Title: Almost-Lotus
Series: Naruto
Disclaimer: Naruto and its characters do not belong to me.
Notes: Another drabble, originally written in a non-fandom fashion that was playing with a memory. Neji/Tenten, I suppose, but I'm generally not a huge fan of the pairing.

She's laying, stomach down, on a stern colored comforter, watching him watch the back of his eyelids. With forefinger and thumb, she makes horizontal L's, and crosses them in the shape of a human viewfinder. He'd make the perfect still life, she thinks, just sitting there lotus-style without moving anything but, occasionally, his fingers. Fingers. She likes hands, the way fingers taper down just-so, fingers with nails that have perfect, half-moon bites. Lowering the viewfinder, she raises her legs at the knee, boredly examining the faded tatami mat.

"You're brooding," she says, more like sighs, as though it's just another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

"Mm," he replies, posture straightening.

"I missed you," she says again, for the second time that night, smirking. "Even though you're being moody." She sees him pause at the end of his long, practised inhalation, maybe for a second too long.

"Angry," he replies, non-plussed. "It's different." She knows that he's just feeding her lines, trying to make excuses for whatever silence she's endured and realizes that seriously, she doesn't care. Already, she's rolling onto her side, rolling to her feet, and towering casually over his shoulder, invading the precious personal space he so cultivates. The lines of his shoulders are square and rigid, and immediately, some voice inside her head crows success.

The only warning sign she's got is that tenseness, maybe the white knuckled grip on his knees that was generally easy enough to overlook, and suddenly she's winded, she's on the floor, and he's crushing one mouth to another. She wonders, for a minute, a shocked minute of I-can't-feel-my-hands, my-wrists-are-pinned-to-the-hardwood, if the sharp tang of blood on her tongue is hers. She doesn't know, but she's tasting the traces on his lips and reeling from this sudden development, thinking maybe she's just gotten kicked in the proverbial teeth. Before she can formulate her next move, try and squirm her way around and out of things, he's already straightening his haori-ate, resuming his previous position.

"It's different."

Tongue running the length of her swollen lower lip, she pushes gamely up on her elbows. The top two buttons of her shirt have miraculously come undone. "Oh," she says, as if absolutely nothing had happened at all. "Yes, quite." She blandly examines the finger shaped bruises already forming around her pale wrists, and bends to lick the furious hints of his desire.