a pity that he knew at any disclosure of his true sentiment toward her, she'd bolt; because she'd grown that insecure and delicate. There was only one way to keep her close.
Stepping into her space without invitation, he extended his arms to either side of her slender body and trapped her between him and the kitchen counter. She flinched the slightest as he leaned over her shoulders and nuzzled her face. In her ears, he whispered.
"Be my second choice; and I..." His own words left a bad taste in his mouth, yet he could but to carry on with his proposition, "—the same for you."
He'd play along with that misconception of hers. It was a dirty desperate move, just to achieve what he wanted. If it meant that she wouldn't shut him out and she wouldn't let go of him just yet, he'd give her this impression, that there was a way out, if needed be, without strings attached.
As the two of them remained stationary, his front against her back, the minutes it took her to weigh his proposal became one of the unbearably longest stretches of time in his life. Eventually, she broke the stalemate. Rotating herself to face him, she moved to cup the nape of his neck with her hand. And with minimal coaxing, she brought his forehead down to touch hers. A sad smile and a faint nod sufficed to communicate her decision.
Little did she know, this type of thing, this kind of fling wasn't something that the Kazekage really fancied...
With the kind of control that impressed even himself, he divorced himself from their subsequent heated tug of war between tongues and blocked the hand that almost succeeded in loosening the fastening of his trouser. Immediately, he was confronted with a quizzical look from her, mixed within it a visible degree of annoyance.
"If you intend to spend me like last time, then I deserve, at the minimum, dinner from you beforehand."
He'd laid out one of the many terms he planned to experiment so to change the scope of their agreement. In front of her, he'd long stopped caring about being subtle.
An adoring shade of pink brushed her cheeks, and she knitted her brows together in confusion. She bit her lip, as she considered his demand. Figuring that it was a harmless trade, she surrendered with a shrug.
"Fine..."
He straightened his attire and watched her go on her mission to fetch her purse, already missing her warmth as she left his side. Secretly, he was pleased that he wouldn't have to cancel the reservation he made for two at the restaurant that—he just so happened to have heard from Naruto in passing—served her favorite dessert...
Later as he laid in her bed, he found the comfort of it along with her perfumed scent that filled his senses a luxury that he'd almost forgotten, given how many times he'd taken her in the most unorthodox places. Then again, he couldn't really complain about the stiffness in his muscles he'd gotten afterwards from all those times he had to prop against the hard surfaces of his desk or bathroom floor; for he relished the spike of his adrenaline brought on by that type of thing.
"When did you get that?"
Pointing to his arm, she snapped him out of his lull and drew his attention to an area of unmatched skin tone as the rest—the physical reminder of the series of unfortunate incidents he'd gone through during her absence.
"The administration was a little sloppy. Judging by the extent of your burn, it really shouldn't have scarred this much." She frowned with disapproval, as she re-positioned herself beside him to probe at the slightly raised patch of skin tissues. Her doctor side presided over like a second nature.
He withheld his explanation to her query. A failed coup and assassination attempt, along with everything that took place in between, wasn't something any leader would go around and tout about.
"So much for your ultimate defense, huh," she grumbled in dry humor, chafing his ego a little before offering her aid, "May I?"
He didn't give her an affirmative response, and she didn't need one. Her hand was already aimed above its intended site. Warm green chakra that was her signature soon radiated over his arm, and he felt tendrils of soothing energy permeate the pores of his skin to undo the damage done to his body.
"I didn't think you cared," he murmured quietly, more to himself than her, as he observed her during her voluntary treatment of his week-old injury to reinforce the novice patchwork that was previously done. Just like her unmatched skills, she was unlike any other.
"I don't."
The retort from her end was uttered a little too quickly for there to be any real firmness to attach to her voice. He sighed, a gentle one this time, shifting his gaze to the ceiling and letting himself become absorbed in his own thoughts.
She'd spoken up again after another minute or so, but with her head still lowered and not making any eye contact.
"The anmitsu was a nice touch though…"
At her unprompted comment, his eyes fell back to her.
The smile that'd spread across his features didn't reach her while she concentrated on the healing, but he was set on making her acknowledge and embrace it one day.
He'd change her mind.
It was only a matter of time.