It had been just the two of them for several weeks now. Long enough to grow accustomed to silences, mannerisms, develop a routine around each other. Long enough to travel over vast distances of the world and witness different plains, climates, cities, desolation. To see the other dressed up to the neck in warm layers and undressed to the degree of their base undergarments, it was all for the sake of practicality; it depended on the weather, the temperature, the elements, the tasks at hand. She did not bat an eye anymore at the sight of his muscular back or his bare chest. Her stare might still loiter, despite her internal scolding, around the band of his underwear occasionally visible above his pants if he did, in fact, go shirtless for a spar. Whenever she took notice of him in this way, she felt heat stir in a region of her body for which she was unable to offer assistance due to close sleeping quarters and lack of solitude. She knew what the feeling was, but she hoped it would pass and fade with time. But it never did.
In addition, as the days blended into the weeks aforementioned, notwithstanding his reclusive and introverted nature, the bed rolls that were unfurled at night also crept closer together, much like their evolving bond. She noticed this most recently, over the last twenty-four hours or so after a particularly rousing battle with rogue ninja who had attempted to overtake a village. The adopted mission had required abundant teamwork, collaboration, foresight, strategy, and no pair could work out a solution quite like them. After this specific success, it was as if some great, ancient dam that had already sprung several leaks, in the very act of crumbling, suffered an exceptionally fierce attack of crashing waves brought on by a persistent storm. Such obstinate tempests in this simile were their undeniable feelings, the dam was his guard, and the water that poured and gushed from the breaking wall was once a simmering curiosity – and now, more accurately, a boiling, broiling tumult of attraction.
That's the thing with adrenaline - coursing through the veins of young, beautiful adults who were confined, on the night this tale begins, to the cramped quarters of a cave. Adrenaline's symptoms last for a little while, post-fight. What is there to do with all of that energy?
Again, it was nightfall, and their bed rolls were flattened atop the ground, dinner consumed, job well done. There they were, seated before a fire, staring into the flames with satisfied expressions not unlike a post-coital glow. Was he aware that he had placed his roll so close to hers? Was this on purpose? An invitation? She didn't know, and would never ask him straight out. The first move was for him to make, she had decided long ago.
She was aware of the metaphor, too: gazing into the blazing fire of her desires that were felt more strongly tonight of all nights as she sat next to a handsome man who had been dropping hints here or there of mutual intrigue. If only he would do something, anything concrete. Her body burned for more than an "accidental" graze of his hand on hers, the proximity of his face when he spoke instruction or asked a question, his gaze that seemed to appraise her, all of her, first thing in the morning as she stretched her stiff limbs and bid him a raspy good morning – the very same gaze he also utilized on some nights, like tonight, that bore deeply into her eyes but also perused elsewhere below her chin and further yet. She could only guess where he was truly looking; only he knew where.
With nothing left on their schedule and no more light in the sky, this usually signaled the time for sleep.
"I'll try to get some rest," she offered quietly, amicably after a relatively wordless period.
"Ah," was all he offered, but when he acknowledged her with a turn of his head and an affectionate glance, it was more than an adequate response for her. He made her insides flip and twist from the simplest gestures.
She peeled the cover of the bed roll toward her, and with her back to him, she unbuttoned her shirt; she did this most nights when they were in a warm climate. Perfectly normal. Surely, he was used to her body by now, like she was (mostly) used to his. Her cheeks weren't even flushed from the action, it was so ordinary for her.
Strange, how she felt eyes upon her that night, but she did not turn around to verify her suspicion. However, she trusted her Shinobi instincts, and thus she wondered why Sasuke was watching her back diligently enough to command the fine hairs on her body to rise.
Nevertheless, her routine resumed. She shrugged the shirt off and folded it in her lap. Then, she removed her medical belt, apron, thigh-high stockings, and wrist guards; this left her compression garment, skimpy cropped black shirt, and matching black shorts. The compression top was strapless and came with a zipper down the side, an article which she preferred to take off at nights to allow her body to breathe. Accordingly, leaving the small black top in place, the zipper was pulled undone, and the relief was immediate. A small puff of a sigh escaped her as she felt her breasts freed and her stomach unrestricted. The garment was folded along with the rest and set aside. With a forced yawn she crawled on all fours until she could turn and slither her frame underneath the shelter of the bed roll. Only then, with her body concealed and head atop the small built-in pillow did she sneak a glance at her comrade. The dark outline of his body against the fire's orange radiance showed that he was contemplating the fire. Sure, you are, she mused, mouth curving into a grin. Now you are, more like.
"Good night, Sasuke-kun," came the typical nocturnal wish from the rosy-haired woman.
He said nothing in return, which was unusual. While not exactly a man of many words, he would normally offer a curt snort of acknowledgment at the very least, but tonight he had only offered her some uncomfortably long stares that made her squirm.
She never asked him for more than he was willing to give, hence she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come. Despite the yawn from moments ago, however, sleep would not capture her consciousness yet. The buzz from the battle lingered.
Fingers drummed on her stomach, the limb tucked next to her side underneath the cover. She wiggled in the bed roll a little, attempting to find the right position of ease. Her hand sifted through her hair, collecting it, casting it to one side of the pillow, out of her face and off of her neck. She tried a few deep breaths, tried tuning into various areas of her body and relaxing them one at a time – nothing. Annoying, as he would say.
"Not tired, right?"
Her eyes opened at the sound of his low, velvet voice. She stared at the cave's ceiling as she answered quietly, "I guess not."
"Me neither," he mumbled.
"Do you want to keep moving? I can get dressed and pack up-"
"No, this is fine. Relax, Sakura. Sleep will come eventually."
"Okay, Sasuke-kun. You're right. I guess I'm still excited from the fight." Her eyes shut again.
"Ah," he murmured, which made her giggle lightly. "What?" he inquired. By the rustle of fabric and shuffled movement upon the earth, she knew without looking at him that he had rotated to face her.
"Nothing, sorry," and smiled apologetically at nothing while her eyelids remained shut.
She wondered, what is he looking at now? Where is he looking? Her fingers fidgeted under the roll.
At the sound of a snap! she opened her eyes and searched for him; what she saw elicited a blush and made her promptly shut her eyes, for he sat atop his knees, pointed in her direction, and while he stared that haunting, heat-inducing stare at her, he was removing his cloak.
She cringed inwardly at her reaction but hoped he would ignore it. He didn't; he chuckled faintly but audibly at her.
Her mouth, nose, and brow scrunched disgruntledly as she peeked at him again between fluttering eyelashes. "Yes?" she managed an albeit embarrassed inquiry.
He was sans outerwear now, hand resting on folded leg, observing her with a smirk of his own. "'Nothing. Sorry.'" He openly mocked her, though he kept his tone neutral, the dig at her expense subtle.
She watched him watch her, but it became too much when he slowly brought his lone hand to his mouth and his teeth caught the end of the fingerless glove. Her eyelids shut him out again, and her face flushed more in spite of herself.
A soft plop! marked the glove hitting the ground. Something feels different, she mused as her fingers fiddled with her shirt. Is he still staring at me? What if he is? I can't look at him again, though. I'm being obvious. Don't look at him.
One eye, this time, caught a small glimpse of him through the tiniest crack between her lids. Her heart somersaulted when Sasuke, with his eyes glued to hers, slowly stood on his knees and moved to undo his belt, snaking the leather strap incrementally out of its loop. She couldn't help her red-stained cheeks or the twitch of her mouth or the expansion of her chest as she struggled with her oxygen levels. He's… undressing in front of me. He's undressing and smiling and doing it deliberately. What is happening?!
"I see you, Sakura," he whispered darkly, and her hands shot out of the bed roll to cover her face.
"Sorry!" she hissed between lightly trembling fingers, her arms dotted with goosebumps.
Clink! went the metal as the belt met the cave's floor. "It's fine," he murmured simply.
No! No, it isn't?! It absolutely isn't! What is going on! With the most determination she could drum up, she resolutely kept her eyes sealed shut as she rubbed her face in frustration and ran her hands through her hair once more.
Oh. Oh God. That was the familiar music of his shirt being stripped from his body, which, again, under normal circumstances, would not make her skin blister and insides sizzle like it did now. She refused to look at him; rather, she looked back at the darkness of her own eyelids and let her arms rest around her head, splayed, palms upturned toward the ceiling. Little did she know how enticing that position was.
With another pop! and z-z-zip! down his trousers traveled until they, too, pooled at the base of his stance. She swallowed.
"Are you alright, Sakura? You look feverish," he remarked offhandedly as he was rustling, shifting, doing something for which she dared not sneak another peek.
"I'm fine," she muttered, "it's just warm in here. The fire is too large."
By the sounds of it, to either her great comfort or despairing dismay, he crawled within the embrace of his bed roll. "The fire will die down soon enough," he said.
Tempted to look at him from the corner of her eye, she instead turned upon her side, away from him, and opened her eyes to the flickering light and the sight of their collective lumpy shadows cast upon the cave wall. While not as tantalizing of a sight as a disrobed Sasuke, it was lulling imagery for her hyped senses. She heaved a sigh and invited her limbs to relax once more. Seconds passed by as she heard his legs swishing around in his bed roll; Sasuke found his own pose for slumber, then there was no other sound that existed between them apart from the crackling of the fire.
She smiled dreamily at their silhouettes and after a while, she drifted, eyelids drooping naturally, until sleep eventually enveloped her.