Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto

blacksyryn: Did you know some people consider spacing out going to sleep?

Sasuke: Yeah, only without the body getting any real rest.

blacksyryn: Shut it.

Lee: blacksyryn would like me to tell the readers that this story contains—um, do I have to say this?

blacksyryn: Absolutely.

Lee: (blushing) But—

blacksyryn: I wanna hear you say it and hold this as well. (hands something to Lee)

Lee: What? (recognizes object and immediately drops it) NO!

blacksyryn: Lee…

Lee: (sigh) blacksyryn would like me to tell the readers that this story contains a scene where—ahem!—two characters…um, have relations.

Naruto: What are those?

Lee: (absolutely red) Um, two characters in this installment are intimate.

Kakashi: Just say it Lee. blacksyryn won't let you start the story unless you do.

Lee: (eyes closed, fists clenched) Two characters have wild, unashamed sex in this chapter!

blacksyryn: Good boy.

Naruto: (picks up what Lee dropped) What's this? Candy?

Everyone: O.o

Only Women Bleed

She felt his chakra long before he knocked on her door.

It wasn't that he was that easy to track—quite the opposite in fact. The man standing in front of her is considered by many as one of the best ninjas in Konoha. He was strong and knew how to use what talents he had—both in missions and in life. She could sense him because she was that in tuned to him. His thoughts, his feelings, his chakra…she knew him inside and out.

She knew what he needed.

That's why, when he came to her door—every time he came to her door—she simply opened her arms and let her ANBU into her soul. Tonight was no different.

The man staggered into the room, ignoring the frills and devices of a single woman living alone, and grabbed onto the only thing that could keep him sane. He felt her slender fingers reach up to his mask and pull the offending porcelain away. They both heard the sound of the mask cracking when she tossed it to the floor, but neither cared.

Man's got woman to take his seed

He buried his hands into her hair and urgently pressed his mouth against hers. Her mouth opened and his tongue entered. There was no battle for dominance in this kiss, in this relationship. She was his. Strong hands pulled at her hair, using it as a leash so that he could place her where he wanted her, how he wanted her. The kiss deepened and teeth were added into the mix when he brutally nipped at her full lips.

He's got the power—oh…

He could do anything and she would follow. In the dark, he was her god. She began taking his clothes off. Her hands were shaky with urgency and lust. She didn't need light or her eyes open to do the task. She knew her lover's body well. Pale fingers brushed over bandaged wounds and old scars. The feel of them turned her on, as did the contrast of her pale flesh against his hard body. She knew her lover's profession intimately.

She's got the need.

After all, it was also her chosen profession.

He was having more difficulty with her own garments than she did with his. Impatient as always, he ripped the nightgown off of her. Once the garment was gone, his body was pressed against hers and a ragged moan sounded through the apartment. Together, they made their way to her room, to her bed. Halfway there, she made a breathy sigh and the man froze. He tightened his hold on her silky hair and forced her to look at him. She looked up and saw pain and anger in his mesmerizing eyes.

"Don't make that sound," he ground out. "They made that sound tonight. Don't make that sound."

She didn't answer. She used her own strength to pull herself up his body. She wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him urgently. He groaned and held her hips when he slid into her waiting body. Her neck arched in pleasure and her eyes shut. But she didn't make a sound. If he didn't want her to make a sound, then she wouldn't.

She spends her life through, pleasing up her man.
She feeds him dinner or anything she can.

They stayed there, him standing and supporting her, connected. She was waiting for a sign from him. He was trying to push the faces that haunted him out of his mind. But one face in particular came out at him more often. His hands gripped his lover's hips until bruises formed, but she didn't move or make a sound. He whimpered and buried his face into the crook of her neck. Full lips pressed against his forehead and soothing hands ghosted over his shoulders and back. No words were said, no questions asked.

This is why he first went to her. This is why he kept coming back to her.

He raised his head and stared into her light colored eyes. He felt her breasts against his chest and her warmth around him. Lust clouded his features once more and he pushed urgently against her. She stared right back and dug her fingers into his shoulders. He could see the wooden edge of a picture frame behind her, but didn't stop moving.

Tears started to form in her eyes from the rough treatment and the feel of the hard wall behind her. But she didn't make a sound. She didn't break the gaze she had on him, even when the pleasure became so great that she couldn't help but shudder and gasp. He stilled and waited. Not once, did they break the connection their eyes held with each other.

Not one motion of her body or emotion in her eyes refused the man taking her. Fucking her. The woman inwardly cringed at the crass word. But she couldn't call this making love. For that to happen, there had to be love there—for both of them She didn't know how they got to this point. She knew when it started. When they started comforting each other with their bodies.

But she couldn't pinpoint the time when it became an obsession between them. For him, an addiction, a drug that held his demons at bay. For her, a need, a habit necessary to uphold her way of life. She knew that she was replaceable to him. A vessel to release his tension and frustration into when it became too much. But for her…

…Only women bleed…

He pushed away from the wall and strode to her bed. They fell onto it, still connected, still needing, still wanting. They writhed on the sheets, touching, scratching, and using each other.

"This is the last time," he muttered, caressing the side of her body as he moved over her. "This has to be the last time."

He lies right at you.

Again, she didn't say anything. Instead, she took his head in her hands and brought him down to her breasts. Another sigh caught in her throat when she felt his lips on her body. He always said that. It didn't matter how many times they joined their bodies, how many years they spent hiding their relationship, how deep he was in her when he said it, or how many nights he arrived at her door, bloody and needing her warmth, he always said that.

But just as he always stated the same thing, she always knew that he'd be back. After the next mission, he'd be back. And the one after that and the one after that. As long as the man in her arms took missions, he'd be back in her embrace, in her, once his job was done.

You know you hate this game.

She closed her eyes and held onto the golden locks under her fingers. His pace increased and the pleasure multiplied. She felt him throb inside her and knew when he recovered he'd be gone and she'd be alone. She looked at him in surprise when he only began to move and grind against her once more. She placed a cold hand on his cheek, tracing the whisker marks there, and spoke for the first time.

"Naruto?" she gasped.

The man stared down at the woman under him as he continued to move and run his hands down her delectable body. Pale hair fanned over dark pillows and soft skin slid against his tanned body. He gripped her head in his hands and gazed into the soft, light colored eyes before him. He kissed her mouth and plundered. She was his.

Not Sasuke's or any other shinobi's.

She was his.

Even if he didn't want her anymore, she was his.

It was only after he felt her body tense twice more and he groaned out his own pleasure that he stood up next to the bed and looked down at the exhausted kunoichi on it.

"This is the last time," he whispered, harshly. Pale eyes blinked at him blankly. He knew she didn't believe him. He barely believed himself. His lover of eight years brought her knees up to her chest and watched him as he dressed in the spare clothes she kept for him. He couldn't escape the weight of the light colored orbs on him and turned around.

"I've asked Hinata to marry me."

His lover visibly jerked in surprise. Her hair fell into her face as she leaned her chin on her knees. "I know you'll make her happy," she said softly.

He heard the second part of her sentence—even if she didn't say it out loud.

"I just hope she'll make you happy."

Naruto glanced back at the naked woman sitting in her bed and memorized the sight of the moonlight over her smooth flesh. He left the room and she let the tears fall from her eyes.

I don't love him, she told herself, almost believing it. She could lie to herself about that, but not about this: she would miss him. Even though they only had stolen hours together, she would miss the absence of those hours.

Only women bleed.

Naruto's sharp ears heard the sounds of her soft sobs even through the walls that separated them. His eyes filled with pain and sympathy, but they both knew the rules of their game. They could care for each other, but they couldn't love.

He kissed his fingers and placed his palm on the closed apartment door.

"Goodbye…Ino-chan."