Title: Bathsheba
Summary: Naruto x Sakura, hints of Hinata x Naruto drabble. "I just want to start anew..."
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. If I did, do you think I would be writing this?
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He put his star around her neck, whispering soft chants and calling her his holy one. Pale hands buried into her pale carnation colored hair and feeling the strands slip from his fingers like slick sheets of oil. Her breaths were raspy from crying out his name, but he wanted more of her and even her quivering form beneath him kept his blood boiling over.
'Lay with me --' he quoted and her head tilted back until she saw the sky turn ultra-violet.
Even Picasso ( shoving paint down God's manhood ) couldn't create the horizon of mixed landscape that was in her eyes. Soaring into the clouds with his head top buried within her bosom valley -- his golden locks becoming the sunset in her vision, swarming her emerald orbs. It was dusk in her orbs of sight and the once blue skies dulled into tattered stars with jaded desolate skies.
She was a woman on fire -- skin blistered from his kisses. Torching her skin so that sores left burst pus marks and she whimpered whenever his ( fabricated ) sunshine smile came from her noises. Making Helen Keller noises when she whines outward from his teasing, "Wha…wha…" A swelling tongue cascading out from dried lips with vowels. Sadly he didn't do sign signals in her hand, to let her know that he was close or cared for what she did.
He blew away her skin chunks from his exhales and letting her bones dry of her existence and rubbed his baking body against those fragile ivory fixtures. She knew that he didn't see her burnt-out eyes, like hallowed eye-sockets and she still knew of the imagined affair going on behind their backs.
The rusted golden gates locked her in heaven above but her fortune was left up to gambling saints. She knew her time had struck out when seeing him in bed with with a lavender-eyed woman. Withering under her so-called-lover and crying out his name in soft vibrations.
She tried to pray but all St. Paul did was place her in dog races. Letting her own reflection be present in the sequined eyes of a rabbit; cheap and hot-glued parts falling of when it rattles down the muddy railway.
It seems like stop-motion when her fingertips brush against the plush fur but the image of his soft skin makes her come back to reality. And the picture of his once honest eyes faded away and she fell SPLAT on her face into the pillow. Feeling him enter her once more from behind, causing her to cry out with dried tears and coughing groans.
She writhers like a mud-angel on the sheets from her struggles and her fingers strike out its halo when she reaches upward and upward and upward --
The racing hounds devour her bonds, leaving nothing as he cries out and ends up on top of her before she can finish herself. She'd let him for now -- better not to think about it anymore and try to move on. She doesn't even realize that he is asleep and she stares at the cracks in the ceiling. Letting her cracked vocals letting out demented chirps to herself,
"I just want to start anew..."
Tomorrow she would throw her luck away and trust in new horseshoes when he tried to seduce her again. She hoped that they'd clunk off his thick head and he could see multi-colored light boxes from Japan. Even when he woke-up from that light show and she was long gone, he still had his heiress to warm his sheets. He was the king and the king was never shunned upon when he always fought bravely in battle, with women fanning over him day and night.
His vocals would become like dusty dial tones for her -- chattering on and on. Her temper would flare and she'd wish for a firing squad. Coming to march through her door and silence his tone-deaf Supremes renditions. The vacancy sign on her heart's motel will flash no and he will be no longer welcome in her room.
Time to get off this turnpike of eternity, back to reality and then she could start anew.
Yes, then she could start anew.
Fin