[prompt - ShikaTema - Temari stealing Shikamaru's clothes]
He sat up abruptly.
His head still throbbed from alcohol, his vision blurry in the morning light. He was still very much naked, memories of last night tangible but fuzzy. He couldn't remember the details exactly, just alcohol, clothes, and her.
If he knew any better, he'd have said it was a night of bad decisions.
But maybe, there were some benefits, he thought, as he turned to his side – but the space was empty. Again.
He didn't know why he always expected her to still be there. After all, she'd often grab her clothes in a haste and see herself up.
Early risers – he had no idea how they did it.
The blankets slid off his skin as he lowered his legs onto the ground. His head was hollow and for once, there was a nice silence in his brain, something of which he was unaccustomed. Rather, it was silence until he realized something was missing. Several somethings, to be exact, for the clothes that had been in a heap the night before were gone.
Are you fucking serious.
The next time he saw her, she was wearing a smirk along with his shirt. The bitch. And he tried to stalk past her without looking twice but she, too, ignored him as he brushed against her back, her still turned away as she chatted to her gal pals. He didn't know them all by their names, most of the time she came to the bar by herself.
He didn't know what was different about this time, but he ignored her. He ignored how their girlish conversation obviously changed to talk about him – not directly but they were questioning her and her clothes, and her sly remarks were followed by not-so-subtle digs to him in bed.
She had to seriously shut up sometimes.
He found his friends waving him over, sitting down with a beer in one hand a cigarette in the other. "You shouldn't do that," said the blonde critically, but he ignored her and their chittery conversation as he took a slow sip of his drink.
He didn't really know why he came.
But eventually she stalked over.
And then he had his answer.
She usually came around at that time – half an hour into their meet up and she wouldn't be able to stop herself from making some sly comments. As if all his friends didn't know he was sleeping with her. But now they even welcomed her, as if they had been friends since childhood like he was, as if they had been fucking each other for two months and haven't looked at someone else since.
His head throbbed.
Maybe it was three months.
But she was wearing his shirt and he saw his blonde friend raise an eyebrow, a question forming with her lilted voice. But the bitch merely deflected the inquiry, instead boasting about something that was beginning to piss him the hell off.
He took another sip.
They were loud and getting on his nerves. Giggling. Stupid jokes. More giggling. Hell, even his best friend was joining in.
He waited until he was done his beer, at least.
And with that last sip he slammed down the mug and grabbed her wrist. She didn't flinch though his friends had, and when he twisted her arm and dragged her outside, she didn't protest.
He crashed his lips on hers.
She returned the gesture with almost a child-like greediness.
"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist." Her voice vibrated along her neck, a light buzzing against his mouth as he sucked lightly on her skin.
"You're such a bitch," he murmured into her collarbone. She responded by wrapping her arms around him, pulling him in closer, a moan breaking through her control as his fingers slid under his shirt and began to work his way up.
"They looked better on me anyway," she whispered, though the rest of her word halted as he kissed her once more, his tongue licking her lower lip, and then exploring her mouth, as if it had never been there before.
He pulled away and looked at her. His shirt, too big on her, was slipping off her shoulders. Gasps of air blew past her lips, forming small clouds of breath. Her cheeks were flushed and her carefully composed bun was beginning to fall loose, strands of sandy blonde hair sticking to her face and falling in loose, unorganized curls. Her eyes – teal, deep, and lustful – were wide, almost triumphant, and her lips curled into a knowing smile.
She was so hot.
"But you look the best naked," he hissed, ignoring her half-laugh of contempt as he smashed his lips onto hers once more, a gasp of surprise melting into another pleasured moan. If his mind was still rational, he'd probably feel bad for the poor taxi driver who had to deliver them back at his apartment, that is, if the two of them were still breathing.
But as the clothes flew off and the moaning began, he realized there really was no rational part of his brain left.
After all, he made himself that stupid bargain that, if she stayed the night and was there when he woke up, he'd tell her he loved her.
Maybe tonight would be that night.