Disclaimer: Whatever, I don't need to own Naruto to write fanfiction.

Penname: LiveLoveLaugh

FanFiction Story: Sleeping Princes

Summary: They called her a slut, a whore. Sweetheart. Even lucky. Life goes on, as one by one she passed every man in her life. She had a chance to sleep with every one of them, too. But…who said anything about sex? Sakura-factor One-shots

Enter Shikamaru

'Do I really have to say something? I mean isn't being heartbroken troublesome enough? Besides, I'm really tired now, and I—okay, fine, I'm going to say that I never knew why she didn't tell the story of why she cut off her hair. Yes, you head me. It usually would be a huge gossip spread around the village if people were to hear it. She came out of the forest, after having a double-knockout with her own rival, and best friend, and I remember when her mother went hysterical over her short cut. Even when she had snipped a whole chuck from her head to come off from my opponent's hand in the Forest of Death. I always thought it was very necessary for women like her to have long and pretty hair to impress men like that Uchiha. Wait, not that I'm saying she has bad hair or anything!—no, she has very beautiful hair, very glossy and long…I didn't think it'll be so fun and comforting to play with women's hair…'

He curled her hair in his fingers, twining with middle and index finger through the pink tresses while turning the strands into pools of circles. Her face was faced towards him, cuddling in his white pillow with her hair spade over her closed eyes and pretty nose. A few strands flew up slightly from the breath of her parted pink lips, she cooed and snuggled against his arm which he positioned over her head. The young man slump the top of his head against the headboard, resting his right temple against the part of the pillow the two were sharing. The kunoichi was sleeping underneath him slightly, her hands clasped possessively on the blanket sheets while she nestled her shapely legs with his.

It was a cool night, they were both naked in his mattress with the blanket over their middle abdomens. They didn't really care about the weather outside, the cold in waves in the entire apartment. They used their warmth for an extra blanket, ignoring the goosebumps on their shoulders or exposed necks. He shivered slightly when he moved the sheets down a little, when he couldn't sleep sometimes he'd always make a habit of staying up late to think.

The only light was the dim golden-yellow exposure from the lamp on top of the nightstand on her sleeping side. The rays had magnified the slivers of her hair into something bright, like sparkling hotwires or red orange strips of confetti. He could tell he was wasting a lot of electricity for just staying up for hours just watching the way her hair looked in every angle, but he couldn't help it.

Any man would know that.

He still had no idea how he had been doing this. His analytical eyes were scanning over her halo hair like a chessboard, or a battle field. He twirled the hair right in place, in a precise order, perfecting every round curve with his forefinger. He never knew he was so creative when he mixed paints with an invisible paintbrush and dipped into her long locks, creating rosy clouds or pink meadows with just playing with her hair. He was artistic with this new found skill, drawing pictures of ocean waves with smiling blushing suns. He used her hair as a canvas, rubbing only very lightly with his nails over the cherry tresses.

Even though he didn't like to say—aloud anyway—but she had the prettiest hair he ever seen. Whether she had spend all her time in front of the mirror like his blond female teammate combing through with a thousand strokes, if it were natural, or if she made it a primary note to always dip down her head to let the strands fall over her slender shoulders or to just to let him see the fluid movements when it blew in the wind. He bent down his chin just a bit to run his lips through her hair, creating more patterns on the curls.

He took off his hair band from the feather duster style he always held tightly on top of his head. His dark shorter hair had blend quite nicely on the woman's hair, his masterpiece. The annoying pieces of his hair had itched against his smooth face, making him squinted his nose disapprovingly but he would do it now, just for tonight. Not because she said it looked nicer for him, or that his head ache less when he sleeps, or even because he wanted crowds of troublesome women would run after him in a horde of sexually-crazed estrogen-developing machines.

But because he would like to see her pretty blush in the morning when she wakes up to see his hair in that adorable chaotic way. Only because he wanted her to tease him and run her pale fingers through the dark locks, cooing slightly like she was petting a cute puppy. He wanted her eyes to look at his hair for a moment, so he could have an irritating second to stare at her glancing eyes looking elsewhere, then he would swoop his lips with hers, surprising her. Then their hands would both run through each other's hair, and they would sit upright meshing their lips together over their tongues and teeth to taste each other. And in that moment he would like to say he liked to unbound his hair more often.

A genius would always have everything planned.

The claimed lazyass tiredly reached over to turn off the switch on the nightstand lamp, the room became immensely dark except for the gray stripes on the opposite wall created from the blinded window in his small bedroom. He felt her move against her body, unclenching the blankets from her greedy eager hands to throw them around his middle, messing up his art. She smiled silly when the strands of his hair tickled her nose a little and bent over to run her lips over the curve of his neck. He sighed, closing his eyes exhaustingly. He forgot what he drew in the morning, but it never mattered.

She'll only come back.

Afterthoughts

He stared after the back of the woman he loved, remembering that moment when they both slept together in the same bed. He wanted to feel her body again, but after that night he always seen her walking away to somewhere else. To someone else. He knows she didn't do it deliberately, but she was like the clouds he looks up to see in the sky.

She would always move with the winds, she would always dissipate into thin air only leaving behind a remembrance. No, he would never regret the time he had with her. He loved her. He had more sense than throw his anger on her.

But…was it enough just watching her going farther and farther away from him, until she disappeared.

He was angry at her for walking away without knowing. He was angry at himself for letting her walk away. He didn't think he would ever forgive her for her foolishness and recklessness. She was always like that, she would never change. And the worst part was, she didn't know what she was doing to him.

Only if she came back for another night, only if she stayed one more night, he would cradle her in his arms and create yet another painting through her beautiful hair.

That'll be alright for him.

To Be Continued