Chapter 4: Red raging fire
She felt the cold before the rising heat in her chest. She was so cold, she couldn't breathe. Unable to move, it felt like drowning. But when something started clawing inside her chest, as trying to tear her apart, warmth flooded her. Again, it was so hot she couldn't breathe. It felt like drowning into lava.
Maybe she was, she couldn't tell.
She was conscious, hyper aware of her surroundings, still she couldn't even twitch. She could feel the cold air on her body, contrasting with the burning wave inside of her. The atmosphere was heavy, humid. She could hear from afar running water, it was a continuous flow, like a river.
In her state of total awareness, she could feel everything, from the faintest sounds, to the sweat clinging on her skin. Yet, she couldn't move, at all, as if trapped inside her body, a dark veil cast upon her eyes. Perfectly lucid, Sakura started assessing the situation. The last thing she remembered was an intense pain in her back. Something happened to her, there must have been a fight. And now, she laid, most probably wounded, somewhere damp, and near a water source. The pain she was feeling anchored her to reality, however it was threatening her lucidity. It felt like a searing knife was plunged deep into her stomach, gradually pumping blazing fires into her chest.
Too intense, so strong. She was certain the muffled noises she was hearing were only crafted by her mind. It sounded like people talking, she couldn't tell, she thought her imagination was playing her tricks.
But she wasn't.
Few feet from the futon she was lying on, two women were engaged in a heated conversation, more of an argument. Their voices were low, as fearing something, maybe waking Sakura, or someone.
"Obasan you shouldn't have accepted at all!" A young woman uttered, her brows were set in a deep frown, clearly upset "If she dies, Kami only knows what he'll do to us." Even if her words were full of certainty, they were barely heard, as a mere murmur traversing the room, tainted with fear.
"I wouldn't let a person die when I can help her." The older woman, way older - her wrinkled features and grey hair attested to it – replied, this time with more confidence, calmer.
"But you're barely a healer!" The brown haired girl couldn't keep her voice from going up. Outrage etched on her face. "You should have said that you can't do anything for him, he would have left." Her shoulders slumped as she dropped a blood soaked cloth on the floor, "Obasan, if she dies we're finished."
"She won't."
"But obasan look at her" At that point, Tamaki was fuming, the pink haired woman was so pale she seemed to be one with the white futon she was lying on. Her lips took a violet shade and she was barely breathing. From afar, she looked dead, waiting for her body to be taken to its final home. She seemed so hollow, the younger woman couldn't look at her.
"Go clean the wound, it has already been six hours"
Sighing, Tamaki grabbed from her left a basin filled with hot water and a clean towel. Sakura was lying at the centre of the room where the light from the moon shone upon her, enhancing her paleness. Madara insisted on putting her there, he said something weird about it, something about how she loved the moon. Carefully removing the yellowish sheet covering her, Takami observed as her chest barely rose. Untying the bondages, she unravelled the wound, it was just below her breasts, in the middle of her abdomen. Raw and red, but thankfully not bleeding, the cauterisation worked well. Soaking the white towel in the burning water, she slowly started pressing it on the closed gash, working delicately and meticulously.
They were having their afternoon tea when they heard a sound like a blast coming from outside. There, they were met with a man holding a small woman in his arms, both surrounded by a dark blue hue. Tamaki didn't need to see his swirling eyes to know who he was. Even in Sora-ku words came of the God of Shinobis, the last Uchiha. And even if she never met him, her Obasan did. At a tender age, still, she could remember everything about him. When the older woman bent in a deep bow, she followed suit, bowing as far as she could in a sign of respect, submission.
Yet, he didn't seem to care. When she straightened up, she noticed how tense his stance was. And how tightly he was holding the body against him. Cradled against his chest, face buried just under his shoulder. Wearing a blood red kimono that seemed to be made from the richest of materials, yet most of it was torn and burned. And when her legs should have been covered with the finest of stockings, they were dangling from the man's arms, bare, covered with gashes. The woman's face was well hidden in the strong hold of the Uchiha, but her hair was falling around them, greatly contrasting with the navy blue of his shirt. Seeing it was a great shock for Tamaki, in her twenty years of life, she only ever met a person with that shade of hair.
And she wasn't the only one. Nekoba's legendary calm slipped when she gasped at the sight of the pink hair. Still, she could only stand and watch as Madara Uchiha came forward, addressing her with a voice so strong, so powerful, it made her head bend instinctively.
"I need you to heal her" were his words, compelling, commanding.
Although the old woman could barely mend minor injuries or heal a cold, she led him to her room. When he laid down the pink haired woman upon the large futon, she quickly cut out the blood soaked clothing around her. The sight of the burnt and blistered skin made her gulp, how hard must it have been to do that. But when she looked at him, the impassiveness of his face didn't show the apprehension he felt at the moment. Lifting a glowing hand to the scarred stomach, her eyes widened at the extent of the damage. An expression that didn't escape the sharp eyes of the Uchiha patriarch.
"What can you do?" even though his tone was calm, she couldn't help but feel nervous because her answer wouldn't be at his liking, or at least that's what she thought.
"Nothing" she replied with a shaking voice, avoiding his hard gaze, "however, there is something you can do Uchiha-sama." She continued, slowly raising her eyes, meeting his. "Her seal, the way it works, is that it feeds on chakra" Madara's stare was intrigued, wondering how the old woman knew Sakura. "I think, if we give it enough chakra, it will be restored. It's unique, once it's formed it never truly disappears. And when it will be restored, it will start healing her, it's a sort of automatism."
Slowly, Nekoba started removing Sakura's ruined kimono, undressing her. Unravelling her blood covered chest. As if on cue, the dark haired man delicately lifted her upper body, allowing the garment to be discarded completely. And the old woman saw how those hands, rough and hard, softened when met by the reddened skin. Accustomed to the touch, of a lover.
Although, even with that knowledge, pronouncing the next words was difficult, she feared his wrath. Because she knew how the Uchiha clan was, what they valued most and how protective they were of themselves and their power. She dealt with them her whole life, and even when they were massacred, she still encountered the rare few members alive. Thus she had only expected the worst when she made her suggestion.
"Uchiha-sama" she said, voice and head low, unable to look at the man in front of her, "You need to give her your chakra."
Clearly she was wrong.
She truly expected the roof to explode over her, to be crushed underneath rocks, or hit by thunder. What she said was bold, undeniably. It was blasphemy to say that to an Uchiha. How could she? The sacred clan valued their power and essence so much. Asking of an Uchiha to share his chakra with an outsider was utterly insulting. And when she thought she couldn't experience more surprise in her life, she was shocked to see the man lift his hands to Sakura's chest, just above her heart.
When rough skin met soft skin, and the first wave of chakra hit her, her body arched, chest lifting from the mat, her breath heaving and hitching, it was hot, too hot.
It felt like fire going through her, dark red fire. Uchiha fire. It burned. Went through her, destroying everything on its path, making her feel so truly alive. Bringing her sanity back, with it, a sudden flow of images. They flew through her mind, as strongly as the fire in her.
As if a dam broke, she could only watch as Madara's fire brought forward what she put aside.
His fire was familiar, Sakura was so intimate with it, she knew it oh so well. And it was always so red.
When dawn flooded her bedroom with red hues, she was still lying on the futon, curled up, clutching the beige sheets on her chest. She hasn't moved since he left, she couldn't. She could only watch as the night sky disappeared, dismissed by the early sky, as it broke into a million shades of crimson. Lying on her side, facing the slightly opened window, she could feel the morning breeze as it went from her arms to her damp neck, as it caressed her face. Sakura embraced its bitter cold, relishing on the numbness it provoked.
At least her body was numb.
At least that part of her was numb.
The rising of the morning sky brought up the noise of the city, breaking the heavy silence she found solace in. Sighing, she slowly rose from her warm nook, still clutching the sheet on her chest, protectively, as a shield. The usually blank room was now plunged in a mixture of reds, pinks and oranges. Tinted by the flaming sun. From where she was standing she could see the red stained futon, and she thought how red looked beautiful on beige. Hesitantly, she dropped the cloth around her, extending her arms, lifting her hand to meet the warm sun rays, she observed as its light covered her skin, tainting it with its deepest shade.
She thought how red looked beautiful on her skin.
Walking through the room, crossing it without sparing a look to the discarded clothes on the floor, she went to the bathroom. In the reflection of the old mirror, she contrasted greatly with the blue tiles. Her usual porcelain skin seemed to have absorbed the red light. The pink of her hair enveloped her nicely, its shade complementing her skin. Complementing the mauve spots on her neck, on her breasts, on her stomach. And her hips.
Her hips still remembered the touch of his fingers, his soft and rough caresses. They still held the form of his hands as he slowly pulled her to him, as he harshly plunged into her, gently, ruthlessly. Putting her hands on top of the violet marks, she marvelled at how it hugged the curve of her, how it matched his imprint on her.
The woman in front of her looked beautiful. The glow of her skin matched the glow of her eyes. Eyes reddened, still holding the familiar strain she was used to. For a moment, for a night, she forgot. But the numbness never lasts.
The woman in front of her looked beautifully stained.
The red on her, although it looked fitting, was wrong. It felt wrong to the point her heart ached so much she couldn't feel the soreness in her limbs. It hurt to the point she couldn't feel the burning water raining on her. And even though she kept rubbing her skin, the red never disappeared, it only increased, enhanced. It was wrong. The deep red stain on the inside of her tight was wrong. All of it was wrong.
Yet, her heart, her soul wanted more, so much more.
Under the hot mid-July sun she wore all black, hiding her red tainted skin.
The tension was so strong she thought it could materialize. But while she stood as stiff as a rock, everybody else was oblivious of her predicament, or theirs. She couldn't know, not when he looked as unfazed as ever.
God she hated it. That look. A look of total boredom. His eyes were hard, they always were, however they so usually carried a certain air of nonchalance, specific to him. And to make it harder, the way he was sitting, a hand under his chin, the way he carried himself, it all infuriated her. She hated it.
Maybe not so much.
Yet, here she was, sitting around a black oak table, cladded in black, every darker hue on her thoroughly covered, hiding from the world what was only hers – theirs – to see. Hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, shoulders square, chin high, gaze harsh. Her gaze was always so harsh. It was a matter of maintaining appearances. She had to, it was her way of remembering who she was, what she could do. It was her way of resisting.
Sakura Haruno, the only surviving Senin, the last Senin. That's what they called her. And she needed it to be that way, recognition, gratefulness. It slightly appeased her guilt. Especially after that night.
She sat among the other heads, drowned between them. Still, she had an open view of him, at the head of the deep wooden table. And he didn't look at her once. She would have felt his gaze on her. But even after a whole hour, sitting in the same restricted space, he did not. And like every perceivable thing about him, she hated it.
The tension was palpable, but only on her part she thought.
However, she was as still as steel. Her face as hard as ever, she listened carefully to all the reports, even took notes. And even when his voice pierced through the room, demanding, unforgiving, she kept on with her act. Her fingers were so steady – when she was so burning; the pride and joy of all kunoichis, she certainly would have done great in those filthy undercover missions.
When it was her turn to speak, she stood, calmly, and she reported. About how the hospital was running smoothly, how the staff was taking on her methods, the fact that they were rapidly learning the new techniques. She mentioned the last heart surgery she performed – those were her specialty – the fact that the technique she applied was revolutionary to modern healing, and the fact that its success was a huge step, not only for the field, but also politically. As the head of her department, she had to start taking this into account. Thus, she naturally went on about how the budget was efficiently used. No more loopholes in the system, every single penny had a purpose, she looked over the accounts herself. She even made different suggestions about how to use the budget surplus, the main one was a children's clinic.
And finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she sat back. Her fingers, reaching for the glass of water at her right suddenly halted. She could feel the air burn between them.
When she felt his eyes on her, for the first time after the last time, she burned.
Under his gaze Sakura felt as naked as the day she was born. A part of her was convinced that the skin under her shirt was red, smoldering. If she acted on pure instinct she would have already been trying to calm the fire burning in her, through her, on her.
It was devastating.
Tentatively, she lifted her eyes. A pang of fear enveloped her heart, searing through her stomach. No, she wasn't afraid of him, rather of the effect he had on her. She needed the control, she needed to maintain her facade. She couldn't waver in front of the council, in front of others. So, when their eyes met, here, in a room full of others, she was utterly scared of her own self.
For the first time since that night, that morning in the reddened walls of her apartment, she looked at Madara. How cruel of him to make her go through that, here of all places.
Because even though she had countless nights to remember, the way his large hand grasped her thighs, how it wrapped around her neck, how it pulled her hair back. Even though she could still feel the way his fingers went from her mouth, traced the space between her breasts, touched her, caressed her core. Even though her skin was still reddened from his bites. Even though, even though, even though.
When she met his dark black eyes, as dark as onyx, she still could see it and feel it , all of it, over again, as if it was carved into her brain. His eyes were so dark, it was as if they were mocking her.
She didn't need his red eyes to remember how he so effectively burned himself through her, in her.
He didn't need his red eyes to remind her.
Yet, while this whole ordeal took place inside her head. While her eyes undoubtedly displayed it. His, never betrayed the way he could also see it all, again. Never his gaze betrayed how he remembered the way he took her a fortnight ago.
When he came to her that night, she was waiting for him.
Of course she was.
How could she not, when her whole being was burning?
Even the coldest shower couldn't calm that feeling. Solid flames running through her veins, blood scorching, skin blazing.
Sitting under the icy water, she held her head between her palms, elbows on her knees. On the frozen tiles she sat, trying to gather her thoughts, submerged by the heat.
Oh how one's mind can be twisted.
She didn't realize, how much she missed it, his touch. How much she wanted it, how much she needed it. Until, his gaze landed on her, again, serving as a reminder.
For two weeks, she did all but think about it, about him. Apart from those lonely nights, after a long shift at the hospital, when her mind was too tired to block the images. She buried herself under work, taking more patients, avoiding her apartment, just so she wouldn't think about it. And she had done it so well she almost convinced herself that she didn't want more, of it.
The inner turmoil was just too much. She couldn't think about it, she didn't have the strength to do so. Not when she knew how much it would hurt her. That deeply anchored guilt. She couldn't help herself, even if she knew how much at last, even he, didn't really have a say in all of it.
Yet, her conflicted mind couldn't give it up, the guilt, the resentment, the loathing.
Not so much towards him, equally towards her.
Yet, it still missed, desired, craved, wanted, him. His touches, his caresses, his breath. All of him.
But now, on her shower floor she realized that this was past simple desires. The want was vital.
Sakura, just with a single look, realized how foolish it was to try avoiding the unavoidable.
All of those purplish yellowish fading bruises and the red raw marks, awoke, throbbed and called. As if recognizing him. And they did, they demanded him.
How foolish it was to try denying the rawest of all wants.
Sakura wanted Madara, beyond rationality.
When he came to her again, Sakura was waiting for him.
Eagerly.
Facing the large window of her bedroom, she watched the sun slowly ascend beyond the horizon, flooding the room with deep dark light. Dusk painted the walls red.
Slightly leaning outside, she inhaled the heavy summer air, at that time of the day it was warm without it being unbearable. It enveloped her, adding to the deep anticipation that settled in the pit of her stomach.
He truly was the God of shinobis.
Even if she knew he was coming, even if every single fiber of her was waiting for him, ardently, she only felt him behind her when his breath met her neck. Yet, she didn't move. Patiently, looking at the red summer sky, she waited, for his touch.
When his cold fingers landed on her, it felt as if finally she could breathe, as if she had been deprived from it. His body behind hers was comforting, his presence was a relief.
He moved slowly, as if savoring the feeling of her skin. The touch of his finger on her neck was so light she had to fight the urge to lean back, pressing for more. However, she resisted, waiting for him. When he found the particular spot under her jaw, the red one that still didn't fade, he lingered on it, his thumb going over it. She couldn't help the shiver that went through her.
Facing the opened window, she couldn't see his face as his fingers drew a line from her barred neck, slowly caressing the length of her arms. She looked at the setting sun as he pushed the right strap of her gown off her shoulder.
Sakura was waiting for him, she wore red.
When his lips landed on that same shoulder, her resolve shattered. God how she wanted them on her. Leaning back, her back meeting his chest, she exhaled, releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding.
Every single moment with him felt like eternity.
As his mouth pressed a kiss on the base of her neck, his hand slowly pushed down the red fabric. And she could only savor the feeling of his rough palm on her barred stomach. The same hand that went down and discarded the last of her garments. The same hand that traced a path from her hips to her neck, gently enveloping it, his thumb returning to that red spot.
Standing naked in front of her opened window, she couldn't see his smirk as he looked at the mark he left a fortnight ago.
Pressed against his front, she could feel the fabric of his clothes. This time, he didn't wear his armor. He didn't need to. The battle was won.
She didn't dare turn when he stepped away from her, she kept her eyes on the reseeding shape of the sun, it was nearly gone.
Never has eternity felt so insufficient, so fickle.
When he came back to her, she could feel his bare skin against her back, and his cock against her ass.
God, how she wanted this.
Again, his lips met her neck, and this time she finally moved. Tentatively, she raised her hand, curling her fingers in his hair. Leaning back against him, her other hand met his over her stomach.
God, how she missed this.
At that moment she thought about the image they made. In the room flooded with red light, in front of her opened window, facing the red dusk sky, they stood naked, her red gown pooling around their feet, her hair flowing between them, he holding her, she embraced between his arms. They truly looked like lovers.
Exhaling, she finally turned, facing him. Like everything else, his eyes were of a deep dark red.
Never has she loved red more than then.
If want was a color, it would be the same shade as his eyes.
When she looked at those eyes, she burned for him.
If want was a color, it would be the same shade as his burning red raging eyes.
That night, when he took her under the fading red sun, she claimed him as much as he claimed her.
Sooooo, hi, hello everybody.
Well it has really been a long time. I must say, when I first thought of taking a break, I didn't expect it to be so long... But life gets lifey so here we are 9 months later, with - finally - the fourth chapter!
I have to give a deep big thanks to the amazing Sarcasticmommy, I think if she didn't remind me that this story actually exists and that some people actually like it, I would have just left it as it is. And also she did an incredible job at going over the first chapters of this (which honestly was really much needed), her beta work is so thorough and great, she's a savior! Also, I want to give huge thanks to the one who made me fall in love with Madasaku, our favorite author, the one and only: Ollia. Her stories are a forever source of inspiration for me, and her insight makes everything fall into place.
Anyway, I would love to have all of your insights, the way you're feeling about the whole thing, or your favorite scene, sentence, whatever, just having a feedback is amazing (a real source of motivation AND joy), so go crazy on those reviews, it's getting vital at this point!
Hope you enjoyed xx