A/N: Just a little KaKaSaku ramble again, because I'm vaguely obsessed with the couple and I love when Sakura plays dirty and Kakashi snaps. :D Fun Fun Fun. Short and sweet and not my favorite work, but helps get over the bigger writing blocks Enjoy!

Warning: Rated M for mature themes, language, and sexual situations

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. Damn.

Pairing: Kakashi/Sakura

Prize

Play my game

And I'll play yours

Winner takes all

Sometimes.

The Jounin recreation room was not a place where she should be. She wasn't a Jounin for one thing. For another, the rec room was his space, where he went to get free coffee and hide from certain ghosts and pick up missions. Where he went on the meandering walks before meeting his team— being late took skill occasionally- and where he went to stay in tune with the latest happenings of Konoha ninja. Lately, it was where he went to hide from his students. Or student. The other two weren't nearly this…infuriating.

But she was here. Here in his space. Here in the small room with the full dartboard and the hissing coffee machine and the few cracked tables and chairs and the moth-eaten cushions on the sagging sofa. It occurred to him that someone should bug someone else about getting the place cleaned up. But not him. He was a very busy man, and books wouldn't read themselves would they? He was trying to read his book right now, but it was difficult. Because she was here.

She'd been making things difficult for a while now.

Sound hits the air and he has to struggle to stop his mind from com-busting, to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth, to keep his arms strapped to his sides. But control and blank thoughts aren't going to work this time are they?

"Sensei?"

All coy. All demure.

A biting lip and twisting hands that clutch in the hem at a thin crimson-pink training shirt that is limp and sticky with sweat and he is not fooled. No.

(Not fooled like that time where she sat next to him in the bar at Naruto's birthday party and had played with the hems of her creamy knit sweater that flashed freckles when it slipped from her shoulder and pale celery-green skirt that was snug on her thighs until he thought he was going to implode in on himself and sat like a statue while he downed beers, trying to not look. And he had thought she didn't notice, thought she was unaware the whole time. Idiot.)

Not fooled. He knows now. He grabs her arms the firm muscle under toned upper arm slide under his long fingers and turns to push her up against the wall of the Jounin rec room. He presses her there and leans in to smell her bright rose and oranges scent and buries his face in it clouding around her neck as she gasps in surprise.

"Sensei!"

(Like that time that she'd gasped in shock-happiness-pleasure as he'd dumped the icily cold contents of his water bottle on her head—because she'd just done the same to him. Only she had gasped, like it was nirvana and aphrodisiac and fucking sex in a bottle and he had questioned his sanity when she flung her wet hair over her shoulder and little drips had run down between her shoulder blades. Then he questioned his life when more ran down the front of her shirt and hardened her nipples and she smiled, like she knew exactly where his eyes had just flicked to.)

He is raging; a man on fire and unable hold onto shattering rock precipice's for a second longer. He knew now. She was addictive, deliciously teasing, and she knew what she was doing. And now he knew she knew. Since this was firmly established and utterly unable to be ignored for a moment longer, by the gods on high, all hell was going to break loose.

Much as he didn't want it to, it was happening anyway.

He growls low. "Sakura this has to stop."

Last ditch attempts to curb an incoming flood never worked, never saved, never helped. He doesn't expect it to now either and can't help but negate his own words when his rips down his mask and slants his mouth over her's roughly, ignoring her squeak, and feels lips softer than silk giving under his own and he revels in the triumph that sweeps over him hot and good and filling everywhere from the ignited ends of his fingers on her arms and face, to the tips of his toes on the rock-solid floor.

(Like when he'd felt the heat as they bunked down for camp in the night during a mission without her two other teammates and he was standing watch while she'd walked a mere 5 feet away to change into a new uniform. She'd turned her back, but what difference is that when she's unsnapping a sheer sports bra and he can see all her skin, shoulders and angel bones and slender waist and delicate neck, bending and flexing as she moves. It shines like amber and jewels under the lantern light. She glances over her shoulder and winks at him and his rigid form, turning around so quickly it was only a flash as she picked up an item of clothing that had dropped. But she did turn, her arm clasped around her breasts. He had no idea what the fuck she was doing as she turned back again; he had almost taken two strides, shoved her onto the tree, cupped those small breasts he had seen the plush velvet curve of in his hands and passed some of the fevered scorching heat in his head to her through her mouth. Almost. The rest of the watch was torturous.)

She is gasping again when he pulls away, like caught deer under a flash of lightning sky, and he runs the pad of one thumb over her lower lip, roughly caressing. He is nose to nose and chest to chest—he can feel her breasts heaving through her shirt - and his hands move to sprawl possessively on her hip and the smooth column of her neck.

"Sensei…"

He is going to burst, going to die, going to shove her long, long legs apart and fuck her where she stood on the wall if she doesn't look him in the eye, the confusing, exasperating, teasing little wanton girl speaking in a trembling tiny voice. He murmurs in his throat, almost a growl, pushing commandingly at her hips, fingers pinching and nails digging and holding because he was going to finish this circling dance and playful teasing game now.

(Like when she'd started a training game and let him win because the winner got a massage, and then she'd sat on him to do it and her fingers had slid over his skin and muscle like silk and her hair had brushed on the back of his neck and made his nerves shiver and her breath had blown on his shoulder as her hands kneaded his neck muscles. She had panted, quick and light, and he'd felt her thighs squeezing around his ribs, her impossibly long legs with the impossibly tiny ankles he could see in the corner of his vision. She was wearing only a white tank top and short stringy jean shorts that bared all of her toned muscle pressed on his flesh, and he could feel her shorts riding up higher on her thighs and feel her hair swinging to the side to let the sweet skin of her neck become sun kissed and gently freckled, and feel her hands dancing pressure points on his back. He'd ended the massage early, and ignored her grinning laugh.)

When she finally looks up, he feels a surge of lush, slick pride coat through his insides and pours into his mind, hunger and pleasure twisting into pretty twisting strands behind his eye and narrowing his senses to her, just her, with her tousled hair and flushed cheeks and lithe body pressed against his. A sly little smile has crept over her pinked and swollen lips. She blinks at him and has the nerve to lick those lips, slow and savoring and her eyes locked onto his pupils.

(Like she'd licked those rainbow Popsicle during a break at practice, all multicolored tongue and dripping fingers and white sports bras because 'it was hot Senseiiiii.' He'd watched her slide her tongue along the ice cream and then watched the sweat slide down her freckled shoulders and into the hollows of her collarbones, and he'd watched her suck her pink and blue and red fingers clean, and then glance up to see him and slide her finger out of her mouth with a swirl of tongue and a faint pop and a secret smile. He watched it all, and then ended practice early to hit the showers and curse his existence.)

He watches the tongue flick and reaches to hike her higher in his arms, wrapping her long and creamy smooth legs around his waist and pulling her hands above her head to trap them in his wrist as he crashes his lips onto the arch of her collarbone. He thrusts against her clothed core, ground in hard twists that send zings of heat through him, building the good hot friction tighter and tighter. He feels her wetness through her spandex and groans as her legs squeeze with a breathy moan and her hands tug at his grip, aching to anchor her to him.

He smiles against her skin and inhales deep lungfuls of roses and peeled oranges and pouring rain and honey dipped lilac musk scent, rolling in waves from hot skin. He thrusts again and she squeals higher, right there against the wall in the jounin recreation room with an unlocked door and a busy hall outside, pushing her breasts forward and arching her back.

"Mm-Sensei!"

He grins a little hell-loosed grin and bites at her jaw and rolls his hips again, straining through his pants.

(Like all those times where she'd teased and he died a little and had strained at his pants and came to his hand and cursed and dreamt of cherry hair and popsicles and lantern bright skin and icy gasps and sweat sliding between breasts and dancing hands; only now it was real and she was loving him and calling his name and smiling and moaning for him, and all the teasing was over. It had never really been about the game anyway. Only the prize.)

Maybe he would fuck her right here where she stood after all.

Fin

XX

A/N: Ughh I do not like this one. At all.

Scratch that, I like it, but its def not one of my favorites. Its is….unlike how I usually write. I think. Oh well its happy and a little dirty and a lot of fun at the end;) Hope you enjoyed it! It helped me get over writers block too, which is always a plus in its favor.

Review? I looooooove reviews3 and maybe we'll all get some more KakaSaku action if I get some good ones.

*nod nod wink wink*

Thank you for reading!