The Last Ones Standing

Chapter 15

AN: In the second half of this chapter there is a section, that I would like to dedicate to the artists that draw smutty MadaSaku (lol, you'll see why when you get there), and most prominently to Yomi-gaeru who was the inspiration for that scene. Dear Yomi-gaeru, this is for you! Also, Jingmcastle - what you drew for me looks *exactly* like what I described. I don't know how you did it, I swear you must have been reading my mind, because this scene was written months ago.

He wanted to howl. Sometimes he just really wanted to howl.

Well, he didn't. He ran his hand across his face, and grabbing a despondent, sluggish Sakura firmer at the elbow, he jumped. Away from this world that was just a disappointment in a promising package. An embodiment of all good, peaceful and serene that they could never have.

The beautiful honeycomb – as alluring as honey inside it and yet spiked with treacherous poison. Both for her and for him.

In the next dimension they needed to stop – it was lush and habitable again. After several Susano'o's flights they failed to find traces of Sakura's teammates (or any intelligent life, for that matter), but they found themselves at a bank of a mountain river. A river full of fish that were jumping over the rapids and small waterfalls, rushing upstream. And, the fish looked surprising like the once he knew from home.

Madara glimpsed at Sakura. All energy was gone out of her, over the last few days she never smiled. The habitable cluster will soon end and there will be only voids, empty, black plains and his own splendid company. Not a combination that would help her recover.

"Let's stay here for a while. I want to catch some fish. And smoking them right away would be a good solution for storage."

"Isn't it a waste of time?" questioned Sakura, but her voice lacked the bite.

"There are no dimensions in the vicinity of our one with so easily accessible meat. And anyways it's only game, not fish," he paused and looked at her. She looked so fragile. "I might be remembering it wrongly, but my mother used to say that fish are good for strong bones. And I like fish," he added in an afterthought.

Sakura nodded. "You never said you did…" A small smile finally graced her features.

"I will need some time here. Couple of days at least. Why don't you do a hike or something," Madara nodded towards neighbouring mountain peaks – they were steep but still grassy save the very tops free from vegetation. "The view should be quite spectacular from up there."

She wasn't the only one who needed a break. He didn't know if he could handle her permanent presence at the moment.

Unpacking the woodworking tools – he needed to make a fishing rod – he almost chuckled. Now he understood why married men so often went fishing. The allure of being away from one's wife, with a reason the said wife couldn't complain about, was just too transparent now.

Madara needed some time alone.

Seeing her face drop at his sight, there, at that market, ranked rather high on the list of memories he didn't want to return to. Pity that it was fresh in his mind. Because it was returning – with frequency of several times a day.

He had to admit that it wasn't only the seeing her suffer was what was hurting him. It wasn't all so altruistic and noble. He felt rejected. Inexplicably, he felt disappointed.

In the deepest, most inaccessible corner of his heart, he wanted her to smile that way at him. That she would come to him, smiling like that, with no barriers between them.

This realization puzzled him. He managed to live his entire life, a long life, for a shinobi an extraordinarily long life, without desiring recognition. Sure, he did have those proclivities when he was still young; the miserable remnants of those still rattled in him during Konoha foundation. But afterwards? His entire adulthood he never wanted anyone's attentiveness, anyone's validation. The realization that now he did, would have even shamed him, if he hadn't been as trained in accepting the wild jolts of fate as he was.

Madara shook his head with astonishment – he never thought that gods have something like that for him in store. Facing and reigning in his resentment was a daunting task, but the last thing he wanted to display in her presence were some pitiful attempts of monopolizing her attention. Still, that will be a thorny path to follow.

Pulling another fish out of water he laughed – that was for sure divine punishment – to develop such feelings and be given the task of delivering her to her future. To the future without him. Madara hummed in approval. That was a fitting punishment.

Madara packed the six fish he caught today into a basket and headed to the camp. At least he had enough clarity to recognize those feelings. He wasn't going to pretend he didn't have them. Madara wasn't into pretending anything, and certainly not in front of himself.

They left the habitable cluster some two weeks ago and dove into the dimension maze. As every evening Sakura took out the picture of the boys and carefully unfolded it. They were already crumpled from constant folding and pushing back and forth into the pocket. A crack was going across the bridge of Sasuke's nose. Some of the lines were already smeared, and Sakura had to admit that inking of Sasuke's eyes and hair that she had done, didn't do the art any favour. Sure, now whoever looked at the picture, was getting immediate info about his colouring, but the face looked much less like Sasuke to her…

"Could you draw other pictures of them? Those got rather worn"

Madara looked at her with narrowed eyes. "They are still fine," he threw a glimpse at the paper in her hands. "Admit that you want another picture of him."

Sakura fidgeted. "I might… Would you draw it for me?"

He looked at her a tiny bit longer than it was necessary, and then retrieved a large sheet of paper from his scroll and started to draw in fast, broad strokes. She would have come to watch him draw, but the fish they had on the roast just started to burn and she had to rescue them.

"Here." He handed her the finished piece.

Sasuke - half-bored, half-nonchalant stood keeping his weight on one leg and propping his arm on the hilt of katana. He was looking straight at her from the paper. Like alive, down to arrogant smirk on the lips and challenge in his eyes. Even his stance was so much like him.

"Oh gods…" gasped Sakura. "How did you… He looks as if he was alive…" She ran her finger along the silhouette on the paper.

Madara only shrugged.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Sakura held the picture to her chest.

Over the entire evening she kept looking at the picture. And even when she wasn't, she could see Sasuke in her mind. She could imagine him moving, walking, talking. All those things that she had long forgotten. She didn't even have to close her eyes.

She realized that Madara was watching her more carefully than usually. She wondered if she was having some silly expression plastered to her face. Madara looked mildly pissed, but he didn't comment on anything.

Came the nighttime, she invited herself into his bedroll. She sat between his legs and leaned on him. It was standard way of letting him know that she was willing to, as he was calling it, relieve some tension.

"So needy?" he asked circling his arms around her.

For a moment Sakura wondered if there was a condescending undertone in his remark. "Shouldn't you be happy about that? You won't have much work with me." She quipped, pulling her underwear to the side and dragging his hand to her slit. She hid her face in the crook of his neck and closed her eyes. She was so wound up that she could handle it easily herself, it occurred to her. But doing it together became such a habit... Madara pressed at her clit, falling into the just correct rhythm. He knew exactly what to do, and a minute later she was already coming, muffling her scream with her hand.

After she went limp and moved away from his chest, "Well, that was quick," he commented. "We might have set a new record… Seeing your boyfriend made you so happy?"

A wave of embarrassment washed over Sakura. Embarrassment and some peculiar feeling she couldn't quite pinpoint. "He's not my boyfriend," she managed the only retort that wasn't a lie. Was she ashamed? Did she have bad consciousness about treating Madara so instrumentally? Sakura bit her lip and turned between his legs. "Now you," she announced opening his trousers. He did her just with the hand, so theoretically she didn't have to suck him. But she would, Sakura decided. That was a good way to show her gratitude. And she was grateful, really. He went out of his way to humour her. And… was it hurtful for him that she was fawning over Sasuke so openly? Maybe she should control herself better…

She lowered her head and swirled her tongue around the tip. She knew he liked when she was starting this way. She licked a slow path down along the shaft and back up again. She repeated the treatment to the head, and sensed his body tensing. She would smile, but she couldn't – her mouth was too occupied. She propped her hands on his hips and dove lower. She really wanted to make it good for him, to make it better than usually. She relaxed her throat and tried taking him deeper. Would that feel good for him? But no obvious reaction stirred under her fingers. Maybe the depth wasn't all of it?

"Stand up," she told him.

"Why?"

"Because I want to try something." Sakura pulled him up and knelt in front of him. "Let's do it this way. Now you can move."

"Where did you get this idea from?"

Sakura bit her lip. "I... That's how animals do it... They move. How we do it is unnatural – you always stay so still. When you're about to finish you get all tense and I can tell that you want to move but you don't allow yourself…"

"I stay still because I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Sakura smiled and ran her hands along his thighs. "I know. But now you can. You won't make me uncomfortable." She put him into her mouth and let him sink deeper for a moment. She wound her arm around him and pushed him forwards. It felt different. A new lump of warmth and tension materialized in her core. This side of their evening activities was enjoyable already for some time, pleasurable even in certain way, but now… Now it was making her straight horny. It had never made her horny before. Was it because she was always handled first, so when she had been doing him, she had been already satiated and off her high? But she also had her go already today. Minutes ago, in fact. Was she more horny in general today? "Just move, I want you to feel good."

"I will feel good anyhow. Am I getting my reward now, or what?"

"I just want to do something nice for you… Is that so bad?"

She found his hands and put them on the back of her head. She worked up and down on his cock, hollowing her cheeks and touching him with her tongue whenever she could. Sakura reached and grabbed the part that was outside his mouth. It wouldn't hurt if she squeezed a bit, right? He always liked it.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" he asked incredulously. But his fingers played with her hair if just a little bit. "In your mouth? Are you serious?"

Sakura bit her lip. Inexplicably, that what he said, made her insides clench. 'I want that you do it the way it feels best for you,' was the evading answer she was planning to give. "Yes," she breathed instead. "Yes."

He tilted his head as he cupped the back of her head and passed a strand of her hair between his fingers. "Alright... But stop me when it's too much."

Sakura nodded and guided him in her mouth. She moved her head couple of times, pressing her lips to him, as he glided in and out of her mouth. And then, finally he responded. He pushed in, in sync with her. His length went deeper that it would normally. Sakura quenched her movements, as his started to gain momentum. Soon his length was going in and out of her mouth without much need for action on her part. That was unusual – normally she had to do all the work, now she needed just to stay still. He wasn't even guiding her head, just holding it in place, establishing the speed and depth of thrusts by himself. And it wasn't unpleasant at all. And he would never hurt her, so Sakura didn't understand what was the whole fuss about. She could feel the hold on her head, and it didn't feel threatening; it felt secure. His fingers were running through her hair, sometimes traveling to her nape, sometimes along her jaw, sometimes down her throat. It was the first time he was touching her during 'her' part. It sent shivers down her spine.

Sakura slid her arm around him to hold on to him better. His trousers were down, so what she found was his naked backside. They never touched each other outside of necessary areas. Sakura hesitated. And grabbed him anyway. So much muscles… And at work! She never imagined that men put so much effort into this movement, and now she felt his muscles tensing under her palm as he slowly but firmly pumped into her mouth. Would it be the same if she lied beneath him and he would pump into her…? For sure it would. She grabbed at him stronger to ground herself because as a sudden painful need bloomed in her core.

Never before did she feel anything like that. Sure, she fantasied about her first time with Sasuke, with declarations of everlasting love, tentative touches, and pleas to treat her gently.

Now, this wasn't what she craved. At all. She craved touches so harsh that would tear meat from the bones. Teeth sunk into flesh. Thrust so deep that she would feel them in her spine. Weight crushing her into the ground.

Out of question, all that.

Sakura tightened her fingers, sinking them into Madara's hip. She only wished he would go faster, go harder. Her head swam. Sakura snaked her other hand between her legs and pressed. He would for sure notice, but she assumed he wouldn't mind.

She pressed on her clit in the rhythm of his thrusts. He grunted as if in effort and Sakura looked up – he noticed. Oh, he noticed. He stopped moving. More blood flowed into her cheeks – now he was watching her doing it to herself. If that wasn't embarrassing then Sakura didn't know what was. Sakura's hand froze.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked and he sounded strange.

Sakura shied away. Did it displease him somehow? She blinked. "I… I just needed to."

"Why? Was before not enough?"

"No! It was! It's just… When we do it like that; when you do it like that… I need it once again. It's because of you."

"Because of me?" he echoed.

Sakura nodded. "Should I stop?" she asked.

Something shifted in his face. "No. Go on," he said and his voice was strained. "Go on. Please."

Looking at him, she pressed at her core again and guided him back into her mouth. He resumed the thrusting. Sakura closed her eyes and forgot everything – who they were, why were they in it together, why were they doing it. The combined sensation of her own hand, and him pumping into her mouth overwhelmed her completely. She worked furiously on her clit, wanting more, desperately wanting more. She made a sound and but it got muted - her mouth was so full, her moan discharged into voiceless vibrations. Madara pushed in frantically, hitting her throat. She moaned again, pressing, pressing as quickly as she could, spreading her legs to the max, bucking her hips into her hand. Until her eyes rolled back and with a stifled scream she came. He followed right away.

"Can you draw my shishou?" she asked one evening. "You saw her during the war…"

"Hashirama's granddaughter? Why?"

"I would like to see her. On your drawings, people look as alive… And I miss her. I miss all of them." She extended her logbook to him. He took it from her hand and leafed until he found an empty page.

"Won't it be… sad?"

"No!" Sakura shook her head. "Not at all!"

He drew. Sakura realized she never saw her shishou during a real battle. It was a sight magnificent to behold. She felt so proud and honoured to be tutored by this woman.

Then she asked for Gaara. Madara drew him in his signature pose, with arms crossed over his chest. She asked for Gai-sensei (Madara remembered him right away), for Sai (Madara needed what felt like a half an hour of explanations about who Sai was until he connected the dots). After a long deliberation on Sakura's part she also asked for Kakashi-sensei.

They all looked as if they were ready to step out of those pages. So real.

Sakura snuggled closer admiring the shapes that crowded two pages in front of her. She didn't say anything for a while, and Madara was still holding the pen.

Then he started to scribble in the very corner – a face popped up, so eerily similar to Sasuke's that at first she thought it was him. But it wasn't - the boy in the picture had different lips, and long hair gathered into a ponytail.

Madara didn't put much effort into that sketch - it was barely couple of lines. Yet now he was staring at it, as she was staring at her loved ones. She left him with her notebook in his hands, and went on to unpack the bedrolls, both his and hers.

She gave him a notebook. She dug through five levels of scrolls, because she was sure, that she did take some spare ones from Konoha. She didn't remember though under what had she archived it – because apparently not under 'notebooks'. Finally, as she found them in scroll 21-3-17-6, she learned that she had categorized them as ' -tools'. She didn't recall doing so, but whatever, here they were: three notebooks – one with lines and two blank ones. She chose the one with nicer, finer paper – even though the cover was somewhat girly with a pattern of stylized blue-and yellow flowers.

She had no idea when his birthday was, nor whether he even wanted to celebrate it. She didn't ask, she had an impression that his past was rather a painful topic for him.

"Here," she simply said one day when they were sitting by the fire. "That's for you. Maybe you want to draw something in it."

"What should I draw in there? Something for you?"

"No. Something for yourself."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Just draw whatever makes you happy?"

He looked at her skeptically, but he accepted the gift. Two days later, she was delighted by the view of him sitting, propped against a large rock that he had spread a blanket over, sketching something in the notebook. Sakura wanted to giggle. But she didn't – he looked so much in the zone that under no circumstances she wanted to interrupt him.

They were well into their way home, when one evening, Madara, tired from chakra over usage – as he had to jump in quick succession four times in the row, when they again found a row of dimension without breathable atmosphere, and Sakura didn't have enough chakra to heal him completely at their final stop - went to sleep early.

Sakura remained by the fire; a bit too wound up by the far too dangerous to her liking proceedings of the day. Good that home was just a dozen dimensions away, she couldn't wait already. But tonight, she still needed to complete her notes, because jumping frantically, she left the entries lagging.

She dug in her pouch – her logbook wasn't there. Sakura scrunched her brows. Where was it? Had she lost it? That would have been disastrous! Then she remembered that in the fourth dimension that day, as the earth they stood on started to shake, shatter and spill lava under their feet and they needed to make an emergency jump, it was Madara who held the notebook, because she was looking for the pen. Maybe he had packed it himself?

Sakura reached to his bag – there it was - hers dull red next to the blue-and-yellow patterned one that belonged to him.

Sakura hesitated and threw a look towards Madara. He was sleeping. Gingerly, she took out both – she wanted to see his drawings! He was drawing last two weeks almost non-stop but still she didn't dare to ask yet because she didn't want to make him self-conscious and stop. She placed his notebook inside of hers and opened it.

First pages were drawings of Konoha ninja from the times of the war. Some sketches of Tsunade-sama. Kakashi-sensei's profile. Hinata and Neji. As if he was trying out poses, or trying to remember further people that could be relevant to her.

Then drawings of that young man appeared. There were so many drawings of him. Younger, older. In battle attire, in casual clothing. Standing, walking, fighting, looking into the distance, sitting on the patio, reading a scroll. From profile, from the front. Smiling, pensive, annoyed.

Sometimes, interspersed with the drawing of that man, were sketches of a house: a room – sparsely furnished, inner garden surrounded by a patio, something that looked like a training yard. On later pages also some landscapes, mostly featuring a river.

Once, only once, there was a young woman with long, long hair dressed in a simple kimono. She looked sad, and her face was turned away from the viewer. While all other pages were nearly covered with various scribbles, she stood alone on her page. The neighbouring page was left empty, as if he didn't want to spend time on it.

Some pages later (and tens of iteration of the same young man later), a new person appeared – a boy with a silly smile and even sillier bowl-haircut. He also looked vaguely familiar, Sakura was sure she must know this face, but she couldn't pinpoint who he was. Some more landscapes with the river followed.

And then, it was her.

When she first saw herself, standing in an easygoing pose, looking to the side, her first thought was: 'gods, did I lose weight!'

Another page. Hmm. So that's how she looked like when she was concentrating – thought Sakura examining a picture of herself scribbling in the logbook - she needed to stop furrowing her brows so, she will get wrinkles.

She wasn't surprised by the fact of being in his notebook – she was in the end the only model he had. But when she was turning one page after another and saw tens and hundreds of iterations of herself, she started to feel weird about it. Because she never thought he paid so much attention to her. And secondly, because it was a strange feeling to see snapshots of your own life captured on page. Never before did she know how does she look like when she sleeps. Well, now she did. Apparently, she snuggled with the blanket and made sorts of a nest out of it. Or, sometimes she slept on her back, arms splayed and hair fanning around her like a halo.

There were portraits of her, drawing of her waist up, and full-body shots. Many drawings of her eyes only, as if he was trying different shadings and techniques of coloring her irises using the same grey pencil only.

Pictures of her meditating when gathering natural energy, pictures of her digging in her pouch, pictures of her discussing something animatedly with Katsuyu, pictures of her sitting on the porch in the fishers' village. Of her crying. Of her laughing. Of her biting her nail.

Sakura turned another page.

And pushed the notebook away so it fell from her lap.

"What happened?" asked Madara, woken up by the noise.
Sakura gulped. "Nothing. Just dropped something. I'm sorry." She grabbed his notebook and placed it inside her logbook. "I'm coming right away, just need to finish my notes."

He murmured something incomprehensible and turned around.
Carefully, she searched for the culprit page. Now, being pre-warned, she held the notebook firmly, as she stared at the drawing.

Drawing of herself. With his cock in her mouth. And eyes raised to the viewer.

Sakura took a shaky inhale. Well. She shouldn't be that scandalized. That was exactly what they've been doing for better half of a year already. He draws her in every other situation, why wouldn't he draw her in this one.

She turned the page. Her face this time. Contorted in such a strange grimace… Was it when she was coming…? Sakura fought the impulse to throw the notebook away again.

Next pages were full of similar drawings. Sakura learned how her lower regions looked like in detail she preferred not to know. But there were also sketches of her lying on her back with her eyes closed, and entire body radiating satiety – sometimes with legs still open, other times with them already curled up. Of her glimpsing up to him with half-lidded eyes when reaching to his crotch. Of her standing with her back to him with a T-shirt sliding dangerously high. Even couple of pictures of her naked. In every of them her body was drawn with such gentle, flowing lines that it felt like a caress made out of ink.

When she closed the notebook, she wasn't angry. Not at all.

A voice, always the same loud as bells voice was telling her that she fills half of the notebook because she is his only companion.

But she was hearing another voice now. A one that was saying that there was loving in those drawings. That such loving couldn't be faked and acted, or forced by circumstances. And that it shouldn't be dismissed, even if it was easier to fall into the well-known pattern of doubting her self-worth.

"How old were you when you awoke your Sharingan?" asked Sakura the next day by the evening fire. She had a theory about his drawings, but she needed more data.

"Twelve. I was a late bloomer," he added with an undertone of embarrassment as Sakura sent him a look. "My father was already very frustrated by my lack of progress."

"Pressure?" she laughed.

"I guess you cannot even imagine that. By then three of my brothers were already dead, and only me and Izuna were left. My father was furious at us, or at me, most of the time. I could face three adult men in face-to-face combat without blinking, I knew I was good, I knew I will surpass all of my peers. But for my father – not manifesting the Sharingan was a disgrace. As if those eyes were all that mattered. While ninjutsu is so many other things…"

"You don't sound like you were very fond of your father."

"Frankly? I hated him for most of my life."

"I'm so sorry. And you mother?"

"She died when I was young. I don't remember her very well."

Ha, so the woman from the notebook wasn't his mother. That kind of narrowed down her place in Madara's life. As far as Sakura knew he didn't have other surviving siblings and he never mentioned any sisters.

And the boy must Izuna. Madara's animosity also explained lack of his father in the notebook. Slowly, a pattern was appearing.

"And how did it happen? Your Sharingan, I mean?"

"For some time… for a short time I used to be friends with Hashirama. I knew he was a Senju, I'm sure he knew that I'm an Uchiha, but we were pretending that we don't… At some point our families found out. Well, I guess I can count myself lucky that no one died. Then."

"Oh! I didn't know you knew Shodai so long! I thought that the two of you, as heads of clans, decided on truce and then the village."

"That was later. Back then, when we were kids – he was just my friend. Afterwards… Everything afterwards wasn't the same anymore, our relationship was always somewhat poisoned."

Sakura didn't say anything. Now she was sure – the boy with the idiotic bowl-cut was Shodai.

And the notebook was Madara's happy memories, those that he made after awakening of his Sharingan. It was painfully monotonous in his notebook and now Sakura knew why. There wasn't anything from Konoha times either in there either. Nor from the times afterwards.

Such a long life. And so little happiness.

And then it was her. Pages over pages, her over and over and over again. Sakura gulped. It was the most peculiar sensation – she never thought that that warm, fuzzy feeling of being important to someone will be interlaced with such a heavy sense of responsibility.

She stood up and moved to sit on the same log as he was. Snuggled under his arm and wound hers around his waist. Rubbed the side of her head against his chest. "You know what? This," she made a swiping gesture, "all this, the mission, the loneliness, the fate of all people… I know, it's strange, but if I mentally subtract all this, if I forget it, or not think about it - then I feel happy. As we sit here, right here and right now," she snuggled closer, "I feel so happy with you, you know?"

AN: Thanks for reading, and please share your impressions with me! Reviews I've been getting for this fic really keep me motivated and inspired and had given me already so much food for thoughts. Without them this fic wouldn't exist in the form it does. Please, keep them coming!