Chapter 1: Clubbing Sucks
[Sakura]
It's loud in here. I don't know why I keep coming back every week, but I do, and there's always a small part of me - that old, bitty, cat-lady side of me - that wishes I was home watching a movie or reading a book.
The Chubby Weasel is the latest hotspot in Konoha. Ever since the great rebuild, which is what we all loosely refer to as the time of rebuilding Konoha after the fourth great war, Tsunade and Kakashi used it as an opportunity to update the infrastructure of the town and modernize the whole place. As horrendous as the war was, a silver lining is that we got a heck of an upgrade. Now, four years later, Konoha boasts the same modern amenities as the neighboring civilian cities in Fire Country.
This place is the most recent addition to our growing collection of bars and entertainment venues. The food here is surprisingly good, and the drinks are great. The decor is the perfect mix of modern sophistication and warmth, and the owner keeps the place spotless. It's not a surprise that it's been attracting civilians and shinobi alike, both from Konoha and the neighboring civilian villages nearby. Its popularity makes it loud and boisterous, and as much as I grumble about the noise, a bigger part of me lives for the buzz of a crowd gathering on a Friday night, each of us welcoming the weekend and the freedom it represents.
Tonight is like any other Friday night. The flat screen television hanging on the deep end of the bar is showing a soccer game, and a bunch of patrons sitting on some comfy looking couches are hanging on every move on the screen, cheering or booing with every goal.
Closer to the entrance sit a couple of billiard tables being used by various groups of people. A game of darts is happening about ten feet away, nestled in the corner. I don't have to look hard to know the players are all civilians - shinobi don't play darts unless they're drunk out of their minds, and it's still early in the evening.
The long stretch of wall spanning from the billiards to the television has been outfitted with booths for those who just want to relax and hang out for the night. The open floor space in the center of the building sits largely unused for now, save for a number of people who are milling about and chatting, holding their drinks. The energy here is pretty low key, but as the night continues, the this place will get busier and busier. Once 11 pm hits, the TV gets shut off, and this place will basically become a bar and club. Any radio music playing overhead and the noise from the TV will be replaced by a DJ and the dance floor will be full of moving bodies.
Opposite to the wall of booths is the actual bar, and this is where Ino and myself are currently seated. We've been here for a while now having arrived some time after dinner, and the bar stools next to us have since filled up. I have my usual beer - my drink of choice - and sip at it as I mindlessly listen to Ino gripe about her love life.
"All I'm saying is, Benji needs to stop referring to his mother all the time. Every other sentence that comes from his mouth is about his mom. I don't care how good looking he is - I don't deal with men with an Oedipus complex." Ino continues ranting, as she always does on our weekly Friday catch up.
I'm listening to her, but I'm also simultaneously lost in my own thoughts. Our Fridays used to be a real girls' night out, where we would indulge in a little vanity and doll ourselves up to our heart's content. It was one of the easiest ways to let loose after a hard day at the clinic, or after suffering yet another brutal training session under the tutelage of Tsunade.
Somehow it's since morphed into sad ranting sessions by Ino of her lover-of-the-month, with me as the passive listener.
I don't really mind though. Whatever our conversation, we both need a night out.
Ino's work in the Intelligence Unit of Konoha is stressful, and the worst part is, she can't talk about the worst situations because it's all hush hush.
For me, work at the clinic is meaningful, but it's hard. Not just a brainy, problem-solving kind of hard, but some cases drain you down to your soul, leaving you exhausted from the inside out. This morning, I had to explain to the eight-year old daughter of a patient that her mommy wasn't doing well, and recovery wasn't in the books. Cancer is a bitch. It doesn't care whether you're leaving behind a loved one, or if you're supposed to have so much more life to live.
I catch myself in the downward spiral, and give my head slight shake. Part of being a medic is learning to compartmentalize your work from other parts of your life. A skill I'm still developing. It's gotten easier over the years, but it's still hard.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, visualize myself placing the stress of today's clinic into a box, and tuck it away safely. I'll open the box again on Monday, when my next shift begins. A song is blaring on the radio and I focus on it, letting my stress fade into the noise.
Perking up a bit, I look around with a renewed interest.
Geez, people are dressed up. I glance around at the women surrounding us. They're all dressed to the nines, with perfectly styled hair, carefully curated clothes, and beautifully painted faces. Ino and I used to dress up in our sexiest outfits, preening at the attention from the boys.
Not anymore. I feel like we're in our thirties, even though we're only twenty-one. But maybe this is how being a twenty-one year old kunoichi feels like. By nature of our work, we're forced to mature more quickly.
Regardless, I look down at myself surreptitiously, at my faded jeans and cotton maroon camisole. A far cry from the tiny black dresses or other daring numbers that Ino and I would squeeze ourselves into when we first ventured into the nightlife of Konoha. I had topped off my outfit with a pair of wedge sandals - dressy, but more appropriate for a trip to the mall than a Friday night out. My hair, which I keep forgetting to cut, is growing past my shoulders, so I had tied up at the beginning of the day into a high ponytail as I headed to the clinic. I hadn't bothered to change it and I didn't want to know how many stray hairs were standing up from my head at this point.
I mentally shrug and take a sip of my beer, savouring the cool taste against my tongue. So what if I look like a soccer mom relishing her first night out away from the kids.
Ino, always the better dressed and put together of the two of us, isn't much better in the grand scheme of things. She too had donned a pair of jeans, though she had dressed it up a little with a black velvety halter top and a tasteful gold necklace. I snort a little as I noticed where the pendant of her necklace is buried.
With breasts like Ino's, men are bound to look her way, regardless of what she wears. The fact that her face is beautiful is just another factor in the mix. My gaze shifts to my own breasts. Mine are… okay proportioned. I like my breasts just fine. They're big enough without being too big and small enough without being too small. But they certainly don't garner as much attention as Ino's. Not that I want that attention. I'm more of a wallflower, slipping inconspicuously in and out of crowds with the grace of a cat.
As Ino drones on, my gaze wanders aimlessly around the bar. I notice dispassionately that a booth at the end of the bar seems to be getting quite some attention, if the hungry stares of women all around the place seem to be any indication. Men can be terrible with the whole staring thing, but women are just as bad.
"Women can be absolutely ridiculous," Ino observes dryly.
She's noticed the same thing I'm noticing - virtually all the women in the bar are staring hungrily at whoever's sitting in that booth. They're practically salivating, like hyenas eyeing their next prey.
Neither of us can easily see the people - probably a guy or a few of them - seated at the table from where we are stationed - we'd have to shift our bodies and crane our necks. And, to do that, we'd have to give a bother, and we don't. For a moment, though, I do try and muster up some curiosity, for old time's sake. Nope, nada.
"I once saw a woman climb onto poor Iruka-sensei's lap in a drunken stupor and force him to retrieve a cherry she had stuffed between her breasts. With his mouth." I note objectively. Ino snorts. Mulling over the memory, it dawns on me that he caved really quickly to her drunken demands. There's no way a regular lady could manhandle a shinobi into nuzzling his face into her boobs, no matter how strong she was.
My eyes widen at the realization. "Actually, now that I think of it, Iruka-sensei seemed to warm up to her game pretty quickly." I conclude. Iruka, you dirty dog.
"Was she hot?" Ino asks.
"She was," I nod solemnly.
Ino raises her martini glass and knocks it against the neck of my beer bottle in mock salute, in honor of the unnamed woman's hotness. I lift my drink up, tilting it towards Ino in response. We both take another swig out of our drinks in a moment of silence.
I add, "I think they ended up dating for a while too, so I guess it worked out."
"Until it didn't."
Ino shuts it down stonily. Clearly, her issues with Benji are taking the front seat in this conversation.
Right. Relationships are hard.
And just like that, we're back to our regular Friday night bitchfest between us two future-spinsters. I swivel in my barstool back to my original position so that I'm facing the bartender and my back is to the rest of the establishment. Ino starts up on her woes again and I don't interrupt.
Half an hour has passed and the Chubby Weasel is ramping up. It's getting crowded in here, and the DJ is already setting up his equipment for the night. The worries of the clinic have faded away after a few hours and the warm buzz from my second beer of the night is kicking in, releasing the chronic tension around my shoulders.
Ino and I have moved on to other, more interesting topics of discussion, such as our plans for the weekend. We'll be shopping with our friend, Hinata. We never get to see her because she's always away on one mission or another. She's been gone for over a month and a half on this last one, and she just got back last night. She's sleeping it off right now. It'll be a bonafide girls day tomorrow to make up for lost time with shopping, dining, drinks and desserts.
I'm momentarily distracted by a group of three women who walk up to the bar next to me, ordering their first drinks of the night. They're civilians and I don't recognize them so they must be visiting from out of town. But their voices are shrill with excitement.
"Oh my god, did you see them?" One of them squeaks to her two friends. She's wearing a tight red mini dress, showing off legs for days. Her long brown hair is pin straight and falls past her shoulders.
"Over there, right? The three guys at the last booth?" One of Red's friends asks, pointing rather obviously towards the booth that has seemingly entranced the attention of all male-oriented human beings in the building. This one has her hair up in a high ponytail. She's wearing a silver tube top and black shorts, showing off her curves, and she's wearing black stilettos with a heel high and sharp enough to be more conducive as a weapon than for transport. Her large silver hoop earrings catch the light as she nods excitedly.
The third friend just giggles and covers her mouth with her hand. She too is dressed to impress, wearing a plunging white V-neck and dark denim miniskirt. Her glossy auburn hair falls in thick waves down her back.
There's a slight, niggling, part of me that's beginning to wish I had tried a little harder with myself tonight.
I push that thought away and take another sip of my beer.
"I want to talk to them," Silver Shirt girl whines, as she bounces in one spot. V-Neck girl giggles again, then pipes up.
"Mary Beth, I dare you to go over there and talk to them."
The other two friends shriek at her audacity. Oh to be young again. Though on a second glance, they might actually be around my age. Either way, I can't figure out if I want to roll my eyes or cheer them on.
The two sides are warring inside of me but I only suffer the briefest moment of indecision. Not all goals in life need to be as big and heavy as world peace or the eradication of disease. Sometimes, scoring attention from a cute guy is just as important. Especially on a girl's night out, which they are clearly having.
Having chosen to embrace the you-go-girl approach to life, I've got to put my money where my mouth is.
"Listen," I interject, interrupting V-Neck in the middle of her next sentence. "I'll buy all six of you a round of drinks if all of you go over there!" Forget being a grump - this is way more fun.
I slam down my shiny black credit card on the counter in a show of solidarity. The trio of women squeal in delight when they see I'm not joking around.
Ino is also watching from the other side of me, and I can see the gleam in her eyes. She too has decided that she's had enough of being the crusty old maid who drinks her annoyances away on a Friday night. She leaps to her feet.
"And I'll buy all of you a second round!" Ino slams her credit card over mine, making me grin harder. This is why I love her. We may gripe and bicker, but through and through we are on the same page where it matters. And today, this might just be the most important thing we've undertaken. Somewhere in this lonely world, these three women will find their three hot men. And all will be well, at least for tonight, and if they're really lucky, the rest of the weekend.
Red, Silver Shirt and V-Neck gasp in appreciation. We even offer to provide them full white-glove service in return for their bravery by bringing the drinks over to their table ourselves, so they don't have to leave the booth once they start working their magic. We all give each other a quick hug, each of us basking in the instant bonds of friendship and female camaraderie fueled by female hormones and alcohol. They then square their shoulders, push their boobs out, and make their way through the throng of people on the dance floor to the farthest booth in the bar.
Ino and I are grinning wildly now. We're having a great time. We have no desire to meet any guys ourselves, but we have no qualms about helping other women find theirs. The night is looking up.
About ten minutes later, we begin making our way over to the booth, each of us easily balancing six drinks on a tray on one hand, and I'm holding my beer in the other. The bartender was doubtful when we told them we could handle it, looking up and down at our petite frames with a raised eyebrow. We know, the drinks are heavier than they look, and the alcohol is the precious elixir of a good club. This is precious cargo deserving of careful handling.
After assuring him that we wouldn't blame him if we spilled the drinks, he let us go, albeit grudgingly. He wouldn't bat an eye if he knew we were shinobi, but we're dressed in mom clothes, and I'll be the first to admit that neither Ino nor I look particularly ninja-ish right now.
The bartender probably doesn't live in town - otherwise, he probably would have seen Ino's face plastered on the latest edition of 'Konoha Life', our local magazine. She was recently ranked in the top ten most eligible women in Konoha and the neighboring shinobi villages, and she's been snarling and glaring at anyone who brings it up.
She hates being the cover girl of the magazine because she's convinced that her looks prevent people from taking her seriously. She's not wrong - people get distracted by her looks all the time.
Ino is annoyingly hot, with her eyes the colour of sea glass, her silky near-platinum hair, and a toned yet lush figure that would make a swimsuit model cry.
She once caused a bike collision just outside this very bar because two guys on their bikes couldn't help but swivel their heads in Ino's direction as they passed by, opposite one another. Neither saw the other coming. I rushed over to check them over and heal anything that needed healing. As they lay in a tangled heap with each other and their bikes, they both had matching dazed expressions of blind adoration. The first words I heard as I approached were, 'My angel…'. Ino was mortified. I teased her relentlessly about it for weeks.
We make our way through the dance floor, now packed with writhing and grinding bodies, the deep bass of the subwoofer hammering around us, towards the now-infamous last booth of the bar, armed with our drinks. The lights have dimmed and, with the bar now stuffed with people, we can't see them at all. We're excited to make the delivery and see how the girls are making out, pun intended.
Finally, we get past the large crowd on the dance floor and the three girls come into view. They're standing around the table, chatting with the people seated in the booth. I squint through the hazy darkness, trying to ignore the strobe lights, to see who the men are. There's only two… and holy shit. Yep, Ino and I know them all right. I let out a laugh. Ino recognizes them at the same time, if the happy shriek from her is any indication.
Kiba and Shika are lounging in the booth, each sipping a beer.
They're both dressed in casual wear. Kiba's wearing a black tank that shows off his broad shoulders and sculpted arms. He looks right at home in the clubbing atmosphere. His chocolate brown hair has been styled back, and the dismal lighting of the club somehow serves to sharpen his cheekbones and highlight his strong jaw.
Meanwhile, Shika's wearing a plain T-Shirt and has his hair tied back, as always.
Unlike Kiba, whose vanity would dictate that he carefully think through his outfit and hair for the night, it's obvious Shika just left his house and came here. Ironically, even his lack of effort isn't enough to hide his finely toned torso underneath his shirt, compliments of being a jounin. Shika's funny that way. Somehow, his complete indifference to impressing a human being, least of all women, just adds to his air of mystery, and girls lap it right up.
Silver Shirt is talking to him with a hopeful expression and Shika's responding back casually, leaning back in his seat. He looks engaged, though not particularly interested. I feel a pang of sympathy for Silver Shirt. Shika is unflappable, and has said a thousand times over that women are more trouble than they are worth.
Next to Shika, Kiba's chatting with Red, and I can feel the waves of hormones emanating from him. Even I can tell, standing a good 10 feet away, that they're eye fucking each other. They only met about 10 minutes ago, but Red works fast. She giggles and touches his arm, and Kiba reciprocates with a crooked grin, flashing a glimpse of incisor.
He gestures to the empty space next to him and Red instantly obliges, settling herself flush against his body. Kiba's smirk widens into a full grin as he raises an arm and settles it around her waist. His eyes travel down her shoulders, lingering at her breasts, before continuing its journey down her body and to the hem of her minidress, which has ridden up substantially since she sat. She notices where his attention has gone and coyly places a dainty, perfectly manicured, hand on Kiba's thigh and Kiba's eyes darken in response. Well alrighty then.
I avert my eyes before I see something I really don't want to witness. Kiba is wild, and he doesn't do monogamy. He beds a new woman every week - I've heard stories - none of which I wanted to hear. At the very least, even though he's probably slept with half the women in Konoha (and who knows how many elsewhere), I've never heard a bad report of his bedroom manners or his skills, and he's surprisingly drama-free, so at least the women seem satisfied with whatever they get from him.
Ino and I arrive at the table and offload the beverages, much to the delight of the girls and Shika and Kiba. We greet the boys, raising our eyebrows at them teasingly, and they both shrug their shoulders at us, wearing innocent expressions.
There's a third beer on the table, but the third body isn't here.
"Who's with you guys?" I ask, tilting my head towards the abandoned beer on the table.
Shika glances over at the bottle. He opens his mouth to respond, but before any sound comes out, I feel a prickle of awareness on my neck and down my spine.
Ino squeals happily behind me.
"Naruto! You're back? When?" Ino throws her arms around him in a bear-hug, judging by how the end of her last word gets muffled and cut off.
"Hey, Ino! I just got back a few days ago." A familiar voice answers.
I freeze, ice pouring through my veins. The shock has me lightheaded and dizzy, and the room feels off-balance. Naruto's mission was of an undetermined length, so none of us really knew when he'd be back. But somehow, this still feels a little too unexpected.
I need to pull myself together. Damned if I let him run my night.
I steady myself by bracing a hand on the table, grit my teeth, and re-center myself. With a momentous amount of effort, I quell my racing heart and remind myself that his return means nothing.
Slowly, I turn around to see the source of his voice.
He's grown since the last time I saw him, if the necessary tilt of my head is anything to go by, but his magnetism hasn't changed. My eyes are drawn to him now, and I've forgotten how to look away.
I notice numbly that his unruly blonde hair has been cropped short. Like Shika and Kiba, he's also in regular, civilian clothes, tonight, and is wearing a plain black t-shirt over military green camouflage pants and a pair of black leather boots. A bit of stubble lines his jaw.
"How's the training been? Was it hard? Can you flatten the world with a snap of your fingers?"
Ino asks spitfire questions, ignoring the irritated looks of Silver, Red and V-Neck, who appear dismayed that we actually know the objects of their affection. I don't blame them, all eyes are now on Ino, and if the girls hadn't noticed how devastatingly attractive she is before, they see it now.
Naruto chuckles and lifts an arm to scratch his neck self consciously. The motion pulls the shirt back against his chest … and it's broader than I remember. I swallow a little, then remind myself that I don't care about that.
I take another swig out of my nearly-empty bottle of beer but it's now room temperature, which sucks because the room suddenly feels a little too hot.
Naruto has been gone for the last three and a half years since the end of the war. After the war, the neighboring villages all invited him to visit them and train under their best shinobi - a gesture of goodwill, gratitude and trust towards the person who is largely acknowledged as the driving force behind the unification of all the shinobi nations. Naruto graciously accepted all invitations, delighted to be accepted by them, and also mindful of the fragility of the new bonds between each of the villages.
We all knew even then that it was just a matter of time and training before Naruto became the next Hokage, and so, even then, it was his responsibility to help foster the growth between each nation.
Shortly after Tsunade healed his arm and all other injuries, he embarked on an ambassador mission which also would let him complete his combat training. It was arguable whether he really needed to "complete" training, based on the fact that he was probably already one of two strongest shinobi in the current shinobi civilization, but all the same, Naruto was not one to decline an invitation of friendship.
He never said goodbye.
Not to me, at least. Nor did he once reach out to me while he was gone. What stings the most is that I know he kept in touch with other people of the rookie nine. He just didn't keep in touch with me.
I didn't try to reach out to him either.
But why would I? Not since that incident … I shake my head grimly. I am not going there. It's been way too many years, it's embarrassing, and even more embarrassing that I still cling to it. Young teenage girls do stupid, cringeworthy, things all the time, and I was definitely no exception. Most of the time, I'm able to convince myself that I'm so over it anyway. But right now, with my guard down, it's all that matters.
"It's good, it's challenging, but it's amazing to be a part of all the other villages and to learn their ways." He responds.
He notices me standing behind Ino and his eyes tighten for a brief moment before he replaces his reaction with a mask of politeness. "Sakura, it's good to see you." He inclines his head towards me slightly in greeting.
My mind is still racing, despite my desperate attempts to calm myself down. Shoot, I need to respond to him with something. Everyone's looking at me.
I brace myself and aim to look as unaffected as possible. I think it's working.
"Naruto," I acknowledge with great dignity. Then I realize I don't know how to finish that sentence.
"Uh, you're ... tall."
Fuck! I had one job - be cool - and I fucked it up.
Boy it's hot in here. It takes everything I have in me to not start fanning myself in front of everyone. But I think my face is the shade of my maroon top.
I try to salvage my loser response and fail miserably.
"You grew, Naruto." I finish lamely. Oh fuckity fuck. Shinigami strike me down now.
Luckily for me, Naruto has no chance to respond.
V-Neck simpers up to him, smoothly coming in between and both Ino and myself, and guiding him towards the table. Apparently V-Neck sees us as threats. How misplaced. Yet my thoughts turn instantly less charitable towards her. V-Neck sits down in the booth and flirtatiously pulls down at Naruto's shirt.
"Naruto-kun," she simpers, "You took so long getting to the bathroom." She urges him to sit down with her at the table, and he acquiesces with another self-conscious chuckle. She is studiously ignoring both Ino and me, which I think is a bit ungrateful, considering that we just bought them all drinks.
"Sorry, I got distracted by some people on the way." He responds to V-Neck.
No surprise there. Everybody wants a piece of him these days - he is literally a celebrity, and not just in Konoha. I may not have been in touch with him over the last few years, but I've been subjected to news, pictures and updates of him from people, tabloids, magazines, newspapers and even television. Everybody loves him.
Despite myself, a small warming in my heart stirs. Even estranged, I'm happy for him. He deserves all the love he's getting, and more. I let myself enjoy the brief moment of warmth, firmly hidden behind a mask of indifference. Then, as I've been doing the last few years whenever I hear updates about him, I package the warmth back into an inner box, shut it, and put it firmly away.
Mentally, I give myself a hard slap - girl, you don't care, remember?
Right. I don't care.
Girding my loins, I too turn back to the table and focus on not caring. Shika, Kiba and Ino are here, and I'm determined to keep up the momentum of the night.
The booth is big enough for all eight of us, and so Ino squeezes in next to Naruto (much to V-Neck's chagrin) and I squeeze in next to Ino. I'm antsy, and my bottle of beer is empty. I need something stronger.
As if reading my mind, Ino passes me one of the drinks that we had brought to the table. I look at her, eyebrows raised. She smirks and whispers,
"Just drink it. Not everybody's thinking about drinks right now anyway."
As I take a glass and raise it to my lips, she shifts her eyes knowingly in Kiba and Red's direction. I follow her eyes and almost choke on the liquor. Red's face is flushed, and she hasn't touched any of the drinks, so it's not from the alcohol. It's also not that hot in here. But Kiba's hands are underneath the table, and I'd bet a hundred bucks that I know exactly what's causing her flush right now. Kiba is staring down at her like a wolf stares down his prey. He is fixated. Slowly, he licks his lips. Okay. Give them another ten minutes, and they'll both be out of here.
I don't know how long I've been sitting here. If a Sakura drinks a drink every 15 minutes and there are … how many glasses are there in front me? I muzzily squint at the table in front of me, trying to concentrate. Four. Four empty glasses in front me, and my beer. How many drinks is that? I start counting using my fingers. Wait, what was my first question?
Nevermind, I feel great. I feel sloshed. Great and sloshed. I nod to myself in agreement with myself.
Ino is lost in conversation with Shika - Shika also works in the Intelligence Unit and I swear the people who work there are all workaholics.
Well, I only really know Ino and Shika there... But they both seem unable to refrain from shop talk at any given time. Whatever they're talking about now much be a little less confidential - something about a general defense policy, and seeking consultation from the public. Boring stuff.
Silver Shirt has given up and left to find someone else to flirt with. Red and Kiba are looooong gone.
I've literally been on my phone for the past … who knows how long, and I've run out of things to pretend to look at while everyone else is having fun.
My gaze shifts out of the corner of my eye to my left - V-Neck is now sitting on Naruto's lap and cooing at every dumb thing he's saying. Everything about him is dumb. He suddenly laughs at something she said - even his laugh is dumb. I can't hear what's being said - it's too loud in here - but I'm sure the whole conversation is dumb.
Suddenly, I'm bored and restless, and my feet need to move.
Without a further thought, I get up from the table and side-step over to the dance floor deep into the throng of sweaty, writhing bodies. The music is booming and I feel ready to lose myself to the vibrations around me.
I haven't been this drunk in a while, and I'm trying to remind myself why I don't do this more often. Whatever, just dance. Inner Sakura's voice of reason is seductive. Five-drink Sakura loves to dance. Or is it Six-drink Sakura? How many drinks am I at again? Who cares, just dance. Nodding to myself again, I throw my arms up and wiggle my hips a little, testing out my limbs. Feeling okay so far.
The fact that I've been up since 5 am this morning working at the clinic does nothing to impede inner Sakura. She's been kept in tow for too long, and I have made the executive decision that tonight is her night.
I close my eyes and let the synthesizer wash over me, and my body responds instinctively, undulating and moving in smooth, graceful movements. I feel free and liberated. There's something almost spiritual about being able to dance unabashedly without worrying about what other people think of you. Surrounded by all these people, all in their own bubbles, nobody's even looking at me.
I continue to roll my body to the music. Even in a drunken stupor, a kunoichi is graceful. That's what happens when thousands of hours of muscle memory have been programmed into your body. If someone threw me off a building, I'd probably land like a cat on all four feet - or my two. The point is, I bet I'm incapable of falling over -
As soon as that thought leaves my mind, it makes a liar out of me, and I trip over something - though the ground in front of me looks suspiciously bare.
This is it, this is how I go. Most shinobi die in battle, but I'm about to be trampled to death by drunken party people. I don't even bother trying to right myself as my face rushes to meet the floor.
Strong arms suddenly wrap around my waist from behind, halting my untimely demise, and I hear a deep laugh. I turn around in the stranger's arms to catch a glimpse of a broad chest dressed up in a silky button up shirt and a faint scent of aftershave.
My gaze squirrels up blearily to his face - I don't know him, but he saved my life, and he has nice eyes. For that, I am forever grateful.
"Grateful for saving your life or grateful for my nice eyes?." He replies.
Oh god, did I just say that out loud? I ponder that for a moment, until he responds.
"Yes, you did." He chuckles again. His face is kind, and he seems genuine, if not amused at my predicament.
Sakura, you're a mess. I don't know if I said that out loud too, but I bet my traitorous lips are just letting everything out.
"Come on, Sakura, let's go take a seat at the bar and cool off a little." He spins me around, puts a hand on each of my shoulders and begins guiding me to the bar area.
"How do you know my name?" I ask, amazed.
He just laughs and continues guiding me over to the bar. Most of the people have either left the Chubby Weasel for the night or have migrated to the booths and dance floor, so there are some open seats.
We've now been at the bar for a little while, and for some reason, he's still sitting with me instead of dancing.
"Are you here alone?" I ask him, feeling a bit more coherent after a glass of cold water that he ordered for me. We've been chatting about unimportant things and I can't really even remember what's been said. I think it's mainly been me spewing out whatever comes to mind and him either answering my secret, internal questions, or looking at me in amusement.
I swirl the straw around in the glass lazily. Away from the booth, it feels like a weight has been lifted - a weight I didn't even realize existed.
It's a little quieter in this area of the bar too, and it's refreshing to have an actual conversation tonight with someone who isn't myself.
"Nah, my friends are here, but they're on the dance floor." He grins self-consciously. "They've been there for hours and I wanted an excuse to get off the dance floor anyway, so thank you for giving me that excuse."
"I'm your knight in shining armor." I solemnly state.
He's kind, and I feel safe around him. My gut is rarely wrong. Also, he's kept his hands respectfully to himself since my near-death experience on the dance floor. Not once has he tried to touch me, and that counts for something in my books.
Though I wouldn't mind if he did.
It's been a while since I've been with a guy. The restlessness I've been fighting all night - my lowered inhibitions - this man's easy company - everything in me suddenly focuses in together into a renewed interest in this man. I'm seeing him in a different light, all of a sudden, and I can feel myself balancing precariously on the point.
He smiles, chuckling. "And for that I am forever grateful." He teases, looking me in the eyes. He orders another water, seeing that I've finished my glass.
Such a simple, inconsequential gesture. It's my tipping point. A pang of longing runs through my body from my head all the way to my toes. I feel a tinge of curiosity and an itchy awareness to his body.
I shiver.
He clears his throat as he moves in his seat and I realize that I've been studying his face for the past minute, lost in thought.
My gaze travels from his eyes down his nose, lips, and continue down his neck - he gulps and his adam's apple bobs in response. It triggers a visceral reaction in me and what's left of my drunken fog is layered on by another headiness - one I haven't experienced in months.
I can't help it, but I swallow hard too, and I swear I hear a soft groan from him. My eyes continue travelling down his neck, broad chest, and I settle my gaze on his strong, thick arms. I have a thing for a man's arms - there's something about being made immobile while he's thrusting, hard - I swallow again and slowly draw my gaze up his shoulders, and back to his face.
I wonder what it would be like to be fucked by him.
A blush is starting on his cheeks.
Belatedly, I realize my lips had been moving. Oh shit.
"Did I …."
"You might have said that out loud." He confirms, pink in the face, but his eyes are now intense and he's holding my gaze steadily. I don't have it in me to be embarrassed anymore. Is it the alcohol? Is it that I've humiliated myself so much tonight that I've run dry of embarrassment?
Either way, I don't care, and I'm yearning for a little more intimacy. Inner Sakura's mind is in the gutter, and I'm happy to keep it there. One night is good - great, even. I'm not looking for a relationship.
He's interested, I can tell.
The air between us has become electric, and the scent of his aftershave is like an aphrodisiac.
I want him.
Desire quickens my breath and I think he can tell where my mind is at, because his eyes darken.
He slowly lifts a hand to the side of my face, skimming along my hairline and tucking in a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I can't look away from his eyes, and I can hardly breathe.
"Well, what would it be like?" I whisper.
He doesn't speak for a moment, studying me intently. It's as if he's in a trance. His fingers drift towards my lips, and I open my mouth a little bit, barely aware that I'm doing it in the first place.
A soft moan escapes me when he places a warm, calloused thumb against my bottom lip.
"I'll let you be the judge."
Oh god.
His words shoot straight to through me. We are both trapped in our own bubble now, and a heavy ache has started between my legs.
I give his thumb a gentle nip which evokes a sharp intake of breath from him.
My breathing has become shallow, but I'm not ready to jump straight into bed with him this second. I want to have some more fun first.
Smiling up at him, I get off my stool.
"If you've had enough of a break, come dance with me." I say playfully, daring him to come along. Sure, I'm no Ino in the looks department, but I won't pretend that I can't seduce a guy whenever I want.
He looks down at me and, as expected, his eyes are molten and his lips turn up with a special kind of smile - the kind that makes me clench inside and fills me with a special, thrilling, energy.
I take that as a yes.
Taking his hand, I pull him off the stool and onto the dance floor. The night is young.
Another thing about inner Sakura, she likes extended foreplay, and by the end of tonight, I'm sure he will too.
