Gaara woke up alarmed and confused. There was a beating heart pressed against his arm, accompanied by soft, soft flesh and a sound that he suspected was snoring. He relaxed a little and opened his eyes. It was only Sakura, exactly where she was supposed to be. She had latched herself around his arm, her face buried in his bicep and the rest of her body pressed against him so fully that it was difficult to tell where her body ended and his began.

The clock beside his bed told him it was almost noon. He had overslept, or rather, underslept because it had been scarcely an hour since he had closed his eyes. He suppressed a groan and rolled onto his side, facing Sakura. He would give anything to be able to stay in bed all day, but he couldn't do that.

His movement made Sakura stir. She released his arm, but retracted herself further into the curve of his body. Her body heat was intense underneath the thick cover of his duvet. He was nearly sweating, but he didn't mind.

With a sigh that might have been content had he not had other obligations to fulfill, Gaara pressed a kiss to the top of her head and attempted to extract himself from her grasp.

Her eyes flew open and he was met with their brunt force, which was really just too much for him so early in the day. Did she have to be so damn beautiful?

"Good morning," he said to her, reaching up to smooth some of her sleep tousled hair out of her face.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, her voice hoarse, but undeniably charming in its faux hostility.

He gave up (for the moment) and relaxed in her arms. She stretched languorously against him, so catlike with her grace, the delightful tremor that wracked her body. She then hiked her leg over his waist and pulled herself close to him so that they were chest to chest, her nose brushing along his neck.

In spite of the heat, Gaara shivered, enraptured by her supple body, the way she melted into him. What he would give to wake up like this with her everyday…

"Sakura, I have to get up."

Sakura did not agree, evidenced by the way her legs tightened around him. He could feel the sticky remains of the previous night's pleasure still very much present – a reminder that they both needed a bath before they could do anything productive.

"No, just stay here forever," she countered, her voice muffled by his throat.

"As much as I'd like that, I don't think my sister would be too pleased," he said. "She's probably already furious."

Sakura pulled away from him to peer into his face. He couldn't help but smile at her, again struck by how beautiful she was. With her cheek pressed against his pillow and her eyes glimmering, she looked concerned – worried, almost.

"She's leaving soon," she murmured. "You probably want to spend time with her, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Gaara affirmed. "But first, we have a sticky situation we need to take care of."

He reached down beneath the covers and teased the inside of her thigh with gentle fingers, probing at the sticky mess he had left there. She made a closed-mouth noise of surprise and instinctively bucked her hips into his hand. Smiling, he rolled over on top of her, using his hips to pin her down against the mattress.

"You're dirty," he said, flitting his gaze over her body, so smooth and soft beneath his. Her cheeks and chest were pleasantly flushed, her breasts practically begging to be touched. He almost did, but he didn't want to get too distracted. He had other plans for them.

"You need a bath," he continued, resisting the urge to roll his hips forward into hers again.

"Yeah," she agreed listlessly, not seeming to understand what he was implying. "Can I use your private bath?"

"Of course," he replied easily, "but your cleanliness is priority one this morning. I'm not sure I trust you with that task."

Her eyes narrowed, but understanding dawned on her and it made Gaara smile even wider. "I'm thinking only the Kazekage can handle such a task," he said, reaching for her thigh and pulling it up until she hoisted her leg around his back.

"I see," she said pragmatically. "Then I leave that to your capable hands."

/

Gaara's capable hands carried her to his private bath, steadier now that his lust had been slaked, at least for the night. There was no telling how he would feel once he got her to the bath, but for now he managed just fine.

As usual, the bath was warm and waiting for him, prepped with all the things he liked – bamboo bath salts and cedar-scented soap. He was in a better mood than usual, and because Sakura seemed to be too, he tossed her unceremoniously into the water. The resulting deluge of water that crashed over him wasn't his only penance. Sakura, once she had resurfaced, reached for a bottle of shampoo from the corner of the tub and lobbed it at his head with deadly accuracy.

He grinned as he dodged it, wasting no time in jumping in the tub to join her.

"You didn't have to throw me," she sulked once the water had calmed down.

"It seemed more fun than lowering you gently," he said, leaning back against the marble seat with a contentedness he had not felt for some time. Sakura sat down in the seat beside his, sighing and resting her head against the marble lip.

When she closed her eyes, he took the opportunity to admire her, to soak in everything about her that he could see – her rosy lips, her long, pink lashes. There was a faint smile on her face, one that sent Gaara's heart into a crazy whirlwind of mismatched beats.

Feeling his eyes on her, she cracked an eye open to look at him. "See something you like?" she asked.

"Do you have to go back to Konoha?"

Sakura's smile vanished and he sensed that wasn't a conversation she wanted to start having, but he couldn't help himself.

"Temari's leaving," he continued, "and you're leaving with her."

"It's not like you'll never see us again."

"I know."

Sakura frowned and moved closer to him, her side pressed warmly against his. She reached for his fingers and interlaced them. "Come on, Gaara, don't be so sad," she said, pressing her lips to his cheek. "You never know what might happen. I'm here now, so let's not waste our time together."

"You're right," he said, lifting her by her waist and depositing her in his lap. She squealed and tightened her legs around him. "Now let's get you cleaned up."

He reached for the washcloth at the side of the tub and lathered it up with soap. The insides of her thighs were slippery and smooth as he brushed the stickiness away. Sakura bit her lip, but remained still while he cleaned her. He dragged the cloth across her skin, up her waist and chest to her shoulders. She moved her hair to one side to allow him better access.

Gaara had never done anything like this before. It felt far more intimate than actually having sex with her had been. She was warm and wet and smiling with pleasure and tried not to feel sad as he scrubbed her clean.

He should never have gotten involved with her. It was just too painful. She shone so brightly that she had burned him, and now with her impending absence, he would feel that pain more acutely. She would feel it, too, he realized. Once she was back home in Konoha, she would miss him. He didn't want her to hurt and he regretted that he had done this to her and to himself. He had been foolish and impulsive, but it was hard to be remorseful when she was clearly so happy to be here in his arms.

"Gaara, please," she said, tugging on his hair gently. "Stop looking so sad."

He looked up at her face, mesmerized by her sparkling emerald eyes. She was frowning with concern – a look her never like to see on her.

He pulled her into a kiss so he wouldn't have to see her face anymore. She responded with less enthusiasm than he was used to from her. She was languid and slow, reaching for the washcloth as she continued to kiss him. She ran it over his chest and shoulders, brushing away the sweat from the night before.

When she pulled away her face was still concerned.

"What do I have to do to get you to stay in Suna with me?" he asked, running his fingers up her spine.

"You know I can't stay here."

"I'll make a trade with Tsunade," he offered. "I'll give Konoha my best medic. I know he's not on your level, but I'm giving up Temari, too. That must be worth something."

"Gaara…"

Gaara clenched his teeth together, trying not to sigh aloud. He shouldn't have let Sakura see him like this. He was the Kazekage – he should be better than this.

Abruptly, Gaara heaved Sakura back into the seat beside him and clamored his way out of the tub. He slipped his bathrobe around his shoulders, avoiding Sakura's eye.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I need to go."

He offered no explanation, nor did he have the courage to look back at Sakura's face. He was sure whatever shock or anger or sadness he saw there would only undo him, and he really didn't need to be undone today.

He did hear her heavy sigh, though, and it was enough to undo him.

/

Sarabi's milky eyes were screwed shut, her lip wedged between her teeth as she concentrated on her chakra. Gaara sat beside her on the crest of a dune just outside the village, watching as she swirled a handful of sand in random patterns in the air in front of her.

"Pay attention to your chakra level," Gaara said, feeling that Sarabi was already beginning to dwindle her reserves. "You don't have shinobi training yet, so your chakra hasn't been exercised enough for you to know what that feels like. When you start to feel exhaustion, you need to stop."

"Yes," Sarabi grunted, continued to swirl the sand about.

He could feel her chakra lowering by the second. "If your reserve empties, you'll die," he warned.

Sarabi's sand fell back down to the dune. "I'll die?" she asked.

"In time you'll learn to increase your chakra control and therefore use a smaller amount," he explained. "You always want to use the smallest amount necessary for whatever jutsu you're performing."

"I don't know any jutsu," she said, opening her eyes to look at him.

"I will teach them to you," he said. "But first, you need to understand your own innate abilities. Use your intuition. What do you think you're capable of doing with all this sand?"

Sarabi closed her eyes again, humming with concentration. Gaara reached out with his own chakra, trying to sense what she sensed to predict what she might do. He could feel her practically vibrating beside him, her energy high and excited. The corner of his mouth quirked up as he realized just how much of a natural she seemed to be.

The dunes in front of him began to shift. He was surprised that she was even able to move such a large amount of sand without any prior training. The dunes shifted like waves on the sea, giving the horizon the illusion of being the ocean.

Then he felt her chakra spike dramatically. A little concerned, he glanced over at him and saw her chewing her lip as she concentrated. He returned his attention to the dunes and was surprised to find them solidifying before him. The orange-beige grains of the sand morphed into solid grey stone, peaks like mountains forming against the stark sky.

Gaara felt his jaw drop as he watched the grey stone bleed to red clay like the stone structure back at Turtle Rock.

"Sarabi…"

The stone dissipated, returning to its original state. The dunes reformed and crested as Sarabi continued to manipulate them.

"How was that?" she asked, opening her eyes again.

"Umm…"

"What's wrong?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

Gaara shook his head, feeling her confusion mirrored on his own face. "I think that's enough for today," he said, his mind racing with all the possibilities. "You need to eat and restore your chakra."

Sarabi nodded in agreement and stood up, brushing the sand from her pants. "Thanks for today, Gaara-sama," she said. "That was really fun and I feel like a learned a lot."

"Yeah," Gaara murmured in agreement. He had learned a lot, too.

/

"You wanted to see me, Gaara-sama?"

Gaara looked up from the scroll he was holding, glancing at the white-haired man with a little irritation. He had sent for Taiyo almost an hour ago.

"Yes," Gaara said, gesturing to the seat across from his desk. He could worry about Taiyo's tardiness later. "I need to speak with you about your people's history."

Gaara could see more than hear the tired groan Taiyo made with the back of his throat. He took his seat slowly, keeping his head bowed low with a least a semblance of respect.

"What would you like to know, Gaara-sama?"

"Who built the catacombs?"

"Our ancestors, of course," Taiyo answered. "I'm not quite sure I could get you specific names."

Gaara glared at him. "The walls of the catacombs were made of stone," he continued. "I find it hard to believe that ancient Suna wouldn't have realized an entire community of people building a stone structure out in the middle of the desert. No offense, but your people were fairly primitive. How could they have pulled off such a feat? How could they have built something underground like that?"

Taiyo frowned and looked away from Gaara. Gaara watched the reflection of the sun in Taiyo's eyes, awaiting his answer.

"The goddess…" Taiyo began, his eyes growing more distant as he gazed through the open window. "You're aware that she chooses a mouthpiece. Well, this mouthpiece is capable of not just moving sand, but manipulating it, changing its form."

"Who was the mouthpiece prior to Sarabi?" Gaara asked, leaning forward to draw Taiyo's attention away from the window.

"There was none," Taiyo replied. "This was what caused our people to suffer so much. There was no one to control the goddess, no one to manipulate things the way we had become accustomed to. It was why I was going to try to force the ceremony and become the mouthpiece myself."

Gaara's frowned deepened.

"You didn't trust me then," Taiyo pointed out, though it sound more like a musing than an accusation. "I only had my people's best interest at heart. I wanted to help. I thought I could."

"It's irrelevant now, Taiyo," Gaara said, his heart softening a bit at the look of remorse on Taiyo's face.

Taiyo shrugged his frail shoulders, his gaze penetrating as it fell back on Gaara.

"Did any of the previous mouthpieces have training?" Gaara pressed. "Did they understand innately how to control the beast and use their powers?"

"I cannot say, Gaara-sama," Taiyo admitted. "That was something I had hoped to figure out for myself."

Gaara tapped his finger against his lips, swiveling his chair around to look through the window. The sun was hanging low in the sky. Dinnertime was approaching and Temari's feast would begin soon. He needed to get dressed. He needed to shake all thoughts of Sarabi and Sakura from his mind and be there for his sister.

"So it's safe to assume that one of these mouthpieces was the one who formed the catacombs," Gaara postulated.

Taiyo shrugged again. "I suppose so."

Gaara's eyes hardened because that seemed like something that Taiyo should have known for sure.

"Okay," Gaara said softly, turning back to face Taiyo. "You're dismissed."

Taiyo nodded and stood up slowly, his bones creaking. Gaara watched him make his way to the door, his movement languid in his old age. "You know, Gaara-sama, I wonder sometimes if you would have this same interest in my people if it had been me chosen instead of Sarabi."

Gaara felt his words like an icy wash of water over his body. Taiyo disappeared around the corner, but Gaara shot out a wall of sand to block his path.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Gaara demanded, using his sand to force Taiyo back into his office.

Taiyo looked sheepish enough, but there was a bitterness behind his eyes that made Gaara's scalp tingle.

"I've seen the way you look at her," Taiyo said accusingly. "It's the same way you look at that Konoha girl. Not to mention Matsuri. How many women do you need to slake your lust?"

Gaara felt his jaw drop, his gut whirling around like a tornado. Was that what everyone thought of him?

"Watch your tongue, Taiyo," Gaara seethed.

Taiyo bowed his head again, but Gaara didn't miss the look of contempt in his eyes. "Forgive me, Gaara-sama," he said curtly. "It's not my place. However, Sarabi is like a daughter to me, so you will have to accept that I won't stand for you hurting her in any way."

"Get out," Gaara said, already feeling blinded by his rage. He hadn't felt so angry, so misunderstood in a long time. For a moment he almost felt like a child again, a demon trapped in a boy's body.

Taiyo wasted no time in disappearing around the corner again. Using his sand, Gaara slammed his office door shut.

/

"You look nice, Gaara," Temari said, beaming at him as he approached her table. Shikamaru was seated beside her, and the rest of the Konoha-nin were spread around the table. He noticed Sakura and Sarabi sitting next to one another, both absorbed in what appeared to be a serious conversation. He could feel his cheeks warming up at the sight of them, so he sat on the opposite side of Temari, as far away from the pair as he could realistically be.

"Thank you," Gaara said curtly. He had intended to put on a happy face for his sister, to make this feast enjoyable and pleasant for her. It was one of the last times he'd be able to enjoy a meal with her for a while, and he desperately wanted to have fun and forget about everything else.

It was just so hard to reign in his desire to sulk.

"Damn, you've always got to look grumpy, don't you?" Temari bit out, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not grumpy," he said, forcing a grin. "See?"

"Ugh, that looks creepy," she said, but she smiled back – one far more genuine than his. "But at least you're trying. What do you have to be grumpy about anyway? Still mad that I'm leaving?"

Gaara shook his head. "It's nothing, dear sister," he said, his smile growing more genuine as he spent time in his sister's company. "Let's just have a good time before you have to leave."

"I'll drink to that," Shikamaru said, raising his glass to Gaara.

Gaara reached for his own cup of wine and took a generous swig.

/

Approximately half an hour into dinner, Gaara could feel his head swimming. He was on his eighth glass of wine with no signs of slowing down. Temari, with a rueful twist of her lips, pulled the glass out of his hand.

"Come on, Gaara, you can't get drunk like this," she insisted, holding the glass out of his reach.

"Aww, let him live a little," Kankuro said, also quite inebriated. "He never does this. He needs to let loose a little bit."

"It's unseemly," Temari hissed.

"But you're here in case anything goes wrong," Gaara said, his eyes watery and pleading. He knew in the morning he would feel disgusted with himself, but in the moment he didn't care. That was what was so great about being drunk in the first place.

"I don't want to babysit you all night, Gaara," she said tersely. "I'm the guest of honor, remember?"

"It's fine, Temari, I'll take care of him," Kankuro said.

"You're drunk, too," she said dryly, "and we haven't even had the main course yet."

Gaara glanced down at the plate in front of him, ravenous. Temari had insisted on grilled fish because it was Shikamaru's favorite. In spite of all the trouble it was to import fish for this one occasion, Gaara couldn't deny his sister such a simple request. It had been expensive enough to annoy him, but now he was grateful because he hadn't seen anything to scrumptious looking in his life.

He eagerly tucked into his food with less grace than was appropriate for a Kazekage. He ignored Temari's eye roll, instead, grinning through his mouthful of food up at his brother. Perhaps he should get drunk more often. He felt much more affection for Kankuro this way.

Feeling a strong arm wrap around his shoulders, Gaara dropped his chopsticks onto his plate and leaned back.

"Naruto," he said, beaming up at the blonde.

"Gaara, you're drunk," Naruto said, returning his smile. In his inebriated state, Gaara could tell that Naruto was at least a little tipsy, though not nearly as wasted as he and his brother were.

"It's a special occasion," Gaara said dismissively.

Again, Temari rolled her eyes.

"Indeed, it is!" Naruto agreed. "This calls for a drinking game!"

Gaara could hear Temari protesting, but he shushed her. "I've never heard such a good idea," Gaara said, grinning from ear to ear.

/

Feeling something rake through his hair, Gaara felt a sudden alarm that sloshed around in his gut. He might have winced had he had the energy, but instead he made a guttural, deep sound. He tried to open his eyes, but they were glued shut. He could feel them crusted over so he reached his hand up to rub at them.

The effort winded him. He groaned louder, which made his head pound furiously. He tried to roll over, but a pair of tiny hands held him firmly in place.

"Don't move, Gaara-sama," said an achingly beautiful voice. "You'll just make it worse."

"Make what worse?" he rasped.

"You're hung over, moron."

There were only two people with the audacity to call him a moron, and he was certain that Temari wouldn't be cradling his head in her lap like this.

"Sakura, please," he murmured, absently reaching up for her hand. He could feel her running her slim fingers along his brow, through the hair that he could feel was matted down against his forehead. She kept her fingers away from his grasp, but continued to finger comb his hair.

"Please what?"

"My head is killing me."

"That's what happens when you drink too much, Gaara-sama," she said. He was irritated by the amusement he could hear in her voice.

Blearily, he managed to open his eyes. He winced at the brightness that flooded his vision, but a second later he heard the click of the lamp and the brightness faded.

"We're in my room?"

"Where else would I have brought you?"

He opened his eyes again, grateful for the near darkness. The moonlight through the window was the only light in the room now, and it cast a silvery glow over Sakura, illuminating her pink hair. Her eyes glinted in the darkness, eerie but still stunning. She was looking down at him with a look of amusement and disapproval, which irritated him, but she was so stunningly beautiful that it made him feel sick all over again.

He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and reached up to touch her face, but she jerked her chin away from him.

"Please, get rid of my headache," he begged, in too much pain to care that he was above begging.

"You deserve this," she said, her voice absurdly quiet. There was a strain of seriousness in it that told him this was important to her.

"I'm sorry about this morning," he said, watching her grit her teeth. He started to sit up, but she pressed down on his chest to keep him in place.

"You're mad at me because I won't stay in Suna with you."

Gaara sighed and shifted so that his cheek was pressed against her thigh. She was incredibly warm and soft, and very, very correct. He didn't want to feel angry with her. He would never consider moving to Konoha to be with her, so it was unfair of him to want her to move here.

But it didn't stop him from wanting it.

"I'm not mad at you," he insisted.

"I have a new respect for Temari," Sakura mused. "I'm not sure I'm equipped to handle your temper tantrums on a regular basis."

"This is not a temper tantrum," he snapped. The vehemence of it made his stomach turn and he curled himself tighter against her.

"I think I prefer you when you're not so grumpy."

"I'm less grumpy when you're around."

"You seem pretty grumpy right now."

Gaara scowled, but his expression softened – not because he felt softer but because scowling made his headache worse.

"Please, Sakura."

She smiled softly at him, looking so angelic bathed in moonlight that it felt like just looking at her for too long would shatter his heart into a thousand pieces. She leaned down and pressed her lips against his forehead in a kiss so tender he couldn't really be sure she'd kissed him at all.

"No."