The old man ached terribly as he pulled out of his blonde companion, sending a glance at the window as morning light peaked its way through. His tired gaze soon came back to her, however, and he watched as her beautiful, full bosom rose up like a blooming, sweaty flower that didn't allow his stiff manhood to soften in the least.
Her arm was covering her eyes and her mouth was wide open, and she was taking in full gulps of precious oxygen in an attempt to recover her breath, even as her other arm massaged at his lower back, tracing a small circle with her digits as she did.
"What's…this from?" she breathlessly asked, finding purchase upon a scar that drew horizontally across the area she was caressing.
"Sword," he quietly muttered, pulling away from her to sit upon his haunches for a moment, his eyes finding her swollen, lower lips, red and used as he'd left them in his mad mating, and leaking a seemingly never-ending stream of his seed from her gaping orifice.
He felt satisfied with his work, proud even, and he truly hoped she felt the same.
"It went deep," she pointed out, and for a moment, just a brief one, he wondered if she'd referred to his still-stiff member, which had, in fact, gone very deep. "You're lucky you didn't end up paralyzed."
"Yeah," he gruffly grunted in reply, placing a callused hand upon her right, sweaty, inner thigh, marveling at how it trembled in exhaustion.
Slowly, the woman pulled her arm away from her face and gave him a sly grin, and the old man found himself wishing, once more, to give her a kiss upon those red lips of hers.
"Ever been in love?" he suddenly asked, his voice as emotionless as his grizzled features.
Her expression morphed from the grin, changing into something softer and sadder, and he knew he'd hit a sore spot with his intrusive inquiry.
"Once," she replied, her eyes traveling through him, remembering a different time with a different person. "But…it didn't work out."
Secretly, the old man wished to comfort the woman, to tell her he was sorry for his silly question and that she would be okay, but if the beautiful blonde beneath him didn't already know everything she needed, then she certainly didn't need to hear it from someone so crass and crude as he.
"What about you? Has any gal ever caught your eye?" she queried, her expression switching back to her earlier grin, a hint of mirth within each light-brown eye.
"Nope," he simply stated, although, secretly, he would acknowledge that the woman before him had certainly caught his eye.
But he wouldn't say that. The old man would never utter such words. He was a nomad by nature, a drifting vagabond by trade, and he suspected the woman was much the same. To utter words of love to her would see an end to his way of life, and he would never allow that.
In a way, he still wished he could impregnate his mate, but he knew, deep down, he truly didn't want that. The old man was no father or husband, and he would never change or settle down to be one. Part of him wanted such a life, but another part, one that would never lose to such trife desire, told him of who he truly was, a man with no home and no wish for one.
Perhaps the old man had fallen for the woman, something he'd never done with any other, but he knew he had purpose beyond her and any legacy he would leave behind with her at his side. Once she left his temporary home, they would likely never meet again, and that was the way it should be; it was the way it had to be for him.
Forcefully pulling himself away from the lovely woman and her enticing body, he reached over onto the side-table and found his pipe and a can of his finest, strongest tobacco. He began to fill the bowl, watching as the woman sent him another grin, before she too climbed out of bed, only to begin dressing her soiled body.
He watched every little detail of her delightful flesh as it flexed and extended with each article of clothing she silently adorned, wishing he could have one more go at her, and wishing he could tell her this.
But he didn't. He wouldn't say such. Their meeting was adjourned, their wild night through, and it was time for her to depart, and for him to remain behind.
"Sorry, but I really have to take off," she murmured, catching his leering gaze with another sly smile. "I have a student who's probably worried sick right now. She's probably hired a team of ninja to scour the town looking for me."
She'd said the last bit in exasperation, but the old man had heard the affection ring through for this student of hers, and he vaguely wondered what kind of career the woman was in to have an apprentice, especially one who'd so thoroughly captured her heart.
But, again, he wouldn't say a thing. Knowing would draw her closer, and that was the last thing either of them needed.
Holding his middle finger and thumb together over the filled bowl, he applied a smidge of chakra and snapped the pair together, igniting the tobacco within. Pulling the musky taste of maple and aged wine into his mouth, he then inhaled the smoke and allowed it to sit within his lungs for a count of five, blowing it out afterwards with a sigh of calm delight.
"You shouldn't inhale it," she coyly said, making her way, albeit a tad wobbly, over to his side of the bed once she was fully clothed. "It's fine for a taste, but hell on the lungs."
Without hesitation, she bent at the waist, putting her face directly in front of his, and for a moment, the old man thought she was going to give him a lecture on the risks of smoking, but instead, she did something he never would've expected. Her red lips, that he'd fantasized all night about, met his whiskered own, her eyes closing briefly as her tongue prodded at him, begging for entrance into his mouth, which he permitted with a shiver of excitement going up and down his scarred spine.
He knew he should've pulled away, leaving the pair wanting so that the two could part as nothing more than lovers for an evening, yet he silently felt joy at their oral conjunction, even giving her tongue a taste with his own.
The contact lasted all too swiftly, and she pulled away with another small grin, this one speaking of something smug, which he didn't much care for.
"Thought so," she whispered, licking those delicious red lips.
He didn't know what she'd been assuming nor what she'd confirmed with the kiss, as with a wink, she turned on her sandaled heel and made for the door, leaving him with a lust-filled craving he knew would forever remain unsatisfied.
Turning back around as she grasped the handle, she waved and winked once more, then she was gone, and the old man took another drag from his pipe, holding the strong tobacco within his lungs for a count of fifteen.
He felt suddenly empty without the woman he was now sure he'd fallen for in a single night, but that's the way it had to be. This was a nomad's life, and he'd chosen it all on his own, and, more importantly, he'd continue to choose until the day he died.
With his free hand, he rubbed at the scar on his lower back that she'd lovingly massaged, and he closed his eyes and began to think and reminisce; to remember a certain day long ago.
One in which he hadn't felt quite so void of purpose.