Nana so rarely aches for anyone.
In the past, she was accustomed to the emotion, the longing to connect with others, mostly people that abandoned her. She missed her mother, her siblings, the vestiges of the past she suffers to remember more of. But that was a feeling she grew out of, something that happens naturally when the cracks of assumed bonds become exposed.
He won't come back, she realizes bitterly. It'll be because she misses him—like all the people that never came back. She has no idea why she feels this way for a nameless shinobi. It was just sex, like it is for every other man she accepts.
Yet, she's been faking it in bed, and she knows it's because that damn man ruined her for anyone else.
It was only one night.
Nana will spend the rest of her life comparing everyone else to him. For just one night.
Perhaps it'll be to the point that she'll forget why. Forget how good he made her feel for a time.
Oh, she hates him—for not coming back. She hates herself for wanting him to, for wanting more from him when he's already given more than he had to.
It's impossible that a man like him should come back to a girl like her. A whore, servicing men to eat, untalented in all other aspects of life, useless for any other place but the bed. She wishes she never met him but is still glad for it, all at once. A maddening cycle of longing and gratitude.
In the end, she finds herself amused by his power over her. How utterly bizarre for her, to become so attached. She was supposed to be done with all of that, but apparently, she isn't.
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It's weeks—months—later, when he finally returns, surprising her into shocked tears that she covers up by laughing too hard. And she accepts, again, the role she's been given in life.
"Welcome back to the whorehouse," she says to her shinobi, still baffled and wiping stray tears away. "Been away too long, have you?"
She can't see most of his face, but his one eye looks amused, crinkled the way it is.
"You don't know if I've been to other whorehouses," he points out.
"Well, then, if you've had your pick of the girls and still came back to me, then I'd have reason to be very pleased with myself, won't I?" Nana grins and steps forward, hand reaching towards his hips. She pulls him toward her and sees that same hesitation that she saw last time.
No, he hasn't been to another brothel. If he had, that insecurity in him would've surely dissipated by now. (Or, maybe, it's just that she does a nameless something to him that makes him nervous.)
"Do you want to play a game?" Nana asks, hoping he'll say no. With his return, she's impatient to get to the real pleasure but she doesn't know if he's as ready as she is.
His answer to her question, both silent and voiced, is to yank her obi off without ceremony, slide the collar of her kimono down her shoulders, and lift her by the naked thighs with a firm grip, pressing their sexes together. It's done too quickly for her to say a word—she can only gaze at him in wordless awe.
Shinobi really are a breed apart.
"What do you want to do?" he asks, his nails digging into her skin in a way that makes her shiver and her breath hitch.
Oh, she knows what she wants to do, what she wants him to do to her.
With a smile, she leans in to whisper in his ear, "Fuck me."
And her pleas are finally answered.
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She finds that they can carry a conversation even after the sex. It's not a common thing to be able to speak with a client and have an interest in what he has to say. Not common at all to feel as if she's provided an insight that he finds intriguing as well.
She'd almost say they were becoming friends, aided by his ridiculous sense of humor, wicked and charming—and bizarre—as it is. Her shinobi without a name is a rare man indeed, and she knows this from the smiles as he teases and guides their conversations. A sharp mind like his can be carefully aware of where something can lead to and know well enough how to stray away without the mood of conversation being affected.
Nana knows he's leading them, refusing to get too personal, but she doesn't mind—she has no interest. Every person has a right to a secret or two, she thinks, though she holds none.
"Lover," Nana says, struck by a thought and having no other word to address him.
"Hmm?" He plays with a lock of her dark hair, rubbing it between his fingers before nuzzling his chin into the crook of hers.
This man, she thinks, is like a child in small ways.
Distracted, she has to think of her question again—and then blurts it, "What is a school like?"
"School?" he echoes, pulling back and looking perplexed.
Nana nods. "I've had a curiosity, but no one I know has ever gone." Or they'd laugh at me for asking.
"Well, how to describe it... I never attended for long, so I can't say much. It was a noisy place, with lots of kids who stared, and lots of teachers who stared, and lots of boring lectures. I'd say more, but after those few impressions, it was decided I didn't have to attend anymore."
She blinks at him owlishly, not understanding. "How did you become a shinobi then, if you had to stop going?"
He hesitates, studying her face before very softly saying, "Well, after that, I had an apprenticeship with their youngest jounin. It wasn't that much longer that I became a chuunin, and then a jounin."
"So," she summarizes, catching on with a smile twisting her lips, "you're a genius."
He matches her smile with one of his own, except his is much more nonchalant. "I've been called that."
"Me too," she admits, then laughs at his questioning look before licking her lips. "I can tell you why, or I can show you. Choose carefully."
His brows shoot up. "Yeah? You know me, Nana, I learn best with live... demonstrations."
"Well then, sir, you'd better lean back, like this," she says, placing her hands against his bared shoulders, feeling the warm skin at her palms and shivering—how was it that, just touching him, made her feel alive?—before sliding down the bed.
She starts at the toes of his right foot, and goes from there, massaging and kneading her knuckles into his sole. He laughs, wiggles his toes, and looks at her, a bit in disbelief.
"Didn't you know? We can feel a lot here," she says, digging in and turning circles into the muscle with her thumbs—he groans, and with wide eyes, looks surprised at himself.
"Where did you learn that?" he asks and she grins.
"All sorts come in here, not just shinobi, and at times," she laughs, "there are such men who get great pleasure from a foot massage and looks to me that—you—are—one," she declares, watching his back arch and hearing his breath fall from his mouth in pants. He still has that disbelieving look on his face.
She snickers lightly. "You must work too hard, my shinobi," she informs him, and adds with a loving swirl of her thumbs, "you're so stiff!"
He pulls his head back in a laugh, his cheeks filled with heat. "I can think of other places that are much stiffer, Nana."
"So can I," she agrees, and slips her hand around his ankle, moving the massage upward, slowly, slowly till her hands are on his calve. She leans forward, his foot rested against her stomach, and places a kiss on his thigh, reveling in his answering groan. Heat licks her middle—could any other person be as much fun to tease?
She's known hundreds of men, and her answer is no.
Nana licks, nips, and kisses his skin, working her hands into the hard muscle of his calve, easing the tension out of him as she climbs higher and higher. She loves this, loves this so much she can't seem to find the will to stop, and she's burning. Nana moans and shudders, and her eyes go wide, feeling the hints of an orgasm work through her. She can't believe it.
He's not even touching her.
Her mouth goes dry as her hot breath comes out in pants, misting over his stomach as her hands reach for his sex. She could use her mouth, but that would be too easy. Instead, she grips him, surprised by the girth and the solid feel of him.
Perhaps, just a little bit, she could kiss him there.
"Nana," he calls, a hint of a growl there that sends a tremor through her. "Hurry."
She is nothing, if not obedient.
Nana continues to stroke the length of him, inquiringly, almost maddeningly slow, as she creates a mental map of him. She's on a mission to engrave every single detail of him onto the back of her eyelids.
His hands are in her hair, tugging at her sweetly, the slight pain making her chest constrict.
Pre-cum buds at his tip, and he's still wet from their last round, making him slick to the touch. Nana moans again, just from the thought, the knowing that he had been inside her not too long ago. Oh, she wants him again—she's more than ready for it, if the ache and the wetness between her thighs is anything to go off of.
She could lick him, could kiss him, could tease him with her fingers. She could do a great number of things to him, but Nana thinks, through the haze of pleasure, that she wants to ride him.
"Nana," he groans, and repeats it, "Nana." It becomes a prayer when he says it again, "Nana!" His teeth are grit, and the sound of her name coming from him is a guttural one. She's never heard anyone say it quite like that, and the thrill it sends through her has her chest tightening until she isn't sure she's breathing anymore.
"Shinobi," she says, hating the fact she has nothing else to call him. "My shinobi."
Nana lifts herself up onto her knees, her toes curling as she slides forward and positions herself over his hips, reaching for his sex to guide her. His hands, gravitating towards her hips, curl until his nails are digging into her skin. Her lashes flutter close, and she sighs at the sensation, teasing him at her entrance.
He has no more patience for her games—as soon as she has him angled, he pulls her down, his shaft sinking into her with a burn that is as agonizingly slow as it is pleasurable. He holds her still as she struggles to move, to ride him as she so desperately wants to. Her moan catches itself and turns into something of a hiccup and her cheeks fill with heat.
Cupping her hips so hard, she knows there'll be bruises in the morning—as well as a slew of concerned questions she'll have to answer—her shinobi pumps himself in and out of her. It's brutal. She can't breathe. Her hands find his chest, her thumbs stroking a particularly raised scar.
In her ears, all she can hear is the clap of their joining, her ragged pants, and grunts that escape his gritted teeth. Oh, gods above, how will she survive this? Her vision begins to fade and she closes her eyes, fearing that, before they've even finished, she'll pass out.
She's never fainted during sex before, but then, he's brought her so many other firsts.
Nana sways forward, going boneless, her face coming to rest of his chest as he keeps the swift pace. Her breathing is dragged in and out of her lungs, her throat hurts and she's certain that if she speaks, her voice will be hoarse.
Her orgasm comes first as it ripples through her, her legs twitching through the shocks, and her moan gets choked by the saliva in her mouth. Quietly, she shudders and feels herself squeeze as he drags himself out and pushes himself in, building her back up, as if she hadn't just felt the best fucking orgasm she's ever had in her life.
"Please, please, please," she begs, both wanting this to last forever and for them to finish quickly. She doesn't think her body can keep up, but fuck, it feels great.
"Almost there," he tells her, and she angles herself to kiss the scars on his chest.
It's minutes later that he gives one final jerk, and a flood of wet, sticky heat fills her, inciting another orgasm that spreads throughout her body, making her legs go numb and her middle fill with fire. Her head is lost to the haze as she relaxes on him, feels him go slack beneath her.
"That was," he breathes, but doesn't finish.
She nods, and doesn't understand the tears that sting her eyes. "Incredible," she supplies after a moment, her voice hoarse.
"Look at me," he orders, and when she does, he brings his hand to her chin and leans down. Their lips touch, and the kiss sings through her. It's tender, almost sweet.
When he leaves that night, she lays there, thinking.
This is love, she thinks, and the agony of that thought makes her weep.
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E/N: So, as it happens, Enbi has left the writing for this story in favor of her own, more demanding projects. She'll still be quality checking, and considering she did so much developmental work with me in the beginning, she'll remain noted as a c0-writer too.
Thank you, everyone, who has read, favorited, followed, and reviewed. We both really appreciate it all—and sorry for the long wait! I can only do so much.
Rejoice, as this next wait shouldn't be too long. I have the rest of this story written to the end. Even though I say that, there's a great deal I still need to add and adjust, so there might be a few weeks in between updates, given that I have a great many other projects I want to be working on too.
(Notably, a Tom Riddle x Ravenclaw!OC that I've been having a blast with, and you should check out if you enjoy high tension slow burns!)
I won't keep you guys waiting too long!