disclaimer: i think everybody here knows sasusaku owns me.

Feel first don't fall.

We'll be running again.

She smells like borrowed perfume and her body hugged something expensive. Her lips tasted the expensive liquor they shared, her gloss cherry; hair pulchritudinous pastel pink, the eyes sea foam. Her perfume, he bathes in it, it intoxicates him, destroys his mind, he can't keep control, which isn't a surprise because she was Haruno Sakura.

Just like every other time, he is lost; in the curve of her back, the warmth of her nether lips. She tastes as sweet as she looks, the spring incarnate, the goddess he hears fairy tales about, his taste buds respond as he roams inside her, the tantalizing flavor he would remember for quite some time. She rolls her hips, the toes curl, her hands reach to tug in his hair. There's that look in her hooded eyes, her mouth chanting his name like a mantra to save her soul. His tongue rolls inside her, his fingers a sticky mess that he licks off, delicious. He doesn't miss her gasp when her erect nipples meet his, neither does he hold back his moans of pleasure when she finds him and has him in her palms. She wraps her pretty pink mouth around him and the burden of her sins increases which he gladly allows. With satin sheets between their sweaty bodies, their breaths mingle with each other as it comes out in small huffs. The smell of after sex lingers in the room while the smoke detector blinks red every few moments reminding them of time in that enclosed space. Their expensive clothes are a mess on the floor, his platinum watch ticking near five, the sky painting itself a brilliant shade of purple and pink, he realizes their ardor for themselves are the reason for their demise.

However, he can't bring himself to care, because in his heart of hearts he thinks better of the universe, he is secretly convinced that it is not such a slipshod, haphazard affair, that everything in it has meaning.

They had a meaning too.

So he memorizes the calm of her voice, remembers the trail of fire she seems to leave on his skin as she lazily drags her red nailed slender fingers along his back, the length of her hair, the softness of her skin. He learns how she fits under him, and how much of a goddess she looks over him. He hopes the sun doesn't rise soon, because he has yet to learn, so much to know, realize, but the sun breaks out at its usual time, and it was time that was never good to him. The moon was the only witness of them.

She had told him no feelings were to be involved and that they were only to feel. He knew he wouldn't fall, he didn't. So, he opted to paint a picture in his head, rather unusual and bright. It wasn't a sketch or an oil portrait of dark dejected colors that he usually found himself reaching, no, he somehow found himself reaching for colors, colors that were too similar to her, and paints her as he would paint a goddess. He paints her when he lets his thumb brush over in circles around her erogenous breast, her naked sex dripping with want for him. When his hand strokes her tender flesh and she writhes in pleasure, she looks beautiful.

He loves painting her like that because that's exactly how she looks.

He tries to imagine the tears in her eyes, the very first night she slept without him, and he was miles away, a few months late, but he couldn't, which is why he wants to steal her, lock her away and keep her to himself, but she wasn't his to keep.

She was always close enough just to smell the smoke in his breath, the caviar on his lips, the hard of his chest, the lust in his eyes, which lead her to hamartia, setting them up in a series of disastrous events in motion. She would savor his salty sweet skin from beginning to end with as much passion as he would ravish her. She had memorized every mundane detail of his body, he remembers as she had once told him. They played with each other in an inexorable rhythm, in which all they wanted was more.

It was a vile romance.

If he was to say, he would think they were a pair of nonclassical Romeo and Juliet, only they weren't innocent anymore. They had soiled secrets to tell, unblushing practices to indulge in during nightfall, only to run away when the sun hit the surface. She only knew him behind closed doors and he only knew her when she was in nothing but the sakura tattoo positioned underside her breast.

She would often ask him about his, the uchiha on his back, the snakes on his arms, the falcon on his shoulder, or the strange pattern at the base of his neck. He wouldn't answer her, really because he knew ways to shut her pretty mouth. A few moments later when her moans and his groans would fill the room, every other small talk was long forgotten, they were frozen in time, only to be consumed by each other, with the intensity with which they connected.

Sometimes when they had managed to satisfy themselves before daybreak, they would lather themselves with their tongues again in their bathroom, the soap forgotten. Skin against skin, her mewls against his shoulder, their skin raw from the hot water running over. In this state of euphoria, neither of them could decide who saw the headlights first, to reach their climax.

When the sun shines bright and it's time to say goodbye, only it isn't a goodbye because she has promised him forever, and forever's start right after the end.

"But why… we can't"

"Let's run away."

Uchiha Sasuke would like to think that Haruno Sakura was his roman holiday, a holiday he would like to reiterate every sleepless night.

tbc

a/n: the good news is, this is now multichaptered!

I could never let go of this au so easily ever since I posted this. Thought it was better off as a one-shot, but plot rabbits said no. To everyone who loved and reviewed badlands all this time, I love you. You all made me return to this. the second chapter that was previously posted still needs a lot of framework which I am figuring out as I write this, so hold on. :)