Unimpressed

It had been so...anti-climactic. After years of whispering and giggling and conspiring, she had expected some great battle to pry his mask off. Or at least use of a crowbar. Hell, half of her expected it to be stuck to his face - it had to be sticky after all the drinking he did through it. She suspected that he'd simply kept his appearance such a guarded mystery in Team 7's youth to amuse himself. He'd shown his face without hesitation to people he hardly knew and yet they, his team, weren't allowed the same benefit. Maybe it'd been some sort of unspoken challenge, an updated bell trial. Pull down the mask and win the prize!

None of them had ever succeeded.

After so long, she had simply just tucked away the hope of one day seeing whatever he hid beneath the fabric. Sakura surrendered, in so many words. Whatever was really under there would simply never live up to her fantasies of giant lips and pulsating warts.

Then, there was that pivotal mission. Just the two of them. Together. What a plot twist.

As casual as could be, in the middle of some backwater restaurant, he tugged his mask down and ate his meal like a civilized, sane person. And maybe it was because the situation was so terribly mundane, but she didn't find him too impressive. To be completely frank, she'd built up other imaginings of his lips, his nose, his chin, ones that didn't include unsightly blemishes or hideous scars. She wasn't sure if he met those expectations. Judging by how the waitresses stuttered and even the men had paused, she was the only one unfazed. Sensibly, he left the headband on; no sense in getting everyone in a tizzy over a red eye as well.

She stared at him a long time as he ate and he ignored her stare, eye toward his food. Finally, after a stretched silence, she laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed until he was forced to glare up at her for making a bigger scene than his face had - and possibly insulting his roguish good looks.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry..." She gasped, clutching her stomach. "I just realized what you've been hiding. You have the worst tanline."
That night, he laid her into bed as inevitably happens when a heterosexual man and woman spend entirely too much time together. It wasn't until he was in her, eyes meeting hers, brows furrowed, lips parted in heavy breaths, that she saw the true appeal of his facial features.

Undressing

Whenever Sakura removes his mask, she does it slowly and with relish. With the way she stops to study his face, running her fingers over the scars and creases, it's as if every time is the first time. Like no matter how many times she sees it, her mental and muscle memory just cannot compare.

Really, Kakashi doesn't see the big deal.

Then again, he treats her body in the same way. It's much more fascinating than his face and every time he uncovers it, inch by inch, he stops to touch and taste the attractions. There is a mole just to the left of her navel that floors him completely. He doubts anyone other than himself has ever noticed that faded scar on the underbelly of her arm. Absolutely no one else has seen the birthmark on her inner left thigh. She has a smattering of freckles across her back, pale but there.

If he brushes his fingers lightly over her stomach, she can't breathe. If he bites into her hip with just the right pressure, she breathes too hard. When she likes something, really likes something, he can't help but wonder in the way her body rolls and writhes, arches and bends. She moves in every right way, graceful even when she's clumsy and flustered. Her soap smells like any other soap, but she somehow wears the scent like perfume. No matter how many times he's seen her naked and panting, each time is as enthralling as the last.

Yes, he has a face, and it's not a face seen very often. But she has a body, a glorious body that is only his to know.