you don't tell them your name
A/N: Hello there lovely readers! This is a oneshot that just kind of poured out of me. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. I do, however, own some wicked sharp knives from Korea.
Climbing up and down the pole, hips swinging and hair flying, they try to stuff bills down your shorts. Your leather-clad hips dance out of reach, though, out of reach of wandering hands. They ask you things. You're charismatic, funny.
"What's your name, then?"
"They call me the Piano Woman- I play men like instruments," you say.
"Is that an offer?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
Without batting an eyelash, you swing around into his space and say, "It might be," in a sultry tone, flipping your hair and dancing just out of reach again, your hands effortlessly finding the pole.
They don't know that your brother might be in jail. They don't know that you were once known for your beautiful fan dance.
They don't know Temari.
All of them except him.
Dark haired boy
Running away
Running home
Out of her arms
Dark haired boy
Dancing farther out of reach than she herself.
When he's with you, your whole world crumbles. When he's with you, there is only you and him, bodies joined in the most intimate of ways, resolves crumbling. He is always there when you need him, yet never there for you.
"Why do we do this?" you ask once, after the glow has worn off.
"Not for each other," he replies. "For ourselves."
It doesn't matter how close the others get. They'll never know you like he does. All the one night stands are over once daylight comes.
They won't know your little brother, Gaara, and they won't know your older brother, Kankuro.
All they'll know is your body, your silky soft skin, the touch of a master.
They won't ever find you again.
He's the only one that will.
Because you don't tell them your name.