Hinata moaned in protest as Gaara suddenly removed his hand from her upper thigh. His fist was gripped tightly, so tight that his fingernails dug into his hand and drew blood. Gaara was so overwhelmed with the feel of her that he was almost trembling. He wanted so badly to just push her against the wall and press against her until he couldn't tell where his body ended and hers began, but Gaara knew that that could hurt her. So instead he slammed his palm against the concrete wall behind Hinata's head, and forced himself to gently guide her back so that she could rest against the wall.

Hinata was so short that she had to stand on her tiptoes, and lean into Gaara for balance. He was more than happy to support her weight, in fact, Gaara grabbed her thighs, and pulled them up to his waist so that her legs wrapped around him and her pelvis was pressed up against his penis. Hinata gasped. Every time either of them moved, they rubbed together. Hinata moaned with pleasure, and Gaara moved from kissing her lips to her neck because he didn't want to stop her from moaning by having her mouth otherwise occupied. God, he loved that moan.

Gaara jerked, broken out of his trance for a moment by that thought. He had never loved anything before. Ever. He didn't love killing, he needed it. He didn't love blood, he admired it. He didn't love his siblings, he tolerated them. The closest feeling to love he had experienced was for his gourd, and his lovely sand.

Then Hinata nibbled his ear and his thought process was stopped again.