A/N: Hey guys! I'm going to try to post more frequent short stories since I've been gone for like two years. To challenge myself, mostly, but also to provide you with more versatile, cool sasusaku content with different themes and tropes. ;)

Let me know what you think of this! Never been much into school au's but I'm stretching my limits and whatnot. Also, um... yeah, there is explicit smut here. Like, explicit. And if you're not into large age gaps (they're both adults, though), don't read any further! You have been warned.

Enjoy!

Title: Repercussions.

Prompt: age gap.

Warnings: adult themes, mature language, voyeurism.


After countless weeks of needless crying and after a near-catastrophic breakdown—involving a very stressed, paranoid Sakura, swearing to her friend Ino that she would most definitely quit in less than twenty-four hours—she decides that there's really no point in losing all of her hair prematurely, and that there's no point in stressing any further about the topic.

She wakes up one early October morning, opens her small, old laptop in bed, and makes the excellent choice of switching her current Anatomy I professor for someone less...hell-bent on destroying her impeccable GPA on only her second semester. Med school is hard enough already. She doesn't need an old, cranky lady drilling her skull into the ground with a workload equivalent to what her other classes give her on the daily, combined and multiplied by two.

For a small fee and with a few clicks from the comfort of her dorm, she drops the class and browses down the list of limited anatomy professors. The scarcity in her options is disappointing, but not surprising. By October, the classes are almost already halfway through with all the material. This move is most certainly mental in itself, and she knows, but one more lecture with Mrs. Rightley would surely make her drop out of Konoha U for good, move to Kusagakure, and join her parents in their cozy, yet remarkably high-maintenance farm.

She spares a brief glance at Ino from across the room when the blonde girl shifts in her sleep, but otherwise still slumbers peacefully.

Sakura scrolls down the closed classes until she spots one name with a green dot next to it, signalling it's still open and available for selection.

Vidal, Myrna.

She opens a new window and types in the professor's name, trying to find good reviews from past students on a rating website. Most of the comments are negative, however, and with a rating of two out of five, she whispers her goodbyes to Myrna and keeps scrolling down the remaining three classes, noticing only one is still open, and it only has one spot available.

She types the professor's name on the rating website, praying to every entity in existence for him to please, please be better than Mrs. Rightley and Mrs. Vidal.

His rating is a four-point-two, and she only gets to read the top review before she's rushing to add the class to her cart.

Gives a lot of online homework, but that's easy work. Make sure you attend his class because he gives random quizzes. His exams are hard, but what part of med school isn't? Just study, study, study.

Sakura clicks on her shopping cart and registers for the class, a sigh of relief escaping her lips when the action goes through and her schedule is automatically updated.

She clicks on her schedule next and takes a picture of the recent addition, thankful that it sits prettily at the end of her other classes.

Tuesday, Thursday.

19:45-21:15.

Uchiha, Sasuke.

With a smile, she springs to her feet and starts dressing for the day. Before her classes start, she needs to convince her new professor that she can catch up at this point in the semester—because, if she doesn't, he has the right to refuse that she join so late, and she can't let that happen.


She gets lost in the tall structure of where she thinks his office is located, but once she asks three different staff members for directions to Mr. Uchiha's office, and after she has to walk across campus toward the business building—for what reason, she doesn't know—she finally stands in front of a closed door with his nameplate on it.

She considers he might not be inside when she knocks and he doesn't answer right away but, eventually, a man no older than thirty reluctantly opens the door for her.

The young features take her back, and while this man stares at her expectantly, she can only stare back, mouth hanging open like she's in a fucking cartoon.

Eventually, the man blinks down at her and taps on the door frame with the fingers that are holding it open.

"Can I help you?"

His voice is throaty, gruff, but entirely flat. He sounds like he's been smoking cigarettes since the early age of twelve, but his complexion is pale and smooth, his cheekbones high, his jawline defined. His eyes are the darkest grey, his long eyelashes giving him a smokier look, and just as flat as his voice.

"Uh- Yes," she blurts out, then clears her throat. "Mr. Uchiha?"

His hair is black, tied in a low ponytail behind him, a few bangs framing his heart-shaped face and falling over his eyes. He wears a white shirt and a brown vest over it, then dark dress pants.

The man nods, and she becomes speechless for the second time in a row.

He is, by far, the most attractive man she has seen in her life—and, after living in two countries and four cities, that's saying a lot.

And he's her professor.

"Um," she scrambles, her eyes dropping to her brown, worn-down messenger bag before she's shifting through it with her fingers. They tremble slightly, but she hopes he can't notice her state of distress.

First, she had spent twenty minutes trying to find this god-forsaken office all the way across campus—and, honestly, why does her anatomy professor have his office in the business and economics department?—and now, she can't focus on why she has even come here in the first place.

She's not looking at him, but she can hear him shift and cross his arms in front of his chest.

With a nervous smile, she finally takes out the paper she'd printed of her new schedule. His name is highlighted in neon pink, and her voice falters.

"I had to transfer to your anatomy class, the one for tuesdays and thursdays, at seven forty-five."

Sakura practically shoves the paper down his nose, and speaks louder this time, her shoulders pulled back and head high.

"Just wanted to make sure there's no problem with me joining the class so late. I'll make up anything I have to."

Mr. Uchiha stares down at the paper, and when she's done talking, his eyes look over the rim of the paper: right at her.

"You are four modules behind."

It's matter-of-factly, the way he says it. He's not necessarily scolding her irresponsible behaviour, yet he's not happy either.

Sakura takes back her paper and pushes it inside her bag, between her wasted lipsticks and small, mistreated notebooks.

"I'm transferring from another class, so I already know that material. If you could open any overdue assignments, I'll get them all done before next week."

It's Friday.

She hopes he doesn't take that to heart, but it's already too late to correct herself now.

"Where are you transferring from?" He asks, then leans against the doorframe, the lean muscles in his arm flexing in front of her distracted eyes.

"Mrs. Rightley," she admits, giving him a laugh when he lets out an understanding whistle. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she looks away.

When she looks back, Mr. Uchiha is inside his office, sitting in front of his two monitors and giving her his back.

"Come in, have a seat," she hears him say. "Let's see what I can do for you..."

He trails off and looks back at her, a question hanging off his tongue. Sakura comes in and closes the door behind her, then sits next to him—the side of his large desk in between them.

He's still looking at her.

Sakura's head goes empty for one second, then she gives him a smile.

"Sakura."

He turns to his screens and nods, opening pages and typing at the speed of light—well, almost.

"Okay, let me find you..." He pauses, then clicks his tongue. "Mind giving me that paper again, Sakura?"

"Of course."

Her name rolls off his tongue so naturally, she practically begs inside her head for him to not notice her flustered face.


Fortunately, he gives her fourteen days to finish all the online homework she has missed over the course of two months, and it is particularly taxing, but she gets it done in half the allowed timeframe.

If he notices her remarkable progress, he doesn't say a thing.

She attends his lectures on time twice a week, always sits in a corner of the front row—her vision is horrid, but she also doesn't want to be that girl—and takes notes on every key word; and there's plenty of those.

Sometimes, she catches his heavy gaze on her, but he pretends he was never looking to begin with, and always clears his throat and looks away after.

And without fail, she drops by his office at the end of every week and spends from five minutes to half an hour asking him questions about whatever material has been particularly challenging in class that week.

It's not like she can't handle it on her own; she's perfectly capable. A small part of her wishes to simply interact with him, and after he had offered to help any struggling student during office hours one day, she hasn't missed a chance to take advantage of that offer—though, clearly, they both know she doesn't need the extra help.

Today, as he shares some resources with her on all the skeletal system vocabulary she needs to memorise—which she already has—she decides to ask what has been bothering her for weeks now.

"Why is your office so far from the medical campus?"

Mr. Uchiha turns in his chair and faces her, then sighs.

"So that students don't visit me," he declares, then shrugs. "Obviously, some are very determined to find me anyway."

She gapes at the audacity, fidgeting with the straps of the messenger bag crossed over her chest.

"Come on, that can't be it," she cocks her head to one side, and his eyes linger on her glossy lips, now stretching into a curious smile.

He looks away and clears his throat.

"I was expected, from a young age, to graduate in business and carry my father's company," he confesses, and she stays quiet, listening, prompting him to continue. "I felt torn, not wanting to let my family down. In the end, I double majored; business and education."

She frowns, leaning forward in her seat.

"What did they say about that?"

His eyes reflect a sadness she's only beginning to understand before he blinks the melancholy away, like a fleeting memory.

"They got into a car accident a few months before my graduation, so I decided on education. My father's company is in Wave, and my life was already made in Konoha."

He doesn't say it, but she knows it's because working in the same city where his family had died would not have been doable.

Sakura offers him a kind smile, then leans back on the chair.

"Good. If you had moved, I wouldn't have had you as my professor, which means I would have had to stick with Mrs. Rightley. And my life would have officially been ruined," she (dramatically) explains, then winks at him. "And I like you."

She's not lying, honestly. Not that he knows that.

She pretends she sees him blush.

"Still, that doesn't explain why your office is all the way back here."

Mr. Uchiha mimics her and leans back on his chair, then ponders. He licks his lips before he speaks, and she has to look away for her own good.

"I wanted to reach a balance between business and education, so business is what I teach. I'm only helping a colleague who couldn't give your class this semester."

For someone who's never given an anatomy class, he's impeccable at his job, she thinks.


"Sakura," he contemplates her for a moment, then glances back down to the mess of papers over the wooden desk—everyone turned in their quizzes haphazardly, wanting nothing more than to leave and sleep early after a draining day of lectures.

She almost but glares at a girl who's off to the side of the table, waiting to talk to Mr. Uchiha after class, but she doesn't have to resort to those primitive methods. The girl sees her catch his attention first, and dejectedly, impatiently walks out of the lecture hall.

Inside, Sakura smiles triumphantly.

"Mr. Uchiha, have a moment?"

Without a breath of hesitation, he says: "Anything for my favourite student."

He doesn't even spare her a glance, and she knows he says it off-handedly, carelessly. But it still makes her hands sweaty and her heart skip a beat.

"Am I?" Acting, she presses a hand to her chest in surprise, and laughs it off when he gives her an unamused look.

He shakes his head.

"You're certainly the most applied student. You've done the most work out of anyone here."

It's the start of November, and despite having to catch up on ridiculous amounts of work, in less than a month, she has a ninety-nine percent in the class. She hides her blush by changing the topic.

"I wanted to ask more about the Summer trip to Suna. Do you have any pamphlets with information?"

During the lecture today, Mr. Uchiha had briefly mentioned he's—and his colleague—hosting a trip to a small village in Suna, one in dire need of medical help. It would last the entire Summer, but applications close at the end of this year.

He had mentioned it in passing, then had immediately clicked on the next slide of the lecture.

Sakura once took part in a similar medical mission trip to a village in Sound, and though such trips can sometimes be pricey, she knows she can't pass up this opportunity to expand her curriculum—and help people in need in the process.

"You're interested in going?" He asks, but doesn't look up at her still. He starts organising all the papers into neat piles. "There are only two spots left, you know."

Then he reaches into his bag, and hands her a flyer with all the information she needs.

"Here's everything, make sure you apply as soon as possible."

Sakura grabs the paper, and when their hands brush, she feels like her heart is ready to jump out of her ribcage.

"Yes, sir."

She offers him a smile, and thinks she sees his ears turn a pretty shade of pink.

She applies that same night.

He approves her request the next day.


The year ends, her second semester over as fast as it had started, and she passes her finals with hard work, but flying colours.

She attends an end-of-year party with her friends—Ino and Hinata, both in their second year of nursing—and visits her family in the land of Earth over the Winter break. Home is just as she remembers, and it's nice to destress.

In time, Winter turns to Spring, and her third semester rolls in faster than expected. Her classes only get more complicated, harder by the minute, but she's as in love with medicine as the sun loves the moon, so she doesn't mind the complex content.

Every few weeks, she gets an email from Mr. Uchiha. He summons her to his ridiculously far office every so often, either to get some paperwork done for the trip, or to update all her vaccines before she can travel.

She doesn't mind the requests for her presence—she, in fact, looks forward to the days when he wants to see her—but sometimes she likes to think he calls her in just to do exactly that: see her. Because, if not, he would ask for Ino as often—she had taken the last spot after Sakura had applied, not wanting to waste the opportunity either—and he doesn't (which enrages the blonde profoundly, and she loves every moment of it).

Secondly, he would have given her all the necessary paperwork in one sitting, maybe two. But not this often.

She likes to think that he enjoys her company, but he could never, ever admit it. One thing she has learnt from him is that he's a man of many principles.

Today, he calls her in for an update on her tuberculosis shot, and she sits across from him and hands him the document with proof that she's negative.

He types away on his computer without a word, and her eyes take him in for the umpteenth time.

He's so, so handsome. Infuriatingly so, even.

She wonders, some nights, if he has a cute girlfriend to greet when he gets home. If he has plans to marry her, to raise their children in due time.

Sometimes, she imagines the girlfriend is herself.

"Mind me asking a personal question, Mr. Uchiha?"

He pauses, then resumes typing as if nothing has been said.

Sakura presumes he does, in fact, not mind at all, and crosses one leg over the other on the comfy leather chair of his office.

"How old are you?"

He looks at her, then, and frowns.

"You never ask a gentleman that," he says, and his lips twitch when she snorts.

"That's not how it goes."

Mr. Uchiha sighs and shakes his head, clearly giving up. What he says next nearly throws her off her seat.

"Thirty-five."

Sakura's mouth goes dry, and she feels her entire body tense on the chair in complete stupefaction. She's glad he's focused on the computer, because she's sure she looks like an utter, horrified mess right now.

Thirty-five?

Her eyes drift from his hair, to the taut line of his jaw, to the light stubble that covers his cheeks, jaw, and goes down his throat, to the muscles under his white dress shirt, to his long, bony fingers pressing on the keys.

All this time, she has thought him, at most, twenty-six. There's no way.

And yet, she has visited him enough times to know he doesn't particularly like to joke around about his person—after she had to make up a bunch of work, and all the after-class talks, she practically lives in his office by now.

Sakura somehow composes herself at the exact moment he turns to her and gives her a look, a glint in his eyes.

"Is it rude of me to ask yours if I gave you mine?"

She's sure whatever information about her shot has been filed and been done with by now, and yet...

She switches legs, crossing over the other one now. She catches his eyes following the movement of her long legs. She's wearing a skirt today.

"Twenty."

At first, nothing happens. But she can see the exact moment he processes the significance in that number.

After that, nothing is the same.


It had been furtive glances, coy smiles, brushes of their hands, snide remarks, and hidden double entendres. Every look he had given her never failed to set her skin on fire.

She realises she's in love with her last semester's professor—a man fifteen years her senior—after two weeks go by and he doesn't email her. Doesn't ask her to his office.

So she goes, unannounced.

He's in a meeting with another student when she arrives, and she has to sit by a bench outside his office for ten minutes before the door is opened and the student walks out.

The man—in a suit, so she assumes he's from one of his business classes—glances at her as he passes her, and the door of the business department echoes in the halls when he opens and closes it.

And Sakura hesitates.

She swallows, fixes her high ponytail, and smooths out her flowery dress before she gets up and strides over to his office in her soundless flats.

Mr. Uchiha's office door is still partly open, so she knocks on the surface and pushes through, peeking her head inside.

He doesn't turn to regard her.

"Hey," she notices his shoulders tense up, and he stops clicking his mouse. "May I come in?"

He resumes clicking and typing.

"I'm busy," is all he provides.

Sakura takes a tentative step into his office, only slightly hurt that, months ago, he'd said he always had time for his favourite student.

Nevertheless, she squares her shoulders and fully enters, closing the door behind her.

"I know, but this will be quick," she assures him, then sits across from his desk. "I've noticed you haven't called for me in a while."

She trails off, then, as she watches the muscles in his tight jaw shift. The tension is so thick that she can almost grasp at it with her hand. It weighs her down, and she swallows audibly when he does not answer.

"I just wanted to ask if there's something wrong I've done, or..."

His voice sounds in her ears velvet smooth, quiet and gentle, this time.

"You haven't done anything wrong."

Sakura purses her lips and grabs at the hem of her dress, her nervous hands on her lap.

"Oh, okay. I just thought-"

It is now that Mr. Uchiha turns to her and regards her for the first time today, showing nothing in his eyes but apathy.

"I know what you thought," he cuts her speech short, and doesn't wait for her to try to speak again. "Office hours are over now. Go home."

He turns back to his monitors, and she takes two seconds to gather her bearings before she's leaving his office with nothing left to say.


Soon, her Spring classes are over.

Soon, Summer comes, and with it, her trip to Suna with Mr. Uchiha and Mr. Uzumaki—both doctors of philosophy, yet they prefer not to be called as such.

The airport is packed, but she walks with Ino and meets the rest of the trip members at their designated gate—an additional eight students, and the two professors, for a total of twelve people.

Before the flight, the two men go over the importance of safety, then share itinerary pamphlets with the group for every week they will be at the village. Not one time does Mr. Uchiha look at her as he speaks, and she's both glad and irked at the way he does not seem fazed at all. It has been over two months since she'd last spoken with him, back in his office, and there hasn't been one day that he hasn't crossed her mind.

But, since the feeling seems not to be mutual, she makes it a priority to address him—and only address him directly if it's necessary for the trip—with just the same level of disdain as he does with her. It's only logical, really.

Soon, they land in Suna, and are escorted in a car—all of them in one pickup truck—to a small village twenty minutes away from Wind's capital city. The ride there is bumpy and hot, and Sakura, along with five other students, have to sit in the cargo compartment under the rays of the unrelenting sun. It is the desert, after all, but by the time they arrive, Sakura's face is drenched in sweat, and her clothes feel stuck to her like a second skin.

They start unloading every bag when the truck comes to a halt. Sakura slings her travel bag over her shoulder and helps Ino with hers. And while the blonde complains about the dry heat, Sakura feels that someone is watching her from somewhere in the crowd.

Then she spots Mr. Uchiha and Mr. Uzumaki thanking the driver for taking them so far, and she catches his blazing eyes as they trail down her body. It probably lasts two seconds, at most, but she feels the hunger in his eyes for hours after.

He snaps back to the conversation at hand as if nothing.

This time, and for the first time, really, a thin and small tendril of hope weasels itself around her heart.


In between rounds at the village's run-down clinic, shifts at the new school's construction site, and lunch breaks here and there, she finds her favourite parts of the day to be when she's absolutely on her own.

She's been here three weeks now, in this nameless village next to Suna, and her life has been the most hectic ever. Even at night, she doesn't get the time to herself she would rather have as a small respite from all the chaos, because she sleeps on the top bunk bed in a room with eleven other people.

But here, in the staff bathroom at the clinic, she gets fifteen minutes of complete isolation. The room has not much to offer, just like the rest of the clinic, but it's enough for what it's intended to do; there's a small section with two sinks to the right and two to the left when entering, then, past these, two showers concealed by a white wooden wall with a door. Their group is allowed to use these showers every night after their work has ended, if they wish to.

Fifteen minutes is what each of them is allotted. Ino is supposed to come in soon; it's her turn after, as it usually is.

For now, though, she has about five minutes left, and she starts washing away the grime, dirt, and sweat from her hair, the shampoo pooling to the floor of the navy tiled shower.

The steam from the water stings at her skin, but she lets it, relishing in the feeling of being washed anew.

With her eyes closed and her hands at her hair, she thinks of things she's not supposed to, like Mr. Uchiha—and, mostly, him and nothing else.

Earlier that day, she had been lifting some wooden beams double her size and passing them to a construction worker at the site of the new school. She hadn't been struggling at all but, for some unknown reason, Mr. Uchiha had grabbed the beam she'd been holding after her third try, muttering an "I got it," and taking it from her hands. She hadn't even been able to form any words. He'd been standing right in front of her, his body almost brushing hers, and he'd been shirtless.

Two days ago, she had caught sight of him helping the same construction workers, shirtless, too. But he'd been far away. Sakura had been so close this morning, she could have touched him easily.

Still, she has kept her respectful distance. They've shared glances in passing, and talked to each other when necessary, but she's stayed away.

Once before, she's had her way with him in the shower, under closed lids, in secret. She should still have enough time to do the same now.

She opens her eyes and glances outside of the shower, then hops back in and lets her back touch one of the tile walls. She closes her eyes, a shaky breath leaving her lips as the image of Mr. Uchiha—lean chest, rippling pectorals, muscles on his arms flexing, sweat trickling down his neck—flashes in her mind, more realistic by the second, until she feels him there with her.

One hand already on her breast, she trails the lines of her stomach with the other, down, down, until...

Her gasp is drowned by the falling water in front of her.

She imagines Mr. Uchiha pushing her to the wall, his strong hands grasping at her hips and his hot breath on her neck, ready to have his way with her trembling, wanting body.

She hears some sort of crash from somewhere near her, and opens her eyes at the strange sound.

She looks to her right, and outside of the shower stall is the very still, very shocked man of her fantasies.

From this distance, she can't make him out with clarity; only one of the lights works in the ceiling, and it makes the bathroom dim altogether.

But it's him. She knows for certain this is not a product of her wild imagination. She doesn't know how long he's been standing there, but she knows for sure what she must look like: leaning back against the wall, two fingers pinching her left nipple, her hips riding her other hand.

Her immediate reaction, though, is not to scream. Instead, she turns off the water, quickly reaches above her head and grabs the white towel she'd left hanging over the wall, covering her body from his view.

Before either of them can speak, she glances down to the floor in front of him, and sees that the crashing sound had come from his phone falling. When she looks up, her eyes trail the shape of his toned legs, exposed from his knee-high shorts, and then her eyes widen.

She looks up from his clothed erection, and watches as he quickly bends, grabs his phone, and turns to exit the room.

Sakura, in one second, has an entire conversation inside her head. He has already seen her completely naked, and if things weren't already awkward, this will top the cake. She doesn't think she would ever be able to live with herself if she lets him walk away now, without shooting her shot. It's do or die, and that's it.

With one hand holding the towel in front of her body—barely trying to cover herself at this point, really—she walks outside the shower stall and catches up to him. She grabs his wrist as he reaches for the door handle, and he stills completely, but doesn't turn to look at her.

"Sakura, what- Let me go," he rushes out, and she, for once, feels in control of the situation—which doesn't usually happen when it concerns the man in front of her. She hears him mutter a curse under his breath.

"You want me," she declares, and it's a bold move of her. She has no idea if he wants her—he might have got that reaction out of seeing a woman naked in a shower, something purely physical that he hadn't been able to control, but not necessarily meaning that he feels any way toward her. And yet, she remembers all the furtive glances; she recalls how his eyes always linger on her lips, and drift to her long legs; she remembers the day her clothes had stuck to her skin, how he had looked ready to devour her in front of everybody at camp; how he had stood too close for comfort when he'd taken the beams from her; how he's always brushing against her, watching her, craving her.

"You've been wanting me," she prods further, and when she receives no reaction, she feels her confidence falter slightly. She lets go of his wrist, and in a final show of bravery, places that hand over his clothed boner, her fingers easily finding the length of his hardness and tracing it slowly. "Why can't you just admit it?"

As soon as she's done talking, he finally turns to her.

His eyes are pure danger as they stare her down, and his hands are in tight fists at his sides.

"Do you think it's been easy for me? To have you walk around in those pink shorts of yours, or the tight scrubs you parade around in at the clinic," he starts pacing toward her, but she stands her ground, lifting her head toward him as he advances. "It takes every ounce of willpower to not-"

"Then admit it," she breathes, looking up at him, his chest colliding with her towel, a small smile curving the corner of her lips.

Her hand strokes him further, squeezing, wanting to provoke him.

Mr. Uchiha raises his head to look at the ceiling, and she doesn't know if he's muttering curses or prayers, but when he looks back down at her, he loses it.

He grabs her towel and throws it carelessly aside, then lifts her by the back of her wet thighs. He pushes her against the door with enough force to have her breath knocked out of her. It doesn't hurt; it excites her.

"Of course I fucking want you," he confesses, his mouth sucking at her neck in the next second.

She pulls at his hair and grinds against his pelvis, but it's not enough. It's not enough. She needs to feel all of him.

"Please," she moans, his teeth now pulling at her nipple, sucking and twisting. She can barely think. "Mr. Uchiha, pl-"

"Sasuke."

She frowns when he momentarily stops and looks at her, and she part her lips to speak.

"Sasuke. That's my name."

Sasuke.

She thinks it's sweet, that he wants her to call him by his name now. That he's not Mr. Uchiha, her last semester's professor, her mentor, a man fifteen years her senior, a man she could never be with.

But she has him here, now, between her legs, kissing her breasts and her neck, one hand drifting to the heated space between her legs.

She moans his name when he touches her right when she wants him, and she feels him smile against her neck. He likes when she calls him Sasuke-kun, and she's waited so long to have him like this that she doesn't want to wait any longer—not to mention the small fact that Ino might be walking through the door she's against any time now.

Fuck.

Ino.

"I need you inside me, please," she pulls on his hair enough for him to lift his head from her neck. He looks at her and frowns, but keeps moving one finger in and out of her slowly, so, so slowly.

"I don't want to rush," Sasuke simply says, looking at her like the mere idea of rushing through this is plain insulting. It makes her heart beat faster, but she can't risk anyone finding them like this. She might not get another chance, and they could get in big trouble.

"Ino- It's her turn soon, she might come and, and-"

Sasuke adds another finger and moves faster, effectively stopping her from rambling further. He nuzzles her neck, then kisses her jaw, then her cheek.

"Ino told me there was no one here. No one is bothering us while I'm still here."

Before she can comprehend that Ino—that sly little bitch—planned for this to happen all along, for him to find her like he did, he joins their lips for the first time, and she forgets the world.

She kisses him back just as hard, just as rough, but then, his fingers slow down, and he lets her down gently on the floor.

Sakura stumbles slightly, but regains her balance. She watches as he ditches his clothes quickly, marvelling at his toned, beautiful body.

She wants him so badly she doesn't give him time to finish. She helps him take off his shirt and leads him to the stall she'd been in previously—where he had found her, fantasising about him no less (not that he knows that).

He turns on the shower and she makes a silent promise that she will work herself to the bone tomorrow for wasting all this water because, god help her, right now she doesn't have the mind to care.

Sasuke dips his head and kisses her again, this time gently. This time, it's sweet, soft, until he reaches behind her neck and pushes her closer to him, deepening the kiss.

And when he finally lifts her and fucks her against the wall, he does so patiently, savouring the moment, either looking into her eyes or down at where they connect so intimately, or kissing her senseless.

Then he rocks against her faster, rougher, the movements not as easily controlled. She hopes the water is loud enough to hide her mewls, her moans, her whines.

"I've waited so long for this," he rasps against her lips, giving one long, deep thrust that makes her moan loudly against his kiss.

She holds him, her nails digging on the skin of his back, her fingers combing through his hair as she feels herself closer and closer to the end of her ecstasy, and then, she does the unthinkable, and confesses to him in the form of a beg, a plea, a fucking religious mantra—because that's how she feels.

"I love you. I love you so much."

She feels his hips driving into her harder now, his movements jerkier, uncoordinated.

Soon thereafter, he comes inside her with his hands on her ass and his head in the crook between her shoulder and her neck. She feels the waves of her own orgasm rippling through her as she holds him closer, her eyes closed and her mouth open in pure bliss.

She's so in love with this man it hurts; makes her dizzy in all the right ways.


When Sakura passes by Sasuke now, outside or at the clinic, the looks they share have an understanding that wasn't there before.

When she works on the construction of the school, he doesn't hoard the work to himself. He stands near her and helps her complete whatever task she has set her mind to.

The project requires that there be several people around the structure at all times—except at lunch time. Once, when they announce it's time for the scheduled break, Sakura and Sasuke are the last ones to leave—she'd been determined to finish the paint of one interior, small office space. So they'd stayed ten additional minutes unsupervised, and when she finished, Sasuke had pulled her in for a long, passionate kiss away from any prying eyes; the type that would have anyone weak at the knees.

When she's at the clinic helping, administering shots, and bringing blankets and water to any patients, Sasuke makes sure to stay around her. In her vicinity, at least. He tries to help whenever possible, and grabs her ass or kisses her whenever he gets the opportune chance.

But other than their teenage, clandestine meetings, they don't let their affections show. They spend a good chunk of every day around each other, yet still make sure they drift apart and do separate activities often enough to not draw any suspicions.

She doesn't care. If she has to pull him in some hallway for a quick peck on the lips, and if she can't grab him in public for a hug or to hold his hand, she doesn't care. She wants him however she can get him, at least for the time being.

As for Sasuke, he takes and gives in equal amounts, and though he doesn't say as much as she does, he still shows how much he cares for her, how much he wants her, and how much he would like the same thing she does.


The day before they have to fly back to Konoha, they all get a free day.

With the school finished and the clinic running with more supplies and expertise, their job is pretty much done. They have done what they set out to do from the start, and Mr. Uzumaki—a blonde with a heart of gold and an infectious laugh—agrees that they should all explore the village, or perhaps even go to the city of Suna lying twenty minutes away.

Someone in the village offers to drive whoever wants to go to the city, and most of the students agree. The rest stay at camp and lounge around, hang out with the children at camp, or take a nap under the sun.

Sasuke has other plans for her.

When no one is looking and when everyone is supposed to be eating dinner and getting ready for bed, he leads her through the back exit of the clinic, a hand on her own.

He takes her to the local fields of rice she's only seen from afar, past these, through a few tall bushes, and to what looks like a little oasis in the middle of the desert. There are a few palm trees around them, fertile earth under them, a lake in front, and only sand beyond it.

Sakura stares in awe for a few seconds, especially because the sun is dipping below the horizon right in front of her eyes, and the effect it gives the water is almost magical.

They sit by the lake and stare out into the pretty sunset, sharing small talk, pleasant and quiet.

When the sun disappears completely, she turns her head and looks at Sasuke, but finds him already looking at her.

His gaze softens when she smiles at him.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," she admits, then leans her head on his shoulder.

He doesn't respond to that, but she never expected him to.

"What will happen when we go back?"

She doesn't have to say the full thing because she knows he understands. He always does.

What will happen to us?

She's been dreading the question—and the possible answers—but she knows it has to be asked, and she can't run away from it any longer. Tomorrow they go back to Konoha U.

He kisses the top of her head, and lingers.

"Nothing has to change if you don't want it to."

The answer makes her move back. She leans away to look at him, an unreadable expression on her face.

"You mean it?" She asks, distrustful. She still has two and a half years of school left, still has her whole life ahead of her.

In a way, she knows, he has that too.

They have time, and nothing has to change.

"I do," he states, and moves closer to her. "I'm sure of it."

He kisses her, then, and it feels like the very first time. It gives her assurance, makes her smile within the kiss.

Sasuke lays her down on the earth as he kisses her. He makes love to her under the stars, not caring about the risk they run with their mutual decision, not caring about the repercussions.

There's little care for anything else when there's this much love.