Anatomy Of A Plan
A dissertation in three acts
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| Final Volume |
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Act 3 2/2 - Conclusion : Twist | Final |
She can still feel the beat of her heart drumming on each and every vein in her body, as her lungs seem starved for breath that she pulls in shaky inhales and still vocalized little sounds of pleasure. His name slides in their midst, cut between attempts to rule her body.
The haze of pleasure prevents her eyes to manage anything more than half-mast, deeply sated, as her neck cranes to look down between her legs, catching the mismatched fiery look that almost rips one more moan from her tingling lips as her green orbs catch the telltale motion of his head rising slightly as he graces her with one more full tongue pass, his eyelids closing, a deep rumbling groan in his chest, the moist on his lips as the tongue slides inside them, only to slide back out to pass over the crevice where her pelvis meets the beginning of her thigh, followed by a nuzzle over her soft curls, almost affectionate.
His hand previously clenching his own flesh comes up – after his fingers slide the loosened top of his pants down – thumb slick with the proof of his own desire pressing against her bottom lip, and he watches, with a devious glint in his eyes, as her tongue slithers out to meet the rough pad.
Does she know, as her eyes slid shut once more, that that which her tongue tastes is his?
The edge of her lower teeth scrape over his thumb before her lips kiss it softly, and teasing himself – teasing her – he pushes the digit between her lips, that clamp around it with a suckle, her tongue rolling around it inside the moist cavity, and in his mind, the motion serves as proxy for his aching length.
His possessiveness rises again – no more teasing, there is nothing more preventing him from burying in her. The primal urge to see her come undone is sated for now, the kiss was delivered; he craves for her warmth under him.
His hands move over her midriff to slide over her upper thighs once, in a groping caress, pulling them off from his shoulders. Her lifeless legs barely able to feel as her feet hit the floor – the sensation of her inner thighs sliding over his biceps provoking a new set of goosebumps over her sweaty skin, before he raises his torso, making her hands slide from him and set over her own thighs; and she realises the back of her knees are set over the crook of his elbows, his hands set at each side of her hips on the table – she can feel his thumbs rubbing against her skin there.
Her eyes blink lazily, glazed, fixing on his face, drinking in the sight of his bare lips, parted, that he licks minutely before he rises on his knees, and the hands at the sides of the table slide over it: pushing her legs up and apart, as his torso lowers towards her, but not touching yet.
Her legs tremble, as the warmth of his torso hovers over hers, and again that tugging feeling on her skin rises as a wave. Her skin claims for touch, for the pressure of his skin on hers. Still drunk on desire, body lazy in the aftermath of orgasm, her hands come to his pectorals and slide over to his shoulders leisurely, but clench there, as one of his legs rises: and there is a shared hiss, coordinated in tempo, for as his face levels with hers, his erection brushed between her legs, sliding upwards on the sensitive folds, underside of his length smudged with her arousal, hot, so incredibly hot.
And she sighs his name, as hers echo in his mind.
His forehead falls over hers as both sexes press against one another – the pressure of her pubic bone against the underside of his engorged member – as his torso crashes against hers, full contact of skin flush against skin, breasts smashed again fit muscles, and he groans almost brokenly: his hips moving softly, her own hips pushing upwards having his arms as leverage, her hands sliding: one to the back of his head to again dive inside his hair – how she loved the feel of them sliding in the space between her fingers, how she loved the dampness on the nape of his neck – her other coming to press her palm against his cheek, her little finger playing with the silver hair close to his ear.
Her shaky breaths, her shaky fingers touching his face: and her hand rises for index to cross an imaginary line under his brow that upon reaching the middle comes down to trace his scared eyelid, so unbelievably gentle.
Like shifting waters the tension in the air seems to ebb away, and even after all the caresses shared, the bareness of skin, the frantic gestures almost violent in their animalistic nature that led to this moment, this has the feel of a true intimate moment.
The way they exchange breaths as his nose nudges the base of hers, parted lips feeling each other's warmth, the rubbing of both arousals without entry, fuelling a distinct fire like no other.
She creases her eyebrows softly at the feeling, as his right hand leaves the table and slides to her hip, clenching there for a moment, as his hips grind against her once more, before it moves away from her, arm coming back to slide from under her leg – that wraps against his side, sensing the undulation of his side as his hips resume their motions – and his hand comes up to cup her cheek as well, thumb brushing her cheek before his face shifts, head tilting to the side for his lips to slant across hers.
Her heart seems to throw itself in gallop: his lips taste like her and him entwined. It's their smell, their scent, and a little squeezing feeling presses her lungs down as she feels his tongue gently gliding on the seam of her upper lip, reaching the corner and sliding inside, hers coming to meet him. Her eyes squeezed shut, as he lets it rub against and around his own. It's strange, how much a kiss seems to raise her want to a whole new level.
Even if his length still rubs her, teasing the bundle of nerves between her thighs; even if her body claims for him like it would claim food and water if starved, her heart soars and melts with the sweetness of his tongue, as it caresses her palate before diving down again to twirl against hers, jaws moving softly for lips to rub against one another as tongues dance. As his hand cups her face lovingly.
And lovingly it is. He didn't even know when the shift began: maybe it was when he felt her lovely perky breasts against his torso, maybe it was her sighs, maybe it was her gentle touch tracing the scar on his left eyelid, but suddenly the spiralling roar of arousal dropped down to a shimmer, as his heart slammed against his ribcage, almost as if reaching out for hers, so close to each other as they are pressed together, sweaty skin.
Maybe his raging member was appeased for seconds with just the sliding over her warmth, like a single touch from a long lost loved one takes away every bit of pain at contact. He doesn't think about it, he just feels the sudden reality that she is there against him, touching him, kissing him, and it's glorious.
She is there, under him, moving against him, and it feels enough. His own eyebrows crease, as certain words that were never uttered between them seem to be screamed in each gesture, in each sigh, in every little groan that escapes their pressed together lips: and it is somewhat scary and overwhelming and right.
His hand on her cheek slides to her neck, feeling the damp locks of her hair brushing his palm, as her arms both wrap about his neck and the kiss deepens even more: need to breathe forgotten, pushed aside from the sheer will their mouths have to make love to one another, without a need to battle for dominance.
The shimmering flame roars to a full-fledged fire again, blazing heat coursing through their veins once more, but this time it tastes… different. His arousal throbs for it wants more, the humid sleeve of her womanhood yearns to embrace it, and the soft motions of lips tongues and biting teeth become more demanding.
It's not violent: it's longing. It's not only their bodies that demand closeness.
Lips part for breath, heaving chests, viridian into mismatched coal and crimson. They roam over each other, silently communicating even if they aren't consciously aware of it – in fact they are not aware of anything else but each other.
His hand on her neck comes up to slide under her head, his arm tugging under her shoulder blade as she curls her shoulder to allow it, and his hips come back, until the wet tip of his flesh greets the eager to kiss lips of her centre. Breath forgone, as their gaze is not broken, and both pelvises move against one another, her tongueless mouth taking him in its warm tight slickness, in a single swift move, ripping a moan from both.
She envelops his flesh with hers, allowing him inside and the fulfilment of the feeling – the throbbing flesh within her, his flesh, his skin, him – almost makes her want to sob.
There is no need to vocalize feelings or names because they have no names. Syllables of vocalized understandable patterns would only slaughter the true essence of what is happening.
His face dives in the crook of her neck, as he pushes himself deeper, almost like he wants to merge with her, to slide within her very skin. Her scent is still there twined with his, in the roseate locks he dives his nose within, his hand still on the table rolling to grope her thigh, hugging it – the warmth and wetness on their joint pelvises. For a lingering instant, even if his body demands release he stays like this, feeling her hands sliding over his back, up to his hair and down again, and for some reason he can't look at her. So he keeps his eyes closed and his face pressed against her neck, listening to her breathe, to her heart that at times syncs with his – to that soft sound that spills from her lips as her face moves for them to set over his hair.
She shifts, he groans – it sounds like a whine but it's too deep – like a wounded animal. And rising to the analogy he licks the side of her neck, the embrace around her leg tightens, and he slides from within her, torsos rubbing, before he again slams against her body, and it triggers a frantic pace to his hips. The sensation of the coil of desire tightening on the base of his spine one thrust closer to completion. She moans, and his cheek comes up to rub on hers, before lips again meet messily, as the leg curled around his middle tightens its hold: the leather of her boot sliding over his sweaty skin, her heel sure to leave traces on his lower back.
Tongues dance in an uncoordinated yet beautiful dance, inside lips, outside: it doesn't matter.
His eyes never open, and neither do hers, as both recede and meet at their pelvises: as he enters again and again, and like pebble after pebble on the water creates more and more waves, so do his thrusts wreck havoc inside them both.
The surface under her is hot; he is hot, in, around and against her. Her nails rake over his back, over twitching muscles, leaving crescent shapes that soon spill down his back, sometimes overlaying scar tissue in reddish trails over his pale skin. His quiet grunts soon spill unrestricted, and her lips end up sliding from his to his cheek as one of her hands takes a hold on the back of his neck, her foot on his back coming down for heel to hook where his buttocks meet strong thigh to push him inside faster than his hips seem to be willing to.
His responding groan is exhaled against her ear, and her own hips, even if pressed against the table force him up and deeper; as her lips kiss eagerly over his face, over his scared eye, over his brow, nose, and lips again before her tongue lashes out, and her hand on his hair fists it to make him arch his neck back. He does so, with a lustful hiss that jolts her tongue into action, over his chin, jawline, neck – following a path down for a bite where it meets his shoulder.
He reacts to it with despair – they are both in the brink of rising together – his hand previously cupping the back of her head snaps to the edge of the table instead, gripping it, as his other arm leaves the tight embrace on her leg for it to roll around her waist, hand clamping over her hipbone. Every bit of skin is slick and burning, he can feel his erection throbbing inside her contracting walls, as both her legs now wrap around his middle, and her breath leaves in harsh pants at each entry.
All the teasing, and that feeling that swells in his chest seem to conspire against him, as he feels the tight skin of his sack roughen even more, as he feels the dam whose lustful waters crash against weaken. For as much as he wants this to last, to prolong: as much as he wants to stay like this, burying within her over and over again, there is so much his body is willing to withstand.
Even the soft burns on his back from her nails' attentions is not enough to keep the inevitable end of this –if anything it only seems to help his hips' thrusting to rise in tempo and need.
So he gives up, breathing patterns erratic, moans spilling around them thick and perfect, and he can hear her smiling, hear their own joining, his own heartbeat – or is it both? – thundering in his ears.
There is a crack, loud for it doesn't belong in the intricate symphony they are creating, before he feels her almost slip from under him. Instincts work before he even acknowledges the source of it, her legs enforcing their grip around him as her arms snap around his neck, his arm around her waist tightening as his hand leaves the moving surface of the coffee table to grab her neck, but his knees fail him, and they both fall as the table legs issue another loud splitting sound from under them, his hand coming to the floor for stability and to prevent her from hitting her head.
His trembling arm doesn't hold up for long, for with the fall to the ground and the position of her legs around his middle angles her pelvis in a way that allows his pulsing flesh to stab at that glorious spot within her that makes her cry out. Damned be the table and the fall, right now, he only wants to ear that cry again, so his hips change angles in entry, once, twice, and there it is.
His hand on the floor slides up for his forearm to set over the edge of the carpet where it meets the floor in front of the couch and he lifts his torso minimally, as her hands clench at his biceps, and he thrusts again in that same angle, eyes opening to the sight of her flushed cheeks, her creased eyebrows, the halo of pink spilling haphazardly on the carpet and her reddened swollen lips parted for her moans to leave her freely.
Her back arches, her nails burry on his flesh and suddenly her breath ceases altogether as her eyebrows crease wondrously, her teeth clench, her muscles tense and the embrace of her walls around him – as he keeps moving, keeps giving himself to her – evolves to a clamp, and she nearly howls her release in a loud scream, her head trashing to the side, elongating her neck and it's the most gorgeous sight he has ever had of her.
So wrapped up in his watching of her rising, his own hits him like the force of an explosion that knocks breath from his lungs, as that coil around the base of his spine unfurls and he spills himself within her, thrusts erratic as he can barely ear his own voice leaving his clenched teeth in a deep salacious growl, that he muffles against her neck as he rides the wave crashing in every little part of his body.
Both bodies move, milking the sensation the best they can with shaking muscles and gasps for breath, beautiful in their almost clumsiness, divine in their want, if seen by anything other than the walls that receive their sounds and echo them back to their ears.
The feeling ebbs away, and then again it doesn't.
As their muscles still tremble, as his length still being wrapped by her pulses – making her lips curl in a silly smile against his hair as she responds with her own walls embrace – the warmth that wraps around their hearts refuses to leave them.
As her hands slide up his arms, over his back, in delicate touches, almost as if apologizing for the rough treatment of her nails; as his hand on the floor snake his fingers around the spilt pink tresses on the floor, and his lips keep pressing the side of her neck, feeling her little by little slowing heartbeat – as both their minds are still hazed in the lull that follows their completion in each other, those words, those that were never said, swim beyond the reach of both their ability to speak.
Her feet, still clad in her boots – her mind prompts not without a lick of amusement – cross to keep her heavy legs around him, just a bit longer. His arm around her waist doesn't leave, as the want to stay like this with her in the confine of his arms one more minute, 'just one more minute…' also fills him.
What this it? Was this what he had tried to push away, disguised under the lust that commandeers his mind when seeing her? Was this what he had thought could never happen to him, for his heart was scarred and scared? Was this the reason why he had been so crossed over the Inuzuka's words and actions? Was this possessiveness more than the primal instinct over a mate? Was this will to stay like this, to keep her close to him—…?
She dares not believe what her heart whispers in her chest: that his look, that his unwillingness to move away from her is due to something else but the sated heaviness brought by orgasm. And her chest constricts in complaint, so she pushes the idea from her head and just… revels in his closeness for now. She is afraid to speak.
She has loved him for so long now, and that was the reason why she gave in to him, that she pursued him in her own way before he had surrendered - six months ago. It was what he had been willing to give, and she took it, never once demanding anything more.
They stay like this, both minds swirling with the implications of what happened, in that moment before he slid inside her, in what their eyes had said to each other.
Love turns geniuses into fools they say. If the walls that have seen everything between them – if furniture – could talk, if pillows could advice, they would have told them long ago this was not as sudden as he wanted to believe, and that what she wants, she already has in her possession.
But walls are quiet, furniture can't talk, pillows can't give advice: they are still fools.
She shields her heart before her eyes have a chance to spill tears for what she wants so much but can't ask – he opens his, because the realisation settles in his soaring heart.
But the Copy-Nin will always be the Copy-Nin: he can't really make himself say the words. But he can show her. He can say it in other ways, can't he?
His face comes up, his elbow pressing on the floor for his fingers to slide over her cheek, and her eyes open to look into his, her legs giving up as her feet slide to the floor, keeping them half propped up. The side of the table top is pressing against her right shoulder blade, but she doesn't really care about it at the moment.
'This is what he is willing to give me. I need to stop wanting more and revel in what I have. It's already more than I could possibly hope for.'
"…This roleplaying thing is actually pretty interesting." His rough voice makes her smile, a wheezed chuckle sliding from her lips.
"Well, to be honest, I think I broke character somewhere between the carpet press, and the coffee table." She murmurs with a coy smile – and he wonders how she can look so innocent even after all that they had done. "You on the other hand were the perfect big bad sensei."
He smirks mildly, his index passing over her forehead, dislodging some strands from their place over it. "I didn't see that as a break in character: the innocent little student is supposed to give in at some point." He teases, his nose bumping into hers. "Next week it's your turn."
"Humm…" The sound rumbles in her throat as her hand passes over the side of his head, playing with the damp locks of silver hair. "Will you call me Sakura-sensei?" She dropped her tone to a sensual one.
He pulsed, mildly. God, that felt so good… "Maybe. Or you can be the crazy student that can't get enough of her sensei, so she decides to tie him to a bed and have her way…"
She giggled hoarsely. "AH! Admit it, you love it when I call you sensei don't you, you pervy smut-reading man."
He scoffed, even if a smile was tugging at the corners of his lips. "You know, there was a time when you would never think of saying those things to me… You should respect your elders."
"My elders don't break my coffee tables with the force of their hips you know?" She countered with a little frown that deepened after a few seconds into his soft laughter. "Don't laugh! It's the second one you ruin!"
He brushed a kiss over her lips. "I'll make it up to you…" The breathed words caressed her tingling lips. She gulped a bit, feeling him pulse again, as his lips started kissing her face, forcing a random shake to rake through her body. How the hell could he still move…?
"You really… have to… stop doing… that." She said in between shuddering breaths, as she could feel his softening erection stir. He chuckled gruffly, his forehead bumping hers, as a shift of his body made her hips move on their own accord to accommodate him better.
"Do what?" He asked huskily, kissing the corner of her lips.
"That." Breathed, her hands hooking on his shoulders. "I… I am trying to be angry at you."
He chuckled again. "Why?"
"Because…" She stopped. He moved towards her right that instance, crowning a very nice grind with an induced pulse within her walls. Needless to say she lost track of what she was saying, settling with a hummed vocalization lost within another one of his chuckles.
"Because?" He moved his head back a little for mismatched orbs to meet viridian hooded ones.
"You ruined my coffee ta—" And he did it again. "Stop that…!" She said, even if her tone and the look in her eyes were all but scolding.
"That kind of order would work better if you looked at me angrily." He said matter-of-factly, with a smug grin in the end. Devastatingly young looking.
"You're cheating." She pouted.
"It would also work better if you hit me or something."
"I will do so when I get full function of my members."
"I think your members are working just fine."
She raised an eyebrow, as his arm slid from her waist, fingers caressing the side of her torso, sliding between the fluffy carpet and her skin at the height of her hip, cupping one of her buttocks swiftly. Her leg snapped up, booted calf hitting his own buttock, and sliding further up until the back of her foot was nudging him deeper into her.
"See?" His voice, meaning to be playful had a husky tone laced in it. "Perfect."
She clicked her tongue, trying not to smile, her right hand slapping his shoulder half-heartedly.
"That doesn't count. Those are reflexes. And you still owe me a table."
"…I can bring mine over. It's sturdy enough." He offered after hesitating, with a little shine on his eyes, slightly guarded.
She blinked, surprised. Her heart gave a complicated backflip in the confines of her chest.
"That… that could work. It is sturdy…" She stuttered, as the fading blush came to her cheeks with a vengeance. 'Is he…?' She bit her lip, as another thing crossed her mind. She shouldn't push the issue, but… maybe… "But I'm still mad though."
His eyes that had been trained on her lip bite – how he loved it when she did that – come up to hers. He can see hope within them. His heart also throws itself in a slight jog.
"How come?" His tone drops to a whisper.
"Yeah… at the door…" She bites her lip again; her hand coming to brush his hair from his forehead, even if it only results is it sliding back in place. "…what if he smelt you?" She lost her courage, looking at her still moving hand, away from his eyes.
"He was too drunk to walk properly, and your scent was too pronounced for him to concentrate in anything else." He frowned softly. "Don't worry." He whispered while mentally cursing his own conflicting emotions, his eyes set on one of the intricate broken legs of the ruined table to his left.
"I'm not worried about me." She rasped out, slightly angry at herself for letting her hopes up. It was just an offer of a damned coffee table! The look in his eye was… it wasn't… "I frankly don't give a crap if anyone knows. We're adults. But you…" She frowned, her hands coming to the floor, as she tried to push her torso up and him from her.
He didn't let her though, pressing her body against the floor with his weight, his hands coming to hers and pushing them to set at the sides of her head. Her eyes snapped to his, her chest rising in small shallow breaths.
"I would actually like it if he had smelt me." He frowned minutely. "That sounded wrong." She would have laughed if she wasn't so shocked by his words. "That way he would stop dogging you, and I wouldn't have the need to chuck his head against something."
She could feel her breathing picking up. Did he just... say that? Was the opening of the door not an act? Was he really jealous? They never talked about exclusivity…
"I would never let him in you know… even if you weren't here." She cleared her throat as the words were barely audible.
"…Good." His eyes were fierce and filled with a sense of finality, which his next words crowned. "Because you're mine. No one else's."
And she knew, in that moment before his lips crashed against hers, that this was the closest to 'I love you' she would have from him. And it didn't matter, for her heart was more than able to translate them.
His doubts, as hers, flew out from their minds. Even left unsaid, at least for now, the feeling was there, felt my both.
He said them with his rolling tongue and with his frantic yet gentle caresses on her skin, which she replied to in kin, the moment he let her hands go. Before she had a sense of what was happening, he had pushed her legs to wrap around his waist again.
"Shower." He murmured between kisses. "For as much as I love to have my smell all over your skin, I think relocation is in order." He pressed his hands on the floor, pushing his torso up with a grunt as her arms wrapped around his neck.
She laughed, a ringing sound that make him smile in the midst of the arousal that was rising again. Still kneeling on the floor, he wrapped his arms around her - one about her waist and the other under her backside - viridian eyes catching the bandages normally binding his calves on the floor.
"When did you take those off?" She asked with a little blink of her eyes and a smile on her lips.
"When I thought I would have to tie your hands to the table to keep you from running away." He provided against her ear, as her head still peeked over his shoulder. She gasped in mock aggravation. He bit her earlobe making her shoulder curl slightly, before she laughed again.
"You know, we must be quite a sight right now." She said with a tinge of humor in her tone, her face coming back a bit to side-glance at him. She caught the quirk in his lips as he looked back at her.
"Naked, covered in sweat and still joint…?" He asked, rising to his feet, and kicking the loose pants from them.
"Well, there is that but…" She derailed breathlessly, as he started towards the bathroom: his steps making him shift still inside her in a goosebump inducing sensation. "We are naked… except for my boots and your sandals."
He chuckled, nuzzling her ear. "Kinky isn't it?" One of his hands rising to the bathroom door. She looked at him.
"Oh, Kakashi, wait!" Her head moved to look at her bedroom door. "We need to get some clothes."
"What for?" She looked at his smiling face, and couldn't help but smiling herself even if her eyebrows were creasing in confusion.
"Well, after the shower…"
"…I am going to take you to bed and rub myself all over you again." He cut her off.
"You're staying the night…" It was not a question, it was an elated affirmation.
"No." He purred against her lips. "I am staying for the weekend. If you'll have me."
She leant back a bit to see his eyes, and for some reason she wanted to scream like a giddy teenager, but she schooled her expression the best she could – not that efficient, since the smile couldn't be ripped from her lips no matter what – and she made a show of theatrical pondering, her head tilting to the side.
"Make me breakfast and we have a deal…" She purred right back at him, one hand sliding inside his hair, as he pushed the bathroom door open and stepped inside.
"Deal." He groaned out as his foot closed it behind them.
(End of Volume 3)
A.N.: Phew! +wipes brow+ Reviews are always appreciated. 3
Fun fact: This all came to be due to a single line that popped in my head. "This roleplaying thing is actually pretty interesting."