Staring at a woman's body is like staring at a painting. For instance, the curves that shaped her were the base. Her skin was coated in the brush strokes of smoothness and all her small marks were masterfully placed on the canvas. Eyes, nose, ears, and mouth all cordinated perfectly and outlined to a nearest detail.

A woman was a piece of artwork. Made to be admired.

That was something Sasuke had been taught by his brother. When he was younger, he and Itachi would always point out the delicate touch their mother had and the overwhelming kindness of many of the Uchiha woman. He didn't quite understand why they were so soft, so beautiful back then. But his sibling had reminded him that one day, he too would be old enough to enjoy the art of a woman.

That's exactly what he did.

Waking up, he'd see her. Pale and petite. A long curtain of dark hair that lay effortlessly down her back. Opaque eyes that seemed almost unrealistic, accompanied with the pinkest of thin lips. She'd usually be facing the window of their small home and holding a book in her hands. Her fingers beautifully patient on the pages and her bare torso hugged in morning sunlight.

It took him a lot to hold back. To grab her into his hands once more and repeat the nights actions over and over. Not caring much for the neighbors discomfort.

"Hinata."

He'd call her name, worried that if he didn't say anything she'd disappear, back up to the heavens.

She turned, her arms supporting her and lips parting in a smile. She truly did look like a drawn goddess, come to life from the pictures hanging in their room. He would reach out, touching her and bring himself into reality. Pulling her gently into his arms once more.

If staring at a woman's body is like staring at a painting, then it took a real man to cherish such an art work.