This character's a complete OC, taken out of my strange imagination. I should probably explain a few things before you read it. One—although it's pretty obvious, she's Yamashiro Aoba's younger sister. She's twenty-three and has curly dark blue hair and blue eyes, earning her name, Aoitori—"bluebird" in Japanese. She's grown up with Genma and her brother being close friends, but she and Genma have fought viciously all their lives—seriously injuring each other most of the time. To irritate her, he calls her Karasu, "crow".
Aoitori is NOT a Mary Sue. She's pretty, yeah, but that in of itself doesn't make a Mary Sue. She's a strong jounin, but not all-powerful—Genma can beat the crap out of her at least two out of three times. She has a vicious temper that she finds pretty hard to control, especially around him. She drinks and swears and fights as well as any other kunoichi. She's a caring friend, but she can be pretty selfish when she's not paying attention.
Feel free to review this if you want, but there's honestly no pressure, and please, please don't flame me. I'm putting this up because I feel like it, and if you don't like it, don't read it—don't put yourself through that. Don't feel personally insulted if you don't like what somebody else writes—instead of screaming at them for doing a crap job, ignore them.
Thanks and I hope you like it!
Disclaimer: Wish I owned it, know I don't.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He saw her across the room, sitting alone at the bar. She was scowling, surrounded by empty sake bottles, emitting a dark aura so terrifying that everyone had wisely chosen to stay away from her.
Shiranui Genma was not generally noted for being exceptionally wise.
"Ohayo, Karasu-chaaaaan," he sang, dropping onto the seat next to her. Yamashiro Aoitori's hand clenched around her drink, her left eye giving an almost invisible twitch. For once, she had clamped her mouth shut.
Inwardly the twenty-nine-year-old shinobi raised an eyebrow. Outwardly, he let her lack of a response pass.
"Great party, ne, Karasu-chan?" He said. He put just enough mocking sincerity into his voice, knowing exactly what to say to piss her off.
That time he hit the mark. She raised her head, blue-black hair falling back to reveal pale skin flushed from drink and cold, flashing blue eyes.
"Fuck off, Shiranui," she said. That was one of the only things he would openly admit that he admired about her—even when completely shitfaced, she could usually talk without running her words together. "And don't call me Karasu."
He shrugged. "Whatever you say, Yamashiro." He turned, signaling to the bartender for a drink.
They sat in silence for a minute. Genma's drink came and she finished hers, but she sat wordlessly, not bothering to call for another.
He cast her a sidelong glance. Setting down his sake, he sighed.
"All right, girl. Go ahead and get it out."
She gave him her perfected Glare of Death. "I thought I told you to fuck off?"
He shrugged. "I'm bored, and I'm nosy." He drank, ignoring her furious eyes boring holes into his skull.
"Shiranui, we've been bitter rivals since I was six and you were twelve. You're my brother's best friend and I hate everything about you. You've been working closely with one of my best friends, which pisses me off to no end. You're a lazy, stupid, womanizing jackass. Why the hell would I tell you if anything was wrong?"
He finished his sake and gestured for another. While he waited, he turned to her and responded.
"Because you're drunk, there's obviously something wrong, and you need someone to vent to."
"Why do you care?" She asked. Her tone was almost…curious. The curiosity was almost lost in the contempt lacing her voice.
He sighed.
"I'm not a complete bastard, Yamashiro. Besides, I'm a little drunk too. But don't tell anybody."
She gave him a bitter, twisted smile. "He's leaving tomorrow," she said quietly.
Genma blinked. "Aoba? Yeah, I know. I'm leaving with him."
She glared down at her hands. "I know you are."
There was quiet for a moment, broken by the raucous sounds of the party in the background. The bartender brought Genma his drink.
"I can't forget the last time he came back from a mission," she admitted. "He almost died, remember?"
Genma snorted. "Yeah, I remember. I was the one who had to carry him back. Your brother can take care of himself, Yamashiro. Don't worry about him."
He was about to raise his sake to his lips when he realized it wasn't there. He glanced over and saw her take a long draught. He glared.
"You realize that was mine."
"Gerroff m'back," she grumbled.
The alcohol-induced haze that had settled over his mind didn't let him recognize the warning signs at first. After a moment, though, his eyes widened.
Yamashiro Aoitori was slurring?
He looked closer. Her blue eyes were half-closed, her skin flushed and hot. He sighed.
"All right, Yamashiro. I think you've had enough to drink."
"Y'r just jealous," she sighed, her head sinking down to rest on her folded arms.
He made a decision that he may never have made if he were completely sober—they were rivals, after all. He stood up and dragged her arm over his shoulder, pulling her up with him.
"Come on, Karasu-chan. I'm taking you home."
She didn't protest at all as he steered/hauled her out of the party, walking down the street. He sweatdropped, trying not to think about just how drunk she must have been—the girl had a notorious temper, especially when it came to him, and she hated people trying to help her. The crisp autumn air seemed to refresh her a little, and she stopped leaning on him. Not that he minded that much—she wasn't all that heavy to begin with, and the night was a little chill. The added warmth was nice.
Her apartment was all the way across town. He suddenly regretted not enlisting Hayate or Aoba's help. Aoba was her older brother, after all, and Hayate was her closest friend. He wasn't going to waste half the night dragging her drunk ass around Konoha, but he shuddered to think what she might do if she woke up, completely hung over, in his apartment.
His place was pretty close, though, so he decided to bring her there, let her pass out on his bed, and call her brother and have him pick her up.
The walk barely took ten minutes. It didn't take her nearly that long to recover from her drowsy state. He wasn't paying too much attention to her, though, so it caught him completely by surprise when he stopped in front of his door to reach for his keys and found himself being slammed up against the wall.
Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. She was a kunoichi, after all—a very drunk, unpredictable kunoichi, and she still had all her skills.
He found himself suddenly in a very awkward position. She had his back pressed to the wall, her fists gripping his black shirt. Her smaller, lithe body was practically molded against his. Her chin was resting on his left shoulder.
"Shiranui, I have a question," she breathed. Her lips grazed his ear as she spoke, making a tongue of flame race through his body.
He was nowhere near as drunk as she was. He knew what was happening was very, very wrong, and he knew she'd kill him once she was sober. If she didn't do it, her brother would not fail to come up with various unpleasant torture methods that would undoubtedly prove to strain the bonds of their friendship.
He couldn't help himself.
"I'm listening," he replied, his voice coming out much huskier than he'd intended. She shivered—just why, he wasn't sure. It wasn't particularly cold at the moment.
"I hate you," she whispered, but it lacked conviction. "I've hated you for fourteen years. I hate the way you talk, I hate the way you laugh, I hate the way you tease, I hate the way you walk. I despise the way you wear your hitai-ate. I hope you choke on that god-damned senbon you always insist on chewing. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
He blinked, not particularly upset. For one, she shrieked insults like those at him all the time, often accompanied by death threats and violence. For another, her warm breath was heating the sensitive skin of his throat and doing strange things to his mind. He wasn't thinking very clearly.
"I hear you," he told her, wondering what was coming next. She hissed slightly, drawing in an annoyed breath.
"I can't figure it out," she murmured. "I can't find a single thing I like about you, but I can't get you out of my head."
Bingo.
She was on a roll now. He actually found himself listening, tearing his mind away from the distracting things her closeness was doing to him.
"For some reason," she continued, "I find myself worrying when you're off on a mission. For some reason, when you come back injured, I want to clean your wounds and keep you healthy. I want to be with you during your fights. I don't ever want to let you out of my sight. And you'd better be listening carefully, Shiranui Genma, because there's no way in hell I'll ever admit this when I'm sober."
He was listening. He was listening very closely.
"I don't know what it means," she said, clearly frustrated. "I've only ever felt this way about aniki and Hayate and Iwashi."
He felt a slight, unfamiliar pang of jealousy when she mentioned her former Genin teammates—both of whom she'd dated for very, very brief periods of time. She'd also gone with Kotetsu for a while. Then, of course, there was Iruka and—
Shit. He was actually starting to list her former flings. That would prove to be a very bad idea.
"Genma."
He looked down and immediately wished he hadn't. Her blue eyes, dark and smoldering emotions he never thought he'd see there, were gazing straight up into his.
"There's one more thing I want to do," she told him.
He knew he wouldn't be able to resist her. He knew it. He had to leave, duck out of her embrace, get the hell away. He couldn't afford this, not just then. Neither could she.
There was a quiet clank as his hitai-ate and senbon hit the floor. Her right hand fisted itself in his dark hair and pulled his head down to meet hers.
There was nothing chaste in her kiss. Nothing to remind him of the loud, outgoing little girl he'd led into adulthood, kicking and screaming all the way. Her kiss was hungry, almost desperate, and he suddenly found that he had no choice but to return it with an equal burning passion. Her kiss was doing something to him—filling him with a flaming desire he hadn't felt in a very long time.
They stumbled back against his door. He felt for the knob and briefly considered kicking it down, not wanting to bother with keys—but it opened under his hand. He'd forgotten to lock it.
How very convenient.
Her hand had already slid out of his hair and up under his shirt, nails tracing teasing patterns over his chest. He was busy with her clothes. It was the same style outfit she'd been wearing since before he'd met her—a sleeveless, short black kimono that reached to mid-thigh and a long-sleeved mesh shirt underneath.
The kimono was easy—a quick tug on the sash and it dropped off as though it was never meant to be on in the first place. She'd already teased off his shirt and started on his pants. Her mesh shirt gave him a little trouble—the thing was so damn clingy. She was distracting him even more now, kissing the base of his throat and shoulder.
She stumbled slightly when he backed her into his bed. The mesh shirt came off and they sank down onto the mattress. He kissed her jaw, then the spot just under her ear where her jawbone ended. Her fingers tightened, sharp nails digging into his back. He ignored the raw pain and nibbled her earlobe lightly, teasingly, licking the edge of her ear. Her swollen lips parted slightly, allowing a low moan to escape her.
The sound spurred him on. He went lower, kissing and licking along her collarbone, reaching under her to unsnap and toss away one of the last two barriers between them. She hissed in sudden pleasure, arching up and pressing against him as experienced hands touched and tormented her most sensitive areas.
"Genma—"
Her gasp quickly changed to another fervent moan, silenced almost immediately when his lips locked on hers again. His hand left her breast, tracing down her side and leaving her shuddering, coming to a light rest on the smooth skin of her hip. There he encountered the final obstruction.
With all his heart, Genma vowed that once this was done he would personally hunt down the woman who invented undergarments and kill her—slowly and painfully.
It had to have been a woman. No man could possibly have that sadistic and twisted a mind.
"What are you waiting for?" She gasped. He'd broken the kiss in his halfhearted irritation. He suddenly realized just how ready she was, arching up and pressing against him. Her lips were traveling from his cheek to his jaw to his throat, encouraging, begging, demanding more. He couldn't help but smirk. Teasing her would be fun.
But first, the challenge of the underwear. He didn't have time to pull it off—that would have been a waste. He ripped it instead, throwing it to one side. She didn't seem to care.
He dipped his head back down to nuzzle her collarbone. He traced his tongue down her breastbone, delighting in the taste of her smooth skin and the burning heat that sprang up under his touch. She gave a sharp cry when his tongue found her breast, and he suddenly—irrationally—found himself very glad his walls were soundproof. She was his, and he wasn't going to share this night with anyone but her.
She cried his name as his tongue laved her navel, her legs wrapping around his waist. That was followed in quick succession by another strangled yelp of delight as his hand reached up and continued its previous ministrations.
"Genma," she groaned. "Not fair—I can't…think straight…"
He gave a low, throaty chuckle that made her shiver. Even in the midst of dizzying sexual heights, his rich voice had the power to make her heart skip. He was in control now and he knew it. She had the sudden feeling he would use that until he had her screaming for his mercy.
Quite frankly, that idea didn't seem half bad at the moment.
She reconsidered that thought almost immediately as her back arched involuntarily, responding to the barest touch of his breath on her hip. This was torture—pain and pleasure and frustration and ecstasy, all rolled into one indescribable, unmanageable feeling that was threatening to rip her to pieces if he didn't end—
That idea and everything following was erased immediately, along with any other coherent thought in her head. She shrieked in delight as his talented mouth found the most delicate place she had. He raised his head and couldn't help but flash her a wicked grin before leaning up to kiss her hungrily.
She responded fiercely, gasping against his mouth. He was a little unnerved to find that her unconditional arousal had started to affect him as well. He was the one touching her—she was barely even trying to stimulate him at this point—yet his mind was starting to trip out, leaving him gasping just as much as she with a frightening craving for completion.
"Karasu-chan," he said hoarsely. He'd called her 'crow' since they were children, making fun of her name—although 'bluebird' was quite appropriate, fitting her dark blue hair and flashing azure eyes. She'd hated his nickname for her for as long as he could remember. But now…now it just made her moan louder.
"What are you waiting for," she breathed again. "Genma…"
About then all rational thought disappeared.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
All right. There's the first chapter. I'll put up the second and last soon. After that, if you want flashbacks to the growth of their relationship (;; if you can call it that…they pretty much tried to kill each other whenever they saw each other), feel free to review asking me for some. I'm crazy busy this year, so I might not be able to, but I'll try. Thanks for sticking with me!