Dammit, Shikamaru… it wasn't supposed to be like this. I thought I'd be relieved, even disappointed, but not angry. Was I a fool to think that getting it out of our systems might have made things easier between us? That it might have broken the tension so we could both move on with our lives? I thought maybe we only wanted what we couldn't have, so surely once we'd had it, we'd stop wanting it – right? We're just friends, we weren't supposed to actually enjoy it. It wasn't supposed to have been good.

I'm with my brothers, making my way west – away from you – out of the Land of Rivers towards Sunagakure. Kankurou and I have been escorting Gaara to visit the Valley Daimyo in an official Kage capacity, which means that we're also attended by a security squad who are carrying our supplies. It's only a formality, with additional muscle not usually being necessary when he has us with him. Right now, though, we both seem to be a little distracted.

"So, are you gonna tell us about it?" Kankurou teases me.

My body is tight with frustration. I feel my cheeks flush, involuntarily showing that he's getting to me, prodding at a sore spot. "Shut your mouth or I will break your jaw."

"I always said that you two just need to bang and get it over with," he laughs at me, "but I didn't think you'd actually-"

His nose is bloody before he can finish his sentence.

"She did warn you," my youngest brother tells him. If Gaara is curious about what happened last night, he doesn't show it.

I'm grateful for his discretion. I've got a lot to think over and it's hard enough to keep a logical train of thought when I can still feel your hands on my waist, your mouth on my neck, your heat between my thighs… How could I have let it get this far? I don't even know why I like you – it certainly isn't your annoying attitude or stupid hair. You've always been too skinny, and too young for me. You're a Leaf shinobi, for fuck's sake.

"How about we play the silence game for the rest of the journey home?"

I need my brother to shut up about this until I get my head straight.


I guess if I'm honest with myself (which I regularly am not), I can admit that something has been building between us for some time. I've enjoyed watching you grow over the years, becoming the head of your clan and advisor to the Hokage, more than just the powerful shinobi I always knew you would become. Neither of us are used to spending time with anyone whose wit is as quick as our own and we bond over begrudged political obligations and over being consistently surrounded by morons. Your stoicism, at least, is something I've always found attractive and, yes, I've occasionally caught your gaze lingering on me. But it was no big deal: you were my best friend in Konoha, that was all.

Your company was easy until the comments began. People started to notice how much time we spent together whenever I was in the Leaf. It was then that a casual interest became a tension that neither of us wished to address; and it was then that I vowed to myself that I'd never pursue you, that I would never prove the rumours right. It was then that I started lying to myself. It quickly became obvious that I couldn't deny having feelings for you at all, but I was still certain they would pass with time if I simply ignored them. I only had to avoid thinking about you in a certain light, to avoid wondering what your body looks like under your clothes, what gets you off, what you taste like...

When I learned that the Valley Daimyo was looking to meet with the Kage of both of his neighbouring nations, and that Lord Sixth would be escorted by his chief strategist meaning that the two of us would be sleeping under the same roof, I knew I'd keep you at arms length. I'd be civil – we're friends, after all – but this interest I have in you had to end. I wasn't going to let myself get carried away. It was just an idle curiosity that I was in complete control over. I wasn't gonna fuck you. Absolutely not.

My resolve didn't begin to waver until last night. Myself and my brother's entourage had arrived the night before and enjoyed the Daimyo's hospitality, while you and Kakashi and the others joined us in the morning. Seeing you had been unremarkable: I jibed at your lateness, you countered with a comment about my abrasiveness. I was never sure how much of our affectionate bullying could be counted as flirting. I've never been good a flirting. But then, I've never been good at liking anyone.

The meetings themselves were tedious (as expected) but hopefully productive for all three nations. I lunched with one of the women from the Suna security escort and walked with my brothers during the tour of the Daimyo's mansion and grounds, just outside of Tanigakure. The afternoon meetings got a little heated, but Gaara fought for some respectable compromises and by the time all parties finally left the hall for dinner, it seemed as though the event had been worthwhile. We happened to be seated opposite each other for the evening meal and I hadn't thought anything of us both expressing an interest in the gardens until you invited me to walk with you.

I should have said no, I should have been more careful. But we're friends and I have a fondness for botany and I knew we wouldn't have time to look around the gardens before leaving this morning, so why not make the most of the waning light with you? Let people talk if they wanted – there was nothing to hide, nothing going on between us.

For a while, I believed myself. I believed nothing was going to happen when we stepped into the fresh evening air of the mansion's rear courtyard and down the stone steps into the gardens. I believed we were just friends as we walked, slightly too close together but never touching, around the topiaries and fountains, enjoying personal conversation rather than political. I believed you weren't really interested in me when I stopped to press all of the differently scented leaves in the herb garden to my nose and you watched me patiently with that slightly narrowed expression you use when you're deep in thought. I believed I could get over these feelings I have for you as you lead me (as I knew you would do) towards the fields where the Daimyo's tame herd of fallow deer grazed and leaned on the wooden fence to watch them.

The question crossed my mind at the time that maybe you spent so long there, slowly letting the night embrace us, not because you wanted to watch the herd but because you were stalling for my company, putting off having to go back inside. Even when I visit the Leaf, we've never slept under the same roof. We've never spent time together at night. Because nights are dangerous. At night I'm weak, at night I want you. Okay... so maybe there was something going on between us. Still, I wasn't gonna fuck you.

"It's getting dark," I told the side of your face as you looked out into the field, listening to the distant munching of teeth on grass. "We should head back."

You gave a long exhale before agreeing. By the time we reached the mansion, night had fallen.


The Sand-nin's designated quarters smelled of dusty stone and aged upholstery, as though no one had stayed there for months. I shared a bathroom and small sitting area with my brothers though, thankfully, each of our bedrooms were separate. The Daimyo's staff had ensured that there were fresh roses on the centre table and new logs burning in the fireplace.

It should have been cosy but I couldn't rest. Kankurou's snoring certainly wasn't helpful but the true culprit was my own turbulent thoughts. I was relieved I hadn't pushed things with you when it would have been easy to have done so, but why did you even have such a hold on me like this? How could I get past it? I had borrowed a book from the feudal lord's expansive library but had been skimming the same paragraph over and over for half an hour, unable to concentrate. A full cup of applemint tea was growing cold on the arm of my chair. It was no good – I'd be up all night if I didn't clear my head, and knew we had a long road home in the morning.

With hindsight, I should have gone to bed and shut my eyes and waited for sleep to come. Instead, I walked barefoot on the cool wooden floors, unread book in hand, down the dimly lit hallways of the old manor house. I was already changed into my night clothes – pyjama shorts and a loose nightshirt – but I was sure that any of the Daimyo's staff wouldn't look twice a me even if I did pass anyone on the way back to the library. It wasn't far to the library and I'm observant enough not to get lost in such a place. The route took me past your Leaf-nin's quarters and I admit that my steps paused momentarily as I passed your door. I listened for nothing in particular, knowing you would all be asleep by now.

It was darker inside the library than out in the hallway and it took my eyes a few moments to adjust. The room smelled of leather and literature with aisles of books stretching away into the darkness, high ceilings containing centuries worth of knowledge and stories, lit only by the crackling fire in the hearth of the small seating area. The fire-warmed air and company of books would have been comforting had I been alone. But, to my surprise at that hour, there was a figure reclining on one of the couches.

"Good evening."

It just had to be you, Shikamaru, didn't it? Your hair was down and your sandals were off but you were otherwise still in your meeting clothes. There was an open book in your hand, the glow of the fire enough to illuminate a golden embossed title on the cover as well as the furrow of your brow. It felt somehow as though I'd walked into an intimate moment; your alone time in the library.

I hesitated just inside the door. Had I come here for peace, or for a new book? I couldn't remember. There was only you. My breath was hot in my throat, my skin prickling under what felt suddenly like very scant clothing.

"I didn't think anyone else was awake."

Your words husked through the low light: "Stay if you want."

I wasn't gonna fuck you. Absolutely not. Probably not. Maybe.

There was a second couch, but you moved so that there was room for me next to you on the one you had already claimed. There was brief conversation, I remember. Something about our chosen reads, or our sleeping quarters, or the upcoming trip home. But none of that was as important as your knee close to mine, the little smile that graced your lips as you listened to me, how you drummed a finger slowly against the spine of your now-abandoned novel.

I started being scared to be alone with you so gradually over the years. It obviously wasn't that I was ever scared of you – there's no one I feel safer with – but that I don't trust myself when we're alone together. The part of me that wanted you to belong to me (and only me) grew bigger and bigger until it was only a matter of time before it would take over. Only a matter of time before I'd risk outing myself and losing you if you didn't feel the same way. I thought of how it might have happened a thousand times, of where and why and who would make the first move.

In the end, it only took something small to break down the invisible wall that we've been building between us all these years. You said something I found humorous and my hand was on your thigh. That was all. I saw your smile drop as your eyes moved from my hand to my face, looking at me with an expression so close to anger that for a horrible moment I thought I'd got it wrong, that I'd misread you, that you didn't want me like I wanted you. I began to lift my hand away, expecting you to tell me to back off, but you didn't. Instead, you reached out, grabbing my wrist to stop me from pulling away any further. My breath caught in my throat as your gaze bore into me with a slightly questioning look, the reflection of fire in your eyes.

That was it. We were gonna fuck.

Your hand gripping my wrist, pulling me into you: that was the moment it all changed, that I knew there was no going back and that our friendship was ruined forever. Immediately, your lips were on mine, you hand rough against my cheek, the hint of stubble on your grown-man's chin harsh against my face. You were still in your workwear, your clothes thick and weathered, where I was bare-legged, the thin fabric of my pyjamas the only thing covering the soft skin of my torso.

I'm no stranger to men, although I waited longer than most to give in to any urges. When I was young and still cared what impact it might have on my reputation, it had seemed irresponsible to take lovers. As I grew, I realised that I deserved my own pleasures regardless of what anyone thought but still, I was picky. I only ever took men I knew I wouldn't grow attached to – it felt safer that way. The first time was barely even lust, just curiosity, and since then I've grown bored quickly, rarely seeing the same guy more than once or twice. Don't get me wrong, there's been fun and pleasure and exploration, but never emotion. A man has never made me come before. Sure, I've had orgasms in the presence of partners, but it's never been because of anything they were doing – they just happened to be present while I got myself there. Even then, I can only come when I'm on top. I've always struggled to let go.

Until you.

You studied my body like literature. You drank in my details until me whole body sang for you. It's happened before, that my body's physical response to your presence has been surprisingly dramatic: there have been occasions where I've left your company and found myself wet for you when we haven't even touched. But last night, I couldn't suppress the urge to writhe under your contact at the feeling of you kissing at my neck and gripping into the flesh of my thigh. I reciprocated by making a fist in your loose hair, by grinding my hips upwards against the spot where the proof of your hunger for me was growing. By the time your hand pushed its way up the leg of my pyjama shorts, I was dripping.

Maybe we should have been a little more careful, maybe we should have talked about it first, but that never was our style. I didn't want to take things slowly; we've been taking things far too slowly for years.

I can still hear the sound of you swearing through jagged breath, your mouth close to my face, as you first pushed your fingers inside me. You seemed lost to the heat for a moment and I watched you refocus as you pulled out to move a fingertip, wet with my arousal, over my clitoris. I never liked thinking about you being with other women (even though I know you've had girlfriends before) and I guess I didn't expect you to know your way around a woman's body so well. I underestimated you. My body lurched involuntarily under your hand and I heard myself give an undignified moan and knew that I was at your mercy, vulnerable. But it didn't matter, because it was you, Shikamaru. It's easy with you, I trust you. The only scary part is doing something I've never done before – being with a man I actually like. I've wanted you for so long... I think I could love you, if things were different.

My chest heaved, pushing my breasts against you as I gasped through your kisses, distracted by the feeling of your hand between my legs. Why did you have to be such a good kisser? It's not fair. Under your control, I could already feel the heat of arousal building in my core. It's a feeling I usually have to fight for, but you drew it out of me so effortlessly. When I've been with men before, they've touched me like knocking on a door – as though they need to press the right buttons for me to open and their real fun to begin. But you touched me like I touch myself: slow and rhythmic and for its own enjoyment. I could have come like that. But it was too soon, it was too much.

I pulled your hand out of my shorts and took your fingers into my mouth, licking the taste of myself off you while catching my breath in that respite from stimulation, wanting more of you. My hand found its way under your shirt to feel the firmness of your torso before lowering and running my fingers along the edge of your erection. You shuddered at my touch, your wetted lips slightly parted and already blush with use. We were too clothed and the couch wasn't big enough.

I stood first from where we were tangled in each other and went to the rug in front of the fireplace. I've always thought of you as lean, more intellectual than physical, but as we knelt in front of each other and you pulled your shirt over your head, your muscles rippled in the firelight. I drank in the sight of your back, your arms, your abs, angry at myself for not truly having realised how attractive you are all these years. I'll never be able to look at you the same way again. The shape of you is nicer topless than when you're clothed and your shoulders seemed broader than I was used to, your waist more tapered, when you took me in your arms on the library floor. I brushed a hand across your tight nipples and that little patch of dark chest hair, growing familiar with your body in ways you've never let me before. You removed my shirt for me, then spent a little time letting your mouth trail down my neck and play on my collar bone before laying me back onto the warm plush of the rug and putting your lips to my breasts. You hand was flat on my ribs, holding my body down while you explored me. I don't know if your tongue on my skin was more for my pleasure or your own… I just stared up at the ceiling, breathing heavily, remembering myself. I had been invited to this place as the Kazekage's bodyguard, a guest of the Daimyo of the Land of Rivers, and now here I was defacing this expensive-looking rug in his library with you, the chief strategist of a rival nation. What would the Suna elders say?

I let you take my shorts off and I was naked before you were: nude on my back and letting you set the pace. You removed your own pants and let me look upon your body for a moment before lowering yourself back on top of me, between my legs. I can't believe I had no idea you were that big. How dare you, Shikamaru. I never stood a chance of getting through last night without losing myself.

Around this point, I'm used to bracing myself for it to happen, waiting to start enjoying myself, but it was different with you – I was already so hungry for you. And more than that: you knew it… You were making me wait, making me ask for it. Bastard. As safe as I knew I was under your care, my pride was still a little more than would let me voice what I needed, so I asked for it not in words but by lifting a knee to wrap a leg around your hips and pull your body down against my own. You resisted.

"Do you want this?"

I thought you were asking for consent at first (which was already blatantly, enthusiastically, given) but I realised that wasn't it when you used two fingers to lift my chin and repeated your question.

"Say it."

You just wanted to hear the words. I wonder how many times you've imagined me saying them… so I indulged you. I figured you'd earned it. "I want you."

"Use my name."

"I want you inside me, Shikamaru."

You silenced my lips with your own when you entered me, such that I was moaning through my nose at the feeling. You moved slowly, knowing that you were stretching me and giving me time to adjust to the sensation of being so full. You pulled your face away from mine enough that I could look down and watch us together while we found a rhythm, my back being pressed against the rug and my breasts bouncing with each of your thrusts. You looked so different with your dark hair hanging loose around your face.

One of the things I remember most clearly is how we smiled. I've never been much of a smiler (especially not during sex) but it just felt right. We were just shining together. I relaxed under you, enjoying myself, and in no time at all, pressure was building in my core again. My orgasm has never been ready before I am. As if the tension in my body wasn't enough to let you know, I gripped my nails into the skin of your back and saw you wince. I tried to say your name but it came out as a stutter.

"Don't you dare," you told me. "Not yet."

You slowed down, not letting me finish, not letting the fire inside me build any further. I tried to move my hand down between us to touch myself but you took my wrist again and threw it above my head, pressing it into the floor, gripping tight.

You shook your head at me. "That's my job."

You only let your grip on my wrist relax when you pulled out of me and began tracing your tongue down my body.

I've received oral sex before, and on a few occasions it's actually been enjoyable. Sometimes only because it meant I didn't have to actually look at who I was with, and usually not lasting long enough to enjoy it even if the guy did have good technique. Somehow, I suspected before it had even begun that you would be different.

You swept your long hair to one side, out of your face and put your lips to the soft skin of my inner thighs. And you stayed there. You stayed there, your mouth on my legs, your hands on my hips, ignoring my pussy until my body screamed for you. I writhed under your touch, shaking with want, suppressing the urge to take your face in my hands and push you against me. And to think – you call me cruel. I thought I might have burst when first your hand and then your mouth finally found my centre. You had the very tip of one finger between my lips and your tongue on my clitoris, barely moving so that I ground myself against you, craving the friction. As last, you gave me what I needed.

Your tongue played over my clitoris, wet and warm, while that finger traced my lips. I was being loud now, I didn't care - I didn't care that the highest political powers from both of our home nations were sleeping just on the other side of an unlocked door. Nothing mattered but your face on my cunt. At one point, you came up for air – swapping your mouth on me for your thumb momentarily to catch your breath - and said my name. Do you think I'm ever going to be able to hear you say my name again without my toes tingling? You waited until I was squirming beneath you before climbing up my body again and kissing me, letting me taste myself on your mouth. I never want you to taste of anything else, never.

When your cock was inside me again, I knew you would let me come this time and that surely, you must have been close, too. You altered the angle a little to rock deeply into me, holding one of my legs up and pulling me against you. This time, you didn't slow down as I tensed under you, instead letting another little smile creep onto your lips as you traced the side of my face with one free hand. When it finally came, my orgasm hit me like a punch in the gut; knocking the air from my lungs and lifting my back off the rug as my abs clenched. You put your hands on my shoulders to pin me down with your weight and all I could do was look up at you while were fucking me, my mouth agape, my whole body on fire and wanting nothing more than for you to come with me, in me. I saw your jaw clench for a couple of beats before your eyes widened as your orgasm hit, and we screamed and burned together and you were inside me and all around me and I was finally able to let go and we were beautiful together and you were beautiful, Shikamaru, and -


"Temari!" Kankurou's nose is still bleeding. Oops. "I said I think it's broken."

"Good." It's probably not broken. "You deserved it."

We only left the Daimyo's mansion a few hours ago and my head is still a mess. Why couldn't I just have gone to bed instead of wandering around tempting trouble? Why couldn't you have been a bad kisser so I could just forget about you? Why did we have to be so fucking compatible?

Still, it's done now. There's nothing we can do. Friendship ruined. I'm headed west towards Suna, while you're headed east towards the Leaf. I don't know how long it will be before I can see you again, before I can feel you like that again, and I don't know how the distance between us can possibly be bearable after last night. Not after you being the first man to ever make me come, not after having you hold me there on the floor in front of the fire, panting and covered in fresh sweat and smelling of sex, having you stroke my hair and look at me like you'd start a war for me, knowing that I never want to be with anyone else but you.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. We were supposed to just be friends but I can't go back to how things were between us, Shikamaru. I can't go back to pretending I don't love you.


Author's Note:

I don't usually write anything other than third person past tense, so this was really fun to do. And you know... libraries are sexy.

Join me in chapter two for Shikamaru's crisis. Did I say crisis? I meant POV.

Cinder Rose x