A/N:An oldie from the archives.
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After years of never noticing, she finally did. A lot.
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Hinata had always been noted as…the aloof one, when it came to Sasuke Uchiha.
Everyone seemed to have some sort of investment in his existence–
besides her, of course.
In the academy days, girls were chasing dark, overachieving and broody. Meanwhile, she was tip toeing around blonde, idiotic and loud.
His absence in the village hadn't affected how she personally experienced her world, and she presumed, three years after the great ninja war, that his presence once again would be much the same.
And with what stupor, time had contradicted her.
But honestly…
who could blame her?
No one told her he would look like that.
And no one told her he'd look like that so close to her own home.
She thought getting a small cottage right on the outskirts of the village was a good idea. She'd been considering leaving altogether, and wanted to get a taste of the isolation. The greenery was vibrant and healthy and thick—it was a great space for training too, and extremely personal and private.
For three years, after the war, the space had been solely and exclusively hers.
Until it wasn't.
And now, three years passed, the exclusivity of it was interrupted by frequent and common visits to the training ground from the tall, unlawful, mass of rugged perfection, and…
she had no complaints.
War, misery, pain…it was sick–twisted really–to even think it, but…it must become him, she thinks. It's the only way–awful as it is. Memories of spilled blood glean off the shine of his sweat, abhorrence of his slain enemies sings the tune of his katana slicing away at bark, unkept promises hike up his torso, into his lungs and are released out of his mouth like fire, with regret baring the sway to his jagged walk.
Then of course, the one feature Hinata had grown all too aware of…keen of, even…a hollow, depraved perversion, origins unbeknown to her, that which stretched at his lips when, on those rarest of instances, his eyes would pass over hers.
It was approximately four months into this strange symbiosis between them before she first saw it, and understood with wistful shame:
This was mutualistic.
Hinata had gotten too caught up, too entranced. Initially, it was true she'd been deathly wary of him at first; observing him only to ensure that he wanted nothing to do with or from her. She watched him adamantly everyday during those months, so much that she didn't even recognize the evolution occurring in herself: that her observations were quickly becoming less quantitative, worried about what times he'd come and how frequently, and opted for a qualitative approach–more concerned about what he'd work out, train for…and how.
And one day, after four months of denials, quietly stolen glances, subsequent feeble justifications and one especially torturous, lonely night passed, she irrecoverably forgot herself.
She completely missed the fall of her guard slipping off her backside as she'd been leaning too eagerly over the counter space into her wide open window. She missed the way her own eyes shamelessly followed his every movement over his flawless form, and the way they lidded seeing him catch his breath. She didn't at all feel the pinch of her own incisors gnawing with an itching fever against the flesh of her lip, or the healing and salivating moisture of her tongue to juxtapose it. She didn't cover her eyes this time, as he whisked his shirt to the forest floor nor did she resist as her attention became undeniably leashed to the image of a narrow, attenuated torso.
She allowed her mind to succumb to the trance of the flex and contraction of his body. Lavender paved its path along the journey in the curves of him–his biceps could cut diamond, his chest was chiseled by something divine–and paused at the apex of his backside-his tight ass pulled a small but yearning sigh, one of which, she of course, hadn't heard.
He on other hand, did.
He had to have.
Because the pause of him protectively wrapping his hands and wrists in gauze was routinely and always fluid, never has he stopped so abruptly, so suddenly. The image of him processing her over pronounced breath was a callous strike to rosy glass lens, shards falling from her mind replaced by the reeling brisk tundra of reality.
She could only do nothing. She couldn't even properly pick up the pieces to her own indulgences–it was too late. He'd found her eyes, and Hinata knew.
Opal was tainted with obsidian.
Eyes locked on his, she was all too aware of the racing of her heart, too sensitive to the moisture beginning at her head. She careully curled herself away from the window, tying her hands into the cage of her heart, focusing on the way her lungs embraced what seemed like scarce oxygen.
He'd began wrapping his wrists again, eyes still trained on her as he allowed his head to cock back with a surveying glance, less aggression than before. And then, suddenly…something foreign had befallen his face.
He shined twinkling teeth, stretched rusty muscles (they must be) around his mouth, pinching a dimple into one cheek, and displayed that perverse shadow of a grin for only her to behold.
The shudder that visited her was not quite the kick of fear before a gruesome battle-though it was dubious in nature, it was ridden with a certain rush she couldn't name-it was not birthed from her gut like that before a fight, but from somewhere deeper and…more concise.
What had made it even more strange for her was that just as soon as his attention locked onto her, it disengaged with a similar pace. Sasuke's face was unreadable, and he went right back into his training, as if unaffected, as if indifferent, as if…smug.
He knew.
Good god, he knew.
Hinata faintly recalled descending into a dramatic mood of sorts espoused from her own mortification, in which she'd been nearly hostile with him, but mostly avoidant. he never did anything differently though, continuing to come when he did, and doing what he would. It was she who soon came around on her own.
Within a few days of that incident, she had resigned from petty denials and adherence to former decency. She indulged herself, embraced what might come of it, until more time passed, a thought that wrestled with her had come to triumph.
Within a few weeks, she had basically opened her doors to him-literally. Windows open, doors slid open and unlocked. She'd begun doing her laundry and gardening the same time he was outside. Though, it was summer in Konoha so it made sense she might want more ventilation in the house. That's what Sasuke thought she might be telling herself. He didn't quite care when seeing how round her behind looked when she bent to place food out for strays. But other than that, they continued their relationship completely wordless.
Within a few months, she'd grown emboldened from lecherous eyes constantly clung to her hips as she carried out her regular duties, not caring that she noticed; sometimes she moved about her house after a hot shower, combing her hair by the window for the sole reason that the lighting was better of course, and she was always most comfortable doing so in her short towel.
She also didn't shut the window until she finished releasing all the tangles.
Hinata never usually had been sure of what his reaction was to that act-looking would be too obvious, not that she already hadn't been.
There'd been one time, Hinata fondly recalled–it was recent–he must've been on a prolonged mission, and he'd been absent for a small time. She'd been in her towel again, though merely out of habit now, and she was placing some food outside her sliding door as she usually did for the local strays when suddenly he appeared, as he usually did.
She can't quite tell how it happened, but at some point or another, he'd gotten close to her. Extremely close. His frame lined up before her, towering like an old but unmoving edifice. His scent flooded her nostrils–smoked sandalwood was settling in her mouth, and she could swear she began to salivate. His sudden appearance brought with him a pool of sweet tautness at her core that propelled her head first into journey of seduction. She traveled her glance up from the skin of naturally fawn chest, ornamented in scars, gleaning over the path of succulent flesh along his collarbone, imaging the friction from the stubble of his throat along her inner thighs before her chin pointed up. The death grip on her towel loosened, and whatever she was feeling within she allowed to be seen in her eyes.
Warm air brushed along her chest. Lust was the engine that mobilized her arms to begin deliberately unwrapping one side to her towel, electricity from her thunderous heart was her fuel. She enjoyed the rhythm of her own fear and adrenaline rocketing throughout her body as the Uchiha watched her, eyes low but attentive. Watching as his eyes glided over the valley of her breasts to the meander in her hips before they dipped below shreds of decency before flicking back to her, Hinata felt that delicious pull of knots instinctively with a zealous greed.
But that had quickly paled to when his skin made contact with hers. She had tried not to jump-his hand gripped her low, near her mound, and firmly at the side of her exposed hip, thumb doing laps over skin. If she hadn't known better she might've thought he was releasing small bursts of his lightning doujutsu to thrum throughout her body. His hand proved pivotal to their situation; his fingers pressed into her skin, slightly arching her hips closer to him, and he chanced a foot forward. An explosive heat viciously climbed from her gut to her chest and then throat, and she found herself swallowing for breath. She was biting her lip–her entire being, riddled in temptation.
She had only meant to give him a little show in unwrapping the less generous part to her towel, but God if looks could kill, and for the Uchiha, this was mere fact.
His head was tilted toward her now, his lips twitched pervertedly seeing her lust for him was stranglesome, and his head dipped to that luscious space behind her ear, exhaling warm, unfettered desire that reached her veins causing her to clench the fabric of the one side to her towel one last time.
"Drop it." His voice was illustrious, impossible to contradict. "Go ahead."
He was a serpent, that she should've known.
But reality had fallen down around them in shards. They both felt them-ANBU were coming for him. It was likely he'd another mission, and she made sure to step away first wrapping her towel back in the process. But when she took her first step she hadn't stopped, and turned for her sliding door, walking over the cats that had finally made their way there for her food. It was hot out, but that didn't matter, tearing herself from that friction would certainly be cold. She rubbed her neck of all the tension and the still beading eyes on her back. She had turned to close it, finding him still standing there-sexy and taut as hell before he'd disappeared again.
But that'd been weeks ago, whatever his business it's kept him away, and Hinata tried not to dwell on the fact that he came to see her(most likely anyway) between missions or that she hadn't stopped thinking about the day since, or that she unequivocally wanted to fuck him. Problem areas, those were, and she'd moved here to get away from those she chided herself, clipping dead leaves in her garden.
That alone, couldn't stop her of course. It was the epitome of unfinished business whether she liked it or not.
Because, shit–
God, she didn't even kiss him.
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A/n: Small tidbit, hope you guys liked it.
