The Unexpected Return
The evening was approaching, and the warm orange glow of the setting sun filtered through the windows. Despite the melancholic end to their isolated retreat looming, Shikamaru was determined to make the most of their final hours alone.
Temari was in the kitchen, preparing dinner, and Shikamaru seized the opportunity to be near her, stealing kisses and touches whenever he could. His affection was constant and deliberate, as if trying to etch these moments into his memory. He moved behind her, slipping his hands under her yukata to play with her nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. His fingers slid further, dipping into her underwear, feeling her moistening with arousal.
Temari's breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping her lips as he teased her, his lips trailing hot kisses along her neck. Shikamaru was cooking too, but his real focus was on making her blush, getting her wet, opening her completely to him. He was driven by the desire to savor every last second of their time together.
Just as Shikamaru was about to open her yukata further, driven by his impatient desire, they heard the front door open. "I'm home!" Shikadai's voice echoed.
Shikamaru groaned in frustration, pulling back reluctantly. Temari laughed softly, fixing her yukata before planting a quick kiss on his cheek. "Later," she promised, seeing the smoldering frustration in his eyes.
Shikamaru sighed heavily and stepped outside to cool off. The crisp evening air did little to quench the fire of his desire, and the scent of Temari lingering on his fingers only intensified his longing. It took a couple of cigarettes and several deep breaths before he felt composed enough to greet his son without betraying his earlier arousal.
When he reentered the house, Shikadai was already animatedly talking about his mission, describing it in detail while Temari listened attentively. Shikadai made a few requests for dinner, which she wouldn't deny him, despite her obvious tiredness.
Shikamaru watched the scene with a mix of pride and resignation. The peaceful, blissful bubble they had enjoyed was over, replaced by the demands of their everyday life. He knew he would have to wake up early the next morning for job, and that Temari would be up even earlier to prepare breakfast. For now, their stolen moments of intimacy had to be set aside.
After dinner, Shikamaru indulged in a few rounds of shogi with Shikadai, savoring the familiar father-son routine. Yet, his mind repeatedly drifted back to Temari, her laugh, the feel of her skin under his hands, her soft gasps of pleasure. By the time they finished, he was already fatigued and found his way to bed.
Temari continued her chores, doing Shikadai's laundry, preparing his stuff for tomorrow, even helping him with some assignments. Shikamaru listened to her bustling around the house, the weight of his responsibilities settling over him again.
"What a drag," he murmured, the last waking thought in his mind.
Yet, even with the drag of daily life pulling him back to reality, the image of Temari's naked form and the echo of her soft moans lingered. They were a promise of the moments that might be stolen again in the future and a reminder of the depth of their bond in the midst of their busy world.