Hi, my lovelies! This fic is the result of a tumblr poll where I asked people which kind of Sasusaku fic they'd like to see. Blank Period won by a large margin! Thanks to all who voted, and please forgive some rustiness.
It's on a night with no stars that Sasuke appears on her window ledge.
"Sakura," he says, quiet, then louder when she curls like a kitten into her pillow. Eventually-
"Sasuke-kun," she replies, half asleep and calling him sweetly, as if they'd returned to the past. A pause.
"Are you hurt?"
Sasuke considers. Knows that if he says yes, she'll turn luminous hands on his shoulders, on his wrist, on the curve of his ankles until she discovers the lie.
"No," he admits. The truth feels tasteless on his tongue, bearing none of the relief his hurts would bring. He almost retracts it.
She rolls over anyway. Sits up, staring towards the boundary of her bedroom and the outside and says, "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm-"
"Sasuke-kun."
There's a cautiousness to her voice now that she's reached full wakefulness. Sasuke frowns at it, then chides himself for missing something he'd lost long ago. For a moment, he sways on the white precipice outside her window until she tilts her head and asks,
"Did you want to come in?"
And like that, he nods. There were, perhaps, some truths to the rumours about oni and red eyes and their fondness for the darkest nights. He moves soundlessly - of course - but she follows every inch of movement with an unreadable expression. When he's inside she shuts the window, locking them inside.
It's always on the night of the new moon, he realises. Like some kind of twisted Tsukuyomi, a risk taken only when the white eye that watches the world sleeps and the people on the surface can steal what should not be stolen.
"How are you?" she asks softly, but Sasuke simply shakes his head.
"I don't want to-," he starts, then stops, then tries again, "-not tonight."
He doesn't lie in this dark with her. He'll say he's fine tomorrow, maybe, under the warm sun over the ramen stand, his demeanour as drawn and haughty as always. Sasuke watches as Sakura figures that out too. It is not the first, nor the second time that he has walked this road of temptation.
The space of a heartbeat stretches out before Sakura draws back the thin sheet that covers her bed, and Sasuke closes the curtains, and she takes the katana from its place on his shoulder.
They don't talk about… this, neither of them willing to be the first to put a name to touches traded under the black sky, though both of them feel the lingering static well into the cold light of day. If neither of them admit it then neither of them can end it. And Sasuke doesn't want to, he realises, sighing into the space between Sakura's shoulder and her chin. Her thin camisole is hiked up around her waist to expose the soft skin of her stomach, warm against his chilled flesh. His hand drifts down to it, some absent part of him enjoying the way she begins to twitch away from the touch.
"It's ticklish," she murmurs, and he's surprised because they usually don't dare to even talk in these moments. The spell is too easy to break.
He stops but his hand lingers, sweeping around to her hip. He follows it with the rest of his body, twisting in her too-small bed until his hot breath has her muscles quivering and her breath short.
Sometimes when they come together she grabs his hair in a ceaseless grip, as though she could hold him in place like an anchor.
This time, Sakura doesn't move at all. Except to react; he knows the secrets of her pleasure too well for indifference. So he works until she's gasping for breath, her toes digging into the tops of his calves painfully, that monstrous strength breaking containment. It is worth it, he thinks, sitting upright in the bed while she comes back to reality.
She often asks him to leave. Definitely if the creeping light of morning touches her window, sometimes even when the dark still lies over the village like a shroud. But when he looks towards the closed curtains with an unspoken question Sakura simply shuffles over as close to the wall as she can get, a wordless invitation that he sinks into.
Her bed is too small. Yet it's big enough for what lies between them, tiny and secretive. Fledgling.
As always, he is gone when she awakens.
But unlike usual he is back the next evening while the moon watches with a narrowed gaze, a sliver of judgement as he clings to the thin line outside Sakura's window. It's early, too: she hasn't gone to bed yet, and her thin curtains throw a gauzy veil over her evening ministrations. Sasuke hasn't concealed his presence so she knows he's there, yet she makes him wait as she pats creams and rubs secrets into her skin. Embracing the softer side of herself, as if nobody else would.
"Good evening," Sakura says eventually, though she hasn't opened the window and her breath clouds the pane.
What could this be? Caution and curiosity drip from her voice.
It would be easier if he could read her mind, Sasuke thinks while staring at the thin, ancient glass. It would be easier still if he could understand his own.
She doesn't move. An opaque boundary, fragile and easily broken, just like the lines they've drawn between them. It would be the work of a thought to break the window, but of course Sasuke has more restraint than that, though the thought clearly passes across his face as Sakura clicks open the lock with a disgruntled expression, inviting him in.
"It's-"
Sakura doesn't finish the sentence. It's still evening, it's only been a day, it's a surprise to see you: Sasuke wonders which she was going to say, moving past her with a fluid grace.
"It's good to see you again," she murmurs, throwing him off balance. They don't talk about definites, and this is dangerously close. The illusion of calm will shatter if they speak in absolutes.
What to reply? He doesn't know, has never been good with words, and perhaps worse with his deeds. For lack of a better idea he stretches his arm out to her, a bridge across the gap. Sakura stares at his offering, her green eyes intense as they take in his fine boned fingers, the barely-there tremble of… of something that is definitely not nerves.
"Sasuke-kun."
"Sakura."
There is a wealth of emotion behind the way he says her name. She picks up on it of course, taking two steps forward until she brushes past his fingers and stands within his guard, the outstretched arm a solid weight upon her shoulder. Almost unconsciously Sasuke curls it around her, his hand large on her back and her breath hot on his cheek. He remembers when she was taller than him. When she kisses him he bends to it, pulling her closer still.
"This is the last time, isn't it?"
He nods. He's broken the silence, paved the expanse by visiting twice in as many nights. And yet there is that part of him that doesn't want things to end. That wants change, as if he can be deserving of something under the sun.
"Ah," he confirms, whispering into her hair.
He can feel the curve of her lips on his shoulder in a grimace or a smile, her teeth just barely grazing his skin. The uncertainty of it has him motionless; extending his arm took almost all that Sasuke had. The next step is Sakura's, the next line is hers to cross. He almost cannot believe it when she does.
"You're leaving, aren't you?"
It's barely a question. They've avoided talking of this, of anything of substance, but Sasuke is not surprised that Sakura caught wind of his intentions yet unvoiced. It was not the first time she sensed he would go. But unlike the last-
"What would you say if I came with you?"
-there is little of rage behind his departure.
"I'd… like that," he says, voice small under the weight of her offer. "Very much."
"Good," Sakura replies, and she lifts her head to show that it's a smile on her face.
It's the most they've spoken in this narrow and private space.
She draws back just far enough that he has to move with her to keep touching, unwilling to let the heat of her leave his side. It's not for long: there are only a few steps to the bed in her small room, and when she sits down on it he follows suit, leaning over her expectant form.
He place a knee between her legs, his fingers mapping her collarbones, her neck.
This time, she is not silent when Sasuke goes to work, each gasping hiccup more breathless than the last. Her camisole is a poor barrier; he kisses her through it, the silk elusive between his teeth until she rips it almost in half to bare her pale skin under the new moon. When he smirks faintly into her thigh Sakura places her feet on his back and pulls him forward, unabashed in the barely-there light.
They still don't say much. That last boundary, those words of love: that is for the daylight, and all it brings.
Sasuke vows to meet it in her arms.
Thank you, and I hope you enjoyed.