Length: About 5 pages.
Summary: Sasuke is in chains and Sakura can do as she wishes.
Warning: This is a smutfic and there will be smut. The faint of heart should leave now.
A/N: I'm not even going to try to excuse myself.
"Kakashi's back," Sakura said the next day, laying on the concrete floor of the prison. She stared up at the ceiling, a hand on her stomach, the paleness of her navel practically glowing under the dull light of the bare bulb. Sasuke tried to ignore the pink hairs circling her bellybutton, not because he was trying to keep her modest—kami knew how far that ship had sailed—but because the strain in his pants was becoming routine and, while the concept was enjoyable, the action was not. Mostly because he never got release. There was a dull sort of resentment starting in the pit of his stomach; the kind that came with a good BDSM relationship—or was it a bad BDSM?—the kind that was addictive.
Sasuke pressed his lips together and unpressed them, so quickly it was unnoticeable, and tried not to think about how Sakura's rosy hair haloed her absentminded expression.
Sakura's fingers absently played with the thin hairs on her lower stomach. Sasuke tried to ignore the way her fingers slid over her skin, like silk over velvet. "He misses you too," Sakura muttered, her voice light and airy. How could she sound so innocent, so carefree, when his muscles were knotted up in horrible sexual tension? If he had the strength, and if the damned chakra in these chains would wear off, he'd have her against the wall in oh-point-two seconds, crying out his name in that whimpering tone that made his teeth grit. He'd have her begging for him, crying for him.
The pink haired kunoichi yawned, arching her back off the floor in a sensual stretch. A small part of Sasuke's mind wondered what he had done to earn such a subtle form of torture. "Naruto and I are going to be there when Tsuande tells him you're here," she continued, rubbing her fist against her left eye. "We won't be here when he comes to visit." A smirk, so unlike the usual smile he was used to, crossed her face. "He won't hurt you too bad. Not as bad as I will," she whispered, and a green eye fluttered closed in a wink.
Sasuke's throat vibrated in a silent groan. She was a master at torture, he'd admit. Only to himself, but he'd admit it. He'd also admit that maybe those Konoha uppers knew exactly what they were doing.
Sakura's smirk turned into an honest smile, staring at the ceiling again. She stayed silent for longer than Sasuke thought was possible. It seemed she was always surprising him. Not that he would admit it. "Sasuke," she murmured, in a voice so soft and almost insecure. The man in question offered a rise of his brow. "What happens when you get out? Will you...will you try to escape again? Or will you stay here, in Konoha? With me?"
Sasuke took a low breath through his nose. He turned his head up to stare at the popcorn ceiling. He saw, in his mind's-eye, what she was envisioning. He saw the outings with the baka and the glitter in Sakura's eyes when he agreed. He saw the wide smiles that would take over his ex-teammates' faces when he did something remotely social. He felt the soft skin of Sakura's hand in his own when they went out together, sans the baka. He saw the wide O her mouth would form, heard the soft gasp that would come out of it, if, or perhaps when, he proposed. He heard the echos of her moans when he made love to her, the sharpness in her gasps when he fucked her. He saw the sweat on her brow when she sat in the hospital. He heard her cursing him in a thousand different languages, most of them made up. He heard the cries of his firstborn.
He could see it all. He could see the world Sakura imagined for him. He couldn't say it wasn't an appealing thought. He couldn't say he wouldn't do it.
So instead, Sasuke said, "Who says I'll get out?"
Sakura was sitting in the Hokage Residence when Kakashi returned from his solo mission to report. Her being in the Residence was not unusual, seeing what her current mission was; what was unusal was that she was no where near Sasuke's jail cell. Instead she was in Tsuande's office with her, fighting down a blush while the Godaime tried to get info on how Sasuke's "torture" was going. Sakura thanked her lucky stars when the self-proclaimed next Hokage walked in with a skip in his step and a sparkle in his smile. Not for the first time, Sakura was ecstatic that her mission was a secret.
Naruto smiled widely, a blinding sparkle gleaming in his teeth. "Kakashi-sensei's here! Believe it!" He struck a thumbs-up pose that reminded Sakura uncomfortably of Lee.
Tsunade eyed Sakura meaningfully, a look that meant they'd continue this conversation later, then rolled her eyes at Naruto. "Then why isn't he in here?" she asked, rather sarcastically.
"Because I ran here and beat him!" Naruto explained. He rolled his baby blues. "Duh, baa-chan! You know they say the mind is the first to go."
The Hokage scowled. "Shut up, Naruto," she snorted. Her eyes rolled at the genin—because yes, Naruto was still a genin—and glanced over at the door.
Kakashi came through just then, opening his mouth to say, "I'm sorry I'm late I got—"
Sakura and Naruto sighed, interrupting him. "Lost on the road of life," they groaned together; Kakashi thought they looked extremely like their younger selves, softer and lighthearted. And Sakura looked like she just got laid, but that was an entirely different story for an entirely different time. "We know!"
Kakashi shrugged at his ex-students. Underneath his mask, he wore a grin.
"I didn't call you here for irritating team reunions," Tsunade sighed. Her brush made a soft dipping sound as it dunked into the ink; she signed her name onto a piece of paper, blew on it, and put it aside. The three snapped into silence, suddenly the epitome of all things ninja. "I called you here," she said to Kakashi, "because there is new information I've decided you should know. Information these two already know." Silence. Kakashi stared at the Hokage with his single black eye, hardly breathing; expecting, waiting. For what? Perhaps for news of Sasuke's death. Perhaps for news of his capture. He didn't know which one would be better. Tsuande let the silence hang in the air for a moment. Then: "We've contained one Uchiha Sasuke in the dungeon downstairs."
The sound of Kakashi's jaw unhinging was almost deafening.
"Currently he is placid but unresponsive to our line of questioning," Tsunade went on. "The ANBU has this under control; he is being slightly more responsive now. You are allowed to visit him for a moment before all visitors are restricted. I request you keep this information to yourself. Understand?"
At the sound of Kakashi's conformation, Tsunade nodded. There was someone waiting for him outside the doors to lead him to the captive Uchiha.
The sound of a door opening was unmistakable.
Immediately Sasuke straightened, expecting to see a bold Sakura feeling merciful. He was disappointed. Instead he saw Kakashi as he had not seen him in a long time. The ninja's mask was pulled down to expose the Sharingan eye. A precaution, because obviously Kakashi was at ease. It was a precaution set up by those up higher on the power latter than he. Sasuke was glad that his boner had died a while ago; he'd have some kind of hell explaining it. And dealing with the awkwardness when he refused to.
Nevertheless, Kakashi came down the stairs, without a brigade of ANBU behind him. That was new, as well. Even his torturers came down with back up, and back up for the back up. It was a pattern; they were letting his old teammates in without any protection. Was it because they could protect themselves or because ANBU expected he wouldn't have the heart to hurt them? If so, it was a stupid plan; he'd proven he had no qualms about hurting teammates long ago.
Kakashi stopped in front of Sasuke. It was quiet for a while; Sasuke swore he heard crickets chirp. "I don't know what to say to you," the copy-nin admitted. He let out an awkward laugh, as if he no longer knew the man sitting in front of him. Sasuke didn't know if he was proud of this or upset. "Welcome back, Sasuke."
There was really nothing else to say, not without exploding and ruining his image, not to mention being completely out of character.
Sakura was half naked on his lap. The skin of her full breasts was white as milk, teasing him by being covered in a flimsy black bra. The skin of her stomach pressed close to his chest. He was right—he was always right—her skin against his felt like silk against velvet, delicious. She was going slow this time, soft like making love. Warm. Her lips were smooth against his. The kiss was long, sweet, lips melding so that it was impossible to tell where one set started and the other ended. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, with Sakura and with any woman. She was slow, careful, etching love into his lips. Her breathing was even, yet deep with want. She held onto his collarbone, her fingers smoothed with lotions, yet bearing the scars of a medic. Her tongue danced with his a slow dance, like a delicate waltz.
Sasuke surprised himself by not wanting to hurry her. He wanted her to take her time, to feel her lips against his body. Most of all, he wanted to please her.
The shackles jingled, teasing him with their reminder.
Sakura pulled away, as if shocked by the sound. Her lips were swollen with their soft kiss, cheeks flushed with the vulnerability she'd just exposed. It was the single most beautiful sight Sasuke had ever seen. She looked like an angel fallen from the clouds. "Sasuke," she whispered, lips brushing against each other like a forbidden embrace, "I l—" She cut herself off, lips closing again, hips circling slowly on his. Sasuke felt forced to wonder what she was going to say, or if she'd even said anything at all. Her neck arched; Sasuke darted forward like a snake at its prey, tongue darting out of his mouth to lick the length of her neck. Sakura's bottom lip quivered, a whimper escaping her mouth.
Her hips rotated on his like slow love. Her underwear lay in a corner along with her shirt; the only clothing she wore being her bra and the skirt. The soft petals of her vagina rubbed wetly against the cloth of his underwear. Underneath, his penis hardened even further, if such a thing were possible. For once, this slow friction felt great—just what he needed and yet not close enough. He wanted to hug her to him and never let go, never let go of this sweet friction, this wonderful closeness, this astounding warmth.
Sakura whimpered when his tongue left her neck, leaving a trail of saliva for the cold air to attack. The renewed dampness of her pussy exposed her want, her fluids drenching through his underwear. Sasuke lifted his hips, and Sakura's hands let go of his collarbone to pull down the waistband of his underwear. The stiffness of his cock came free of its binds. Sakura pulled herself closer to her new-found lover, her breasts flattening against Sasuke's hard chest. Her lips melted with his again, tongue dancing with his—not fighting for dominance, dancing.
Sasuke thrust his hips upward, and Sakura pushed herself down. The medic whimpered against Sasuke's lips, the feeling of being stretched beyond limits and filled to completion warring with each other. She pulled herself up and twirled her hips on his. She kept on like that, her lips never once leaving his, her hands wrapped around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, until she was withering around on his lap, almost crying for fulfillment.
She came sweetly, not yelling or moaning, but gasping and whispering. She came with a smile that wrote love on her face.
She came before Sasuke did, and lifted herself off his body, catching her breath and trying to ignore the pleasant ache between her legs. She got dressed, with Sasuke watching with longing eyes dark with lust, and left again.
It was becoming routine. Sasuke couldn't tell if he was in love with the close warmth or loath with the uncompleted feeling.
The next day, Sakura sat in front of Sasuke with a blush spreading from her neck to her forehead. "What was that?" she asked, the look of a stunned deer in her eyes.
Sasuke made a face that could almost be considered a smile, but was too small to be so. "That was making love," Sasuke said, and Sakura swore his voice held some amused lightheartedness. It was a tone she'd never heard before and so she couldn't be sure.
"Since when do we..." Sakura paused, running a hand through her slightly spiky hair. "Since when do we 'make love'?"
Sasuke chuckled. He leaned his head against the cinderblock wall and stared up at the ceiling. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "Why don't you tell me?"
Sakura pressed her lips together so tightly their bright, lively pinkness turned pale white. She tried to remember what caused the tenderness in last night's session. It was the way Sasuke looked. The tiredness in his gaze, the exasperation in his expression. He looked like he needed love. He needed love. And she was there to offer it, there to give it. It was just the way he looked, and then the way he looked at her. That time, when she came down, he hadn't looked at her smugly or with a gaze covered in want; he'd looked at her with a sort of hope and need. A sweet desperation that could be misread as love. For the moment, she'd fallen for it. She'd misread it and she'd fallen for it and she'd given him the sweet, soft, slow love they both needed.
In hindsight, she probably wouldn't have been so slow if she hadn't seen his face. She would have ridden him like the dog he was. She would have tortured him until he couldn't take anymore, until he screamed out the answers to all the questions the ANBU had asked, and then some. She would have made him beg and scream. She would have broken him last night; she knew she would have.
Sakura swallowed and pushed the thought away. She ignored the fact that she'd liked lovemaking. She ignored everything in order to shake her head and sigh. She had a tomato in her pocket, but she wasn't going to feed him like she usually did. She felt too exposed, too vulnerable, to kiss him. She felt naked before him, emotionally, not physically. She'd felt like this before—when she was twelve and she'd found Sasuke leaving—and she'd promised herself she'd never feel like this again.
She couldn't even keep a promise she made for herself.
The pink-haired medic pulled the tomato from her jacket pocket and bit into it, making a face at the salt-less taste. Sasuke watched her with hungry fascination, and Sakura ignored him.
Sasuke didn't say anything, didn't make a sound, even as she finished the fruit he so loved. He watched as Sakura's lips wrapped around the fruit and wondered what she was going to say last night, when she cut herself off. What would she have said if she hadn't interrupted herself? Would it have made a difference in the girl he saw before him right now?
Probably. If it wouldn't, she wouldn't have stopped herself.
Sasuke cursed himself at how well he knew this medic, this woman he hadn't seen in years and had tried to kill. She hadn't changed.
Or perhaps he had just changed with her.
That night, there was no sex. There was hardly any talking.
That night, Sakura did sleep with him. She curled herself on his lap, inhaling the smell of his dirt and his sweat and his maleness.
She slept there, and she felt like she was home. It was a feeling she hadn't had in a while, not even while actually coming home. She hadn't had the feeling of belonging in any one place until that night. And she thought, perhaps her twelve-year-old self was right. Perhaps there really was no one like Sasuke.
After all, there was no place like home.