A/N: Why am I skipping over Valentine's Day? Because to me, it would be much more proper to call it Singles Awareness Day.

. . .

Wasted – Chapter 9

Wow

. . .

I move up and down. I feel silky sheets under my shins. I feel jolts of pleasure up my spine, coursing through my body. I feel a chest against mine. I feel warm, sweaty skin under my palms. I feel hands on my back, down to my waist, my hips and my butt, squeezing. I feel a mouth on my shoulder, quick, hot breaths fanning over my skin, a nose brushing my neck, a temple against my cheek. I feel soft, slightly damp hair between my fingers. I pull. I feel lips on mine, fleetingly.

I move up, down and a little bit forwards and backwards. I hear grunts, weaker ones at times, then stronger ones. I hear whimpers, faint moans. I hear a metal bed frame creaking, a headboard bump slightly against a wall. I hear skin slipping against skin. I hear my heart pounding in my ears.

I move up, down, forward, backward and I rotate my hips a little. I see his eyes, clouded. I see his mouth, sometimes slightly open, sometimes closed, sometime with teeth gritted from the effort. I see his hair sticking to his temples, to his cheeks reddened by the overwhelming warmth. I see my skin, barely standing out from his. I see our bodies, melding into one, moving almost in sync.

I take his face in my hands and smash my mouth to his, trying with all my might to keep moving. My body is torn between exhaustion and desperation for release. He helps me, gripping my hips and moving them against his for me. He kisses his way from my mouth to my breasts one last time before leaning backwards down to the mattress. I stay sitting, my hips still in his hands.

I move as fast as I can. I feel his chest under my palms, his muscles contracted. I feel my fingers grip his shoulders, my nails dig in his skin. I feel him moving inside me and it's mind-blowing. I feel his thighs rise to boost me forward and I feel my insides tighten. I feel the cool metal of the headboard in my hands and my muscles clench as I hold on for dear life. I feel his hands on my thighs, my hips and my waist, pushing and pulling, sometimes holding me in place, then snaking up my back, pulling me down. I feel my breasts brush against his chest and his hand slide up to grip one. I feel his breath against my face. I feel my limbs start to tremble and the pressure in my lower abdomen become nearly too much to handle.

I move erratically and sit back up. I hear my moans turn to screams and his grunts turn to growls. I hear the bed feet rattling against the floor and the headboard banging against the wall loudly. I hear flesh slapping against flesh.

My body clenches. I see stars.

. . .

"My mother wants to invite you for dinner."

I turn to Sasuke while pulling my pants up over my hips, my eyes wide, trying to convey with my face the bewilderment taking over my brain. He's sitting on the side of his bed, putting on his socks calmly. His tone had been as casual as if he'd told me what colour of boxers he's planning on wearing to that dinner instead of announcing the most awkward evening in my close future. Does he not get what dinner with his parents means for me? I was fine pretending to be his girlfriend during breakfast two weeks ago, but that was as far as I'd take it.

"Say what!"

"You." He points at me. "Me." He points at himself. "My folks." He points at the bedroom door. "Dinner." His hand drops to his foot where he resumes pulling on his sock.

"But... I can't! We can't!" Whoa, I sound so panicked. "You know we can't!" Sasuke sighs. God, even his sighs are sexy.

"It's just dinner." He stands up and walks to me. "It's pretty much a repeat of two weeks ago."

I pull on my shirt and cross my arms over my chest. This has become routine for us. It's weird how it only took us two weeks to fall into it. Every night, even when I have soccer practice, he gives me a ride from school – or my apartment if I haven't had time to pack a change of clothes or the next day's school supplies – and I end up at his place – because he has more space and thicker walls – and I stay the night. We actually do our homework before anything else. Unless we can't keep our hands off each other, but we're generally good at self-restraint. The way I see it, we're rewarding ourselves for our work. It's a good compromise and it gets me to actually do all my work on time. He even took up the job of reminding me to take my birth control.

Occasionally, there's a party, which me being me, I never miss and never spend sober. And Sasuke's always there to hold my hair up, wash my face, get my coat on my back and make sure I leave with my purse. I thought for a moment that it might turn him off, but he claims it's really entertaining, especially when the clothes start coming off and the tables become very appealing dance floors.

A few times, now, he's texted me out of class to have a quickie in the empty section of the school because he was bored out of his mind by his teachers. Yesterday, I made him go down on me in his car – his own car, that he started using again to avoid awkwardness with his chauffeur (ugh) – in the middle of the parking lot, in broad daylight, because I was having a bad day. The rest of the time, we barely see each other. We greet each other in hallways when our paths cross, but nothing more. Personally, I like it better that way. No one would know we were anything to each other but mere acquaintances and no one needs to know.

That does make me wonder how many of those students have a secret like ours. How many girls walk around mentally spotting every booty call she's answered in the last week? How many boys pretend not to recognise the girl they know they'll be screwing senseless in a matter of hours? How many secret couples have routines and agreements like Sasuke and I do? How many of them long for the day to be over so they can relieve their stress and forget everything that was bad about the ten previous hours?

"Fine," I let out with a sigh while fishing a clean shirt from my bag. "But it can't happen too often. I don't like lying to them."

"It doesn't have to be a lie," he mutters under his breath.

"What?" I ask, pretending I didn't hear. I heard him perfectly, but I'm hoping for a misunderstanding of some sort that he might rectify upon repeating it, like "It doesn't taste like pecan pie" or "It doesn't hashbrown beer cacti". Or something. I'm hungry.

"Nothing." He suddenly seems to be absorbed by the contents of his school bag.

I'll let it go this time, but I'll remember it. Just so I can smack it back in his face when he pulls the "I want to work on the 'friend' part of our deal" crap he's bound to give me again sooner or later. I'm starting to think this boy is in for far more than I am and he's just omitting things to cover it up. We've both agreed on a secret non-romantic relationship, and there he goes, letting me stay over for breakfast with his parents and inviting me to dinner with them as well. If that's how he keeps a secret, I don't want to see him being a telltale.

And, oh my God, we'll have to figure something to tell his parents when they ask about Valentine's Day. We obviously didn't do anything, which is not proper boyfriend-girlfriend behaviour, but as we're not boyfriend and girlfriend, I had no excuse – and no desire – to do something special on that night. Actually, we didn't even see each other. I declared it would go against our agreement and asked him to give me that day off. Sleeping in your own bed is really one of those luxuries you don't realise you have until you lose them. Fine, I might be getting a better deal than people who don't have a bed at all, I'm not denying that. But I did miss my bed over the last couple of weeks.

I actually spent all day in bed, binging out on cookie dough ice cream and homemade vodka-cranberries like the depressing single I am, watching Gilmore Girls episodes – the fifth, sixth and seventh seasons back to back, the most enjoyable in my opinion – drooling over Matt Czuchry and crying like an old, desolate spinster at the last episode when Logan and Rory break up. Then I spent about an hour just daydreaming about the fictive day they meet up again and realise how much they've missed each other and decide to get married because they are both still young, beautiful and single, and then they live happily ever after because that's how it should be.

At some point in all that, I went through the pictures on my computer to find some of my ex, then printed them and proceeded on burning them to ashes while cackling with glee.

Oh, is that my stomach? Man, I must be hungrier than I thought. Hopefully, Sasuke didn't hear; I wouldn't want to be cornered into another breakfast – despite the fact that I could be having pancakes and pastries and actual fresh fruit and bacon and hasbrowns and if I push it, pecan pie. Because, no, I haven't had breakfast at his place since that breakfast and I don't really intend to, even if he uses the pecan pie argument.

"Are you thinking about breakfast again?" Oh, I forgot he was there, that psychic Greek-god-that's-not-actually-from-Greece.

"No, I'm not." Damn, I said that too fast. He chuckles and stands up from his bed, slinging his schoolbag over shoulder.

"Come on. McGriddles. My treat."

I could kiss him.

Well, I can, but that's not the point.

The point is my trio-number-eight-with-an-extra-hashbrown that I so rarely get because of my usual lack of quick transportation to local fast food joints in the morning but that I'll be getting today because I am screwing a god. A merciful, mindful, beautiful god that doesn't mind my addiction to junk food and huge, unhealthy meals.

Today is a good day.

. . .

"I have bad news for you, ladies."

This is the first time I've met the principal. It's definitely weird. I mean, in elementary and high school, everyone knows who the principal is. He speaks at school assemblies, visits classrooms every once in a while to discuss important matters that affect both the students and the teachers and he appears in the school newspaper. His picture is on every graduate board and his name is at the bottom of every letter you have to hand to your parents.

In college, however, he's not that present. You couldn't pick him out of a crowd if your life depended on it. Hell, every once in a while, the idea crosses your mind that there might actually not be a principal. There are no school assemblies conducted by the administrative board, not even for a start-of-term welcome speech, the school newspaper is staffed by students – well, I presume, since ours is pretty much inexistent – and there's a ridiculous amount of people you can ask for help from before you get to him.

Well, at least now, I have a face to pin on the title. All I need now is a name. He looks old and wise – the wrinkles give it away – and is much shorter than I thought he'd be. If he weren't about to deliver us some bad news, as he claimed, I'm sure his stern look would be replaced by serene cheerfulness – again, the wrinkles.

All eighteen girls that we are look up at him from our stretching circle on the gym floor, each of us with a metaphorical question mark on our faces.

"Perhaps some of you have noticed that your coach has not come in contact with you over the past week," he starts, then pauses. I'm not sure why, but the words seem difficult for him to say out loud. "Ms Yuhi and her husband, the male soccer team's coach, have been in an accident."

...

Holy shit.

W-... What!

The sudden silence is deafening. I feel like I've been thrown into a dark pit of ice cold water. I can hear girls gasping around me, but I think I've stopped breathing. The atmosphere is so heavy, it feels like the gym walls have crashed down on us. The principal's voice is muffled to my ears when he speaks again.

"They both survived, but they are in critical condition. Ms Yuhi's pregnancy is at risk considering its early stage and she's been ordered to stay on complete bed rest until the birth. Mr Sarutobi is-..." The principal's voice wavers for a second and he pauses again. He closes his eyes and brushes over his face with his hand. He gives a deep sigh and keeps going. "Mr Sarutobi is still unconscious and the doctors cannot tell how much damage has been inflicted."

I can't move. No one else moves either. It's as if time stopped.

Kurenai didn't tell us she was pregnant. Hell, we didn't even know she and Asuma were married. We knew there was something between them, but it was mostly gossip and speculation amongst the female team. This can't be happening. It has to be some sort of sick joke, a really twisted plot to see how determined to win the soccer teams are. A test. A deranged test inappropriate for any school environment.

The principal's expression has now gone from grim to painful resignation and I'm scared of what he'll say next. He stays silent, as if he were debating whether to continue or not.

"What does that mean for us?" A girl calls behind me. Common sense would dictate me to call her an insensitive egoist, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't wonder about that myself. The principal suddenly looks desperate.

"Unfortunately, due to recent budget cuts, the school cannot afford to pay both of their medical leaves and hire new coaches," he says slowly, choosing his words. "The other coaches are swamped and would also cost too much to the school if they did overtime."

He looks at each of us, his eyes infinitely sad and apologetic.

"I'm terribly sorry, ladies, but the soccer teams will have to go on hiatus. The season will be cancelled for both the male and female teams."

No sound comes from any of us, but on the inside, I'm screaming. I can almost hear the other girls' inward screams as well. The gym is dead silent and no one is moving. My hands are shaking uncontrollably, but I can't say if it's out of shock or out of rage. Blood rushes to my cheeks and my nose starts tingling. I feel tears pooling up in my eyes and a lump form in my throat. I want to get up and run, I want to smash something to pieces, I want to yell at whoever made this happen and then beat them to a writhing, bloody pulp.

But I can't.

So I just let my tears flow out. No sobbing, no wailing, just tears. I can't even move my hands to wipe my nose.

I barely notice that the principal has left the gym. I don't even know how much time passes before I hear a girl say shyly "We should probably go". Most of the girls, including me, just mechanically get to their feet and walk out of the gym without a word. I get into one of the showers, peel off my clothes and turn the water on. I make it as warm as is humanly bearable and let it pour over my head and down my body. I turn my head down to avoid getting water in my eyes and I settle my gaze on the dripping ends of my hair that hangs down to my belly button.

It's not possible. It's just not possible. It can't have happened. Those things don't happen. Not to us. Not to them. They didn't deserve it. For fuck's sake, she's pregnant. Who deserves such a thing when they're expecting a baby? A part of me – the insensitive part – deplores the fact that today started so well, and now it's a fucking disaster, but another part – I like that one better – is already thinking of things I could do to make it easier for Kurenai.

I could offer my help for her groceries, or to clean her place, or I could help with the baby's room. I could visit Asuma for her, be her eyes and ears, tell her if anything has changed. Oh, but then again, no. I wouldn't want to have to tell her that he's not getting better, or worse, that he's d-...

Okay, no thinking about that.

What about the budget cuts? Who cuts the sport teams? I mean, yeah, I get that they have to cut somewhere, and no one really deserves to have their funds taken away, but sport teams are made to represent the school. We're the healthy afterschool activity. We prone discipline, health, determination and sportsmanship. Not to sound vain, but we're pretty important to the school's image.

Fine, we don't always prone all those things. Oh, that's it! I bet someone ratted us out to the principal about our partying habits. I bet they managed to get the board angry with us because we have social lives. If that's what it takes to be cut from the budget, why don't the art clubs get cut as well? We go to parties to get drunk, they come to school high out of their minds. This is not a false accusation; I know they do, I'm a Film student. I require the help of Theatre kids for actors, Creative Arts kids for backgrounds and accessories and Music kids for, well, music. And let me tell you, it's not the Cinema kids that reek of weed. It's not the sport team members either. We're actually responsible enough to be sober at school, during practice and at every single one of our meets. So why did we get cut?

"It's not fair!"

"Sakura?"

GAH.

What's Sasuke doing in the girls' locker room?

"Yeah?" I call out.

I don't hear anything for a while, then I hear the first shower curtain being pulled open right before the second one is yanked aside and I see Sasuke standing in front of me, fully dressed, looking mildly annoyed. I yelp and quickly turn my back to him, covering my breasts with my arms. Yes, I know, he's seen me naked multiple times before, but there's a chance that some of my teammates are still around and I wouldn't want them to now I'm used to being naked around Sasuke. Secret relationship rule. He either doesn't get it or doesn't deem it important, because he rolls his eyes, pulls the first curtain closed behind him and starts stripping.

"What are you doing?" I ask, alarmed. It's not that I mind him stripping, but if there are other girls around, I'd rather he keep it for later.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He replies, sarcasm barely tinting his otherwise monotone voice.

"Fine, rephrasing. Why are you taking your clothes off?"

"You're upset. I'm cheering you up." My God, can he put at least a little emotion into it?

"How do you know?"

"Your teammates told me. I've been waiting for an hour." He unbuckles his belt.

"It's been an hour? What do you mean, they told you?"

"You weren't coming out to the car, I came to get you. They saw me. Asked me to comfort them." His pants drop to the ground. He bends down to pick them up and yanks his socks off.

"What the fuck, really? Dude, I'm sorry." I'm not that sorry, really. They're gone and he's here and he's pulling his boxers down. Oh, hell yeah!

"Where's your soap?"

"Hm?"

What? Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you, I was too busy ogling your dick that's starting to rise to attention. Ooh, come to mama... Ahem. Right. The soap. Oh, that's right! I didn't bring it with me. I wasn't really paying attention.

"I-in my l-locker." Oh, really? I'm stuttering, now? Jesus Christ, get it together, idiot.

Sasuke raises a brow at me and walks out of the shower, stark naked. I stare after his butt, a sudden urge to grope it taking over my brain. As if thinking on its own, my body follows him out, and I find that it really doesn't matter if I'm naked as well.

"Which one is it?" Sasuke asks calmly, looking around the locker room. I don't answer. I walk to my locker, pull it open and retrieve my soap bottle from my sports bag. I turn around to look at him and OH MY GOD, HOW DID HE GET SO CLOSE SO FAST! I didn't even hear him move! The man is a ninja.

He backs me up into the lockers and towers over me, a slight smirk stretching over his lips, his body pressing up against mine, and then I can feel all of him. And I mean all of him. Especially the all of him that's hard against my lower abdomen.

"So," he says in a low voice.

"So," I repeat, oddly high-pitched.

"You're upset," he states and runs his hands down my sides.

"I am upset," I concede, a shiver running down my spine. I can't help the hard squeeze my hand gives the soap bottle.

"Friends don't let their friends be upset." His hands grab my butt and he pulls one of my legs up to hook it around his hip. I grab onto his shoulder with one hand and fling the soap-holding other around his neck.

"No. No they d-don't." He bends his knees to give himself momentum, then straightens up quickly, pulling my other leg up, and pins me between his body and the lockers.

"And I'm a good friend." Still holding me up, he dips his head to my neck and starts sucking on it. I stretch up so that his mouth can reach my chest.

"Yes! Y-yes you are, yes!" Oops, maybe that last one was a bit loud.

He secures his arms around my butt and leans away from the lockers. At this point, I don't really bother to look where we're going anymore, but I get the feeling the still-running shower is about to get a show. Sure enough, I soon feel the warm water pour down over my back and my head. I'm pinned against another wall and then Sasuke's mouth is on mine, hot and hungry. I let the soap bottle drop to the floor and run my fingers through Sasuke's wet hair. His hands become frantic, he presses more forcefully against me and I know what he wants.

"Condom?" I manage to articulate between kisses. He leans away, his previous smirk replaced by a slight frown, and shakes his head. I know this face. This is the face of a kid who was promised something and who's just found out that he's contributed to his not getting it after waiting for a long while. I almost pity him.

"Birth control pill?" He asks in turn, looking a little hopeful. I grin.

"Still taking it."

That's all it takes. He smashes his mouth back to mine and suddenly, he's inside me. And my God, it feels amazing. He thrusts his hips at mind-blowing speed, sending electrifying jolts up my spine. He trails his lips from my mouth to my neck and soon, I'm letting it all out. The sighs, the moans, the screams. I hold onto his shoulders for dear life and try – and fail – to keep up with his pace. I give up and lean back against the wall.

My moans and his grunts echo on the walls all around us, and I find myself thinking that if I weren't the one having sex in the locker room showers right now, I'd find these noises very arousing. The sound of our skins slapping against each other is also amplified by the echo and just listening to it makes the sex even more enjoyable.

Sasuke leans forward and slides us down the wall so that he's on his knees. I'm still stuck between him and the wall, straddling his lap, but this new position seems to give him more grip and his thrusts grow quicker and harder. He hooks his left arm under my right leg, pulls it up and oh my sweet Jesus Christ, do that again. Yes!

His head is leaning against the wall right next to mine and his grunts fill my ears. They become strained and take a higher pitch while my screams grow louder and louder. He pounds as hard as he can, his fingers digging into my skin. I drag my nails across his back.

I can feel it. Right there.

It's coming.

It's coming!

I'm coming!

Oh my God!

Oh my God!

YES!

"YEEEEEEESSSS!"

I throb around him, letting wave after wave of pleasure roll over me, then I go completely limp against the wall while he still pounds into me. A few seconds later, he gives a shaky, squeaky grunt and I feel my lower half being flooded with warmth. He gives a few more erratic thrusts into me and plummets against me, panting and resting his forehead on my shoulder.

We stay like that for a while, trying to catch our breath, until he leans away from the wall and pulls me into a searing kiss. I don't even think of protesting or pulling away and I jump right into it. His tongue is warm against mine and his large hands on the bare skin of my back get me right in the mood again. Still buried inside me, leans down to the floor, bringing me with him, and suddenly I'm on top.

I'm not entirely sure if it was me or my body that decided to move, but at some point I realise that I'm thrusting up and down his shaft. His hands brush down to my butt and then he's in control of my speed. I let him do what he wants. I feel too good.

Is it just me or is the water more lukewarm than hot, now?

Holy shit, it's turning cold!

Sasuke yells. I yank myself away from him with a yelp and roll off of him. I hurl myself at the shower knob to turn the water off. It stops pouring on us and I stare at Sasuke, suddenly cold and completely at a loss for words. He's propped up on his elbows, shivering as much as I am and staring back at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something move. I direct my eyes in that direction and realise that it's his dick slowly going limp.

I don't think I've ever been in a more absurd situation. Except maybe that night we met, back in December. We both watch the appendage go down and down until it's back to its usual floppy state against his balls. I look up at his face at the same time as he raises his gaze to me. This is the first time I've seen embarrassment on his face and boy, is he adorable.

I giggle while he sits up, a little sullen, then gets to his feet and starts gathering his clothes. I follow him, trying very hard to keep my giggles at giggle level. We get dressed in complete silence and soon, we're in his car, driving back to his place. The ride would be awkward if I weren't still stifling my laughter. I mean, really, there's nothing for him to feel embarrassed about. He did make me come with that dick of his, it's only because of the cold water that I got to witness him lose an erection. Any male in that situation would've had that problem.

Besides, I very well intend to make up for it when we get to his house. After a real shower, of course. And with proper protection. Once without a condom is fine – well, it was incredible, but that's not the point – but it can't happen again. I'm on the pill, so I should be okay, and even if I'm not, there's the morning-after pill that I can get – although Ino says it's a ridiculously uncomfortable pain in the ass – but I can't risk a pregnancy. Not now. Not while I still consider it a risk.

God, I hope I'm okay.

No. Yeah. No. Of course I'm okay.

Besides, I can't even remember what I was upset about.

Aw, crap, I forgot my soap in the locker room.

. . .

GET DOWN. GET DOWN. AND MOVE IT ALL AROUND. GET D-

"Mhello?"

"Sakura?"

"Mhey, Ino."

"You missed this morning's Video Creation, are you sick?"

"Hmmn... No, I'm not."

"What's wrong, then?"

"I'm sleepy."

"Sasuke?"

"Sasuke."

"Lucky bitch. Anyway, Kakashi read our pre-prod paperwork and gave us the green light to start production, so we have a meeting with the art department next Friday."

"Mkay."

"Promise you'll be there."

"Mpromise."

"And promise you'll talk to me before then."

"Promise."

"Good girl. I'll let you sleep, now. See ya, pretty face!"

"Hmmmn."

-click-

. . .

A/N: Is it weird that I stopped right in the middle of that lemon to go re-watch Tobuscus's Dead Island Literal Trailer on YouTube and then came back and got right back into it? Hm.

I need to bring up a few points:

1. First of all, I was never on a school's sport team. I did play soccer most of my life, but not in school, and never on a competitive level. Not because I wasn't good enough, I was just more interested in the arts, like cinema, drama and music. I also don't have anything against sport teams and I don't have anything about art clubs. This is only from Sakura's perspective as a member of the soccer team AND as a Film (and so, Art) student.

2. I don't and will never use the Japanese suffixes ("-chan", "-kun", "-sensei", etc.) in this story, mainly because I'm making it happen in Canada. So, just pretend they're part of a huge Japanese community where everyone has a Japanese name. That's what I do.

3. I'm open for suggestions as to who Sakura's ex is (he has to be an existing Naruto character), but if I don't get any (or any good ones), he shall remain nameless and will not appear in the story.

4. This chapter was pretty much the only screen time Sakura's soccer team will get. If I get too many characters involved, it'll become really complicated, especially if I invent names for them (which I'm not spectacular at).

5. Finally, I'd like to point out that this story is not made to glamorize Sakura's (and teenagers') bad habits. She's not supposed to be right. This story will follow her progressive realisation that she's becoming an adult and that what she's doing is wrong and might lead to harsh consequences. Even when she claims she's being responsible. I do not condemn drinking and smoking and doing drugs and partying, but I do not recommend it for everyone, and I want people to realise that you do need to be very responsible if you want to do those things and not regret it.

Oh God, I feel so old. I'm only nineteen and I sound like a fifty-something ex-addict trying to sensitize teenagers and young adults to "Teh Eevuls of Illicit Substances (DUN DUN DUUUNN)".

Uh... Review? People don't review much anymore. Break the stigma! Abide all the rules! Fuck the police!

Okay, maybe not that last one.