I know what's going on in the Naruto manga, but still, I think that the 'Sasuke going off to Orochimaru' was a pivotal point, and all my fics start from there, so blah…
I'm so mean to Gaara…
Disclaimer: Kishimoto Masashi owns Naruto. I'm not even Japanese.
When Sand Meets Snow - II
- - - - -
He seen him around before, and never gave him more than passing thought.
The first time had been during the pre-finals of the Chuunin Exam. Everyone had been exhausted from their excursion into the Forest of Death, dirty, grimy and bloody, clothes ripped and in some places, torn off. Everyone was in that state…except the group from Sand. They didn't even look tired. And the most frustrating of all was the youngest, an aloof redhead with cold, dangerous eyes, standing with his hands in his pockets like it was nothing.
Neji had dismissed him as an arrogant brat, too sure of himself, too obsessed with death to ever be a true shinobi. Nothing could change that look, he thought to himself.
Of course, he also thought no one could shake his faith in Fate.
When they had had returned from their Sasuke-hunt, all bruised and battered to the point of death, he was there again, still aloof, still cold, but…with a different look in his eyes, a strange, familiar gleam…
And ever since then, every time the Sand-nin came to the village, he would have that look.
That look haunted Neji. It bothered him when he was asleep, and he saw it every waking hour of every damn day. He kept seeing it.
He saw it in Lee's eyes when he gazed after Sakura. He saw it in Hinata's when her father praised her younger sister. He saw it in Iruka-sensei's when Kakashi-sensei had been away for too long.
After a while, after a mind-boggling inquisition by a certain white-haired jounin about why he was staring into a certain brunette's eyes, he suddenly realized what that look meant, deep inside.
It was the hatred of loneliness, a desperate craving for human contact, a wretched yearning for acceptance, and knowing that it will never be realized, never be acknowledged and never, ever be fulfilled. It was a look of pure need.
And Gaara had it.
He had it.
The Sand-nin came twice a year, as regular as clockwork. He arrived during the boiling heat of summer, when everyone, Neji included, cursed the very clothes they wore, and during the most bitter freezing cold of winter, when even stepping outside guaranteed hypothermia, and he would always wear the same thing, clothes that offered no protection from the glaring sun or from the biting winds. It was almost like he was punishing himself.
It had been a night like that, a blistering cold night with an evil wind that made itself known in every nook and cranny of the lonely house until he had given in, and gone out to look for the warmth of human company.
He had found it in the slightly drunk smiles of Kiba and Shikamaru, who were celebrating their one-week-and-five-days anniversary. It was a typical Kiba idea, but Shikamaru didn't seem to mind. In fact, he actually looked like he was enjoying it, insomuch as could be deducted from his perpetual bored poker face. They had invited him to share in their strange happiness, and he had accepted warily. They had already gone through six bottles.
The night went on, and slightly drunk became extremely drunk, articles of clothing were slowly shed, the heat of the alcohol affecting their sense. Sloppy kisses were exchanged while roaming hands slid over heated skin. He was not quite so drunk, but drunk enough to quietly admit to himself that he might want a relationship like that, something beautiful and sensual and free and undeniable.
Kiba started it with a not-so-gentle nip at the shadow master's neck. After a pleading look from the bartender, he had finally gotten a room for the two lovers, now half-naked and French kissing in the hallway. He had also acquired a room for himself, since he was hardly in any condition to walk out to the hotel's garden, let alone walk back to his house. But walk to the garden he did, leaving his unfinished bottle on the table.
It had happened so fast: seeing a flash of red through the falling snow, the lonely stance stirring something up inside him, a sudden sense of purpose ad he walked toward the black-clad teen, then warmth and whispered words. "I'll take this pain from you…if you'll do the same for me…"
- - - - -
He tasted hot and good and so… so Gaara. He couldn't get enough of it and he couldn't stop, didn't want to stop, wanted to do so much more than lick. To gently knead the dark rosy skin with teeth and lips, to tease with his tongue and stroke with his hands, to suck until the body under him begged him to stop, to bite hard enough to mark him as his…
"Ah…ah…nnh…"
With his lips pressed against the length of tanned neck he could feel everything, each and every moan he tried to suppress, every hitch of breath that seemed like a silent plea. He pushed himself up and sat back on his heels. The sturdy, dark-skinned form made a delicious contrast against the stark white of the open robe. And he was happy to be the first to discover that when the dangerous, unpredictable Gaara blushed, he blushed all over.
Inwardly pleased with himself, he looked up into his lover's face. Beautiful was not an adjective frequently used to describe Gaara of the Sand, unless the speaker wanted to find himself on a quick and painful road to the other world. But he was beautiful. How could he not have seen that from the beginning? The exquisite shape of his face, the line of his brows, long eyelashes hiding emerald eyes, the elegant ridge of his nose, the delicate cheekbones, the cute bump of his chin, then his soft, soft lips slightly parted as he panted…so beautiful.
When slivers of green gleamed from previously closed eyelids, he realized that he had absently been tracing over those fine features.
"What are you-"
He placed his fingers over the other's lips, effectively shushing him. "Just admiring how appealing you are."
Gaara hmph'd against his fingers and mumbled something
"What was that?" Already his other hand was moving downwards, onto better pastures, as it were.
The redhead looked away. "I said you really are drunk. You're spouting nonsense."
The blush was too cute to ignore. He bent down to lick a long line from the base of his throat, over his jaw and all the way to his ear, absent-mindedly toying with a nipple. He licked the shell of his ear slowly, applying pressure to the hardened nub as he did so.
When his partner was already gasping for breath, he whispered, "You think you're not attractive?"
"Nn…"
Neji raised an eyebrow. He suddenly felt an irrepressible urge, and thanked all the gods that Gaara had made it so his sand didn't automatically attack and defend. He ran his tongue over his lover's ear, mentally apologizing in advance before he bit down hard, twisting the captured nipple at the same time.
Gaara's eyes slammed wide open as he choked down a scream.
Every ninja was at least slightly masochistic. Just ask Sasuke, or Kiba, for that matter.
"Answer me when I ask you a question, understand, Gaara-chan?"
There was an imperceptible nod and a whimper.
The brunette smiled, stifling the urge to cackle evilly and start torturing the boy underneath him to the very edge of pleasure and pain. Sucking gently where he had bitten, he freed the abused nub and trailed his fingers over the bronze chest, feeling the flutter of a racing heart underneath his fingertips.
"Are you alright?" he asked softly when it had slowed down.
Nod.
"Did I hurt you?"
Pause, then nod.
Neji smirked, and Sasuke would have been proud. "Did you like it?"
Gaara's head whipped around, treating him to a thermal glare, but when a nail gently scraped over his still-sensitive nipple, he bit his lips and turned away once more. There was another pause, and then a reluctant nod,
Too cute. Taking hold of the other's chin, he turned the unprotesting head to face him.
The kiss was soft and Neji was content to let it stay that way, but not for long. The temptation was too great. He ran his tongue over the lips before him, silently begging for entrance. The lips parted and he deepened the kiss, cupping the back of Gaara's neck and pressing him closer. The younger tasted of spiced apples, for some reason, and something else that he could define, something whole and earthy and sweet and addictive and he wanted it, wanted to keep on tasting it, to remember it always, and to be able to have that kind of kiss, with the kind of fervor and with that taste every damn morning of every damn day of his damned life from now on, godsdammit…
When they finally parted, Gaara was panting from extreme lack of oxygen and Neji pressed his damp forehead against his with a mumbled apology. But he wasn't sorry, not really. He liked this feeling, knowing that the one under him needed him, wanted him, wanted to be with him, wanted to touch and be touched, to kiss with fiery need, and to be drowned in pleasurable pain… He would give everything, everything, just to have this moment exist forever.
But that wouldn't happen, so he had to make do with now, to make it an everlasting memory for both of them. And he had a wonderful idea for that.
"Gaara…"
"Nn…?" came the breathless reply.
The elder said nothing for a while, stroking his lover's hip, long, slow strokes, each one getting very, very close to where the other wanted to be touched. Then hypnotizing pearl connected with warily inquisitive jade, and, with his voice lowered to a husky whisper and his body pressed flush against the others, he said, "Do you want to play my game…Gaara-chan?"
