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constellations

(retrouvailles)

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He drops his guard as she peels off his clothes, fingers carefully unbuttoning and tugging at the back of his shirt, the quiet rustle of fabric the only noise in the room. Her hands skate along his spine, pulling upwards at the enduring fabric as he releases her just long enough for the clothes to slip over his head.

She unbuttons his pants with familiarity, and not even the months that have taken away from her muscle memory. She takes her time relearning him, pressing kisses along his broad shoulders, along the remains of the arm that doesn't exist. She treats him like he's fragile, like handling him too roughly will make the illusion dissipate.

They are pressed together, and she looks so unbearably sad, and he cannot take his eyes off of her.

"I'm not going anywhere," he feels compelled to say, and she breaks her gaze with the scar marring his chest to lock eyes with him.

There is skepticism in her face, and she shakes her head, her reply soft. "Aren't you?"

He doesn't get a chance to respond because then she is standing on her tippy toes, bare feet straining against carpet to reach him. Even when he is in front of her, she finds as her lips slide against his, he is too far away.

His hand skims down her neck as he slides the zipper of her top all the way down, her pants already long discarded. She is warm, and he nudges her onto the bed, teeth pulling at her bottom lip as he follows her down, crawling above her.

There is no exaggerated foreplay, and their time apart has ensured that neither of them want anything else but to feel some kind of completion, some level of wholeness. He tugs her panties off and sinks into her with a hard thrust.

She gasps, and he leans over, tugging the straps of her bra down to pull her breasts out of the cups, his hand covering one peak as his hips rock back and forth.

"Sakura," he says suddenly, and her eyes crack open, hazy with pleasure.

"Mhmm?" she croons in return, hands relearning the lines of his shoulder blades, the length of his corded back, the tension in his abs, the bones of his hips.

His voice is rough when he gets the words out, breath hot against her face. "Come with me."

Everything in her unravels at once, and her limbs lose their energy as she stares at him in blatant shock. He stops moving, still seated deep inside of her, and waits for her to wrap her mind around his request.

"Come…with you…?" she repeats shallowly, and he strokes over her side, pressing kisses to the curve of her breast, raking his teeth over her puckered nipple.

"Yes."

"On…on your travels?" she arches as she clarifies, daring to hope, her skin shiny with sweat. Her mind is in two places, on the sensations and the gravity of the moment.

He discovers a cut unattended to on the back of her forearm, and he kisses it. "Yes."

She pushes his hair back from his forehead, turning his face so his dark eyes meet hers. Her fingers are delicate on his jaw, and she looks at him in wonderment. She turns them over so she's above him, and when she slides her tongue in his mouth, she grinds hard against his hips, drawing a hoarse groan from him. A sweet smile curls at her lips, and when she pulls away, she looks like daybreak.

"Okay."

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notes: retrouvailles (n): french. the happiness of finding someone again after a long separation.