Title: Felicity
Rating: T (Offensive language, mild smut)
Summary: "She hadn't expected gratitude. She hadn't expected dripping sarcasm, either."
Disclaimer: Naruto is not of my creation.
Felicity
" ... the fuck? What do you think you're doing, kunoichi?"
Sakura's face scrunched unattractively.
"You're going to burn the building down," he continued, not even deigning it necessary to look up from his work.
She hadn't expected gratitude. She hadn't expected dripping sarcasm, either. Standing to the side of his desk, Sakura nudged the object closer to the chest high stack of signed paperwork with a single finger, smirking as Gaara visibly twitched. Her finger retracted as it met empty space; sand had lifted the unwanted object high into the air away from her grasp.
"Why the hell would you light your 'special time' food on fire?"
It was Sakura's turn to spasm as her face flooded with color and her mouth gaped. How. HOW did he know about that?! Temari was officially on her shit list. Throughout her stay she'd had to have them imported from home. It was either the outrageously overpriced cupcakes or four days of behaving worse than the tanuki coming down off of a near overdose of adrenaline (a medical misadventure she'd rather erase from her memory involving Kankurou with a wounded Gaara, her unattended medic bag, and whiskey).
"I'm going to forget I ever heard you say that. And so are you. If you're intelligent."
His shit-eating grin informed her otherwise.
"That was your freebie for the day," she cracked her knuckles, ominously, "Don't tempt fate."
Black ink continued to flow as he meticulously signed, initialed and dated, adding sheet after sheet of scroll lengths to the stack of kindling.
"Why are there flaming baked goods in my office, Sakura?" he questioned, voice flat.
Silence stretched for a moment. Was he going to try to ignore it? Bravado fled momentarily, then she rallied. "Just put out the candle and make a wish before the wax runs."
His pen froze in the process of dating a D class mission report. Pupils dilated to cover pale green irises as he stared, blankly, at the offending document.
He'd roused himself from meditation that morning in a foul mood, temporarily remedied by the fact that Sakura had cooking duty in their shared housing complex for breakfast. Sitting down to cinnamon pancakes with hard boiled eggs had derailed any thought of investigating the source of his ill humor, but the malcontent had continued to stalk him throughout the day. The large stack of completed documents was a testament to his need for mental occupation.
The nineteenth of January. There it was, neatly scrawled across every paper he'd touched since he set foot in the office. The sand wavered in its hold on the cake as it was hastily set aside on the desk. Sand. Shukaku. Mother.
Sakura reached across the table and gently removed the dangerously gripped pen from his clenched fist. Ink had bled copiously into the surrounding paper, completely obscuring the now illegible characters. His head ducked down, crimson fringe shielding his eyes from sight and contrasting starkly with the white cowl of his Kage robes. He'd... forgotten?
"Temari...," she hesitated, "Temari said that you've never celebrated your birthday like this. Not once." The explanation offered had included the fourth Kazekage, a memorial site, and bloody sand.
"There's a reason." His voice had lowered to a rasp, breath taken in deep, controlled inhalations. Shukaku raged to the forefront as his vision momentarily narrowed, then refocused, the previous din receding to a dull murmur. Teeth grit, he steadied his breathing once again.
"I know," she replied, softly.
Gaara stared intently at the flame as it slowly consumed the wax and wick, vaguely aware that his hand had turned to grasp the smaller digits that had lingered on his own. No attempt was made to withdraw, and he gripped harder as her other hand extended to cup around his knuckles. He swallowed, hard, fighting back the overwhelming urge to pulverize the small cake into the floor. Her hands were warm and slightly damp around his own. Fingers smoothed stretched tendons, and he felt his body slump forward gently.
"...this better not mean that you think I have a need for 'special' foods."
"Just blow out the goddamn candle or I'll start singing."
Sakura smiled at the exaggerated grimace. Inhaling dramatically, he bent to the candle, then paused, momentarily thoughtful. Sand swirled up to deftly snuff the flame, then he gently blew at the grains as they were directed away from the Konoha specialty. Ringed eyes closed for a moment, and his expression turned unreadable. His free hand pulled the wax stick out of the chocolate smothered cupcake, then held it up to her lips.
She eyed the offering, speculatively. "That's supposed to be the birthday boy's honor."
He shrugged, insistently holding the icing covered candle in front of her.
Snatching it bemusedly, she quickly consumed the fudge, candle discarded somewhere near the small cactus she'd pressed him into receiving to "'give the room a more fitting personality'." It was looking poorly. How in the world did you kill a cactus?
All thoughts of cacti assassination promptly fled as Gaara's slightly chapped lips smoothly tugged the remaining chocolate off of her bottom lip. His eyes trained on the movement of her tongue as it darted out to smooth the reddened lip, then locked onto her own emerald green gaze. Tilted slightly with eyes drifting closed, his lips brushed against hers once, twice, until her hands left his own to bunch into his robes at his chest. Mouths opened; teeth and lips and tongues locked in a teasingly brief, languidly heated kiss.
Panting slightly against his skin, Sakura pressed her forehead to his own. His cheek gently skimmed hers as his fingers trailed through her hair, one arm wound securely around her waist tugging her further into his lap.
"Gaara?"
He responded in a wordless mutter that seemed to vibrate from deep within in his chest.
"What did you wish for?" Her hands seemed cool against his overheated skin, soothing as she played with the soft hair resting at his nape.
For a moment, he stilled.The lips that then possessed hers worked hungrily, hands pressing her head firmly against his as she gasped between open mouthed caresses. He pulled back to stare at her, eyes slit sedately. Hands trembling, he moved unhurriedly to skim kisses across her brow and down her neck. As his face rested hidden against her clavicle, he smiled.
---
Author's Note: Felicity, or, an instance of great happiness or joy.
What's your favorite cupcake flavor? Mine has to be German chocolate, or cranberry orange. craves
The candle thing? That was a family tradition, though I'm sure there are other people who do it too. Another cake tradition dealt with who got the icing flowers. "I want a floooooooower!!" -children at party go greedy beserk-
Have a cupcake on my account, -- Okobo-chan