what we stole in the night

rating: m
genre: romance
pairings: inosaku
POV: Sakura
warnings: smut and indulgent character bits
other notes: written for Smut Monday: November 21 "Champagne (at midnight)"
word count: 2,105

They stumble home after the party, tipsy and giggling in their dresses after a night of fun.

"Fuck," Ino groans, toeing out of her heels. "I love these shoes, but after that long standing in them, even I have to wonder if beauty is worth the pain."

Sakura remains paused in the doorway, captured by the curve of Ino's spine as she stretches her arms above her head, the cascade of her hair shimmering softly in the dim light echoing into the entrance hall from the kitchen.

"Want me to fix that?" Sakura offers, stepping out of her own, much more modest heels.

Ino turns and slings her arms over Sakura's shoulders. "Mmm, yes please."

She drops a kiss onto Sakura's lips, and then saunters down the hall to the bedroom, the extra sway in her gait drawing the eye. Sakura hurriedly shuts the door and resets the traps, ignoring their mess of discarded shoes and bags to follow after Ino. Tidying up can wait until the morning.

She pauses again in the doorway of their bedroom. Ino has collapsed onto the bed, the skirt of her dress riding high on her thighs. She looks like a spill of champagne across their sheets: all blonde hair and pale silk and sparkling diamonds. Sakura feels drunk on just the image of her, laid out for her eyes only.

Ino flirts with everyone—teasing them with dripping innuendo and hooded bedroom eyes and pouting lips—but only Sakura gets her like this. Only Sakura gets Ino warmed with bedroom light glow, sporting slightly smeared makeup and a tangle of hair. Only Sakura gets Ino to keep.

Sakura might have to share Ino with the village that owns their bodies and their souls, but she doesn't have to share well. And so Sakura does her best to steal them back—their bodies and their souls—to keep all for herself; she presses soft kisses and bruising fingers to Ino's scars, hoards Ino's breathless laughter and gasping cries, wraps her greedy hands around Ino's heart and does her best to keep it safe.

Sakura is selfish and wanting, but it is Ino, and Ino has never tried to coax her into something gentler.

(It was Ino who taught Sakura to demand what she wanted, and—if the Universe wasn't willing to give her what she demanded—to take it and own it and never let it go. And Sakura has never felt less guilty for being selfish than when she has Ino spread out underneath her or hovering over her or wrapped around her.)

Sakura lowers herself to perch on the bed, and draws Ino's right foot into her lap, pulling just a drop of chakra into her hands, skating along the delicate ankle bones and instep.

Ino's moan at the first push of Sakura's thumb into her heel is a rich, dark sound that shivers through the night. Sakura continues, pulling more pleased gasps and groans from Ino's throat.

Ino has her hands fisted in the blankets and her head thrown back as she melts down into the mattress, pleasure pulling at her bones. By the time Sakura finishes Ino's left foot, she's reduced the blonde to half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks and near-desperate whines.

"Fuck," Ino moans. "Enough with the foot massage, get up here, Forehead."

Sakura smirks as she skates her hands up Ino's legs, chakra soothing the muscles on her way, only stopping when her fingers meet the silk doing little to protect any pretence of modesty. She toys with the skirt before finally pulling herself up to straddle Ino's hips.

Ino just stares up at her, that lovely, irresistible smile dripping off her lips, and Sakura has to dip her head down to taste it.

Ino spears her fingers through Sakura's short hair, pulling her further in, and they lose themselves in slow, decadent kisses. They take turns sipping from one another's mouths, a practiced give and take that nonetheless always leaves Sakura breathless.

Time bleeds, turning sticky amber in the soft glow of the warm lighting.

At some point, Ino flips them to leave her hovering over Sakura, but there's no urgency to it. They have all night.

(They have as long as they can steal from the Universe. They have forever.)

Kisses turn to caresses turn to dresses falling off of them like moonlight, interspersed with giggles and gasped.

When Sakura's dress has finally found itself flung off the bed into the scattered shadows along with her bra, Ino rocks back to admire her. There is no room for embarrassment here in the closed sanctum of their bedroom, not when there's nothing between them, not even secrets.

"Sakura," Ino breathes, her smile something softer and more sacred than her usual beguiling smirk, and she reaches out a hand to trace a line down Sakura's sternum.

Sakura had always resented her small breasts, until Ino and the way they rest perfectly in her palms. Ino drops to mouth at them, her lips looking almost plum with the remnants of the night's lipstick where they wrap around the pale pink of Sakura's areole.

"Oh," Sakura breathes, the slow burn of lust that has chased her through the night with every brush of Ino's skin against her own bubbling up into something effervescent and almost blinding. "Ino, please."

Ino takes her time paying her due worship, rewarding Sakura's rising pleas with teasing brushes of her fingers along her sides, the inside of her elbow, the length of her neck.

Sakura does her best to pay her back, but every time she collects her scattered thoughts enough to do more than grasp uselessly at Ino's hair, she gets distracted by Ino suckling a bruise into the soft underside of her breast or plucking with sudden viciousness at her nipple.

"Ino," Sakura pants, "I can't— I need— Please."

Ino pulls her head back, her bright blue eyes burning. Then she stretches up to drop a delicate kiss on Sakura's mouth. Sakura tries to chase her, but Ino holds her down with a palm to the hollow of her throat and gentle fingers spread across her collarbones.

"Watch," she commands. Only when she's certain that Sakura is staying put and doing as she's told does Ino trail her fingers down across the flushed skin of Sakura's chest, tracing spirals that skirt the edges of the scars on her abdomen. Sakura shivers, but stays still, and watches.

Ino lets her fingers tangle in the scrap of green lace Sakura is still wearing and tugs sharply. Sakura's hips buck at the sudden rasp against her slit, not quite enough, and then Ino dips her thumb down under the material to strum Sakura's clit.

"Fuck, yes. More."

Ino draws maddening circles and lines, never settling into a rhythm, and every time Sakura thinks that yes, there, just like that— Ino shifts into something slower, but no less heady.

"Ino," Sakura whines, "please."

Ino cocks her head, and she must be pleased with the wrecked mess she's turned Sakura into because she finally, finally slides one finger in her cunt and quickly follows it up with a second and then a third. It's almost too much, too fast, Ino harsh and demanding as she plunges the digits in and out, but Ino always pushes Sakura to the edge, and then a bit farther. Because she knows that Sakura can take it.

Sakura flutters around the perfect, lovely fingers curling into her, almost sobbing because she can't— it's too much— she's going to—

Ino leans forward, her fingers never stopping, and bites at Sakura's earlobe. "Now, Sakura. Come for me now."

And Sakura has never been able to refuse Ino what she wants, not really, and especially not when she wants the same thing.

Ino demands her orgasm, so Sakura gives it to her and shatters.

(Ino is Ino, though, and she may not be the healer that Sakura is, but it is always Ino who puts Sakura back together when she shatters.)

Ino coaxes her through it, fingers gentling, raining sparkling kisses over Sakura's face as she comes back to herself.

"Mm," Sakura hums, languid and buzzing with sated pleasure. And then she flips Ino, pulling a shriek of surprise from her. Ino is wide eyed, already mostly undone just from Sakura: Sakura's body and Sakura's sounds and Sakura.

Sakura will never get over how she can drive beautiful, untouchable Ino to this.

(Only Sakura gets to touch Ino in any way that counts.)

"Your turn, I think," Sakura promises, and she kisses Ino sweetly before slinking down, down, down to where Ino is bare and perfect and Sakura's.

And then when Sakura finally takes the time to really admire Ino's pussy for the first time that night, she has to turn and press her laughter into the inside of Ino's knee, because apparently Ino took the time this morning to shave the cropped blonde hair on her mons into an arrow, to guide Sakura down. Because on the occasions where Ino decides to forego subtlety, she tends to eschew it completely.

"I thought you might need a guide," Ino taunts, waggling her eyebrows. "You know, if you ever want to be able to give head as well as me."

And oh, that is a dare if Sakura has ever heard one.

Normally Sakura would take her time until the only sounds Ino can make with that smart, impossible mouth of hers are pleas for more, godsdamnit it Sakura, do it like you mean it. But tonight, she just wants to make Ino scream.

Sakura cups her hands under Ino's thighs and lifts her legs onto her shoulders, spreading her lovely, swollen labia majora with her thumbs, and then she licks up her slit. Ino tastes like heady wine and everything Sakura has ever wanted and thought she could never have. She drinks down everything Ino has to give: her taste and her full-body tremors and her greedy hands on the back of Sakura's head and her gorgeous, broken sounds.

Sakura suckles and slurps and laves and bites and hums her own moans of appreciation into Ino's skin. It's tongue and clit and teeth and lips and Ino's thighs clamped around her head. Sakura drowns in her, and doesn't bother trying to breathe.

When Ino finally orgasms, she arches off the bed in a perfect curve, and Sakura wants her to do it again, so she pulls one hand away from where it's been kneading Ino's ass, holding her hips up at the perfect angle for Sakura to devour her, and she presses two fingers into Ino's still spasming cunt. Then she drops her mouth back down and traces patterns on Ino's clit, fingers scissoring, until Ino comes again around her.

Sakura keeps her fingers curled in Ino's perfect warmth until Ino pushes her away, trembling with overstimulation.

"So," Sakura asks, propping her chin on Ino's sternum, "how'd I do?"

Ino pulls her up by her shoulders and licks her own juices off of Sakura's drenched face. "You'll do," she sighs. "I guess I'll keep you."

They trade lazy kisses until Sakura finally drags herself off the bed to get them some warm cloths with which to clean themselves up and a pair of overly large jōnin shirts to climb into.

They giggle as they drag almost too rough towels over still sensitive skin, but the effervescent lust from before and the earlier drinking and dancing and fun has left them with little energy to do anything else about the sparkling pleasure of teasing touches. Ino throws the towels to join their dresses in a tangled heap, waving off Sakura's protests with the promise that they'll deal with the mess in the morning.

"Sleep, Forehead," Ino orders, so Sakura subsides and leans over to turn out the light before nestling into the curve of Ino's body.

Ino pulls the covers up over their heads and presses a lingering kiss to the curve of Sakura's cheekbone, the tip of her nose, her chin.

"I love you," Ino breathes into her mouth with one final kiss, like a secret, like something only theirs and not belonging to anything beyond the boundaries of their bodies.

Sakura drags her fingers through Ino's tangle of hair and smiles into her temple. "Love you, too."

Slowly, they sink into dreams, wrapped together in blankets and warmth and darkness.

(They swore their bodies and souls to the village when they were young. But it was Ino who first looked at Sakura and saw something worthy and so it is Ino to whom Sakura entrusts her heart.)

FIN