She'd hesitated.
Never hesitate.
Commit even when you're wrong – that's what she'd always been taught. Look like a fool, but follow through. To stop part way only made you a bigger fool. The laughter said enough.
Now she was paying the price of her lapse. Her life, no longer hers.
The target she'd been sleeping for – tucked away in the corners of Konoha – waiting for the command. She would bump into him, speak blushing, then come onto him. He would refuse initially, but she was told he would be unable to resist her. He was a male, of course, and she had more than enough physical charm to sway any male's eyes, but he was also a frustrated male. They were the easiest, confused in their own ends, uncertain if they would ever be requited by their object of affection.
Perhaps object was the wrong word.
So it was supposed to be easy – weren't all things, though? Such ease. Yes, she would agree now, it was easy making him fall for her.
She'd spoken to him prettily, complained of her civilian lifestyle, admired his heroic actions, his difficult occupation. She'd seen death too.
He was the philosophical type, she'd learned from her brief surveys. He'd been easy to connect with, to talk about hard things. But he was also easily guided into casual conversation. After their first meeting, she'd taken every opportunity to slip double entendres into her words (perhaps she was still doing it). Sometimes, he was too dull to react or perhaps even pick them out – but occasionally, he would blush cutely.
She'd made it a point to eat bananas in front of him. To sit cross legged just in the periphery of his vision. To stumble into him, to let her white clothes become drenched by rain, to sit by him at lunch and detangle her long crimson hair.
He'd never remarked on her behavior. His initial words were stiff and short, but he was easy to read. In weeks he confided in her and in months it'd gotten easy to tease anything from his lips. He enjoyed their time together. He was so easy to fool.
Poison was the easiest method. There were tasteless kinds of poison that could kill instantly. She knew of his affinity, though. Poison would not work on him. His heart was too strong for that. Accidents could always be arranged, but she'd no illusions – she wouldn't just be walking away from this. A direct approach was decided as her only course.
Like her, he had been an orphan. Like her, he had faced immense social stigma. Like her, he'd become strong. Because of it. Naturally, he still lived in the time of his childhood. He still lived in his apartment – the one he had grown up in. It was poorly secured, the white wooden door was thin and held up by a single hinge.
He opened the door, stunned. His eyes travelled from her ankles to her face. She was a little disappointed he'd not bothered to look at her shoes – took forever to pick the right pair – but she supposed he could be forgiven for that. She had not worn anything like this before.
It was red and gold – the color of luck, passion, marriage. The dress came from her shoulders, leaving her arms bare, but covering everything down to her hips, where it tapered, giving him a full view of her legs. It was tight in the chest, so despite the lack of flesh, he did not need to imagine much.
She invited herself in with a smile. He stammered, asked what she wanted so late at night. Couldn't she just come to see him? No, of course not. We both knew that.
In her hand was a plastic bag. It suddenly drew his attention. She smiled and said, "Later."
Confused by such a statement, he pressed. Later? How much later?
Setting it down on the end table beside his couch, She turned gracefully and forced herself against him. Never before had she been so bold. His eyes widened. She pulled him down and kissed him.
Commit – she told herself. Suddenly, she realized, she was. Not in the way she wished, however.
She kissed him hard and drove them into a wall beside the kitchen. He responded slowly, growing confident after a moment of uncertainty. She laughed between kisses and he joined her. It was an odd feeling, laughing and kissing – there was nothing funny about this.
As one always does – she rubbed her thighs together unconsciously. Yes, it was still there, she reminded herself. The cold, metal weight.
"Karin–" he said with amazement, "What are we doing?"
A question perhaps she could not even answer. There was hesitation. Should she? Could she? She couldn't. It was wrong. She'd sworn to herself as old she could know what it mean to swear – she would never. And so far she'd succeeded. Success in failure, but it was still a kind of success... a miserable one.
She kissed away his words, taking his hands and putting them on her hips. That invigorated him. He kissed her fiercely and felt her, explored her backside. Tentatively, he went lower. When she melted into him, he grasped her roughly, kissing her with a passion she'd never seen before. Her lips already felt numb. She wondered if she could entice him to make his hands go lower and delve under the fabric of her qipao.
She moved her lips down to his jaw, surprising him. She found an ear and nibbled on it.
"Karin..." he mumbled, "We can't do this..."
She surprised him with her tone, "What if we want to?"
Was that a rhetorical question? Was he supposed to answer it? He probably didn't know. She certainly didn't.
But he did anyway – he was awkward like that, "Then we should... talk about this."
Talk? He wanted to talk. Such an interesting target – men did not talk. They spoke, they told others of their ideas, but it wasn't a reciprocal thing. He had an idea of her – it was that idea that fueled him. He spoke to that idea, responded to what that idea did, but it was all a construction. That's what Sasuke had done, that's what Orochimaru had done, that's what her father had done.
A divide between them. It was larger than he knew, so vast, and he wanted to talk? His words would get lost at sea. They'd bounce right back at him. He'd hear what he wanted to.
"I want you," she said, "You want me too."
It was always a matter of want. He wanted her – karin, the ideal woman. Not Karin.
He was large. She'd known that from her earliest survey. So it was easy to see how excited he was at the prospect.
She touched him, cupped him. He nearly jumped. But she stroked him, made him go completely rigid. He shivered and squirmed but she merely pointed out her arousal – told him what parts of her body were just as agitated as his.
He told her to stop, that he knew – knew what? It didn't matter. She picked up the pace, using her gentle hand to bring him to climax. He was still dressed, so he was completely embarrassed with what she had done. She just licked her lips and told him how sexy he was.
Feeling something like that, seeing whatever it was he wanted to see in her eyes – there was no way he could refuse her now. She told him to go to his room and wait for her. She was going to change.
He paused for the briefest moment before nodding. He wobbled into his room and shut the door. She teased him – he better not try changing his pants.
She went to her bag and opened it, removing fishnet undergarments and black nylon stockings. She giggled for the briefest moment
and removed her clothing to the buff, leaving her clothes strewn on his couch. She dressed, being careful to obfuscate the holster on her hip with the stockings.
She emptied the bag, taking two different bottles of lotion with her as she opened the door. Naruto hadn't been watching it, he was already mid-stride in changing himself, so when he turned around and saw her, he simply froze. Well, not all of him froze.
The light was turned off and the wall was at his back again. This time, he was not content being toyed with. After kissing, he picked her up and threw her on his bed, coming into her embrace, he touched and groped her, for the first time learning the pleasures of pleasing another.
They wrestled for dominance, touching each other in places... in ways neither had done before. She'd known what was done, but it was not as though she could have rehearsed. No, it was better she was not rehearsed in this – it seemed only more convincing that way.
She let herself be beaten. Tired of the game, at her sensuous suggestion, he placed himself at her. After making her give him a silly gesture of acceptance, he pushed forward.
It was... not what she had been expecting. Her heart was not strong enough to take such a feeling. But she bit her lower lip – she reminded herself. She was committed. With him buried in her, she rolled them over. Using her great flexibility, she straddled him with him inside. She was inside him in so many ways now – he was completely vulnerable to her attack. Her hand swept down to her thigh and pulled free a slender razored blade.
He was not shocked. Instead he stared into her eyes emotionlessly. His hands remained on the sides of his bed and she swept her hand down, bringing the edge to his throat.
She didn't hesitate. She never hesitated. She released the blade and let it fall to the current.
Heart in her ears, she heard it make a clattering sound on the shoddy wooden floor. Slowly, a smile spread across his lips. She sank down on him and... shivered. She wasn't cold though.
She woke up first. His legs were around her waist and one of his arms was around her neck. It was such an odd position but... she liked it. She felt herself heating up.
She disentangled herself and made breakfast. She supposed she would give him a chance. She didn't want to be a hypocrite anymore.
- - -
A challenge to myself: one-shot in an hour. No proof reading (except as I go), no major revising, just an hour straight. I think this turned out well, but thought are always appreciated.
I could always continue this too.