The idea of the story came to me a couple of months ago. I've seen a certain picture by NaruNarutoFKA from dA, and I thought to myself: "I just need to read some GaaMatsu lemon, and fast!" To my astonishment, I didn't find any typical lemon about those two! I was kinda frustrated and I decided to follow the rule: "If there's no fanfiction meeting your expectations, write it yourself!" So... I did it. I was writing "Alive And Victorious" and "Until You Ask" in the same time, but the latter was harder to get it right. It is not exactly what I wanted to create, still, but I'm tired with endless rewriting. This is definitely a lemon but not pwp, since there is some plot, even if quite superficial. It turned out I'm not able to write pwp. It is too boring.

So here's the first part, a kind of prologue. Let me know if you'd like to read the next part ;P I'm telling you, it's gonna be quite a ride ;P

Oh, I forgot to mention Gaara and Matsuri are both adults in this story; he's 23 and she's 24. And the most important thing: today's my birthday! And this is my birthday gift! *rubbing hands*

Betareading: Annabella Colt

Enjoy.

~~Until you ask~~

It all started with rejection. With her hand pushing him away firmly, with her sleepily mumbled irritation, with her calm, deep, ignorant breathing while he was lying near, trembling with need.

Not that there were no rejections earlier. During their relationship, which lasted almost two years as of now, there were many times when one of them, or sometimes both, didn't really feel like having sex. Yet it had never flustered him before like it did this time and he was perfectly aware why.

Yashamaru.

Even after learning that the Kazekage forced his uncle's betrayal and Yashamaru was actually deeply fond of his little nephew, Gaara could still feel the sting of pain, stuck in his chest for the last seventeen years. And on this particular day, the anniversary of the infamous betrayal, he could feel it especially intense – the pain of his innocent, vulnerable world being shaken with unreasonable cruelty, and irretrievably thrown into darkness.

That tormented six-year-old child still resided somewhere in the deep recess of his mind and even after gaining the acknowledgment from villagers and slowly learning how to develop bonds and trust others, the only people he could completely open his heart to were his siblings and Naruto.

And, as it turned out, Matsuri as well.

It took a ridiculously long time for him to test her in every possible way to ascertain that her feelings for him were constant and strong. Only then he could muster up all his courage and declare his love for her, to gain an immediate and complete acceptance. And in this way their relationship began, maybe not an easy one, but it was expectable, considering who they were – both orphaned at the young age, the teacher and student, the former Jinchuuriki and the kunoichi, the Kazekage and his former fangirl. As a shinobi they have been taught many things about the opposite sex – where to strike to inflict the strongest pain possible, how to corner psychologically both men and women, how to use their own physical and mental assets to misdirect the enemy. The only thing they had to learn by themselves was how to touch each other to give the most intense pleasure, how to be honest rather than manipulate each other to achieve their goal, and how to resign themselves to things they didn't fully understand about their partner yet they were willing to accept because of love.

Rejection was one of those things they had to learn how to cope with, and Gaara thought he was doing well in that field. But now he could vividly sense the turmoil within himself, the old fury and deep-rooted disappointment trying to surface his conscious mind even if he knew it was all completely irrational. He had shared with Matsuri many details of his dark past but never mentioned his uncle's actions and how they drove him to stigmatise himself with the kanji on his forehead – the mark which had come to strike fear in the hearts of all who beheld it. Nobody knew the full truth about Yashamaru, not even Gaara's own siblings, but they at least knew the exact date when their uncle had died and their brother had been completely consumed by a monster. Matsuri didn't know any of it. She was utterly ignorant that just on that particular day he needed her more than ever. Gaara knew it was his own fault to pass over in silence that part of his personal story, but he just couldn't bring himself to express it in words and relive those devastating moments. Matsuri couldn't also know that today was especially challenging for him, with the negotiations with Iwagakure going awry and the envoy from Kusagakure bringing another absurd message concerning the recent trade agreement they had made with Suna. When he had come home at the dead of the night and threw off his annoying Kage robes, all he could think of was to find refuge in the arms of his girlfriend whom he hadn't seen for the last week due to the mission she had been assigned to, but Matsuri didn't give him a heartily welcome. She just clung tighter to a pillow and muttered a few words of an unintelligible refusal, grabbing his searching hand and pushing it away gently but firmly. Then she shifted with a sigh and slowly drifted to sleep, leaving him to fight his inner demons by himself.

She was just tired after the mission, and it was the middle of the night, for pity's sake! What did he expect? He tried to reason it all to himself but the logic couldn't overcome his emotions. Not this time. He pressed himself against her warm body again, rubbing at her buttocks with his hardening erection and nuzzling at the back of her neck just below the hair line. Matsuri waved her arm clumsily in his general direction, like she was driving away an obtrusive fly, and rolled onto her stomach.

"Gaara, please don't," she grumbled with her cheek still sank in the pillow. She raised her hand and blindly searched for him with an attempt to push him away.

The redhead gave up at last and rested on his back, with his forearms crossed under the back of his head. Next to the anger and pain he had felt earlier now he had to deal also with an unreleased tension. He glanced at the young woman who seemed to float away into deep slumber again, and tried to bottle up his emotions like he used to do in his childhood. He mastered the art of suppressing the unwelcome emotions to the perfect level but being forced to do that again right now only added to an overwhelming uproar in his mind. Taking one deep breath after another, he mocked at himself inwardly about his own selfishness and importuning attitude, but it didn't help either. Those years spent on indulging the slightest urge that had been surfacing his unstable mind, no matter if it was coming from Shukaku or himself, were also taking its toll. It was hard to admit, especially when he knew that he could do much better. That he had done better, when it was about foreign policy or home affairs of his village. It just seemed that the unique relationship he had with Matsuri, different from any other bond he had formed, could sometimes bring out the worst in him.

This conclusion, oddly enough, helped to put him at ease, and brought him to the next level of the self-knowledge. After Shukaku's extraction he worked hard to prove that all the spiteful, repellent traits of his personality had unrecoverably vanished, and, what he could see just now, he was trying to make himself a living hero statue. Unfortunately people supported his efforts, easily seduced by a prospect of having someone whose flawlessness and purity could be a constant in their life, and he had never noticed before how much it burdened him. His siblings knew the truth of course, knew that he was as human as they come, but they have never uttered a single word about what person he was trying to turn himself into.

Gaara rolled on his side, propped himself on the elbow and looked at Matsuri. Her head was comfortably settled on the flat pillow and the dark strands of her hair could be easily distinguished on the white pillowcase even in the darkness. He reached for them, twisting the soft wisp around his index finger.

Matsuri was also such a person once, a person who couldn't look behind the appearances, adoring him only due to his strength, coolness, eliteness and – the last but not least – handsomeness. Just one of his many fangirls, considered by him immature and unworthy of his attention, even if he had never expressed it openly to any of the enchanted girls. He didn't realize earlier why they were so annoying to him but now he knew. Even though he had been attempting to become more than a human then, this burden he had brought involuntarily upon himself slowly had become too much of a hindrance to bear, and the girls seemed to stand in a way of his initially unintentional yearning for a chance to be just himself, not a monster and definitely not a spotless angel.

He had been given this chance by a girl who he would never think would be able to do this. The girl who had been changed like many others, changed by the war. When they came back to Suna after a couple of months of warfare, the old Matsuri began to fade away slowly. She was still cheerful, carefree even, but there was a new look in her eyes, serious and sometimes haunted, and she definitely stopped hanging around with hordes of his other fangirls. The redhead didn't notice it at once since he was too busy with his work as a political leader, but mostly he was absorbed with the change that had occurred in himself. The encounter with his father and learning the truth about Yashamaru had caused almost as enormous turmoil in Gaara's feelings as his uncle's lies which led to the latter's death, but it turned out that it was much easier to steal the innocence, to betray the trust and break somebody's heart than to heal the wounds inflicted by said actions. The fear of vulnerability and rejection was still present in Gaara's heart, and he wondered if it was meant to stay there forever, but after a time it started to decrease considerably. Then he could breathe again, could visit Yashamaru's and his father's graves for the first time since the latter's funeral and by that time he began to feel the need to get closer to other people besides his siblings. After few years he had found himself involved in 'girls' issues', as Kankurou put it, and realized immediately that the person who had profoundly attracted his attention was Matsuri.

The redhead leaned over his girlfriend and brushed against her ear with his lips. Matsuri still lied motionless; her deep, regular breathing was a proof that her consciousness was still submerged in the realm of dreams, completely ignorant of his actions.

She turned him away; she added to his irritation that had been sparked by the last few hours during which he had to calmly listen to the preposterous demands of the foreign negotiators; she made the long-standing but quite forgotten agony reenter his mind; and finally, she simply hurt his pride. Human as they come, irrational or not, he couldn't leave it as it was, feeling compelled to take even a slightest revenge and confirm his dominance.

He lightly nibbled the soft lobe and Matsuri stirred sleepily, sighing. She raised her head a few inches from the pillow and let out an irked murmur but before she could complain any further Gaara whispered into her ear, "I'll wait until you ask then". Then he pulled back and slumped against the matress, trying to relax. The young woman slowly rolled on her back and turned her head to his direction, obviously surprised and trying to puzzle out his words. Gaara closed his eyes and slowly exhaled through his nose. He could hear the rustling of the sheets coming from his partner's direction but didn't look at her. Eventually the noises stopped and the silence reigned over the bedroom. Matsuri's breathing signaled she wasn't sleeping but Gaara didn't want to deliberate over what she was thinking. He meant what he had said earlier and now he just planned to wait for her move.

o0o0o0o

Matsuri was restless. She swept her hair behind her ear nervously, feeling her heartbeat grow unmistakably faster. The lump of heat lodged in her chest released warm, pulsating tendrils creeping up her neck and face until her cheeks burned, certainly red from the onslaught of blood.

She wanted him to be there already. She wanted him to come back quickly because the longer she waited the stronger jitters grew. She attempted to control herself but when she heard the sound of the door opening, this attempt failed immediately and to her dismay she could feel her hands trembling.

She shoved them behind her back and listened to the familiar sounds coming from the living room. The swish of fabric and the muffled thud when he came undone the straps and put the gourd on the floor; the further rustling which announced he took off his long-sleeved coat; and then almost inaudible steps, like it was a cat walking. Even if she knew it was a habit drilled into him since a long time ago, sometimes she still wished he wasn't sneaking like that, especially recently.

The steps were near and near, and eventually Gaara entered the kitchen, quickly scanning the place with his unblinking eyes. It was another habit from times when he had to stay constantly alert, ready for the next assassination attempt which could come at any time. Even if he had ever thought about getting rid of those habits, it became pointless after he took Kazekage's seat, and Matsuri noticed she began to start such habits herself. Probably good thing, taking into consideration that she was Kazekage's girlfriend now.

She smiled when their eyes met, her musings abandoned in a flash. "Matsuri," he uttered and her heart was immediately filled with a deep gratitude and love.

"How was the training?" she inquired, her voice miraculously not shaking, and poured the water into the mug. She could tell he'd been training intensely, as always. The bangs were plastered to his forehead and his skin was covered with small sweatdrops. His net shirt was wet and there were also wet stains on the waistband of his pants, where the sweat had soaked.

"I'm still not able to master this technique," Gaara answered and took the mug from her hands. Matsuri was aware he meant the new technique he had started to develop the other day but she knew better than patronizingly comment on his words. The redhead put the mug to his mouth and drank the water greedily, his chin raising higher and higher. Matsuri watched with fascination his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, while he was savouring the life-giving liquid. Suddenly Gaara glanced at her from the corner of his eye and she flinched nervously, looking away at once and trying to mask her embarrassment with a weak smile.

"What is it?" he asked, putting the mug away and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Matsuri glanced at him again and shook her head.

"No, it-it's nothing," she chirped, forcing another flimsy smile onto her mouth with a hope he didn't read her, a hope she knew perfectly well was futile. The ability to see through people's masks and find out what they wanted to keep secret was essential for every shinobi, but Gaara brought it almost to the superhuman level. Matsuri shifted restlessly under the steady gaze of the unblinking aquamarine eyes, close to regretting she had fallen in love with such a troublesome man. The only good thing was that he was rarely using his skill against his best friends, and kept to himself whatever he could learn with his unique ability.

The redhead nodded in silence and turned back, making for the exit. Matsuri stood motionless, mesmerized, letting the scent of his fresh sweat overcome her senses with every breath, the pheromones' invasion turning her on immediately. Gaara stopped just in front of the door and glanced back at her.

"I'm going to take a shower," he announced with his usual, indifferent tone. Matsuri's heart pounded against her ribs and suddenly her lips became dry. She was sure her expression was lascivious but she wasn't going to hide it, not when she was waiting for his next words, for the invitation to join him, what she would have done with pleasure. But the words she had expected and yearned to hear didn't come and Gaara just left the kitchen, calmly walking towards the bathroom.

Matsuri swallowed audibly and pressed her hand against her chest, sensing the frantic beating under her fingers. The disappointment, which she had just experienced, lit the profound irritation in her and made her growl lowly. She was more than certain that he wanted her company, that he missed physical intimacy as much as she did, so why didn't he say it? Why did he leave, pretending not to care?

The answer could be that he really didn't care, that he didn't want to touch her anymore, but Matsuri knew it wasn't true. Even after two years the physical displays of affection, sex in particular, still seemed to be a source of an endless fascination to him, and when the initial diffidence had disappeared, both of them were shocked by the lust that proved to bloom inside them, the lust that still seemed to be insatiable.

No, Gaara definitely didn't stop craving for her, so the answer must have been what she had thought it was from the very beginning. He waited for her to ask, exactly like he had said those two weeks ago. He waited for her to ask, and the only problem was she couldn't bring herself to do this. When she realized he was not going to go easy on her, she started to make attempts to ask, but to her amazement she found herself unable to choke out the words like 'kiss', 'touch' or 'sex' in his presence. She had laughed at herself, twenty-four years old tough kunoichi, but it quickly turned out not to be a laughing matter when the desire increased and she had to resort to old, long forgotten ways of releasing the sexual tension.

Matsuri left the kitchen, reasoning with herself like she was doing often recently, and approached the bathroom door with hesitation. She could clearly hear the sound of the water splashing and the images, which overran her mind at once, were enough to turn her knees into melted butter. She only needed a few words... A few right words to go inside and express what she actually wanted. Maybe play a seductress? Hello handsome one, can I join you? There's so much space in here... No, it didn't sound like her at all. Then maybe a mere companion? Man, I want to join you. Don't you think we didn't have a shower together for such a looong time? Nah, too childish and naive. Then maybe a slut? Hey Gaara, what d'you think about the blowjob in the shower? Urgh, defnitely not. Then what? Uh, Gaara, can I—I mean, I'd like to, um, join you and... you know, I... Pathetic. She wasn't a bashful teenager any longer, for pity's sake, was she?

Wait, has she ever been a bashful teenager? As far as she remembered, she had no problems then to say her opinion outloud. "Gaara-sama is quiet, strong, cool, hot, elite..." She had been hopeless, really, but bold nonetheless. Much bolder than now, as it seemed. Not that she wanted to change back into her old self but she genuinely wished she could borrow some of that boldness to support her now in this insufferable situation. Since she apparently wasn't able to do that, she had to find another solution. She needed to analyse her own reaction and pin down the most important factor, which had been preventing her from getting her urges satisfied.

The sound of the running water ceased and Matsuri jumped five feet high, her thoughts abruptly interrupted. If he had left the bathroom now and had seen her eavesdropping on the other side of the door like she was a slimy, unsatisfied pervert, she wouldn't be able to look him in the eye for another two weeks, or maybe even longer. The young woman quickly tip-toed towards the kitchen, her bare feet not making any noise on the smooth clay floor. She sat at the table and reached for one of the prickly pear fruits piled up in the bowl. She peeled the outer skin carefully to remove the spines, and plunged her teeth into the luscious pulp with delight.

"We're going to Kankurou's place at seven, right?" the voice uttered from behind her back and Matsuri blenched, letting out a surprised cry; the juice poured down her chin.

"Yes," she answered, examining the purple spots on her shirt, where the juice had streaked. She gnawed at the half-eaten fruit with a sigh, wishing she didn't have on herself one of her most favourite light blue shirts.

The shinobi shouldn't let herself to be startled in this way but Gaara didn't comment on it. He only took a takeaway salted tongue she had ordered for him earlier and settled on the chair at the opposite side of the table. Matsuri winced slightly and finished eating the fruit at a rapid pace. She literally hated the salted tongue and was not able to understand how it was possible that people could fall so low to put that thing into their mouths. But until she didn't have to cook it for him, she could reluctantly accept that love of her life had such a profound liking for the food she considered to be extremely disgusting.

The kunoichi pulled her chair back and made for the door, casting a quick glance at Gaara's profile before she left. His wet bangs began to curl slightly and the drops of water hovered at its tips. A single thin trickle went down his temple and cheekbone and soaked into the towel, which was hanging loosely over his bare shoulders. The sight itself would be really delicious, if there was not a salted tongue mixed into it, definitely able to extinguish even the strongest passion imaginable. Matsuri pursed her lips and headed for the bathroom, preparing to wash away the stains from her clothing.

The end of part 1.