[Shikatema trapped together in some small enclosed space (maybe the elevator breaks or it's a mission or something, idk)]

"I wouldn't keep pounding, if I were you."

Temari blew a sigh through gritted teeth, the sides of her fists throbbing as she lowered them to her sides. "And what, exactly, have you been doing?"

The shadow nin, just five paces away from where she stood, pushed his weight off the wall as he folded his arms. "Waiting, killing time – it's not going to open, no matter how hard you hit it."

Shikamaru was the genius here, as she had long known, and perhaps it didn't take someone with over two hundred IQ to realize that the doors weren't about to open. She whirled around. "You know, maybe if Konoha didn't have such shoddy electricity, we wouldn't be stuck in this situation right now."

Her words may have been scathing, but the younger ninja merely shrugged. "Don't blame the electricity. These things happen. Just chill and sit or something."

The shadow-nin raised an eyebrow but said nothing as she stalked over to him and slid to the ground with an exasperated sigh. She felt him join her, though she fought to keep her eyes forward. He shifted, settling, the fabric of his pants brushing against her leg. "So you have me on the floor," she said, filling the sudden silence. "Now what?"

Temari could feel his eyes on her, a burn on the entire right side of her face as she dared herself not to look over. His voice was low, closer to her ear than she expected. "Nothing. We do nothing."

That was perhaps the last answer she wanted, as she let out another groan and tilted her head back against the walls. She was used to hearing something – anything, perhaps the hum of electricity, the buzz of the light. But there was only nothing, save the quiet sounds of his breath and the pounds of her heart.

Fuck.

Temari didn't know how long she sat there, not daring to even look over to face him. Every so often she could feel him shifting beside her, just a minute twitch of his finger, perhaps a quirk in his elbow, and it wasn't until she squinted did she realize what he was doing.

Just a few inches away from them, she could see a shadow bouncing. It was strange, as if the blackness was liquid, forming and deforming in a circular shape, like a water droplet falling back into a lake. There was something mesmerizing in the rhythmic rippling, and she could've sworn she felt him shifting from a lazy slouch to an upright position, the shadows growing bigger and bigger until, all of the sudden, they stopped.

Temari stared.

"Why'd you stop? I was liking that."

Shikamaru made a noise of contempt before he collapsed, returning once more to the lazy slouch that made her eye twitch.

"Come on. You can at least do something in here," she complained. From her peripheral, she could see his mouth quirk into a smirk, though his voice remained carefully even as he let out a sigh. It was frustrating, to see him as he thought of a response, the way the ligaments of his neck would flex as he contemplated.

"Ah, but I don't want to drain my chakra."

"Are you joking, that literally takes no effort –"

" – You know, not doing anything is doing something on its own-"

"Oh don't start with that bullcrap Nara, you know exactly what I mean –"

" – Actually, I'm pretty sure I don't –"

"You're the super genius you crybaby, you could at least entertain me since you are my guide-"

And before Temari could blink, she felt a strangely familiar cooling sensation around her wrists and on her feet. "You missed a spot."

He said nothing, though when she turned her head, she could see a smirk on his lips. Her eyes having adjusted to the darkness, she could trace the outline of his neck, his jugular, the hint of his collarbone against his shirt.

It was as if he was pulling her, dragging her attention, grabbing her in his clutches and not letting go. As if he were using his shadows to keep her head in place, to keep her very heart locked in his stare. His eyes burned back into hers, the dark brown in them a blend of emotions, unreadable murky depths all the more mysterious to her. She wanted to know what he was thinking, what was running through his mind, whether or not she affected him nearly as much as he affected her.

She took a shaky breath.

"Wanna let me go?"

His lip twitched. "I'm not doing anything."

"Let me rephrase, let me go."

His eyes twinkled, as if asking in what means, but that only fueled her frustration. His face, his eyes, his smirk, how the hell was she supposed to be able to function when every bit of him commanded her attention?

"Shikamaru Nara, let me g-"

He was much, much too close – his face just inches from her, and his lips a mere centimeters, but the slim fingers that covered her mouth the only barrier stopping her from closing the teasing gap between them. Her eyes ripped away from his, staring down his neck, to the small opening of his shirt that exposed his collarbone, the faint aroma of some kind of cologne filling her nostrils.

She tried to move, tried to do anything that didn't involve grabbing him right there and then, but he limbs were rendered useless as his warm palms replaced the cooling sensation at her wrists, a carefully placed knee pinning down her thighs.

"You're too loud," he whispered, his breath feathering against her cheek as she fought to the urge to roll her eyes back up to his.

She couldn't move.

She didn't want to admit how but she knew he was blushing, that his brave words were just that – words – and she could tell the Nara was staring at her, could see in the way his eyebrows furrowed that he, too, was fighting to keep his eyes on her face. She could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, the way his ligaments rolled as he clenched his jaw and shifted, carefully, his hand still on her wrists and leaving a faint trace of sweat.

The other palm released her mouth, almost hesitant, testy – as if he only moved after he'd confirmed she wouldn't do something dangerous. She secretly didn't know how he figured; well, he was the genius but it didn't mean she wasn't tempted.

And then she felt his fingers skimming along the hem of her shirt, her breath hitching as it grabbed a fistful of fabric.

He was so, so, so unfair.

His head quirked and his lips hovered closer, as if daring her to react.

She gave in.