Disclaimer: My brain went somewhere and came back with this. It wasn't me. I swear. Oh, and I don't own Naruto.
Rating: T
Comments: It's crack. Pure crack. The parts that look serious? Yeah, that's a disguise. Don't believe it and don't take it seriously... 'cause, obviously, I'm on crack. Oh, God, save me now. And some part of me says that it's ooc of Itachi to think of things like sex, but then I remember that he's a man, and all men think of sex. Some just hide it better.

Kiss
Itachi/Sakura

Her brain feels like something hot and fuzzy and filled with cool fog all at once, but she's alive, still breathing.

Her fingers slip in blood.

Heal, she thinks. Damn it, Sakura, heal this wound!

And she's trying, but there's something – blocking. Something she can't quite get around. Something that won't even let her start.

Breathe. Calm.

Something is stabbing into her head. It hurts.

Is her hand moving the way she wants it to?

Everything is red and black and grey and shadows and no shape at all. It's like tinges of color that fade and brighten and darken and appear suddenly at the corner of her sight.

Heal, she thinks, and panic tinges her thoughts. She's slipping, losing that little bit of determination. She can't concentrate.

And she knows, because she sees something like his face in front of her.

"Sasuke?" she whispers, raising her hand to his face. Her fingers leave scarlet trails and she shivers. It is the only color she sees.

There is blood in her mouth, she knows; she can taste the metallic tang. She coughs.

She's hot. She's tired.

Healing is too much effort.

She tells him so.

His mouth moves; he's speaking. She can't hear.

She's cold. She thinks of ice cream and balloons and Konoha in the summer.

She thinks her sight is going, because his face wavers. Then she laughs and coughs and shakes her head wildly, because he's not really there, so what does that have to do with the state of her eyes? She's in the mountains far from home on a pilgrimage and she's alone.

You are Haruno Sakura, and you are dying alone.

But his face had felt so real under her touch.

"Sasuke," she murmurs, and coughs. She knows blood is dripping down her chin. She knows she has cuts all over her face and she probably looks a mess.

She thinks she would have liked to die a little prettier.

- - -

Being a man who likes his solitude when he takes it, Itachi was more or less annoyed by the girl who had fallen at his feet and ruined that solitude in a most spectacular manner.

She was dying.

There was quite a bit of blood to attribute to that fact, and – being something of an expert on dying people – he could always tell these things at a single glance, if he wanted to.

In this case, it was because she had said so. Five times.

Which was (not that he admitted it) the reason he didn't immediately move to a newer place to sit in solitude – like one without dying people in it.

Truth be told (and it likes to be told around Itachi), he was amused.

She was speaking to herself, mumbling a little bit, and healing herself (rather splendidly, too, contradicting the entire problem of dying), and – despite all that – she still believed she was dying.

(The warm-hearted normal people will think him cruel. This is because he is.)

Itachi leaned over the girl (her hair, he noted, was pink), feeling his amusement rise just a little as he noticed her headband.

Konoha.

If he were Kisame, he probably would have laughed. Instead, his lips quirked in something almost resembling a smirk.

Then flattened and thinned.

"Sasuke?" she asked, looking straight at him.

Her bloody fingers rose to his face. Itachi – normally being one to spurn things like touching and heart-to-heart talks over sake – stood still and let her, wondering if she was an idiot.

And then she said it again. "Sasuke," she breathed, in a way that was almost seductive – because in that little moment it was like he could hear all her longing and desire and regret.

Which was ridiculous, because she was almost dying, and no dying woman can sound like that.

And no dying woman should.

He touched the blood at the side of her mouth – lightly, with the barest contact. She didn't seem to notice, her eyes nearly glazed over; occasionally clearing up just a little, then fading again.

(Itachi was starting to notice that she was hardly in danger of dying. She didn't seem to notice that fact.)

He leaned down, ran his tongue lightly over the blood trails from her chin to her lips. Brushed his mouth against hers, just lightly.

Every woman has her own taste, her own scent.

He tasted nothing more than blood.

- - -

She thinks she hears laughter, and it unnerves her.

She blinks, eyes watering as she tries to concentrate on Sasuke's face in front of her. There's something different. Something...

Something is different.

She knows it is, because it kisses her.

She forgets things like ice cream and balloons and Konoha in the summer. She forgets things like the pain and the fuzziness in her head. She forgets the fact she's dying, because for a moment she feels alive.

Her blood tastes stronger in her mouth and for a crazy moment she wants to taste his.

She bites his lip and licks at the wound and she hears the laughter again.

She thinks she's somewhere in heaven, which seems to resemble hell (kisses shouldn't taste like blood in heaven), and she decides that even if she's only dreaming this kiss, it's the best damned way to die.

- - -

Three hours later (because time jumps are win)

Sakura jerked upright. Coughed. Swore. Blinked, because the room was kind of swaying.

For a dead person, she certainly felt alive.

She carefully touched her chest and abdomen; she could feel a faint scar. Somehow, she knew her back was the same way.

Apparently the damage hadn't been as bad as she had realized.

Which was interesting, because she had realized it very clearly then, and she had been dying.

And she'd kissed Sasuke in her dreams.

With blood. And biting. And his lips had been hard and warm and it was definitely not a kiss a maiden (Am I an old maid, then, if I'm twenty three?) should be dreaming of.

She flushed and shook her head sharply – You're going insane – then glanced around again.

Oh, you're so observant, Sakura.

Yep, very.

In fact, her very great skills at observing and the like were so great that she could only sit there and call herself thirty different types of stupid (there's really only one, if you get technical, but you can use other words and get creative).

Somehow between falling from a minor cliff, sustaining life-threatening injuries (and healing herself in a way that, really, wasn't possible without a large-scale operation or without being the main character of a story – which she isn't) and waking up, she had been transported to a...

Well.

The nicest thing she could call it was a hovel.

The walls had holes in them (lovely view), the roof was half there (showers are a necessity), and the door was...

Sakura glanced around wildly.

Nope, no door. Just holes. Big ones.

And...

An arm around her waist.

A very hard, muscled arm, which probably belonged to the same person that had the other arm around her neck.

Lovely.

So distracted by the place, she had hardly stopped to think about who had brought her here (apparently a savior with murderous tendencies), why (considering she was nearly naked, the answer was obvious) and... well, she assumed the how was normal. Like picking her up and walking over.

Not that knowing the how made this situation any more comfortable.

"Um... good morning?" she offered weakly.

- - -

He is tired and something close to cranky because he did not sleep. He would not have brought her here if he had known – then – that she snores.

And without warning she had jerked awake, blinked away sleepiness, and came (rather slowly) to realize her situation.

For a ninja (the proof of it is hidden in his bags, because he decides he wants something of hers when he lets her leave – she is a little bit of fresh air, and he is bored easily of late), she seems too ignorant of danger.

He tightens his arm around her neck almost casually at her greeting.

"And will you give your name, little intruder?"

She hesitates, and he pulls her a little closer.

The answer comes on a little gasp, "Sakura."

Of course. An innocent name for a somewhat innocent girl.

He wonders how long she will ease his boredom. Any woman who can kiss like that on the brink of (supposed) death is a worthy toy.

And if she kisses like that, is she really so innocent?

He lets her go, and she turns quickly to face him, hands raised – to fight, he assumes, and thinks that taming a wild cat will be an interesting experience.

Then she shrieks a little and points at him.

"Sasuke? You were real? Wait, that kiss was real? No, wait – why are you here? And..."

The sudden splurge of words ends suddenly. She knows.

"Who are you?"

Then, "Itachi?"

And, "Oh God, that kiss was you?"

His eyes flicker just a little; those half-squeaked words are nothing more than incredulity. Her face, however, shows a little more than she probably realizes.

There's that speculative look that says, I want to that again.

But she has herself in control, and he says nothing.

- - -

Sakura scooted as far back as she could without falling off the edge of the bed. She thought she saw amusement flash in his eyes, but realized – silly me – that hello, he's Itachi and he doesn't get amused.

(Though from listening to stories of Sasuke's past, he had at one point...)

But he...

"You're dead, aren't you?" she blurted stupidly.

He stared at her impassively, and she belatedly grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her torso. Thankfully her pants were still on, but...

Right.

Okay, modestly (?) clad. Time for interrogation.

"Weren't you supposed to have. Um. Died?" Pause. "A long time ago?" His silence wasn't helping her get any answers. "Sort of?" Right, like there's really a way to 'sort of' die. Smart, Sakura, real smart.

But his eyes flickered just a bit.

Her eyes widened. Comprehension dawned.

"Tsunade-sama knows you're alive."

He had finally started moving – sliding off the bed gracefully (thankfully modestly dressed in pants) – but he was advancing, unfortunately, straight toward her with a sort of predatory air.

She let the rest of her words out in a rush.

"Sasuke-kun does too. And probably Kakashi-sensei. And everyone important. They know you're alive, but they're covering for you. You're not actually our enemy anymore." Hesitate. "Maybe you never were – um, stop? Please stop. Right there. No closer."

And of course he wasn't stopping, and there was a little part of her that didn't mind. At all.

Because she remembered (pretty damn clearly) that kiss, and...

Well.

The kiss.

"Um. I'm on a pilgrimage. Very busy. Really should go. Need to go."

Still moving.

"Like, now. So I need... my shirt? And, er. My... things. All of them. Wherever they are." Right. Way to sound firm, Sakura. She wanted desperately to roll her eyes at her own idiocy, but if she did – well, she wouldn't be watching muscles. Bunching. Under his skin.

And, well, it was rather pretty.

Even the scars were pretty.

He was almost in front of her now and she still hadn't moved.

"Do I get no thanks for saving you from almost certain death?" he asked calmly, and she knew that he didn't save her at all (though admittedly he had moved her to a place slightly more comfortable), but she gave in to temptation anyway.

Because, well. Muscles. And his lips. And that kiss.

"Well, I suppose I have enough time for that," she replied, and didn't even blush (well, maybe a little) as she stared at him, taking up that little challenge.

Which was worth doing (and would be even more so later, she was sure) – because, miracle of miracles, she thought she saw the faintest smile flit across his lips.