They head home for a quick change of attire, and Sakura feels her body hum with anticipation. Though she's never been a regular at any bars, Ino and she visited plenty—when her friend was single, that is. Temari lends her one of her dresses, which fits quite well despite their difference in height. A dark shade of crimson, Sakura admires the way it complements her skin. In her own right, Temari looks beautiful in black, her dress accentuating her feminine physique—Sakura tries not to feel jealous of her curves, reminiscent of her friends in Konoha. Next to the tall, busty woman, she thinks herself almost juvenile in her appearance. Which, compared to Temari, she might be. The blonde is way ahead of her, like most her friends are, and she's reminded of how much life she's purposely avoided.
When they emerge, both brothers are already waiting.
"Wow, Sakura-san," Kankuro whistles, leaning against a wall, "nice."
She feels a grin spread across her lips, walking up to Gaara. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?" she asks, thinking she likes the black of his button-up.
"I'm already onto thirds," he returns, gaze flicking to her dress before looking away, his lips parting to speak when Temari interrupts.
"Sakura, you look lovely in that," she says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You have such a stunning figure, I'm jealous."
She stiffens, whips around to meet Temari's gaze. "What?" She shakes her head. "No way, you're much prettier."
The blonde 'tsks' her, directs a stern look at her brother. "Tell her, Gaara."
He straightens his shoulders, glances between them. "Me?"
"You're supposed to be her escort, aren't you?" Temari raises a brow, hand propped on her hip.
He looks at Sakura, takes a deep breath—she feels herself mirror him, nerves closing her throat. She can tell he's searching for words, a frown pulling at his brow, the way his eyes dart every which way endearing enough to temper the heat rising to her cheeks. "Your physique is very pleasant."
"Pleasant?" Temari releases her, crosses her arms.
"Appealing?"
"Attractive," Kankuro calls. "You're supposed to call her attractive."
Sakura quickly raises her hands, offers an apologetic look on his behalf. "No, it's alright, thank you, really, that's nice of you-"
"You're very attractive." He smiles warmly, eyes crinkling in a way that has her weak-kneed yet delighted.
"Thank you..." She returns his smile, wraps an arm around herself as her mind attempts to catch up with her body, his words having already settled within the cradle of her chest. He holds out his arm, then, reminiscent of their walk to Naruto's, and she feels her blush deepen.
"Is this what being a proud parent feels like?" Temari wipes at her eyes. "Kankuro get the camera!"
The puppet-master stumbles at the order, immediately rummages through a nearby drawer.
"I-" Sakura cuts herself off, gaze darting between the siblings, chewing her lip as she moves to accept the offered limb, hoping she doesn't look nearly as flustered as she feels—she truly doesn't know what's come over her, why such simple things leave her tongue-tied. Sure, Gaara is an attractive man, but that doesn't explain why he dizzies her so, or why his touch spreads a heady warmth beneath her skin—and she can't remember ever feeling like this before. She steps closer, aligns herself against him, notices the way his breath hitches, and wonders if maybe—just maybe—he feels the same.
A flash, and she's spots Kankuro holding a camera. A picture rolls out, and he grins as he shakes it. "Thank me later." Colour slowly reveals itself, an image of red and pink spreading across.
"I wasn't ready!" Sakura gasps, trying to grab it, her attempts made nearly impossible by their difference in height.
"That's what makes it better," Kankuro quips, holding it even higher as he squints at it, "it's real, none of that posed stuff."
"At least let me see it," Sakura huffs, making another futile attempt at grabbing it.
"Patie-" A tendril of sand snatches the picture from Kankuro's hand, who immediately turns to Gaara. "Oi!"
The redhead takes a silent a look at it, ignoring his brother's protests before turning to Sakura, offering her the photo. "Here," he says, meeting her gaze.
She gingerly accepts it, bringing it to her face as she takes in the pair they make. He's taller than she'd expected, looming over her by several inches, but it's not so much their appearance that draws her attention—it's the way they're looking at each other, or rather, almost looking. Like Kankuro said, it's candid, and it manages to tell more of a story. She's focused on Gaara's arm as she accepts it, a rosy colour dusting her cheeks. Gaara, on the other hand, is looking directly at her, studying her with a softness she would have missed otherwise. It's a glimpse of their budding closeness, and she's happy to have it captured.
"I like it," she smiles, looking up at Kankuro. "Thank you."
Temari peeks over Sakura's shoulder, studying the image. "That's actually really neat," she says, locking eyes with the puppet-master. "Good job!"
He grins, scratching his cheek as he waves a hand. "Aw it's no big deal," he mutters, followed by: "thanks Tem."
The blonde smiles as she passes, patting him on the shoulder. "Well then," she continues, "shall we depart?"
Though Sakura catches the chagrined look crossing Gaara's features, he doesn't otherwise speak up or complain, following behind his siblings with her at his side—something she knows works to both their benefit. She leaves the picture next to the others already framed, throwing it a last, fond look before they exit the room. She holds on tight to his arm, pride swelling in her chest, bringing a smile to her face. They step out into the evening air, and much to her surprise the city seems even more alive; hundreds of people bustling through the streets, visiting shops or having a drink. Thinking of the morning heat, she can easily see why they would prefer night over day, the air infinitely more pleasant without the sun to burn you alive.
"Have you ever visited any of our bars?" Temari asks from beside her.
Sakura shakes her head, trying to think back on her brief moments spent in the Hidden Sand. "Actually no, I've honestly never gotten the chance."
"I've visited Konoha's, and I can tell you they pale in comparison," Kankuro boasts, hands on his hips.
Sakura smiles, gaze drawn to the many lanterns criss-crossing between buildings. They illuminate the streets, cast an amber shine across architecture. As her eyes take in the hustle and bustle, they next find Gaara, the seafoam of his gaze glittering with flickers of gold. He returns her stare, raises a brow.
"What about you?" she asks, squeezing his arm.
"This would be my first time," he admits, searching her features in that characteristic way of his.
"Trust me, I've been begging him to come for years," Kankuro says. "It's good to spend time among the people, you know, show them you're actually one of them."
Gaara frowns to himself, then directs his gaze at his brother. "By getting drunk?"
"Fair point," Sakura laughs, continuing to smile at the redhead.
"You don't have to get drunk, it's about a sharing of habits."
"Which habits might you be referring to?" Temari interjects. "Picking up strangers?"
Kankuro barks with laughter. "No, no, no—leave that to me." He rubs the back of his neck, tousling his hair.
There's music now, coming from several angles, bouncing off walls. People are talking, the buzz of conversation mingling between songs. A sense of promise lingers in the air, raises goosebumps across Sakura's skin, her pulse quickening as she watches the many couples, arm in arm. She instinctively presses closer, feels Gaara's warmth soak into her, relishes the shiver it sends down her spine.
"Everything is so beautiful," she murmurs, unable to pick a single thing to look at.
Gaara hums, the sound vibrating through her. "So it is."
"Come on!" Kankuro calls, already headed around a corner, Temari at his side.
They follow, and Sakura's breath catches as the scene before her unfolds, music thrumming in her veins. There's a large square filled with people, a beautifully decorated fountain at its center, its water reflecting the many lanterns strung across the space. There's greenery, as well as mosaic decorating the surrounding structures, unlike the rest of Suna. She pauses, eyes darting along the many details, spotting happy faces as well as colourful drinks. Gaara stands beside her, equally occupied with their surroundings, the curiosity behind his stare telling her all she needs to know.
"You've never seen this, have you," she observes, drawing his attention.
He offers a thin-lipped smile, averts his gaze as he continues to look around, remains silent for a bit. There's a twitch on his brow, betraying his indecision before he sighs, returning his eyes to her. "I was always told to stay away from crowds."
She nods, chews her lip, feels a flash of spite warm her blood. "Well then," she starts, a smirk creeping across her lips, "suppose we have another habit to break." She pulls him forward, past several groups of people, heads straight for his siblings who have already found themselves a table.
"It's been so long since I've been here," Temari sighs, resting her elbows atop its surface.
"I'll get us some drinks!" Kankuro offers, turning on his heel with a grin, headed for one of the many stands.
"I'm not sure what I had in mind," Sakura starts, joining the blonde, "but this wasn't it. It's so pretty!"
Temari smiles. "It's what keeps the people cheerful in a climate as harsh as ours."
Sakura continues to look around, takes in the many faces, notices some of them watching her in return, and wonders what they might think of this stranger in their midst. More than anything, it's quite obvious they hadn't expected to see their Kazekage, curious glances thrown their way every few seconds. No one has made an effort to approach them yet, and she isn't sure why that might be—though she has a growing suspicion. Contrary to what she'd thought, the people in Suna don't appear culturally inclined to avoid touch, in fact they interact in much the same way as those of her own village. Couples hold hands, dance closely, hug and kiss without reservation. There's friends walking arm in arm, laying hands on shoulders and slapping backs. If giving it more thought, she recalls Temari's easy familiarity, the blonde never seeming to think twice about physical contact.
She looks at Gaara, notices him watching the crowd, a faraway look in his eyes, and sees now what he's already told her. Despite having earned the respect and devotion of his village, he's still on the outside looking in, never quite part of the human experience—never asked to dance, or dinner; never quite touched, trusted, or treated like any other his age. There's a chill sweeping down her spine, a shudder in her breath. He catches the sound, sets his inquiring eyes upon her, their iridescent pull swallowing her whole. She feels them now, the truths he's worn on his sleeve yet never said, it's an ache all too familiar.
"You know, Ino and I used to play this game whenever we went out," she quickly says. "It's called two truths and a lie."
"Oh, I know that game!" Temari chimes in, leaning closer.
Sakura smiles, gaze darting between the siblings. "Everyone takes a turn telling two truths, and one lie. The others have to try and guess which one's the lie, and those who get it wrong have to drink."
"Suppose I'm right on time," Kankuro interjects, placing several drinks on the table.
"What do you say, Gaara," Sakura sends the redhead a smirk, "are you in?"
He appears to consider the challenge, crossing his arms as he eyes the drinks, then studies her. Though she tries not to let it show, she does waver in her confidence, aware he's told her he doesn't drink before. "Okay," he says, surprising her, "I'll bite."
"Alright!" Kankuro cheers, pushing a glass towards his brother. "Time to become a man!"
Temari slaps his arm, sends him a disapproving look. "He already is, reckless drinking doesn't change a thing."
Kankuro rubs the affected spot, pouts at his sister.
"I'll start!" Sakura grins, excitement bubbling in her chest. "I'm right-handed, I don't like spicy foods, and my favourite colour is pink."
"Who doesn't like spicy foods? I'm going with that one," Kankuro scoffs, pout forgotten.
"I'm going to guess you're actually left-handed," Temari muses, finger pressed to her lips.
Sakura feels her grin widen, turning her gaze to Gaara. "And you?"
He takes a moment to consider his options, locking eyes with her. "Your favourite colour isn't pink."
She turns a smirk on his siblings. "Gaara's right. My favourite colour is red."
"No way!" Kankuro runs a hand across his face, watches her with a stumped expression.
"You got us," Temari chuckles, taking an obligatory drink.
"You get to go next," she says to Gaara, holding her breath in anticipation.
He hums in thought, fuelling her curiosity. "I've never done a D-rank mission, I don't know taijutsu, and I enjoy reading."
"You first Sakura-san!"
She plays with her necklace, tries her best to rule out what she can. "This is harder than I'd expected," she chuckles. "I'm going to guess the D-rank mission is a lie."
Temari chimes in next. "I've never seen you read a book in your life, I'm going with that one."
"Same," Kankuro echoes.
Gaara sends them a pointed look. "You're all wrong."
"What!" Sakura gasps, blinking as she leans closer. "You're trained in taijutsu?"
"Yeah, I didn't know that." Temari crosses her arms.
"Shira taught me."
"Shira did?" Temari muses, then points an accusing finger. "Hold on, since when do you read?"
"You're usually asleep when I do."
Her mouth forms an 'o'.
"You do realise you're going to have to spar with me soon, right?" Sakura teases. "I'd like to see those moves."
"Sure," he shrugs, "just don't forget to drink first."
She laughs, raises her glass in surrender.
"Alright, you guys are keeping this way too tame, let's get down to business," Kankuro says. "I have a thing for brunettes, I've picked up 14 different women and 3 men."
Temari flies back, shoots a disgusted look at her brother. "Ew! You're keeping count?"
He shrugs. "Of course, how else would I know my rate of succes?
She opens her mouth, closes it, frowns, then releases a sigh. "Well of course you'd be into yourself, I'm going to question the 14 women."
"3 men?" Sakura studies the puppet-master, watches his proud grin grow.
"I'm going for the brunette one," Gaara adds, lips pressed into a thin line.
Kankuro releases a barking laugh. "Alright Sakura-san, Gaara, chug up! The correct number is 7 women."
"I still can't believe you're keeping count." Temari shakes her head, rubs her face.
Kankuro leans back, then shrugs. "Eh, as if Gaara's never kept body count."
The redhead chokes on his drink, wide eyes locking onto his brother.
"I can't believe you," Temari shrieks, rescuing the glass from Gaara's grip. "And don't think I'll be gross like you," she says as she puts it down.
Sakura turns to Gaara, who's still resisting a cough. "What do you think?" she asks. "Do you like it?"
He swallows, takes a breath, clears his throat. "It burns," he admits, "but it doesn't taste too bad."
"Not too bad, huh?" Sakura titters. "Suppose you could get used to it?"
There's the hint of a smile on his lips. "Possibly."
Temari crosses her arms, fingers tapping her bicep as she thinks. "I hate eating squid and reading poetry, but I love flowers."
"That's easy! The flowers are definitely a lie," Kankuro boasts, a smug smile spreading across his features.
"I'll guess the squid one," Sakura says, unable to believe anyone could hate flowers.
"I'll side with Kankuro."
"Ha!" Temari delights. "Drink up, losers."
Sakura laughs as Kankuro's expression transforms into one of shock, taking another sip of her sweet drink. She turns her gaze to Gaara, watches him hesitantly do the same, squeezing his eyes shut as he swallows. "My turn." She smiles, feeling the alcohol warm her blood, spreading a pleasant heat beneath her skin. "I love to swim, I've never kissed, and I have a low tolerance for alcohol."
"No way, the kissing one is a lie!" Kankuro smirks, slamming his glass onto the table.
"Gaara-sama!" a voice calls out, all turning to meet its owner. Sakura sees a young brunette approach, followed by a darker-haired girl, both somewhat familiar. They stop at their table, and she notices Gaara inching closer to her. "I've never seen you around here," the girl continues, pink dusting her cheeks.
"Indeed," he answers, offering no more than a simple nod.
"I'm Matsuri," the brunette turns to Sakura, "I admire you greatly, Sakura-sama." Her eyes dart in Gaara's direction, her blush deepening, deciding to quickly introduce her friend. "Oh, and this is Yukata."
The dark-haired girl smiles. "We've met during the Chuunin exams."
"Ah, right, I thought I recognised you," Sakura muses.
"I heard you've been staying with Gaara-sama," Matsuri says. "How long will you be here for? I'd love a chance to spar!"
She's surprised at the girl knowing such things, but reckons her prompt entrance would have made quite the news. "Actually," Sakura starts, "I haven't decided yet—but I'm sure we could arrange it."
"Oi, Yukata," Kankuro calls, leaning closer. "You should join me for a dance." He winks, offering a grin.
The girl eyes the puppet-master, then looks to his brother, parting her lips when her friend speaks instead.
"Will you be dancing, Gaara-sama?" Matsuri asks, her blush deepening.
The redhead shifts his weight, blinking as he looks around the table, taking in the expectant looks. "Actually, Sakura was just about to dance with me," he says, surprising the Konoha-nin by taking her hand. "You'll have to excuse us." Her heart's in her throat as he pulls her along, her feet tripping over themselves in virtue of the alcohol in her system. She realises the drinks must have been quite strong, explaining the firmness of Gaara's hand—after all, what better way to lower one's inhibitions? He throws her a look over his shoulder, sends her a smile that has her stomach in knots. They pass through groups of people, attracting plenty attention due to their bright hair—it'd be near impossible to lose one another in a crowd, she muses. She stumbles as he stops, bumping into him, her face heating as she apologises. He doesn't respond, instead takes her other hand, places it on his shoulder, his own coming to rest on her hip.
"She seemed nice." She tries to make small-talk, anything to distract from the roar in her veins at his proximity, long fingers igniting a fire beneath her skin.
He hums, gazes down at her. "She is."
She clears her throat, attempts to gather her wits, does her best to brave the beauty of him. He's close, his breath fanning her cheek, inducing shivers. "So why are you avoiding her?" If anything, it seemed the girl really liked him, as did her friend. She swallows the flare of jealousy at the thought, instead looks at her hand in his, her own breath heavy in her chest—if she moves closer, will he welcome her?
"Her occupation with me borders on sycophancy."
She wets her lips, shutters her eyes at the unexpected blooming of want within her. "So she admires you, isn't that a positive quality?" She shakes her head, more to clear her mind than anything else, feeling herself quiver beneath his grip.
"She admires power more."
She studies him, adores the nearly invisible dusting of freckles, drinks up the diamond lustre of his gaze. "I can imagine it easy being star-struck by a Kazekage." More so, she can imagine it easy to fall in love with a man like him.
His lips part, his gaze darting across her features, his thumb running along her hand. "I prefer being just Gaara."
She hums, feels her eyes close, her body instinctively moving nearer. "Just Gaara it is then." She catches his smile, swears she feels the beat of his heart through their palms. "Tell me some other truths I don't know."
He nods, continues to lead, somehow remembers all she's shown him. "My favourite colour is green."
She feels a smile tug at her lips, her heart swelling, aware how his gaze never strays far from hers.
"My favourite drink is cinnamon tea."
Does he wish for it too? To close his eyes, close the distance? There's a calling inside her, a new taste to her pulse. Somehow each fragrant wave of him floods her with a single want. She looks at the hand on his shoulder, experimentally slips it across, to the back of his neck, his hair trailing along her skin—all she'd need now is raise herself.
"And my favourite person is you."
She freezes, blinks up at him, sees still those same seafoam eyes, wants still to taste the tenderness upon those familiar features. "Me?" she finds herself asking, a distant part of her trying to wrap its head around such a claim—drowned out by the steady drum of her longing.
He parts his lips, pauses, gaze shooting past her. "Shit."
She does a double-take, tips her head as she snorts. "Did you just curse?" Somehow it's funnier than it should be, and she bites her lip as she giggles at him.
His gaze flits between her and whatever's in the distance, a frown settling between his brows. "There's someone from my council," he says, taking in their surroundings. "Come on." He pulls her hand, leads her through the crowd, throwing glances over his shoulder. Sakura follows his gaze, spots a man in his forties staring them down.
"Kazekage-sama!" he calls, causing Gaara to stiffen before picking up his pace. They break out into a run, turning heads as they pass. It's funny, Sakura thinks, that, despite the many eyes following them, she doesn't feel prosecuted by their looks. She grins, holds on to his hand more tightly, listens to their echoing steps as they round a corner, dashing through vacant alleys and quiet streets. There's lanterns still, illuminating their path, adding golden stars to the sky. After turning another corner, they stop, chests heaving as they try and catch their breath. She doesn't know where they are, but it must be at the edge of the village; beyond a wall of sand lies a glittering desert, painted blue like a landscape of waves.
"That was exciting." Sakura can't contain her teeth-baring grin, locking eyes with her equally winded companion.
"Really?" he asks. "Felt more daunting to me."
She laughs, chews her lip, takes in the unruly state of him. He leans against a wall, closes his eyes, probably still feels the alcohol—she does too. Emboldened, she steps closer, takes his hands. His eyes shoot open, travel to their joined limbs, then to her face. They're both waiting, questions buzzing through the air, prickling against their skin—thoughts of who will be the first to move. She looks at him, wonders how he's never properly caught her eye before, how she's gone this long without him to rouse her alive. She moves closer, swallows against the throb of her every nerve, wonders if he feels it too—this pull like the tides, slipping between their every breath. Forget whoever she was, wherever she's been; here is all she needs and there's no other calling than her name on his lips—lips she feels herself inch towards.
"Don't," he murmurs, heavy-lidded.
She pauses, meets his eye, feels his breath against her skin. "Why not?" She's never seen him this close, dilated pupils in clear view, refracting lantern-light and turning it to flecks of amber.
"I-" he cuts himself off, inhales, closes his eyes.
"Why not?" she repeats, releases his hands, his words twisting themselves between them.
He looks at her, then averts his gaze, tension tightening his jaw.
Has she pushed too far? Misread whatever's gone unspoken between them? She's an idiot, she thinks, believing he'd ever. "Talk to me."
He runs a hand through his hair, betraying his conflict. "It's true isn't it?" he starts, returning his gaze to her. "I've seen you drink plenty without issue, and I'd find it hard to believe someone who hates swimming would choose to willingly."
She's taken aback for a bit, confusion contorting her brow—until his meaning hits. She crosses her arms, feels the sting of it. "So I've never kissed before, why does it matter?" Would such a thing make him think any less of her? It appears to be a running theme for the men in her life, to assume her fatuous. It's the kind of betrayal she hadn't expected of him, adding a bitter tinge to their evening.
He frowns, averts his gaze, crosses his arms, loses the authoritative air she's grown used to. "I-" he starts again, clenches his eyes shut, appears more and more like the diffident man he's shown her to be, "I don't want to ruin it for you."
She's speechless, their silence interrupted only by the chirping of night-time crickets. Shaking her head, she instinctively reaches for him, quickly stops herself, wraps a hand around her arm. "How would you-"
"I don't know how," he blurts, a frown twisting his brow, reshaping marks of black into an expression of loss. "Or anything, about any of this."
She watches him, all the while searches for something, anything to tell him it's okay—to admit she hasn't the slightest idea either. But it's hard to think over the rumble of her pulse, and she places a hand over her heart despite knowing it won't silence its drum. "So?" she manages, her voice lost somewhere in the pit of her chest.
"So I'm clueless and stunted and..." he pushes away from the wall, gaze directed down the empty street, "and I never planned on figuring out any of this—but then you came filling my head with pretty smiles and-" he pauses, looks at his feet, "and I'd never known it possible to crave touch or how much I'd needed it, yet there you were."
It's bittersweet—heartwarming and heartbreaking at once—her smile paper-thin as it dawns. She sucks in a breath, finds her voice in the loss of reservation. "I didn't know how much I needed someone to appreciate me simply for being who I am. Until you."
He meets her gaze, searches her with those piercing eyes, then looks away again. "The fact remains I'm hardly anything anyone deserves."
She does reach out now, steps closer, cups his jaw, turns him back to face her. "Whatever I might deserve pales in comparison of all you've already given me." She smiles, runs her thumb along his skin, curls her fingers into his hair. "You're not alone in this—in feeling the way you do." She feels it too. All the time. Thinks she understands far too well what it's like. He looks at her hand, then her face, old shadows bordering his gaze. "If you'd like…" she chews her lip, employs her liquid courage to press on, "we could figure it out. Together." If she isn't careful, she fears her chest might burst from the air she holds—but she doesn't dare release it, either, afraid she'll lose her poise.
He does, exhales as he closes his eyes, the muscles in his jaw flexing beneath her palm. She doesn't push, feels him lean into her caress, his frown smoothing out. Slowly, his eyes reopen, focus on her, ease whatever worries remain. Somehow, she feels safe within the lull of his perception, knows now with certainty there's no condescendence. He studies her, raises a hand to her face, runs his fingers along her cheek. She leans into it, releases a shaky breath, feels her heart dance to the trill of his touch. There's crickets still, serenading the night, their song a soothing constant. It's beautiful, she thinks, as is he, illuminated by a gentle flicker.
He pushes her hair from her face, raises another hand to cup the other side. "And if I disappoint?"
She takes hold of his arm, slides up his shoulder, curls her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. "Then we keep trying."
He takes a deep breath, runs his thumbs along her cheeks, leans his forehead against hers. She closes her eyes, inhales the scent of him, feels her pulse leap at his proximity, breathing increasingly shallow as the tip of his nose bumps into hers. It's dizzying, her fingers tightening their hold, bracing against the vortex he's sure to sweep her into. And she thinks, knows, it's worth it, all she's done or hasn't, so long as here is where she remains. She lifts her chin, feels his breath fan her lips, shivers, her pulse a lop-sided gallop, singing his name in the course of her veins. Closer, ever closer, until there's the gentlest press, igniting her from the inside out, opening her up and spilling all she's refused to acknowledge, all she's known but never allowed.
Pull, closer. She's more body than mind, feels her hold tighten as well as her skin, thinks she might burst from all this feeling. There's the wall, back pressed firm like he, now, breathing hot against her, lips spilling down, devouring her every last thought until she is all quivering legs and coiled need. More, she begs in the wrap of her arms, more of his cinnamon taste and fever touch, revealing through waves of highs what life feels like—all this life, running from her tongue, coaxing for release. There's teeth and nails, streaming down skin in pleas, leaving lines she reads—words she doesn't form but feels clearly in the absence of control. She's spun tight, hanging off every breath, bursting through seams of who she's expected—let's free who is, instead, and thinks this is home in his hands, threading her hair.
And just like that, it stops. Jars her from his touch-induced fervour, strips his warmth and leaves her out of breath, chilled. He's backed away, eyes wide, lungs heaving, raking a hand through his hair as he looks at her. There's silence in the empty air between them, interrupted by their breath, punctuated by nightly critters. She straightens herself, pushes her hair behind her ear, tries to regain some composure in the wake of their craving. Could she even label it a kiss, when what she felt went far beyond a simple meeting of lips? She clears her throat, wraps an arm around herself as she takes in his unease—she hadn't been prepared either, but...
"Did I do something wrong?" she asks, voice hoarse, wondering if what she experienced was normal by any standard.
"No, no- I-" He shakes his head, sounds equally husky, causing a subtle return of her unsatisfied hunger—she doubts it ever could be. "I'm sorry, I..." he blinks, frowns, licks his swollen lips, "I'm confused, is all."
She nods, fumbles with the collar of her dress, crosses her legs to distract herself. "Why?"
He releases a breath, conflict twisting his brow as he closes his eyes. "Well-"
"Kazekage-sama!" A familiar voice interrupts, redirecting Sakura's attention. She recognises the man from earlier, feels silly caught in the middle, hopes he hasn't seen their dispute. "I apologise for the interruption, I've been looking for you," the man continues.
Gaara clears his throat, turns to his council member. "Why?"
"There's a guest, he's arrived an hour ago," the man says, causing Sakura's hair to rise, disquiet chilling her to the marrow. "I sent him to your office, but..." It couldn't be, could it? Right now? She slumps against the wall, feels her strength leave her, thinks his presence to be the last thing she needs, especially now. Her gaze finds Gaara's, his features perfectly composed, betraying nothing of his thoughts.
"His name?" he asks, averting his eyes, all authority returned to his being—like none of it happened, like they didn't unearth an entirely new facet to their relationship, awakening a craving Sakura still tastes on her lips, still feels in the rush of her blood and heat of her loins. But of course such should befall her, after all, how had she expected to ever escape the bane of her existence...
"Uchiha Sasuke."