There's something oddly cathartic about storms in the summer. In the late afternoon, Temari stretches on the balcony of her Konoha apartment. It's too fucking humid here. There's a dry heat in Suna that feels good to breathe in, even when the skin on her knuckles and lips crack from the lack of moisture. This heat is oppressive. Stifling, even. She pats the sweat pooling on her chest with a cloth and watches the sky darken and the pressure of the atmosphere increase.
She's drinking alone, occasionally holding her icy glass to her face. She hasn't made many friends yet in Konoha and her brother left yesterday after helping to get her settled. She is required to stay for a month for work with the newly-formed Shinobi Union, but she's been staying in this apartment since she first helped with the chunin exams. Drops of rain begin to hit the railing of her balcony, and she basks in the cool spray that manages to reach her, though she's mostly protected by the overhang. It smells beautiful.
She hears a knock on her door and lazily stands to make her way to the front. When she gets nearer, she recognizes the chakra and opens the door expectantly.
"Shikamaru," she says. She's in a considerable state of undress, but it's nothing she's uncomfortable with: the bandeau that she usually wears under her yukata and shorts. It's appropriate for the heat and normal lounge wear in Suna during the hotter months. She knows that in this village, though, the kunoichi tend to be a touch more conservative.
"Is...this a bad time?" Shikamaru asks, keeping his eyes very carefully trained on hers.
"Not at all. Would you like to come in?"
He nods, happy to be out of the rain, slipping his shoes off and setting a stack of papers on her table.
"This is your schedule for the coming weeks," he says, all business. "And some basic onboarding stuff. Workplace romance policy, dress code, that kind of thing." Shikamaru turns his head away from her so she can't see his expression and winces at himself. There are plenty of other papers there. He could have mentioned payroll details, that thing she could fill out to request an assistant if she needs it, or even the fucking emergency procedures. He was sure he'd shown his hand just then, shown the discomfort forming in his belly that he blames squarely on his own troublesome libido.
"Thanks. Are you done for the day? Would you like a drink?" Temari asks, not caring that she sounds overly eager. She doesn't mind being alone but he's the only person she really knows in Konoha and she's not about to turn away her only social prospect.
The rain has picked up considerably and it's now pouring outside. They both hear a clap of thunder in the distance. Shikamaru would love a drink, would love not to deal with walking anywhere in the heavy, electric rain. But his eyes had quickly clocked how she looked when he was in her doorway, strong thighs and shoulders on display, the soft and sparse blonde hair on her arms and stomach and legs lighter than her skin tone.
He weighs the pros against the cons and decides that perhaps having a drink with a beautiful woman is a better option than getting soaking fucking wet or struck by lightning on his way home. Even if that woman is more dangerous than the elements outside.
"Sure," he answers.
She grabs an additional glass and ice from her kitchen and leads him to the balcony.
"What is this?" Shikamaru gestures at the liquor bottle with Suna's insignia on it.
"We have a succulent that we ferment in Suna," she says, pouring a healthy amount into his glass.
"It smells weird," he says, but it doesn't stop him from taking a long drink. He grimaces and gives the glass back to Temari and realizes, too late, that he was expecting a princess to serve him. He waits for her to hit him at his presumption, or at least call him out for it, but she refills his glass without a second thought and hands it back.
"Bad day?" Temari asks by way of commenting on how quickly he'd drank. She lounges all the way back and sips from her glass. She doesn't make a face like he had. He has, in the past, noticed that she doesn't show pain, really, or even mild discomfort like from the burn of a hard liquor. He wonders if that's built into training in Suna. He can picture a little girl with a softer, chubbier face but that same mean look in her eye surrounded by sand. He imagines a sensei who looks even meaner than Temari telling her that to show pain was to show weakness. He admires her fortitude. But in the same vein, he has noticed that she doesn't often show pleasure, either.
"Sasuke left this morning, so I babysat Naruto until I got called to the Hokage's office," he says, his voice casual, as though he hadn't just been speculating about what made her this tough.
"Sasuke, huh?" Temari dabs a cloth under her breasts and Shikamaru keeps his eyes ahead, finding the sheets of rain suddenly fascinating. "I thought he was cute when I was fifteen."
"Oh?" Shikamaru answers, not sounding too interested. She and every other girl in the world. He lights a cigarette to mask the bitter taste of liquor and concentrates on it like it'll stop any awkwardness he feels about her exposed skin.
"Seems like far more trouble than he's worth, though," she says mischievously.
At that, he snorts with laughter. "That's an understatement."
"How do you deal with this humidity?" Temari asks, changing the subject, and Shikamaru hazards a glance her way. The alcohol has given her chest and cheeks an attractive flush and he has the maddening urge to press his mouth against her sternum where her skin was the pinkest.
"It's a shinobi's duty to endure," he answers, ignoring his indelicate impulse, and smirking.
"Ha, ha," she responds, rolling her eyes. She takes an ice cube out of her glass and runs it along her lips, then down her neck and along her collarbone, leaving a glistening trail along her skin. She has goosebumps in the wake of it, and his mouth goes dry as he realizes that her nipples are erect under the band around her chest. The entire thing is devastatingly sexy, and he realizes he has to get out of there. After he stops being so hard. He shifts uncomfortably in his place.
"Kankuro left today, right? I'm sorry I missed him," he says, trying to distract himself, trying to look anywhere but at her.
"Yesterday," she corrects, then looks inside at the documents on her desk. He notes the length of her eyelashes, more noticeable when her face is in profile. He fights himself not to let his eyes travel to the muscles in her neck or lower.
"I should get going. Thank you for the drink," he says when he's certain that his hardness isn't noticeable. He stands to leave.
"So soon?" Temari asks. She sounds disappointed, and the corner of his mouth quirks upward, threatening to smile at her tone.
"Yeah, I told Choji that I'd meet him at the bathhouse," he says. It's not a lie, but he still had an hour to go before they had agreed to meet.
"Oh, I don't know where the bathhouse is around here. Do you mind if I tag along?"
Well, that backfired. He searches his brain for any excuse he could think of as to why that would be a problem.
"I don't see why not," he answers finally, realizing that he'd been thinking about it for too long.
"Okay, just give me a second," she says and disappears down the hallway. She returns wearing a thin black T-shirt that does nothing, he notes with chagrin, to actually cover her. "Let's go."
He steps into his shoes and follows her into the street. He admires the sure way she carries herself, her chin up and back straight. He wonders if she has any idea of the amount of heads she's turning as she strolls casually down the street. She would have to, he reasons. No shinobi at her level isn't acutely aware of her surroundings. He's surprised at how unphased she is as they stroll by an izakaya and a particularly drunk ninja whistles at her appreciatively. Shikamaru half-expects her to turn around and murder the guy with a powerful gust of wind. But she doesn't acknowledge him and Shikamaru thinks that perhaps this situation falls under her tendency to ignore discomfort. He follows her lead, walking stoically beside her. They make a picture of indifference next to one another.
"You should have grabbed an umbrella," he says, noticing the way the fabric of her shirt sticks to her shoulder blades.
"I don't own one."
"You wouldn't, would you?" Shikamaru answers. This would be the first time she's ever spent longer than a week in Konoha, and storms weren't particularly common in this area anyway.
They're in front of the bathhouse now, and he gestures to the sign as if to say ihere we are/i. He ducks under the overhang and out of the downpour. His shirt is sticking to his skin uncomfortably, and he grabs a bunch of the fabric in the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head. He wrings it out and turns to look at Temari expectedly.
"Hang on," she says. If it had been anyone else he would tell them to fuck right off and that he's going inside immediately. But it's Temari, and he's intrigued. It doesn't mean he's happy about staying out in this mess, though. He hates that his shoes are wet and squish uncomfortably with each step, and he looks at the cobblestone lining the street with distaste. There were always puddles filled with dirty, disgusting water after storms like this, and he imagines the careless people who will splash the stagnant, shitty water on his ankles as he walks to work tomorrow He's pulled out of his thoughts when he is sure he hears a sigh from Temari in front of him.
Her eyes are closed and she's still standing in the rain. Her arms are outstretched, palms facing toward the sky. The raindrops roll down her face and body, touching her in places he wishes he could. That thin fucking shirt clings to her form and her face, for only an instant, radiates contentment. For just a moment Shikamaru sees that little girl he'd imagined earlier. Gentle, sweet, full of awe at the world before Rasa and whoever else had stolen all those feelings of innocence and wonder from her. Then, like a flame extinguished in so much rain, her face is again composed. He speculates that maybe it's the alcohol that caused her to lose her self-control for that split second. And he's interested in what else might be behind those carefully constructed walls she has built up around herself.
"It never rains in Suna," she says, and her voice isn't nearly as deep and commanding as usual. It betrays her poise. He shakes his head, realizing that his mouth had been open. That he'd been staring, and not because of his pesky sex drive, but because of something agonizing and saccharine that he felt bubbling in his chest. He closes his mouth and nods, putting his wrung-out shirt over his shoulders and opening the door for her.
She walks through, dripping in the lobby. He doesn't say goodbye to her as he enters the men's changing area. He sits down and groans, raking his fingers through the hair near his scalp. The fact that he's in trouble is obvious. That thing she's making him feel is trouble. She's trouble. This whole thing is…
"Troublesome," he mutters.