Disclaimer: Beautiful, I don't need to own Naruto to write fanfiction.
Penname: LiveLoveLaugh
FanFiction Story: Dirty Gamble
Summary: (Prequel of Dirty Talk) They were the emulsion of oil and water, their love was not immediate. Their friendship was rocky, but at the end of the game, they win more than just a prize. (ShinoXSaku)
Yeah, I went a little overboard with the details in this chapter. I guess its part of my charm.
A Helping Hand
Yamanaka Ino had never had such a tiring, boring eventless day. Not even the shop's strong coffee could bring a witty smile on her face. Besides watering the same flowers three times in the same hour — she always thought her geraniums looked parched — there were only so much a florist could do in one day. People who would purchase the best flowers in the village at her mother's shop, and it might take time until the same customers would come back for more bouquets and potting soil. Many times in a usual day, she would hold back her frustration when one customer had used lead water for her tulip buds, or when another would take hours to choose just the right flowers then buy the first ones she had picked out an era ago.
Some people just don't know how to appreciate the beauty of nature.
But today, no withered crone came into the shop to ignite an argument, no poor husband scratching off his scalp to choose the right crimson shade of red roses, not even the neighboring kid, who promised come in to sell scout cookies, was there. Being a sexually frustrated lioness on the prowl, she repeatedly drowned the rainbow of plants and blossoms around the store with the green hose. She fidgeted at every noise she heard, let it be the squeak of her open-toed sandals against the wooden floors or the little cute mutterings she made when a thorn cut her finger.
She couldn't believe she made herself pretty for nothing; no young man entered the shop in looks for a little flirting with the gorgeous florist. Her platinum blond hair was twisted into a tight bun at the top of her head, the long bangs down the side of her attractive face. She was proud of her rather large chest pressing eagerly through the fabric of her apron, tied so tightly it felt like a corset, her feminine hands was stuffed into latex rubber gloves as she snipped and ripped away weeds in the backroom greenhouse. The sun, hidden playfully behind white clouds, had shot rays of gold through the glass windows, burning the back of her neck whenever she turned around to correct the rolls of gleaming ribbons at the bottom drawer into alphabetical order.
Many times today, she took her random breaks and went to the Employees Only office to watch the afternoon cartoons, one show featuring an adorable underwater yellow sponge pouncing around a grumpy blue bald tentacle-thing with a droopy nose. Her mother –who was coming close to her retirement age – kept running around the place, shouting at her to get her out and about. What Ino hated the most, besides losing to her best friend, was being treated like a child from a scarier woman than herself.
Near the hour of closing, the orange orb of the sleepy sun was setting over the horizon. The golden rays turned to bronze-tinted beams that warmed the cool atmosphere of the coming nighttime. No service, no new cash, Ino disappointedly wiped the counter with a can of cleaning product and a towel. She scrubbed the same spot for the fourth time, thinking over and over about the wages she'd been saving up for that black designer mini-dress at the showcase, until someone entered into the shop obscured by the glowing sheen over his towering silhouette.
Her blue eyes nearly popped out, a customer! "Hey there! Welcome to the Yamanaka Flower Shop! What may I—"
Suddenly, her voice was abruptly trapped between the gums of her swollen jugular. The front door closed shut, the holy orange glow disappeared, a massive shadow overcast the entire shop as one fellow walked closer and closer like a precautious studious manner that of a stalker, revealing himself to the woman in a movie, the terrified curvy blonde with too much makeup who would soon shriek in horror, as the man's hidden face soon comes to transform into a structure of scary flesh and breath…but it wasn't like that at all. She would have been the scared victim, but the person would stood in front of her was rather, comical and abstract, none like a Peeping Tom stranger and besides, she knew who he was.
Standing there, stood Aburame Shino wearing not his regular overstuffed coat and hoodie, as a matter of a fact, he didn't look like his usual self. He adorned in clean dark attire with a fashionable navy tie, nice shoes, ironed slacks, a midnight-black jacket, and a striped blue dress shirt. He was dressed very casually, with a few buttons opened to reveal the tantalizing pale skin underneath.
He looked very lean, not bulky and intimidating as before, and tall, not that freakish height that outrun every other tall shinobi she knew. His hair was almost the same and he still wore sunglasses, but a nicer pair than the ones that reminded her of goggles. One hand was in his fancy pants pockets, while another held a strip of fuchsia-pink paper lift high enough to his stone-like face, which held an emotional fraction of a disapproving exhilarated expression.
When she could not take her eyes off him, Shino turned his head aside to a small octave and coughed, "I need a bouquet."
In his hand, he handed her the pink paper with the order, written in a spidery cursive.
"Oh my God, Shino," Ino exclaimed, excitedly, wishing she had a camera with her, "You look very nice! What's the occasion?"
"I need six pink roses," he said in a monotone, "With some purple ribbon."
She did not take the little piece of card, rather she had taken her time to analyze every part of him, "My, my, Shino, since when do you dress like this? I do not recall you having a…" Ino slyly stuck her wiggling pinky finger, "…girlfriend."
If it not been for the blinding second of the striking light of the setting sun, slowly concealing behind the five great heads of the Hokage Monument, coming into her shop window she would have seen the mere moment of impatience and displeasure wafting from the glare of Aburame's sunglasses. He pushed the pink paper closer to her mischievous face.
"It's for my cousin's dinner birthday party. I…didn't know what else to get her," Shino silently murmured, his voice was deep and haunting. Suddenly a tiny hint of desperation poured into his tongue, a kind of tone he used when he was around a stubborn Kiba. "Please just do your job…"
"Okay sir!" Ino was still grinning maliciously, running around the shop, cutting and snipping the needed flowers. Her voice, god, her annoying voice was causing his Kikai to sizzle under his skin. He took a long look around the shop, from each corner, to every nook and cranny to speculate everything. His range of sight returned to the blonde who held up six roses, only in their budding form and young shape. The nice shade of pink lingered in his mind when she sheared the thorns on the counter in his view, that color was just elegant for some reason. He looked at Ino when she started a short conversation that surrounded her boring day.
"You know, you are my only customer today! Can you believe that?" the Yamanaka girl snorted, watching as the extra leaves piled up, "Slowest business I ever been through, I swear, you think people are getting tired of flowers?" She stopped her work, instead to affectionately run her fingertips over her face.
Shino looked at her with a questioning stare. Ino smiled, talking to him as if they were the best of friends, "Oh…you know, well, maybe not. It's just a little one of those things I think about when I'm bored as hell. Thank god, I'm going out tonight. Going to hit a bar, get wasted or something. So your cousin's birthday, eh? Where your folks celebrating the occasion?"
"At her favorite restaurant not far from the village so her friends can come too."
"Oh? How old is she?"
"She's turning thirteen."
"Oh…out of the Academy, right?" The roses was cut at the ends, and piled together neatly so each bud crowded another.
"Yes, but she's one of the oldest kunoichi this year. She was held back for a year."
"Why?" The bouquet was wrapped in a crackle-sounding transparent plastic wrap for a nice effect.
"She simply was not one of the graduating nine."
Ino smirked when she tied a purple ribbon around the roses into a pretty bow. She placed it gently next to the cashier register and shortly cleaned up the clippings by brushing them off the counter to fall into a small trash basket below, and then punched a few buttons on the machine. When Shino paid for his flowers, he gestured to stuff them into his inner jacket pocket so no one could see this rather embarrassing display of the stoic Aburame walking around the Konohagakure streets, holding a fancy schmancy girly gift. But the florist wouldn't hear of it.
"You're kidding me! You can't hand a girl with a messed up garland!" she screamed at him.
"Good night Shino!" Ino yelled out from the swinging door of the shop when he left. Shino half-thought of running back into the store, closing the door behind and perform certain bug freaky rituals so no one but him will ever know what happened so maybe, he can go towards his destination with a clearer mind, not some cloudy conscience fighting to prevent the thirst to suck someone's chakra out to last tasty drop. It sounded tempting. Thank goodness, he was not crazy.
The starless sky was a vast deep black-blue with crooning bleak streaks of violet, painting nature's beautiful ceiling with gray clouds and soft winds picking up their speed and mounting power. His frizzy mop of dark hair was brushed by the playful winds, tickling the bushy strands with tactless fingers and rubbing coolness against his wrinkleless skin. The darkness he was seeing through was darker than the night that surrounded the entire village, slowing down after a day's work and labor. Behind his spectacles, he was submerged into a level of deeper color and forms coming from all directions. His sight was narrowed to one direction, not caring for passing shinobi and civilian of any kind.
The luminous yellow-green glows of shops and houses exploded vibrantly from every building and lamppost, shining on the Aburame boy as he walked in slow steady steps. Neon signs pointed to directions of bars and restaurants, the streets were filing with night-goers and nocturnal folk. He had returned back to the village after spending a few hours at the dinner party, not even touching his food since he never had much of an appetite for western cuisine. His cousin had too many expensive presents to even consider his cheap bouquet. Later that night, after watching grown adults embarrass themselves singing karaoke, for no logic at all, his father – all hip and tipsy after several cups of sake – had pushed one of the pink roses into Shino's breast pocket and sent him home immediately, knowing fully well that the boy was not having that much fun and was probably ruining the night with his anti-socialism.
The streets were filled with partying ninjas coming out of taverns, hanging onto each other with sloppy smiles, red faces, and repeatedly swinging sake bottles into their mouths. Couples lingered outside of clubs, giggling shamelessly as they stood oh so close they could caress the space between each other as if they were really touching. Shino loosened the tie around his long neck and unexpectedly entered into one of the more secluded shinobi-invaded bars; to drown his deep ongoing thoughts through beer nuts and listening to old men complain about women.
Kisses were shared between strangers, lipstick smeared on half-empty dirty glasses, names and numbers were jot down on napkins, the smell of liquor and sweat hung heavily in the air, and a man who didn't wash his hands after hastily coming out of the restroom slowly ran his fingers through his lover's wavy hair. Shino began to notice these little details; some thing suddenly struck him as totally obvious. Tonight, a cool humid night with no moon and no stars definitely meant something. Of course, how did he not know?
It was a special night that even ugly people were having sex.
He couldn't believe how long it had taken him to figure out today, it was a kind of evening where everyone was getting romantic and intimate with each other. Singles come out tonight to meet other singles, perhaps to get laid. He couldn't exactly explain from the hazy mind he reserved after sipping rum from his heavy mug – no, wait, he thought he ordered a small – his eyes from behind his sunglasses became droopy and tired.
What a night, he absentmindedly noted; what a night it must be to catch someone like him drunk.
He leaned forward unknowingly, taking more gulps from the sharp spiciness of rum down his throat. He dropped the mug from his wet mouth and lazily did not think of wiping his indecency. Perhaps, he didn't know. He wasn't thinking tonight. His face was so close to the greasy counter his cheek could come into contact with the sticky water rings on the dark wood, his mind so full of random things that caused him to become sleepy. The bartender did not notice him, did not recognize him from one drunkard to the next. When he wanted to fall asleep, wanted to close his eyes forever, a hand ran over the fabric of his black dress jacket to wake him up.
"Shino? Hey is that you?"
A cooing soft feminine voice poured into his right ear, a hint of concern that abruptly reminded him of where the heck he was. He stared at that face, that hand on his broad shoulder that bought him back to earth. He quickly, assertively straightened his back posture. Shino was as embarrassed as any other respectable man, noticing that he was not alone, not a stranger in this lonely dark bar where he thought he knew no one he could possibly know would enter when other bars and clubs and hot spots offered better drinks and less dinkier seating places. He bought up one hand to rub the skin around the frames of his lens. Why was he even here in the first place?
"Shino? Are you okay?"
There she stood, looking as different as he did tonight. Her glossy pink hair looked softer and darker; she wore a little makeup with some gloss on her lips and blush over her cheeks. She smelled of some flowery soap she must have cleaned her face with, he noticed the scent immediately because she was so close to him. Her green eyes were wide-set when she stared at him, almost with the same expression Ino gave him that caused a fraction of his time to look away.
"Hey, Shino-san? Are you alright?" She whispered urgently; panic inching at the tip of her tongue.
How can the heir of the Aburame clan forget his goddamn manners? Shino abruptly nodded, watching the relief flood her face.
"Oh, God, I thought you were going to faint on me…" Sakura murmured, closing one warm hand on his own. She was so close to him. He could clearly see the movements of her mouth part and close, the two pieces of pink flesh creating shapes and forms of a beautiful sign language, "Why are you here?"
He didn't quite know how to answer that. After a moment of stubbornness, Sakura gave up and shook her head. His hazy eyes moved downward, drowning into the sight of her light blue dress. Her slender body was curved with the short sleeves and exposed collar of the fabric grabbing hold of her shape, she looked quite leggy with the short lace around her thighs. She was wearing open-toed white heels, the ribbons clasped over the toes and ankles of her pretty feet. Before he knew it, he was outside the pub with her.
"I'm going to take you home, Shino…" Sakura proclaimed; her hands on his shoulders.
He was tilting slightly towards her, his thin mouth was parted carefully trying to gather the words she had just said. His eyes were unfocused. Her face at one time looked more like a blob of peach-colored pudding with an overflow of pink frosting. Not that it mattered. He could still move his legs so they walked side by side in the most lustful night of the village. They walked together, occasionally when he would almost make a dreadful fall she would catch him. In return, he threw his jacket on her to protect her from the cold. No moon or stars to guide them through the streets, they walked on the sidewalks passing by dimming lamps and wired telephone posts. What a night it was.
To Be Continued