PART TWO
Warnings: Infidelity
Pairings: SasuSaku and ItaSaku
Notes: I'm beating a dead horse here, but I want to make it abundantly clear that this story is about an extramarital affair, and I'd rather provide too many warnings than not enough. If cheating fics squick you, or if you're bothered by reading about Sakura sleeping with both Itachi and Sasuke, this story may not be the best for you.
I was absolutely thrilled by the response that Part One got. You guys are the best, and I'm so happy that this fic is being positively received. It's great to be writing for Naruto again, and as soon as I finish posting Tribute, I'll get back to work on For Everything There is a Season!
Sakura is bound in virginal white, her mother's pendant around her neck, a touch of red staining her lips. She's reminded of the day she arrived in Nanmoku: trussed up in silk, long hair pinned atop her head, impractical geta on her feet (the kind of shoes a bride can't easily run in).
"You look lovely," Mikoto says.
"Thank you." She tries to smile, but it feels forced, unnatural.
Okaasan cups Sakura's cheek, and her touch is warm and comforting in the way only a mother's can be. "Are you ready?"
Do I have a choice? Sakura doesn't bother asking, because she knows the answer already. Her betrothal brought peace in the wake of a hundred-year war, and this marriage will cement it. One girl's freedom is a small price to pay for the lives of thousands.
It's a beautiful autumn evening, and as Sakura walks to the shrine beside Itachi, handsome all in black, she sees the sun bleeding across the horizon. Red and orange and gold spilling against the canvas of dark sky. Colors of fire drowning in blue. She smells night-blooming flowers and newly turned earth, redolent of decaying leaves and this morning's rain.
There are twenty-four people in this procession: Fugaku-sama and Mikoto, Okaasan, her uncle Nawaki, Itachi's dearest friends and close cousins and distant cousins. And Sasuke, of course. She can't see him—he's somewhere behind them, trailing in his older brother's wake (as always), and she doesn't dare to look back and find him. If I look back, I won't be able to go forward.
The shrine is not beautiful. It's an old place, a relic of the Uchiha ancestors, made of cold, unyielding stone. Candlelight warms the altar, casting her betrothed's face in sharp relief. The lines beneath his eyes appear deeper, his mouth less forgiving. At least he has, for once, allowed his Sharingan to rest, and she sees his eyes as they are without his kekkei genkai awakened. Dark and beautiful and so like Sasuke's that Sakura lowers her gaze.
The ceremony itself is brief. The priest announces their union to the gods and beseeches their blessing and protection. Then the bride and groom take three sips each from the three cups of sake. The rice wine is rich and heady, but to Sakura it tastes of nothing so much as obligation. Itachi recites the vows for both of them, promising that they will love and respect one another forever and strive to bring prosperity to their family. Sakura is thankful that she doesn't have to speak, because she couldn't voice her assent if she had to. Last of all, they make offerings of tamagushi to the gods, and it is done. She walked into the shrine as Senju Sakura, but she leaves an Uchiha.
You're not one of us, she remembers Sasuke telling her, what seems a lifetime ago. And she can't help but think that, no matter what name she bears, this is still true.
It's almost midnight by the time the reception ends. Half of the ryokan's top floor has been rented out to the new husband and wife, and so Sakura and Itachi retire to the upstairs just as the party winds down. She asks for a few moments alone, ostensibly to change out of her cumbersome kimono. But once Sakura has escaped her bridal silks and donned a spare, ivory nightdress, she sits on the edge of the bed and tries not to think of Sasuke. How he could barely look at her throughout the reception. How he said nothing to her at all outside of the obligatory congratulations.
Itachi knocks. "Sakura? Can I come in?"
"Yes," she says, but her voice sounds thin and reedy. Like a scared girl's, not a woman's.
Itachi steps inside, slides the door closed behind him. He walks over to her, puts his finger under her chin, and tilts her face up so that she has to look at him. "I know that I'm not the one you would have chosen, if the choice had been yours," he says softly.
Sakura doesn't respond to this statement, although he is more right than he can possibly realize.
"But I promise I'll be a good husband."
She smiles, if weakly. "I know that already."
"How do you know?" he asks.
Sakura shrugs; the answer is simple enough. "Because you're a good man."
He sits beside her and plays with a lock of her hair. "You're so beautiful," he says, and there's something—the subtlest catch in the smooth cadence of his deep voice—that makes her heart beat faster.
Itachi's hand drops from her hair to her bare shoulder. Like Sasuke, his touch is impossibly warm, and he carries the scent of an open fire on his skin. Sakura thinks, for just a moment, that he looks enough like his brother that she could pretend. After all, this is the closest she'll ever come to making love with Sasuke.
No. I can't do that. She might not want this marriage, but Sakura won't disrespect her new husband by imagining he's another man on their wedding night.
"Can I kiss you?" Itachi asks.
He waits for her answer, and she appreciates that it's truly a request and not an order in disguise. Sakura nods.
Itachi leans close, then closer, cups her cheek, and presses his lips to her own. She wills herself to forget another kiss, and as his mouth moves against hers, the memory of Sasuke's rejection fades. He tastes of ceremonial sake and something else, some element she can't identify.
They stay like this for a long time. Ten minutes, or twenty, or perhaps several sweet hours, until he pulls away. When Sakura opens her eyes, she finds herself looking into the startling crimson of the Sharingan. Before she can ask, Itachi says, "I don't want to miss anything."
He is careful, patient, while he undresses her. As he slides the shift off her shoulders, baring her to the waist, he presses soft kisses to her cheek, her neck. She fights the urge to cover her chest, forces herself to remain still when he cups the small weight of her breast with his large hand. His breath is warm against her ear when he asks, "Is this all right?"
Itachi is her husband; he could take her without any regard for her feelings, if he wanted. It speaks to the kind of man he is that he doesn't.
"Yes," Sakura says, and when he brushes his thumb across one pink nipple, she takes a sharp breath. Slowly, gently, he presses her down to the mattress. Pulls the nightdress over her hips, down her legs, and discards it. Now she's naked except for her panties, but Itachi makes no move to take them off of her. Instead, he begins kissing her: the hollow of her throat, the valley between her breasts, her stomach. Lower and lower, until his mouth teases the lace fabric of her underwear. He looks up at her with eyes that catch everything, and she wants to know what it is he sees.
Then Itachi sits up and undresses. He removes his dark clothes, piece by piece, and as his body is bared, Sakura blushes. She's more embarrassed by his nakedness than her own, because seeing him this way—the corded muscles of his arms, the taut plane of his abdomen, the sharpness of his hipbones—is making her wet. She tries not to look between his legs, but curiosity and want get the better of her, and when she sees him, hard already, Sakura feels a surge of fear and desire.
By the time he finally removes her panties she's trembling as much from anticipation as anxiety. Itachi opens her legs, kneels between them, and stares, his hungry gaze roving over every inch of her.
"If I do anything you don't want, just tell me, and I'll stop," he promises.
"Okay," Sakura says.
He touches her sex, at first lightly, exploring. Then he caresses her, expert fingers moving in tight circles, and Sakura whimpers. It feels good, so good, and she wonders what it means that she can love Sasuke and still enjoy what Itachi is doing to her.
She can't help but raise her hips, can't keep from gasping when he slips two fingers inside her. It hurts, a little, but that small pain only amplifies the pleasure.
In the dark privacy of her bedroom, Sakura has sometimes touched herself and pretended Sasuke was making love to her. But those imaginings pale in comparison to the reality of a man's hands on her body, making her shake and moan and ache to be filled.
"Please," she says, not knowing quite what she's begging for, only that Itachi can give it to her.
He picks up the pace, changes his strokes from slow and soft to fast and firm, and soon she's on the edge. So close to coming she can barely stand it. Sakura bucks against him, shameless, too desperate to be shy anymore. She throws back her head, eyes closed and mouth open on a staggered cry, riding out the sensations until they peak, until bliss overwhelms her.
Itachi doesn't allow her a moment to collect herself. Still breathless and quivering, Sakura has no energy or will to protest when he climbs on top of her and settles himself between her spread legs. She can feel the blunt tip of his cock against her, and then he's pushing inside, stretching and tearing her, and it hurts. She remembers his promise to stop, if only she tells him to, and she's on the verge of testing his sincerity when he stills above her.
"Sakura," he says. Itachi sounds hoarse, strained, as if it's taking every bit of his self-control to keep from fucking her.
And it's this, the loss of his fine composure, that makes her say, "Keep going."
Maybe he wants to spare her unnecessary pain, or perhaps he's been holding himself back all night and can't afford to do it any longer, because Itachi takes her quickly, if gently. It isn't long before he stiffens above her and gasps, and Sakura feels a rush of warm wetness where they're joined.
Afterward, Itachi lies beside her on the bed, breathing hard. He takes her hand, tangles their fingers together, and asks, "How do you feel?"
Her body is sore and sated, but she's sure that isn't what he means. Unbidden, she thinks of Sasuke. Sakura always knew, of course, that he wouldn't be her first, but that didn't stop some part of her from hoping anyway. This is just one more dream lost, nothing new, but before she can prevent it, a quiet sob escapes her and hot tears are rolling down her cheeks. Itachi reaches out, ready to take her in his arms, but Sakura says, "No. Please, don't." If he touches her now, she won't be able to stand it.
She can't tell whether or not this rebuff hurts him, because Itachi's face goes perfectly blank, devoid of expression. He nods, stands up, and steals a pillow from the bed. "I'll sleep on the couch," he says.
After Itachi leaves, she crawls beneath the covers and lies awake, thinking about Sasuke. The measured way in which he speaks. How he frowns far more than he laughs, but that this only makes his rare smile all the more precious. The smell of his hair and sound of his voice. The warmth of his mouth beneath hers for those sweet, brief moments before he pulled away and broke her heart. Sakura counts the reasons why she still loves a man who will never love her back, and when she sleeps, she dreams of him.
In the morning, she wakes with Sasuke's name on her lips. Sakura opens her eyes only to see her husband, and in her half-asleep state she isn't sure whether she just spoke aloud. If she did, Itachi says nothing about it.
She and Okaasan eat in silence for the first half-hour of breakfast. Sakura picks at her food, sips her tea, and looks everywhere besides her mother's brown eyes. Last night is much on her mind still, and it feels strange to sit here, sharing a meal with Okaasan, as if they were in their dining room in Rokagita instead of a restaurant in Nanmoku.
Her mother frowns and asks, "Did he treat you gently?"
Sakura blushes, nods. Her wedding night is not something she cares to discuss with anyone, let alone her mother, but she understands why Okaasan is asking. She needs to ensure that her daughter was not mistreated, that this peace didn't come at the expense of Sakura's welfare.
After breakfast, she and Itachi move her things from Fugaku-sama and Mikoto's house to the smaller estate that Sakura will now share with her husband. Sasuke makes himself scarce, and they don't see him at all. That's good, because she doesn't know what she might possibly say to him, this morning of all mornings.
The early months of her marriage pass pleasantly enough. Itachi is often absent, always saddled with the clan's most important missions, and Sakura stays busy too, throwing herself into work at the hospital. But when they're both home at the same time, she finds that they get along well and have much in common. Like his brother, Itachi is a man of few words, but he is less guarded than Sasuke, and before long, she sees exactly how thoughtful, compassionate, and intelligent he is. She can't help but like Itachi, admire him even. He proves to a be kind and dedicated husband, just as Sakura always suspected he would be, and she does her best to be a good wife in return.
She sees little of Sasuke these days. He's avoiding her, and when chance brings them together, he has nothing to say. It hurts, but Sakura knows this can only be for the best.
Slowly, she tries to lock away the part of her heart that belongs to Sasuke. To hold her husband without thinking of his brother, to stop comparing them at every turn. And on a cool winter morning four months into their marriage, she wakes Itachi with a kiss, then initiates making love to him for the first time.
There is no lack of passion between them, and she and Itachi spend most nights learning how to best please each other. Her husband is generous and gentle in bed, always mindful of her wants, and it doesn't take him long to find out exactly which caresses unravel her self-control.
Sakura never allows herself to imagine any other man when she's being intimate with Itachi, but there are times, when her husband is gone on his long missions and she's alone in their big, empty house, that Sakura still touches herself and pretends it's Sasuke hands on her body, making her tremble, making her come. He would be rougher than Itachi, she thinks, less patient, greedier in the way he takes her. He might not love me, but he wants me, she tells herself, again and again. Sasuke wants me.
Itachi tickles her, attacking her most sensitive spots, ribs and thighs and under her arms. Sakura laughs hysterically, begging him to stop, but he keeps going until she's on the verge of tears. Then he lets her go and says, "You have the most beautiful smile, Sakura."
She's still breathing hard, trying to steady herself. "I'll get you back," she promises. "Sometime when you least expect it."
Itachi says, "I look forward to it."
It surprises her, how playful her serious husband can be when the mood strikes him.
By spring, she and Itachi are comfortable around each other, affectionate within the privacy of their home. Sakura finds that she has grown to love her husband (if not quite in the same way she loves Sasuke).
Life with Itachi is simple, easy, and she comes to appreciate him more and more. But Sakura also worries about her husband, because there are nights when she wakes to the sound of his coughing, and once she even sees him trying to hide a bloody handkerchief. She asks to examine him, to make sure everything is all right, but Itachi only waves away her concerns and says he's in near perfect health. It's just the changing of the seasons, he says, that irritates his lungs.
His smile is convincing enough, but Sakura doesn't quite believe him.
She spends all day at the hospital, and by the time Sakura goes home, the sun has long since set on Nanmoku. She expects the house to be empty (once again, Itachi is gone, carrying out some secret assignment for his clan), but when she goes to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, she finds that Sasuke has let himself in. He sits with his elbows on the table, fingers interlaced, waiting.
"Hello," Sakura says, and the word comes out weak, breathless. This is the first moment they've had utterly alone since before her wedding, six months ago, and it makes her blood run hot in her veins.
Sasuke nods at her, returns the greeting, as collected as ever.
"Itachi isn't here," Sakura says, "but he'll be back next week."
"I know." He frowns, and there's some emotion in his dark eyes she can't place. "I came to see you."
Sakura sits across from him and asks, "Why?"
"I want to say I'm sorry." She can guess how much this costs him. Sasuke's apologies are few and far between, if always heartfelt. "For not talking to you since you married Itachi. We're friends, I like to think anyway, and I shouldn't have done that."
"Why did you?" Sakura asks. She tries not to hope for anything, because this man has made it clear enough that her futile feelings are unreciprocated.
Sasuke swallows and glances away from her. "Because I was jealous," he says, voice low. "Still am."
Sakura's breath catches, and her heart beats heavily in her chest. "You're jealous?" she asks, nearly choking on the question.
"So much I can barely breathe for it," Sasuke says, and the way he looks at her is hot, fervent. Furious and hungry at once. His gaze roams over her face, her chest, and Sakura blushes under the hard stare.
She can imagine what will happen if she responds to his confession honestly. She'll end up on this table, legs spread, with Sasuke between them, betraying her husband.
Sakura stands, crosses her arms over her breasts, and says, "You should leave."
Sasuke approaches her, steps close enough that she can smell him, and cups her face. "You don't want me to go," he says. "I can tell."
Sakura closes her eyes, leans into his hand. It feels so good to be touched by Sasuke, better even than she remembered. He kisses her temple, the curve of her cheek, the corner of her lips, and his breath is so warm against her skin that she can barely stand it. "Don't," she whimpers. "Please."
Sasuke takes her mouth with his, aggressive and needy, while his arms wrap around her waist, holding her against him. She can't help it, she kisses back, presses her body to his. Then he pulls away, breaking the sweet contact, and says, "I lied to you, in the garden that night. I love you, Sakura. I've loved you for years."
She could cry from the unfairness of it, but what's done is done, and there's no going back. Sakura steps away from him, touches her tender mouth with the back of her trembling hand. "I don't care," she says, and her voice breaks on the lie. "Get out."
"Sakura—"
"I said to get out!" she shouts. "Go, right now, or I swear I'll tell Itachi everything you said and did tonight."
Sasuke's face becomes perfectly expressionless, empty as a clean slate. "If that's how you want it," he says coolly.
After she hears the front door close, Sakura falls to her knees and cries, weeps for what might have been, what should have been.
"Is something wrong?" Itachi asks.
They've just made love, but her mind was far away, wrapped up in Sasuke, and Sakura barely felt his touch.
"I'm fine," she says. "Just tired."
"I worry about you," he says, and there's such genuine concern in Itachi's deep voice that she shifts guiltily. "You work too hard."
Sakura makes herself smile. "But I like my work."
He touches her face, gentle fingers caressing her cheek, then sweeping down to tilt her chin in his direction. Itachi says, "You seem unhappy, Sakura. I wish I knew how to help."
"You're wonderful. I couldn't ask for a better husband," she says, meaning every word.
There's a party the next night, a formal gathering at Fugaku-sama and Mikoto's house. Sasuke moved out a few months ago, but he will be there as a guest, of course. Sakura dabs perfume on her pulse points and changes kimonos three times before finally settling on a dark red silk. She hasn't seen him since the night he said he loved her, and a waking hour hasn't passed that she didn't think on that confession.
The party is a less staid affair than usual, and people mill about the bottom floor of the house, drinking sake, chatting, laughing. Sakura tries to keep up with conversation and respond at the right times, but Sasuke is looking at her—staring, really—and that's all she can think about. She refuses to meet his gaze, keeps her arm hooked through Itachi's as he speaks to the elders and comrades and his father, smiling politely while the men discuss clan politics. She doesn't turn to see if Sasuke is still watching her; she doesn't need to, because she can feel his eyes on her back.
Sakura slips away from her husband with the excuse of a headache and goes upstairs, desperate to put some distance between herself and Sasuke. She takes refuge in the little reading room on the second floor, but she hasn't had more than a minute to herself before the door slides open.
Sasuke steps inside and shuts the door behind him. He doesn't say anything, just looks at her with those vigilant eyes. He must see how vulnerable she is, how weak her love has made her, because he strides across the room, pushes her against the wall, and kisses her. The last time he did this, she had the strength to protest, to rebuff him, but now Sakura opens her mouth to his, winds her arms around his neck.
He grabs at her carefully chosen kimono, pulling it up around her hips, and she turns her face away, breaking the kiss. "We can't. Itachi's downstairs—"
"I don't care," he says. He puts a hand down her underwear and slips two fingers inside her, more roughly than she's used to, but this is Sasuke and that's all it takes to make her moan. He clamps his free hand over her mouth, and says, "Make all the noise you want." The feeling is overwhelming, almost too good, the way he's touching her. It takes a shamefully short amount of time before she's coming, arching into one of his hands and crying out against the other. But somehow she doesn't feel sated, just tender, tense, and aching.
Sasuke uncovers her mouth, kisses her, and presses himself between her legs. She can feel his hardness as he rocks against her sex, sending a thrill through her with each blissful moment of friction. Sakura pulls at his pants, unbuttoning, unzipping, pushing the fabric down until his cock is free. She's beyond thinking of consequences now, doing as she wants instead of as she's told (for once in her life).
Sasuke picks Sakura up, pins her against the wall, and fucks her with all the pent up need of a man who has been waiting for years. His thrusts are deep and hard, but she's as wet as she's ever like to be in her life, and it feels so good she could cry. Sakura watches her lover's face, the sweat beading on his brow, the way his lips are parted on soft sounds, the hunger in his dark eyes. He drives into her like a man possessed, until she's so close that it nearly hurts, but in the sweetest way. Then she's over the edge, shaking, biting back a shout, and Sasuke lets himself fall with her.
He sets her to the ground, but Sakura's legs are almost too weak and coltish to support her. With trembling hands, she pulls up her underwear, straightens her kimono, smooths her long hair.
Sasuke fixes his clothing, his movements as shaky as her own. He won't look her in the eyes, doesn't say a word.
"Was that your first time?" Sakura asks.
He glances over at her and says, "Of course."
It relieves her more than it should that he hasn't been with some other woman. That he wanted her too much to slake his lust with anyone else.
Everything feels hazy, and her body sings with pleasure, but now Sakura's mind is racing, and all she can think of is Itachi, still downstairs, socializing. Her husband, just one floor away while she fucked his brother.
Sakura tells herself it won't happen again, that she only had a moment of weakness in the reading room. So many years of loving Sasuke left her foolish and reckless, but she learns from her mistakes and won't make the same one again. She feels sick with herself, so guilty she can barely stand it, and Sakura doesn't know how her husband fails to see in her eyes that she was unfaithful.
Her resolve holds until Itachi leaves for a two-week mission to the Lightning Country, and she's left alone in the house. She doesn't seek out Sasuke, but Itachi has barely been gone a day before he's shadowing her doorstep. Sakura lets him inside against her better judgment.
"What are you doing here?" she asks.
"I had to see you," he says. "To talk about what happened."
"There's nothing to talk about," Sakura says. She walks into the living room and closes the blinds, so nosy neighbors won't see that she's hosting Itachi's brother at ten o'clock at night.
"Nothing to—" Sasuke cuts himself off, angry, and walks toward her. So close that Sakura takes a few steps away, until she finds her back against the wall. He puts his arms on either side of her face, caging her in. "We can't just pretend it didn't happen," he says.
"What is it you want exactly?" Sakura asks.
"You," he says, and she has never heard Sasuke sound so desperate. "I want you, Sakura."
"Well maybe you should have told me that two years ago," she says, "before I married Itachi."
"What could we have done?" he asks. "Run away together? Thrown our clans back into war with our selfishness?"
"I don't know," Sakura says. "It doesn't matter anyway, because the choice is gone."
"No, it's not," he whispers, and now he's leaning down, kissing her neck. His breath is so warm against her skin, and his proximity makes Sakura tense all over. "You think I don't hate this?" he asks. "That I don't hate myself? Itachi is my brother, my only brother, and you're his wife. I know what the right thing is, but I just can't do it."
They barely make it to the couch before they're pulling at each other's clothes. She wants to see Sasuke naked, to touch every inch of his skin. There was so little time in the reading room that day, no privacy except what they stole.
Afterward, Sakura cries, and Sasuke holds her, strokes her back and makes soothing noises. "I love you," he says.
She wipes at her tears. "I love you too."
They're only brave enough to carry on their affair while Itachi is away on missions. Sakura goes to Sasuke's house, or he comes to her home. They close the curtains against neighborly curiosity and make love wherever they please: the living room, kitchen, study, guest room. Only the door to the master bedroom stays closed, because she refuses to take her infidelity into the bed she shares with Itachi. She can tell this bothers Sasuke, that there is a place she reserves for making love to her husband alone, but Sakura pretends not to notice his jealousy.
She lets him mark her however he likes, bruising and nipping her sensitive skin. Once he leaves, she heals herself, careful to erase each blemish; takes a hot shower, scrubbing herself clean under scalding water; and buries her attention in a good book to distract herself from the guilt.
It becomes a nightly ritual during the weeks her husband is away.