A/N: So I know this chapter is shorter than others, but it's just broken down into two and I just didn't feel like uploading a 12k chapter like that. I'll try to post the next chapter sooner than this one, fingers crossed.
Hopefully you guys like this! It has smut all around. Smut here and some more smut there because I know, I know it's about time. Also angst because yes. And more drama and development what can you do amirite.
Enjoy!
It becomes more frequent; less few and far in between. More of a daily routine, and less of an occasional incident. It becomes more of a need—a want—that pulls them in now that they have been given the small push they'd needed.
It doesn't lack passion and, although it's really only a half-satisfying act, it doesn't fail to give her a sense of completion after each and every time.
Sasuke doesn't bury himself in her; doesn't fill her, and this is a silent rule that they have both agreed to from the start. As long as he doesn't enter her, they can be together for as long as their spent bodies allow them.
She never voices it out loud, or touches on the topic that has been separating them slowly through the years—it would only turn everything around if she reminds him of his ever-lasting fears any time soon, and she doesn't think she could have him open up to her so easily if she were to breach that unspoken barrier.
In spite of what she lets herself remember sometimes, it really is not a bad thing. Mostly, their accord has allowed her to learn every dip and curve of his lean, god-like body, tease him exactly where he likes to be teased, and touch him exactly how he likes to be touched.
It allows her to get to know him—if not by talking and engaging in social, deep conversations about each other, then by learning their bodies.
In the three days after that night inside the bathroom, they seldom leave their room.
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.
Barely a week after the first night—the cataclysm to whatever they have become now—Sakura almost breaks something sacred in the midst of the night; almost brings up the taboo that has been comfortably settled between them.
They're on the bed, dark sheets tangled around his body while he's on his back and she's on top—naked, stripped down to her last item of clothing, grinding slowly on top of the obvious arousal peaking through his loose training pants.
It's not a strange, unfamiliar position. Sasuke, despite what his personality should dictate, likes to watch her ride him for one reason or the other, and she doesn't mind that, at least for this small moment in their marriage, she can find some semblance of control. Control that, out of the bedroom as she has found, is not far from nonexistent.
The sun set long ago and, as soon as Sasuke had returned from a meeting with two small-village warlords on the outskirts of town, he had seeked her out. And he had found her on the bed, eyes closed but not yet sleeping.
She had responded to his presence almost immediately.
Now, as she moves her hips over him like she has done many times before, she closes her eyes at the feeling of his—surprisingly, rough but very soft—hands over her hips, her waist, and the swell of her pert breasts. She hums her approval, the feeling overriding all of her senses, if only adding to the aching pleasure between her legs.
She opens her eyes only to watch him look back from under her.
A pair of crimson red eyes meet her startled sea green in the penumbra of the room, and she has the urge to lean down and really, really try to find out if his eyes are as red as they're made out to be from this height. It's not the first time she sees them like this, and there's something in them that compels her to stop her movements altogether, especially since there is barely any light in the room to serve as an excuse this time.
Sasuke only gives her an impatient look, and as soon as he blinks, the spell is broken and his eyes are back to a black, faded darkness she knows too well.
And he looks so small, so vulnerable, so much like he wants to stop restraining himself and have her how he wants to, that she almost stops this torture.
But she doesn't.
She raises herself up slightly and frees him from the confines of his—now soaked—dark pants. For a moment, she stands on her knees and holds him in her grip, and he closes his eyes at what she's probably about to do; at what she always does.
She tightens her hold on him and moves her hand up and down once, the motion enough to make him roll his head back onto the mattress.
Only that it's the end of that, and what he feels next is a soft, warm heat wrapping around his length like a vice, encasing him on one side abruptly and with no prior warning.
When he opens his eyes, he sees Sakura with her head down and biting her lip as she looks between their bodies, to the space where they meet, grinding herself slowly along his bare length now.
He twitches as he watches her move over him like she wants the same thing he does, but is unable to get it for reasons he wishes he didn't have.
Sasuke throws his head back again and savours the feeling of her over him, the image of her small breasts bouncing slightly as she moves her hips over his own imprinted in his brain now, but it's not enough. It's never enough. All he wants to do is grab her and have his way with her, watch her squirm and shake in his grip, and touch her where she likes to be touched—where he knows she will come undone in seconds, after days of trying to memorise what exactly makes her snap, writhe, and moan his name the way he likes so much.
He wants to forget everything he stands for, watch her take control as she rides him, and spill himself inside her warm, tight walls as she comes undone over him. He wants to smell the sweet perfume of her hair as he fucks her from behind, touch her incredibly soft skin whilst she's on the brink of touching the stars, and kiss her as he makes love to his wife, an otherworldly being he had no clue could exist.
He wants her and he knows she knows, but he can't let himself break his only established rule over this never-ending desire, no matter how big it really is, or how many times it threatens to overthrow what's left of his very logical, rational mindset.
Thinking of what he can't have, he lets her ride him until her arms start shaking and her hips get tired, and only then does he flip them. He touches her where he knows will work, and uses two fingers when he knows that's what she needs, and the bundle of nerves between her legs uncoils barely a minute later.
When he kisses her, it's for all the words he can't say. It's for all the times he wishes he could love her better, stop placing limitations on their relationship, and stop making her hold herself back.
He hopes she can understand.
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Sakura steals a glance at him from atop Eri, her white, beautiful mare, as they walk away from the stables slowly.
The sun is slowly setting under the horizon, but with still a few hours to go, all Sakura sees are the warm hues that play on his alabaster skin. All she sees are the features that make him so impossibly, ridiculously handsome: the sharp line of his jawline, a set of strong, broad shoulders, a warrior's lean physique. She looks at his strong, defined arms, his scarred, battle-ridden back that hides under his shirts, the strong hold of his hand on the reins, and the tenseness there is to his every step—for she knows he knows she's watching him.
Yet all she can do is scan her eyes over the furrow of his brows, the purse of his thin lips, and the straight bridge of his nose. There always has been some level of danger present, an overpowering urge to crawl under the nearest object, every time she has looked at him in the past. It's in the way he carries himself, his intimidating presence and intense, arrogant stare. It's the scent of forest, blood, and ash that he carries around—a bonfire in its final stages and a war that is just beginning. It's the promise that, with one hand on his Chokutō at all times, one wrong move can cost her her life at any second.
But now there is the gentle way his eyes soften ever-so-subtly when he sees her, and the patient, fragile way he handles her under his hands. Her husband is filled with scars and darkness, secrets and ghosts that haunt him day and night, but it's there. She has seen it. She's seen it enough to be at ease around him; to look at him and find he's not as dangerous as he fools others to think. A small smile stretches her lips as she gives him one last look and looks back to the forest ahead of them.
Sasuke's eyes are focused to the front as he leads Eri by his own set of reins, but he knows she's looking at him. He feels her heat from this distance just as he would feel it from the other side of town.
It's all he thinks about, the muscles in his arms coiling under the control he's trying to exert, as they walk around the gardens and into the forest.
And as soon as there are only trees around them, no one to look into where they are and what they're doing, and with just enough space to be away from the castle and from everything else, he stops walking and halts the horse to a complete stop.
Sakura whips her head toward him in confusion, but the look he gives her from under her answers her immediately. The heat in his gaze leaves her breathless, weak, and her body moves on its own when she crosses one leg over the horse and steps down, their chests bumping from the sudden movement.
Sasuke looks down at her now, never flinching away from her green, electric eyes, and his chest feels heavy as she takes his face in her hands.
He's already out of breath when she kisses him. And the act is so innocent, so slow and full of affection, that he can only bring her closer, run his hands over her long tresses, and meet her small waist in waves.
She runs her hands over the light material of his opened, thin shirt, and slides it down his shoulders until it pools over the sash around his hips.
She breaks the kiss, and with a shaky breath, looks down at his chest. There's a new gash that is still healing from training with Naruto a few days prior, and she traces it from his shoulder blade to the middle of his chest softly, with a sense of sadness and longing in her fingertips.
She looks ethereal. He watches her as she busies herself mourning over something that seems ridiculous to him, and he, as with many times before, is struck by his wife's otherworldly beauty; with her unusual hair colour and her unusual eyes, the delicate slope of her nose and the tiny, barely noticeable freckles that rest atop it. She's so fucking beautiful with her small smiles and understanding personality, the way she fights him but tries to understand his pain, the way she wins shogi matches and brings him to his knees in one second.
You're so beautiful, he wants to tell her, because she needs to know how he has always seen her.
It's only when he hears her gasp and sees her eyes widen that he realises he's said it out loud. If he should be bothered by it, he doesn't feel an ounce of shame or regret for stating the truth.
"Sasuke-kun," she breathes, finally looking up at him and meeting his gaze. There's so much there, so much there that she doesn't know what to do with, that she stands on the tip of her toes again and joins their lips.
This time is different. This time it's hungry, pooling heat under their bellies, taking them both in a chokehold under the dusk of the sky now that the sun's gone.
Sakura is being led somewhere, and she stumbles backwards until her back meets the rough bark of a tree. She breaks the kiss only to reach down into his loose pants, but he swats her hands away as he opens her shirt and lifts her chest bindings.
When she tries again, he holds her wrists and shakes his head, then lets go. She doesn't understand; she can clearly see the bulge under his clothes, so she doesn't understand why he wouldn't want relief.
He kisses her neck, down her collarbone, and takes his time on her chest. It's not rushed at all, not like he's used to doing things. He is so delicate and slow that, by the time he kneels before her and lowers her pants, she could almost think this is love.
She cries silently as he makes her think this could be something more.
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Sakura wakes up to his face.
The first thing she hears is a calm, comforting breathing pattern somewhere close to her face. The first thing she feels is a strong force reeling her in, encasing her over the curve of her waist and meeting loosely at the soft wave of her spine; a leg entangled with hers, and one of her hands on a defined, lean chest.
But the first thing she sees is his face. Sculpted by a higher being, rivaling the greatest of warriors and charmers alike, Sasuke rests peacefully beside her and all she can do is watch.
It's the first time she's this close to him while he slumbers, during the early morning with sufficient light to illuminate his form fully, without any impediments in the way, so she makes sure to really take him in.
This morning, quiet and calm and serene, with nothing but the warmth that he provides and the knowledge there is no more space between them on this bed anymore, she thinks she may be bewitched by something that surpasses her scope of understanding. This morning, in this moment, she doesn't really mind.
And for just this moment, she tells herself it's normal to be enraptured by the small flutter of his long eyelashes as he sleeps, or the purse of his inviting lips every time his dreams bother him in some way or the other. She's transfixed on the movement his chest makes under her palm and the way his heart beats gently, with no worries, no plans, and no responsibility falling on someone as the Shogun of a country. Just Sakura, Sasuke, and the small smile she doesn't realise she has on her lips.
For just this moment, she traces the same strong jaw she has kissed and the same cheek she has caressed. There are subtle signs of a light stubble beard from lack of shaving, she notices, but the look compliments him. If only, it takes away the young, soft angles he usually sports, and gives him more of a masculine, strong air—fit for a leader.
She follows the bridge of his straight nose with her index finger, and then smooths over his forehead, moving stray hairs that have fallen over his features away—a result of being on his side while he sleeps.
And with the tip of her thumb, she traces the same lips she had kissed in the bathroom that night, for the first time ever.
Lost in the memory, she doesn't notice him stir.
She gasps when Sasuke, unmoving and breathing still even, opens his eyes to stare straight into hers.
For just this moment, she tells herself the way her heart skips a beat is just an insignificant consequence of his abrupt action.
They're so close their noses brush with every intake of breath.
Sea green meets black, bottomless grey, and time stops.
Like a time bomb, it explodes on her just how wrong this whole thing is. And just like that, it's with a startling, crushing feeling that she realises this is not normal.
She's always known it's not normal. It's not normal how, with just one look, she's shaking and unable to breathe and with her heart lodged in her throat. Sometimes, and specifically in this moment, she feels extremely vulnerable to him—naked, exposed, and emotionally charged into something she doesn't want, and isn't comfortable feeling toward the man.
Not now. Not when things are rocky, and this whole thing has been hiding the real issue at hand. Not when they have been sneaking around like lovebirds while the nation falls apart. Not when she doesn't even know him as much as she wishes to.
Because, while this last week has been full of little intimate moments and pleasures like she has never known before, that is all there is to it. It's just pleasure, a clash of two bodies in search for physical release. Nothing more.
The reality of the situation is that she wants to hug him close on the bed and kiss him simply because she has never done that before, or laugh at his sour face as she pinches his cheek and calls him cute, or make him lunch and have him accept it without asking for the cook to inspect it first, but they are not there yet. They are not there yet and she should have never started this if she knew, because she knew, that this isn't the right way to settle things, and that this carnal desire that they carry around won't solve any of their problems.
And after this morning and that day at the stables, she's not sure she wants to keep doing this when her feelings are on the line. If what she felt those times is love, she doesn't want it yet. She doesn't want to pull him in, confront her very conflicting feelings toward him, and reach a conclusion if she's nowhere near sure he will do the same.
Because, how can she be sure he feels the same? How can she be completely certain this is reciprocated outside of the pleasure of their bodies? Does he love her, or does he love being with her like this? Having her, touching her, but nothing more than that? Does he want to share news about the country he leads, the new threats of war that he has found in the recent days, the meetings he goes to that seem important, the ghosts of his past that seem to follow him around even in dreams, or will he refuse to share more than what this is?
She can't breathe.
Her heart is beating loudly in her ears and her lungs are but filled with water and she's drowning as she looks into his eyes, eyes that are always piercing, yet seem gentle as they look into her own. She doesn't know what to make of that, so she does what her mind tells her is the only rational thing, and looks away.
Sakura is about ready to get up and move away from him when she feels him move beside her and, before she can even begin to process this information, he's pushing her gently to lie on her back. Hovering over her, one hand on the bed to hold himself up and the other on the side of her neck, he stares at her from above.
They are not there yet, and she knows. She tells herself this as he kisses her neck, up her jaw, and the corner of her mouth.
She remembers how it had all felt the night when this chain reaction started; how he had kissed her senseless for long after their bath; how she had loved him throughout the night without pretending, without thinking about the consequences.
It's when their lips brush that she forces herself to turn her head to the side.
There's a moment of silence after that.
God, she wants him, she wants him so much that it hurts; wants him here, wants him when he's gone, wants him as she sleeps. She can barely look at him for it.
Sasuke only stares at her—dazed eyes still rimmed with traces of sleep—in confusion as she rejects his kiss and avoids his gaze for the first time in days.
"Sakura," he calls, voice hardening when she doesn't so much as acknowledge him. Confusion mixes with worry, and he frowns down at her after a few seconds with no input from her side. "Did I do something wrong?"
Sakura looks back at him, but at a loss of words.
She can understand why he would be confused by her action, but she thinks her side of the story is just as justified, if not more. They've had their biggest, worst argument only a few days prior and, although being intimate with Sasuke is not something she would mind doing over and over, she doesn't want this to be the only thing they stand for now. She doesn't want them to fall into a pattern of sharing their bodies, yet still be broken in every other aspect of their marriage.
She wants to get to know him, share his long trips across the nation, provide feedback before he makes any political decisions, stand by his side in every important event that requires the presence of someone so high as the Shogun, and be with him through the good and the bad.
She wants him, but she wants all of him. Not only this small part that only satisfies them for a fraction of the night. Not something that, if she allows before they can start mending other parts of their marriage, will become something they won't be able to stop. In fact, she should have ended this after the day it started and not now, ten days later.
The confusion is still clear on his face as he moves away from her when he realises she's not going to answer him, rolling off and sitting on the edge of the large, spacious bed instead, head down and frown marring his delicate features.
She takes a breath to keep talking, looks at Sasuke sitting next to her, and closes her mouth again.
She has so much to say, and yet, as she looks at him, there is nothing specific that comes to mind.
With his head down and his long bangs covering his face, she can't make out anything other than the fact his mood has completely shifted with her action. His arms are resting on his knees, and for just this moment he looks tired; exhausted, defeated.
She doesn't expect him to lean his head in her direction and speak against all odds, but he does.
"I'm trying, Sakura," he murmurs, the words dragged and sleep-rimmed, but all the more raw and sincere.
If Sakura feels a pang in her chest at that, she does her best to ignore it.
"I know."
Sasuke looks at her, then, turns his head to the side completely and really looks at her.
The confidence he has displayed in all these days is gone with his ability to stay focused and optimistic, and she thinks he may have realised the same thing she had. And just like that, the air is suddenly filled with a tension that seems too familiar for comfort. How many times had the impending, horrible truth been revealed in this same room before?
Too many times. It's present in the way all the fight leaves his body, and his eyes cloud over with worry, and perhaps even panic.
"What I told you that day, about the men who attacked me? My men? That's only the start," he says, catching every detail in her face as it morphs into something akin to surprise. She had clearly not expected him to tell her this so out of the blue. "I need to keep this country safe, but it is also my responsibility to keep my wife safe. And to do that, I need you to be ready, next time it will be something far worse than just-"
"What are you saying, Sasuke-kun? Something far worse?" She stands up in one swift movement—nevermind the nightgown riding up with the movement, or the wrinkled bedsheets she leaves behind—and faces him.
"Look at me," she whispers, a small smile that doesn't reach her eyes stretched over her lips, and he lifts his head up to meet her eyes a second later. She forgets the nervous flutter of her stomach, and the need to run away from him as far as possible. "I am safe, and I do not need to get ready for anything worse because I know you will take care of it, and you will succeed."
Sasuke stares up at her green eyes, big and sparkly, full of devotion and wanting to hold all the reassurance he may need. He looks at her small, almost saddened smile, and the curve of her delicate nose. Her pronounced cheeks, now more defined than at the start of their marriage—because Sasuke's well aware she has progressively been losing weight along their marriage, and the sharp, protruding bones of her shoulders only remind him, once again, of his inability to take care of the woman in front of him.
His wife.
Sasuke stares at her as a foggy memory presents itself behind his eyelids.
A tired Sakura, wanting to reason with him, wanting to make him understand they need to trust each other for this to work.
And I understand that you may not like me, or... even be attracted to me, but there has to be some kind of understanding in a marriage like this.
It makes him realise that he has duties just as important as her own, yet he's failing at all of them. Because not only is he unable to keep her safe—Nakamura, he thinks, is a clear example of this—and keep tabs on her general health, but he is also unable to show her how much he cares. How much he sees that she's out of reach, with her striking features and otherworldly beauty.
How can she, after everything they've been through, still think he can't possibly find her attractive? How can she think of him so blind?
It's because, as with many other of his conflicting emotions, he hasn't given her reason to think he does. He had told her in the forest a few days before, but how many other things has he missed? How many other compliments has he looked over by assuming she already knows how he feels for her?
Sasuke locks his jaw at that, his cheeks tensing with the motion.
She notices. Carefully and slowly, she takes his face in her hands—delicately, as if waiting for him to reject her touch, and he closes his eyes as soon as he feels her—a second where he feels her soft hands, and thinks of nothing in particular but the warmth that immediately flows through him.
But then he opens them again, and he looks so, so tired; so much like he has failed at something greater than him. It makes her smile falter against her better judgement.
He avoids her gaze when he speaks, but he doesn't necessarily push her away.
"I said I would handle it, but it's not that simple, Sakura."
She watches as he sighs and swallows, and she's unable to move as he keeps explaining further.
"If I told Kabuto to stay away, it was because I can only trust a few, selected people now. If I leave for days, and even weeks, it's because I need to ensure everything in the nation is running smoothly, and that no other country—allied or otherwise—is conspiring against me."
Against us.
Sakura hears it even when he doesn't say it, and she can only do so much as move her thumb over his cheek, and weave her fingers through his hair in comfort.
"I know," she repeats, this time quietly.
"Then you should know this last attempt at my life has been the first one coming from my soldiers. They killed five of their comrades, and waited for me to get there so they could do the same to their leader. Fire's leader."
Sakura tries to seem unaffected by this, but it's only the truth that he's telling her. It's only the facts, and it's hard for her to keep weaving her fingers through his hair and stay calm about it, even if she's only trying hard in order to not interrupt him; after all, it's not so often that her husband lets down his walls and describes everything that is happening around them. And that, she thinks with something lodged in her throat, is all she has ever wanted.
"Lord Orochimaru, you remember him, right?" He asks, but still doesn't look up to see if she responds, his eyes trained on a spot on her stomach. Of course she remembers, and she can't suppress the shudder that crosses her body at the reminder of the man who had so carelessly shared the news of the Uchiha massacre to her. He had been the one who turned their lives upside down; she would never forget.
"He was seen inside the Council's quarters a few weeks past," he says, finally meeting her shocked gaze. She stops the movement in her hands at the news.
"The Council?" She breathes, not understanding where this is going, but not liking it one bit nevertheless. "Did you send him there?"
The look he gives her is all she needs to understand.
"He spent three hours inside, then left while wearing a disguise," he explains and, at last, he pries her frozen hands away from his head. "I find no sense of security knowing the same man who disclosed the story behind my clan's fate is also the man who is meeting the Council behind my back."
He stands, and the close proximity of their chests as they touch makes her take a step back.
"Especially when the Council is the primary suspect behind my family's demise, and my brother's untimely death."
"Allegedly," she counters, not really trusting these rumours with no hard proof and just the snake man's word.
"Most probably," he bites back, looking down at her from the bridge of his nose. She has to crane her neck to look at him.
"What are you to do?" She asks, and searches his face for answers. "Go into the Council's common house and demand answers?"
There is something like surprise flashing across his gaze; something like recognition, like that is exactly what he has been planning to do all along.
He doesn't acknowledge her rhetorical question, and she realises that this is truly what he's viewing as a plausible solution. With a pause, she frowns at him for actually thinking that as an option.
"You shouldn't."
He blinks once, snapping out of whatever had been consuming his thoughts, and frowns at her.
"Why not?"
"Breaking into such a guarded, high-class institution like the Council, with no previous warning of such visit, can only lead to news from all over the country about your boldness," she says. "It is not a good move."
There's a moment of contemplation where he stares at her like she has never seen before—almost, she thinks, like his equal.
"Do you see any other alternatives?"
Sakura looks down at his scar-framed chest, the skin filled with healed cuts, scrapes, and the few and in between large gashes. There's one that runs from his ribs to his belly button, and she can only guess it was too deep to heal on its own.
She sees another alternative. She sees many, but only one that will guarantee a fast, safer course of action, and will give him the answers he so seeks.
She sighs and speaks the unspeakable, the one thing she knows he won't let her do.
"I could go in your place."
Nothing happens at first. And then Sasuke's eyes flash with a certain something, and he looks at her like she has gone crazy. He looks betrayed, even, that she could suggest such a thing.
They spend ten minutes going back and forth about it, but it's his resounding and definitive no at the end that makes her drop the topic.
.
.
.
Sasuke gives Shikamaru a hard, long glance, snapping from the several documents displayed on his table.
He repeats himself as though Sasuke hasn't heard him, but he had. He only wishes he hadn't.
"It makes sense," he tells him. "She has never met the Council, therefore granting her the opportunity to start on a blank slate," Shikamaru notes, pacing around his office while he marvels on how incredibly astute it was for Sakura to think this. "The world does not know her, the villagers would not recognise her, and the elders hold no reason to do her any harm. It's extremely ingenious."
"No."
"Think about it-"
"I said no," Sasuke retorts, slamming his fist down his desk and shaking the glass of water that rests at a corner from the vibration.
Shikamaru only gives him an understanding look, and Sasuke almost sneers at the pity he sees in his eyes.
"Going on your own is the riskiest decision you could possibly make, and it does not even guarantee they will speak with you."
Sasuke dismisses him with his hand, and looks down at all the papers he has to look over again with a grim look on his face.
"I will take my chances."
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.
Sakura doesn't speak to him for two days. It's not that she doesn't want to, but his stubbornness over something that seems very reasonable is something she can't deal with.
She still sees the longing in his eyes. They cross paths and she can see the way his eyes move over her body, her face, and how he looks like he wants to say something, yet doesn't.
So after two days of the silent treatment when he's called to a meeting just at the next village over, and she finds that it's Kabuto's time of the month to find new supplies outside of the castle, she does what she's been wanting to and goes to his cottage.
She tells her maids that she's going for a walk in the forest she trains in, a hood resting in her arm, and they pay her no mind.
She places the cloak over her shoulders as she walks through the forest, hiding her delicate, expensive garments underneath. Her hair is behind her in a low bun and her eyes are hidden by the hood of the cloak—it wouldn't do her any good if someone sees her eyes, so recognisable and vibrant, because then that could give her away in an instant.
Quickly, knowing Kabuto could come back any minute now, she enters the hut, closes the door, and unrolls the rug until she can see the entrance of whatever underground passage this leads to.
With a breath, she nods to herself, grabs the handle bars of the ladder with both hands, and descends.