Title: Secrets
Author: Winter Ashby (rosweldrmr)
Disclaimer: Not mine, though I wish they were. Sadly, they are right where they belong: in the insanely creative and utterly capable hands of the great Masashi Kishimoto-sama.
Rating: T
Summary: Rough hands and green eyes meet in the dead of night. It was a mistake she never should have let happen, but now she dreams of him and all the dark secrets he holds for her. Someday this will all end, but not tonight… (Sakura & Neji)
Authors Notes: This is kinds of implied sexual content but nothing explict. Don't say I didn't warn you.

"I can't do this anymore." Dark words filled the empty space between the two shinobi; hushed confessions in the dead of night clouded the young kunoichi's vision and threatened to mist her perfect image of the deep brown hair and stunning sliver eyes. Even in the dark, her stunning pink locks shine like it was daylight. Dark green eyes, filled with desire and confusion greeted him.

"I don't understand." The subtle trembling filled her throat as the simple truth dripped from her swollen pink lips. Her breath was still heavy and heated. Her heart throbbed and now it ached and she couldn't make herself admit why.

"This, I can't do this anymore. I can't be around you. I can't even stand to look at you." Angry accusations and fearful fate made her reassess their position. She was trapped, helplessly against a cold wall pressed against every inch of his humming body. She wished she could just taste him one more time before he took their secret rendezvous' away.

She tried to think back to the first time it had happened. It was raining, in the summer. She was full of false bravado as they argued about who had command. It was some diplomatic mission to the wind country. He was there as a private escort, something that greatly displeased him. But through the screaming and cursing she found her back pinned to a tree and her hands being held against ruff bark as heated lips made contact with her all too willing neck.

She leaned in. That's the moment she would replay over and over a million times in her head. If she had only pushed him away, or screamed, or cried, or cursed, or kicked him in the nuts. But she was so cold, and he was so warm. She was so empty and tired of being alone and his lips on her felt right in the worst kind of way. If only she hadn't leaned in, then she wouldn't be here now: back pressed against some wall in some alley in some backstreet of her home town.

But she couldn't bring herself to be gratefully for the finality he was bringing. It had been too long now, too many secret glances and midnight meetings. She craved him, she was addicted. Like he was some kind of illegal drug she would sneak out of her house at night to pick up on a dimply-lit street corner in the wrong side of town. Not that Konoha had a wrong part of town; it was just that any side of town where she and Neji occupied the same space was wrong.

She hated him for never being able to love her. She hated herself for knowing that she didn't love him. But god, his lips on that one spot on her neck made her squirm under him and beg for more like a cheap whore. She was his cheap whore, and she liked it. She liked knowing that he craved her, that he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. But now it was different, those dangerous eyes glared at her through the darkness were a silent warning.

Don't touch.

"Why?" she let the childish pain fill her world and tumble over through her lips, begging him for more. But it was too late; he was resolved, set like stone in the guarded stance towering above her. "Tell me why, at least…"

"I don't owe you anything." Venomous, angry, true. There was nothing that bound him to keep any unspoken deal or worse and underlying loyalty to her. She always knew it would end, always knew one day he would look at her, and not want her anymore. Just like everyone else in her life – she was disposable, replaceable, and expendable in everyway. But despite it all, he leaned in again. "I just don't understand." She recognized the gentle tone in his voice that she was sure he reserved just for her, just for this.

She shivered for him, rippling her body across the wide expanse of his chest and down the long, sweeping cage of his arms. She leaned in, head lifting from the wall and soft lips greeted painful wanting. Idly, she became aware that he'd dropped her hands, still stinging from their prison of his hands she froze. Never once had he allowed her hands freedom. In all the years, all the secret meetings and hushes whispers of pleading had he never allowed her hands to drop. She didn't need a second invitation. Trembling hands gripped the forehead protector and immediately pulled it free of his perfect, chocolate hair. Her cold fingers traced the cursed seal with frightening confidence.

He hissed. She liked it. She did it again. She pushed her nails through his hair and scrapped over the arching muscles of his back. He grunted. She liked it. She did it again. She touched his face, gently pushing over the imagery veins of his Byakugan, traced his eyebrows and the down the slop of his jaw line. And all she can think is, "Why?"

Then she was being pushed back, pain radiated through her pours. She looked up at him with a strange, twisted kind of excitement. She like it, she'd always liked it. But only in the dark places of her heart was she ever willing to admit that to herself. Instead she just let the sensation wash over her in the private time they shared. It was a secret, her secret – his discovery. It was theirs, wholly and unjustly.

She could still feel the sweeping look of heated desire that filled her face as he slammed her against that tree. She hadn't expected to like it so much. But there was something so freeing about giving in and letting him take control. She enjoyed the bruises he left in his wake while she mourned their time apart and counted the days until their next meeting. It was always unspoken, but one would show up late a night or track them down in the early morning on the training grounds and they would give in. He would take her hands in his and clamp down to keep her in place. She remembered the first time she opened her eyes to see him watching her with that sick kind of fascination. He liked to be in charge.

She knew that was partially because he was a caged bird. He was a tool of the branch family, fated to be used. But no matter how many speeches she'd heard him give about how you can't change yourself, she knew that this was his attempt to be something different – someone else. This was the one thing that he was in control of, the one thing that was his to do with as he saw fit. She was his. She liked that. She liked belonging to someone, and trusting so much you relinquish your will and let them take over.

It scared her in the beginning. She felt dirty, and sick. Until one night he gripped her chin in his rough hands and told her he liked being the only one to know her secret. He liked whispering sullen thoughts into her ear as he held her arms and bound her soul. He liked hearing her whimper his name over and over in the still of an abandoned field. He dreamt about that look in her eyes that took over the second they were alone. He liked that she let him do whatever he wanted. She liked pleasing him.

"Because this is what you do to me." He pressed against her, making sure she understood the effect she had on him. "I can't think, I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't train, I can't even fight! I feel like I can't breathe without this..." The silver orbs she'd come to know so well focused on her and her knees felt weak. His hot breath on her face made her twist and brush against him. He glowered. She frowned. She hated it. He did it again. "…without you." There was a kind of desperate ragged tone in his voice as he looked down on pink hair and green eyes. "I don't understand what this is. This is wrong, but I can't make myself stop. It's like you have some kind of power over me."

She looked up at him with clouded green eyes and pressed her lips against his once more. The inches of blank air that held them in place dripped away and melted down until all that was left were layers of clothes. It was just her and him, not two shinobi's or two hidden leaves floating along on the same breeze. It was Sakura and Neji – a man and a woman. And she wanted him like a woman yearns for the touch of a man.

"Touch me." It was small, silent, longing, and desperately hollow. He filled her vision and blocked out all logic from entering her brain. Logic had no place in this tiny world of illicit sex and confusing need. He pushed her back, connecting her head once again with the wall. Then the same, familiar excited expression filled her face for one brief second of abandonment before she banished back into the darkest recesses of her mind. Once again his hands caught her and held her in place. Even though he knew she would never run. She still wasn't sure why he'd let her touch him, but she was sure that now what she knew his silken skin felt like she would be haunted.

Something had changed tonight. He hadn't understood it, and past the haze of desire he couldn't be sure of anything. But it seemed to him had started a new phase; something quite important. He tried not to dwell on it, and her hands were doing a wonderful job of making him forget. So he gave in and leaned in and watched her. It didn't really matter what changed though, because eventually it would end. He knew that. Yes, someday this would all end. And once again she would be Sakura and he would be Neji and all that had passed between them would ebb and fade into the distant past.

But it wouldn't be tonight or the next time or the time after that. But she knew that one day he would no longer come for her, and she would sit on the training grounds in the middle of the night and wait for a lover that she didn't have to love that didn't exist anymore. But it wasn't going to be tonight. So she closed her eyes and whispered his name because this was their time together. This was their secret, and no one could take that from her now. She would just have to enjoy the time she had.